Native Son - Richard Wright [38]
“You’ve read about the Scottsboro boys?”
“I heard about ’em.”
“Don’t you think we did a good job in helping to keep ’em from killing those boys?”
“It was all right.”
“You know, Bigger,” said Mary, “we’d like to be friends of yours.”
He said nothing. He drained his glass and Jan poured another round. He was getting drunk enough to look straight at them now. Mary was smiling at him.
“You’ll get used to us,” she said.
Jan stoppered the bottle of rum.
“We’d better go,” he said.
“Yes,” Mary said. “Oh, Bigger, I’m going to Detroit at nine in the morning and I want you to take my small trunk down to the station. Tell father and he’ll let you make up your time. You better come for the trunk at eight-thirty.”
“I’ll take it down.”
Jan paid the bill and they went back to the car. Bigger got behind the steering wheel. He was feeling good. Jan and Mary got into the back seat. As Bigger drove he saw her resting in Jan’s arms.
“Drive around in the park awhile, will you, Bigger?”
“O.K.”
He turned into Washington Park and pulled the car slowly round and round the long gradual curves. Now and then he watched Jan kiss Mary in the reflection of the rear mirror above his head.
“You got a girl, Bigger?” Mary asked.
“I got a girl,” he said.
“I’d like to meet her some time.”
He did not answer. Mary’s eyes stared dreamily before her, as if she were planning future things to do. Then she turned to Jan and laid her hand tenderly upon his arm.
“How was the demonstration?”
“Pretty good. But the cops arrested three comrades.”
“Who were they?”
“A Y. C. L.-er and two Negro women. Oh, by the way, Mary. We need money for bail badly.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand.”
“I’ll mail you a check.”
“Swell.”
“Did you work hard today?”
“Yeah. I was at a meeting until three this morning. Max and I’ve been trying to raise bail money all day today.”
“Max is a darling, isn’t he?”
“He’s one of the best lawyers we’ve got.”
Bigger listened; he knew that they were talking Communism and he tried to understand. But he couldn’t.
“Jan.”
“Yes, honey.”
“I’m coming out of school this spring and I’m going to join the Party.”
“Gee, you’re a brick!”
“But I’ll have to be careful.”
“Say, how’s about your working with me, in the office?”
“No, I want to work among Negroes. That’s where people are needed. It seems as though they’ve been pushed out of every thing.”
“That’s true.”
“When I see what they’ve done to those people, it makes me so mad….”
“Yes; it’s awful.”
“And I feel so helpless and useless. I want to do something.”
“I knew all along you’d come through.”
“Say, Jan, do you know many Negroes? I want to meet some.”
“I don’t know any very well. But you’ll meet them when you’re in the Party.”
“They have so much emotion! What a people! If we could ever get them going….”
“We can’t have a revolution without ’em,” Jan said. “They’ve got to be organized. They’ve got spirit. They’ll give the Party something it needs.”
“And their songs—the spirituals! Aren’t they marvelous?” Bigger saw her turn to him. “Say, Bigger, can you sing?”
“I can’t sing,” he said.
“Aw, Bigger,” she said, pouting. She tilted her head, closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
“Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming fer to carry me home….”
Jan joined in and Bigger smiled derisively. Hell, that ain’t the tune, he thought.
“Come on, Bigger, and help us sing it,” Jan said.
“I can’t sing,” he said again.
They were silent. The car purred along. Then he heard Jan speaking in low tones.
“Where’s the bottle?”
“Right here.”
“I want a sip.”
“I’ll take one, too, honey.”
“Going heavy tonight, ain’t you?”
“About as heavy as you.”
They laughed. Bigger drove in silence. He heard the faint, musical gurgle of liquor.
“Jan!”
“What?”
“That was a big sip!”
“Here; you get even.”
Through the rear mirror he saw her tilt the bottle and drink.
“Maybe Bigger wants another one, Jan. Ask him.”
“Oh, say, Bigger! Here; take a swig!”
He slowed the car and reached back for the bottle; he tilted it twice, taking two huge swallows.
“Woooow!