Native Son - Richard Wright [8]
“Oh! Oh!” she wailed.
“There he goes!”
The woman pointed a shaking finger. Her eyes were round with fascinated horror.
“Where?”
“I don’t see ’im!”
“Bigger, he’s behind the trunk!” the girl whimpered.
“Vera!” the woman screamed. “Get up here on the bed! Don’t let that thing bite you!”
Frantically, Vera climbed upon the bed and the woman caught hold of her. With their arms entwined about each other, the black mother and the brown daughter gazed open-mouthed at the trunk in the corner.
Bigger looked round the room wildly, then darted to a curtain and swept it aside and grabbed two heavy iron skillets from a wall above a gas stove. He whirled and called softly to his brother, his eyes glued to the trunk.
“Buddy!”
“Yeah?”
“Here; take this skillet.”
“O.K.”
“Now, get over by the door!”
“O.K.”
Buddy crouched by the door and held the iron skillet by its handle, his arm flexed and poised. Save for the quick, deep breathing of the four people, the room was quiet. Bigger crept on tiptoe toward the trunk with the skillet clutched stiffly in his hand, his eyes dancing and watching every inch of the wooden floor in front of him. He paused and, without moving an eye or muscle, called:
“Buddy!”
“Hunh?”
“Put that box in front of the hole so he can’t get out!”
“O.K.”
Buddy ran to a wooden box and shoved it quickly in front of a gaping hole in the molding and then backed again to the door, holding the skillet ready. Bigger eased to the trunk and peered behind it cautiously. He saw nothing. Carefully, he stuck out his bare foot and pushed the trunk a few inches.
“There he is!” the mother screamed again.
A huge black rat squealed and leaped at Bigger’s trouser-leg and snagged it in his teeth, hanging on.
“Goddamn!” Bigger whispered fiercely, whirling and kicking out his leg with all the strength of his body. The force of his movement shook the rat loose and it sailed through the air and struck a wall. Instantly, it rolled over and leaped again. Bigger dodged and the rat landed against a table leg. With clenched teeth, Bigger held the skillet; he was afraid to hurl it, fearing that he might miss. The rat squeaked and turned and ran in a narrow circle, looking for a place to hide; it leaped again past Bigger and scurried on dry rasping feet to one side of the box and then to the other, searching for the hole. Then it turned and reared upon its hind legs.
“Hit ’im, Bigger!” Buddy shouted.
“Kill ’im!” the woman screamed.
The rat’s belly pulsed with fear. Bigger advanced a step and the rat emitted a long thin song of defiance, its black beady eyes glittering, its tiny forefeet pawing the air restlessly. Bigger swung the skillet; it skidded over the floor, missing the rat, and clattered to a stop against a wall.
“Goddamn!”
The rat leaped. Bigger sprang to one side. The rat stopped under a chair and let out a furious screak. Bigger moved slowly backward toward the door.
“Gimme that skillet, Buddy,” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes from the rat.
Buddy extended his hand. Bigger caught the skillet and lifted it high in the air. The rat scuttled across the floor and stopped again at the box and searched quickly for the hole; then it reared once more and bared long yellow fangs, piping shrilly, belly quivering.
Bigger aimed and let the skillet fly with a heavy grunt. There was a shattering of wood as the box caved in. The woman screamed and hid her face in her hands. Bigger tiptoed forward and peered.
“I got ’im,” he muttered, his clenched teeth bared in a smile. “By God, I got ’im.”
He kicked the splintered box out of the way and the flat black body of the rat lay exposed, its two long yellow tusks showing distinctly. Bigger took a shoe and pounded the rat’s head, crushing it, cursing hysterically:
“You sonofabitch!”
The woman on the bed sank to her knees and buried her face in the quilts and sobbed:
“Lord, Lord, have mercy….”
“Aw, Mama,” Vera whimpered, bending to her. “Don’t cry. It’s dead now.”
The two brothers stood over the dead rat and spoke in tones of awed admiration.
“Gee, but he’s a big bastard.