Native Son - Richard Wright [161]
He looked out upon the world and the people about him with a double vision: one vision pictured death, an image of him, alone, sitting strapped in the electric chair and waiting for the hot current to leap through his body; and the other vision pictured life, an image of himself standing amid throngs of men, lost in the welter of their lives with the hope of emerging again, different, unafraid. But so far only the certainty of death was his; only the unabating hate of the white faces could be seen; only the same dark cell, the long lonely hours, only the cold bars remained.
Had his will to believe in a new picture of the world made him act a fool and thoughtlessly pile horror upon horror? Was not his old hate a better defense than this agonized uncertainty? Was not an impossible hope betraying him to this end? On how many fronts could a man fight at once? Could he fight a battle within as well as without? Yet he felt that he could not fight the battle for his life without first winning the one raging within him.
His mother and Vera and Buddy had come to visit him and again he had lied to them, telling them that he was praying, that he was at peace with the world and men. But that lie had only made him feel more shame for himself and more hate for them; it had hurt because he really yearned for that certainty of which his mother spoke and prayed, but he could not get it on the terms on which he felt he had to have it. After they had left, he told Max not to let them come again.
A few moments before the trial, a guard came to his cell and left a paper.
“Your lawyer sent this,” he said and left.
He unfolded the Tribune and his eyes caught a headline: TROOPS GUARD NEGRO KILLER’S TRIAL. Troops? He bent forward and read: PROTECT RAPIST FROM MOB ACTION. He went down the column:
Fearing outbreaks of mob violence, Gov. H. M. O’Dorsey ordered out two regiments of the Illinois National Guard to keep public peace during the trial of Bigger Thomas, Negro rapist and killer, it was announced from Springfield, the capital, this morning.
His eyes caught phrases: “sentiment against killer still rising,” “public opinion demands death penalty,” “fear uprising in Negro sector,” and “city tense.”
Bigger sighed and stared into space. His lips hung open and he shook his head slowly. Was he not foolish in even listening when Max talked of saving his life? Was he not heightening the horror of his own end by straining after a flickering hope? Had not this voice of hate been sounding long before he was born; and would it not still sound long after he was dead?
He read again, catching phrases: “the black killer is fully aware that he is in danger of going to the electric chair,” “spends most of his time reading newspaper accounts of his crime and eating luxurious meals sent to him by Communist friends,” “killer not sociable or talkative,” “Mayor lauds police for bravery,” and “a vast mass of evidence assembled against killer.”
Then:
In relation to the Negro’s mental condition, Dr. Calvin H. Robinson, a psychiatric attaché of the police department, declared: “There is no question but that Thomas is more alert mentally and more cagy than we suspect. His attempt to blame the Communists for the murder and kidnap note and his staunch denial of having raped the white girl indicate that he may be hiding many other crimes.”
Professional psychologists at University of Chicago pointed out this morning that white women have an unusual fascination for Negro men. “They think,” said one of the professors who requested that his name not be mentioned in connection with the case, “that white women are more attractive than the women of their own race. They just can’t help themselves.”
It was said that Boris A. Max, the Negro’s Communistic lawyer, will enter a plea of not guilty and try to free his client through a long drawn-out jury trial.
Bigger dropped the paper, stretched out upon the cot and closed his eyes. It was the same thing over and over again. What was the use of reading it?
“Bigger!”
Max was standing outside of the cell. The guard opened the door and Max walked in.