Native Son - Richard Wright [94]
“Yessuh; he was here all right.”
“You saw ’im?”
“Yessuh.”
“Where?”
“I drove him and Miss Dalton up here in the car. We went upstairs together to get the trunk.”
“And you left him here?”
“Yessuh.”
Bigger’s heart was pounding, but he tried to keep his face and voice under control. He did not want to seem unduly excited over these new developments. He was wondering if Jan could really prove that he had not been here last night; and he was thinking the question in his own mind when he heard someone ask,
“Who has this Erlone got to prove he was not here last night?”
“He says he met some friend of his when he got on the street car last night. And he says he went to a party after he left Miss Dalton at two-thirty.”
“Where was the party?”
“Somewhere on the North Side.”
“Say, if what he says is true, then there’s something fishy here.”
“Naw,” said Britten. “I’ll bet he went to his pals, the ones he planned all of this with. Sure; why wouldn’t they alibi for ’im?”
“So you really think he did it?”
“Hell, yes!” Britten said. “These Reds’ll do anything and they stick together. Sure; he’s got an alibi. Why shouldn’t he have one? He’s got enough pals working for ’im. His wanting to stay in jail’s nothing but a dodge, but he’s not so smart. He thinks that his gag’ll work and leave him free of suspicion, but it won’t.”
The talk stopped abruptly as the door at the head of the stairs opened. Peggy’s head came through.
“You gentlemen want some coffee?” she asked.
“Sure!”
“Atta gal!”
“I’ll bring some down in just a minute,” she said, closing the door.
“Who is she?”
“Mrs. Dalton’s cook and housekeeper,” Britten said.
“She know anything about all this?”
“Naw.”
Again the men turned to Bigger. He felt this time he had to say something more to them. Jan was saying that he was lying and he had to wipe out doubt in their minds. They would think that he knew more than he was telling if he did not talk. After all, their attitude toward him so far made him feel that they did not consider him as being mixed up in the kidnapping. He was just another black ignorant Negro to them. The main thing was to keep their minds turned in another direction, Jan’s direction, or that of Jan’s friends.
“Say,” one of the men asked, coming close to him and placing, a foot upon the edge of the trunk. “Did this Erlone fellow talk to you about Communism?”
“Yessuh.”
“Oh!” Britten exclaimed.
“What?”
“I forgot! Let me show you fellows the stuff he gave the boy to read.”
Britten stood up, his face flushed with eagerness. He ran his hand into his pocket and pulled forth the batch of pamphlets that Jan had given Bigger and held them up for all to see. The men again got their bulbs and flashed their lightning to take pictures of the pamphlets. Bigger could hear their hard breathing; he knew that they were excited. When they finished, they turned to him again.
“Say, boy, was this guy drunk?”
“Yessuh.”
“And the girl, too?”
“Yessuh.”
“He took the girl upstairs when they got here?”
“Yessuh.”
“Say, boy, what do you think of public ownership? Do you think the government ought to build houses for people to live in?”
Bigger blinked.
“Suh?”
“Well, what do you think of private property?”
“I don’t own any property. Nawsuh,” Bigger said.
“Aw, he’s a dumb cluck. He doesn’t know anything,” one of the men whispered in a voice loud enough for Bigger to hear.
There was a silence. Bigger leaned against the wall, hoping that this would satisfy them for a time, at least. The draft could not be heard in the furnace now at all. The door opened again and Peggy came into view carrying a pot of coffee in one hand and a folding card table in the other. One of the men went up the steps and met her, took the table, opened it, and placed it for her. She set the pot upon it. Bigger saw a thin spout of steam jutting from the pot and smelt the good scent of coffee. He wanted some, but he knew that he should not ask with the white men waiting to drink.
“Thank you, sirs,” Peggy mumbled, looking humbly round at the strange faces of the men. “I’ll get the sugar and cream and some cups.