Native Son - Richard Wright [135]
“Mrs. Thomas, it’s too late for me to do anything now,” Mrs. Dalton said. “You must not feel like this. You have your other children to think of….”
“I know you hate us, mam! You lost your daughter….”
“No; no…. I don’t hate you,” Mrs. Dalton said.
The mother crawled from Mrs. Dalton to Mr. Dalton.
“You’s rich and powerful,” she sobbed. “Spare me my boy….”
Max struggled with the black woman and got her to her feet Bigger’s shame for his mother amounted to hate. He stood with clenched fists, his eyes burning. He felt that in another moment he would have leaped at her.
“That’s all right, Mrs. Thomas,” Max said.
Mr. Dalton came forward.
“Mrs. Thomas, there’s nothing we can do,” he said. “This thing is out of our hands. Up to a certain point we can help you, but beyond that…. People must protect themselves. But you won’t have to move. I’ll tell them not to make you move.”
The black woman sobbed. Finally, she quieted enough to speak.
“Thank you, sir. God knows I thank you….”
She turned again toward Bigger, but Max led her from the room. Jan caught hold of Vera’s arm and led her forward, then stopped in the doorway, looking at Jack and G.H. and Gus.
“You boys going to the South Side?”
“Yessuh,” they said.
“Come on. I got a car downstairs. I’ll take you.”
“Yessuh.”
Buddy lingered, looking wistfully at Bigger.
“Good-bye, Bigger,” he said.
“Good-bye, Buddy,” Bigger mumbled.
The preacher passed Bigger and pressed his arm.
“Gawd bless you, son.”
They all left except Buckley. Bigger sat again upon the cot, weak and exhausted. Buckley stood over him.
“Now, Bigger, you see all the trouble you’ve caused? Now, I’d like to get this case out of the way as soon as possible. The longer you stay in jail, the more agitation there’ll be for and against you. And that doesn’t help you any, no matter who tells you it does. Boy, there’s not but one thing for you to do, and that’s to come clean. I know those Reds, Max and Erlone, have told you a lot of things about what they’re going to do for you. But, don’t believe ’em. They’re just after publicity, boy; just after building themselves up at your expense, see? They can’t do a damn thing for you! You’re dealing with the law now! And if you let those Reds put a lot of fool ideas into your head, then you’re gambling with your own life.”
Buckley stopped and relit his cigar. He cocked his head to one side, listening.
“You hear that?” he asked softly.
Bigger looked at him, puzzled. He listened, hearing a faint din.
“Come here, boy. I want to show you something,” he said, rising and catching hold of Bigger’s arm.
Bigger was reluctant to follow him.
“Come on. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Bigger followed him out of the door; there were several policemen standing on guard in the hallway. Buckley led Bigger to a window through which he looked and saw the streets below crowded with masses of people in all directions.
“See that, boy? Those people would like to lynch you. That’s why I’m asking you to trust me and talk to me. The quicker we get this thing over, the better for you. We’re going to try to keep ’em from bothering you. But can’t you see the longer they stay around here, the harder it’ll be for us to handle them?”
Buckley let go of Bigger’s arm and hoisted the window; a cold wind swept in and Bigger heard a roar of voices. Involuntarily, he stepped backward. Would they break into the jail? Buckley shut the window and led him back to the room. He sat upon the cot and Buckley sat opposite him.
“You look like an intelligent boy. You see what you’re in. Tell me about this thing. Don’t let those Reds fool you into saying you’re not guilty. I’m talking to you as straight as I’d talk to a son of mine. Sign a confession and get this over with.”
Bigger said nothing; he sat looking at the floor.
“Was Jan mixed up in this?”
Bigger heard the faint excited sound of mob voices coming through the concrete walls of the building.
“He proved an alibi and he’s free. Tell me, did he leave you holding the bag?