“You going to see about that job?”
“Yeah.”
“Ain’t you going to eat?”
“I ain’t got time now.”
She came to the door, wiping her soapy hands upon an apron.
“Here; take this quarter and buy you something.”
“O.K.”
“And be careful, son.”
He went out and walked south to Forty-sixth Street, then cast-ward. Well, he would see in a few moments if the Daltons for whom he was to work were the ones he had seen and heard about in the movie. But while walking through this quiet and spacious white neighborhood, he did not feel the pull and mystery of the thing as strongly as he had in the movie. The houses he passed were huge; lights glowed softly in windows. The streets were empty, save for an occasional car that zoomed past on swift rubber tires. This was a cold and distant world; a world of white secrets carefully guarded. He could feel a pride, a certainty, and a confidence in these streets and houses. He came to Drexel Boulevard and began to look for 4605. When he came to it, he stopped and stood before a high, black, iron picket fence, feeling constricted inside. All he had felt in the movie was gone; only fear and emptiness filled him now.
Would they expect him to come in the front way or back? It was queer that he had not thought of that. Goddamn! He walked the length of the picket fence in front of the house, seeking for a walk leading to the rear. But there was none. Other than the from gate, there was only a driveway, the entrance to which was securely locked. Suppose a police saw him wandering in a white neighborhood like this? It would be thought that he was trying to rob or rape somebody. He grew angry. Why had he come to take this goddamn job? He could have stayed among his own people and escaped feeling this fear and hate. This was not his world; he had been foolish in thinking that he would have liked it. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk with his jaws clamped tight; he wanted to strike something with his fist. Well…. Goddamn! There was nothing to do but go in the front way. If he were doing wrong, they could not kill him, at least; all they could do was to tell him that he could not get the job.
Timidly, he lifted the latch on the gate and walked to the steps. He paused, waiting for someone to challenge him. Nothing happened. Maybe nobody was home? He went to the door and saw a dim light burning in a shaded niche above a doorbell. He pushed it and was startled to hear a soft gong sound within. Maybe he had pushed it too hard? Aw, what the hell! He had to do better than this; he relaxed his taut muscles and stood at ease, waiting. The doorknob turned. The door opened. He saw a white face. It was a woman.
“Hello!”
“Yessum,” he said.
“You want to see somebody?”
“Er…. Er…. I want to see Mr. Dalton.”
“Are you the Thomas boy?”
“Yessum.”
“Come in.”
He edged through the door slowly, then stopped halfway. The woman was so close to him that he could see a tiny mole at the corner of her mouth. He held his breath. It seemed that there was not room enough for him to pass without actually touching her.
“Come on in,” the woman said.
“Yessum,” he whispered.
He squeezed through and stood uncertainly in a softly lighted hallway.
“Follow me,” she said.
With cap in hand and shoulders sloped, he followed, walking over a rug so soft and deep that it seemed he was going to fall at each step he took. He went into a dimly lit room.
“Take a seat,” she said. “I’ll tell Mr. Dalton that you’re here and he’ll be out in a moment.”
“Yessum.”
He sat and looked up at the woman; she was staring at him and he looked away in confusion. He was glad when she left. That old bastard! What’s so damn funny about me? I’m just like she is…. He felt that the position in which he was sitting was too awkward and found that he was on the very edge of the chair. He rose slightly to sit farther back; but when he sat he sank down so suddenly and deeply that he thought the chair had collapsed under him. He bounded halfway up, in fear; then, realizing what had happened, he sank distrustfully down again. He looked round the room; it was lit by dim lights glowing from a hidden source. He tried to find them by roving his eyes, but could not. He had not expected anything like this; he had not thought that this world would be so utterly different from his own that it would intimidate him. On the smooth walls were several paintings whose nature he tried to make out, but failed. He would have liked to examine them, but dared not. Then he listened; a faint sound of piano music floated to him from somewhere. He was sitting in a white home; dim lights burned round him; strange objects challenged him; and he was feeling angry and uncomfortable.
“All right. Come this way.”
He started at the sound of a man’s voice.
“Suh?”
“Come this way.”
Misjudging how far back he was sitting in the chair, his first attempt to rise failed and he slipped back, resting on his side Grabbing the arms of the chair, he pulled himself upright and found a tall, lean, white-haired man holding a piece of paper in his hand. The man was gazing at him with an amused smile that made him conscious of every square inch of skin on his black body.
“Thomas?” the man asked. “Bigger Thomas?”
“Yessuh,” he whispered; not speaking, really; but hearing his words roll involuntarily from his lips.
“Come this way.”
“Yessuh.”
He followed the man out of the room and down a hall. The man stopped abruptly. Bigger paused, bewildered; then he saw coming slowly toward him a tall, thin, white woman, walking silently, her hands lifted delicately in the air and touching the walls to either side of her. Bigger stepped back to let her pass. Her face and hair were completely white; she seemed to him like a ghost. The man took her arm gently and held her for a moment. Bigger saw that she was old and her grey eyes looked stony.
“Are you all right?” the man asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Where’s Peggy?”
“She’s preparing dinner. I’m quite all right, Henry.”
The man let go of the woman and she walked on slowly, the long white fingers of her hands just barely touching the walls Behind the woman, following at the hem of her dress, was a big white cat, pacing without sound. She’s blind! Bigger thought in amazement.
“Come on; this way,” the man said.
“Yessuh.”
He wondered if the man had seen him staring at the woman. He would have to be careful here. There were so many strange things. He followed the man into a room.
“Sit down.”
“Yessuh,” he said, sitting.
“That was Mrs. Dalton,” the man said. “She’s blind.”
“Yessuh.”
“She has a very deep interest in colored people.”
“Yessuh,” Bigger whispered. He was conscious of the effort to breathe; he licked his lips and fumbled nervously with his cap.
“Well, I’m Mr. Dalton.”
“Yessuh.”
“Do you think you’d like driving a car?”
“Oh, yessuh.”
“Did you bring the paper?”
“Suh?”
“Didn’t the relief give you a note to me?”
“Oh, yessuh!”
He had completely forgotten about the paper. He stood to reach into his vest pocket and, in doing so, dropped his cap. For a moment his impulses were deadlocked; he did not know if he should pick up his cap and then find the paper, or find the paper and then pick up his cap. He decided to pick up his cap.
“Put your cap here,” said Mr. Dalton, indicating a place on his desk.
“Yessuh.”
Then he was stone-still; the white cat bounded past him and leaped upon the desk; it sat looking at him with large placid eyes and mewed plaintively.
“What’s the matter, Kate?” Mr. Dalton asked, stroking the cat’s fur and smiling. Mr. Dalton turned back to Bigger. “Did
you find it?”
“Nawsuh. But I got it here, somewhere.”
He hated himself at that moment. Why was he acting and feeling this way? He wanted to wave his hand and blot out the white man who was making him feel this. If not that, he wanted to blot himself out. He had not raised his eyes to the level of Mr. Dalton’s face once since he had been in the house. He stood with his knees slightly bent, his lips partly open, his shoulders stooped; and his eyes held a look that went only to the surface of things. There was an organic conviction in him that this was the way white folks wanted him to be when in their presence; none had ever told him that in so many words, but their manner had made him feel that they did. He laid the cap down, noticing that Mr. Dalton was watching him closely. Maybe he was not acting right? Goddamn Clumsily, he searched for the paper. He could not find it at first and he felt called upon to say something for taking so long.
“I had it right here in my vest pocket,” he mumbled.
“Take your time.”
“Oh, here it is.”
He drew the paper forth. It was crumpled and soiled. Nervously, he straightened it out and handed it to Mr. Dalton, holding it by its very tip end.
“All right, now,” said Mr. Dalton. “Let’s see what you’ve got here. You live at 3721 Indiana Avenue?”
“Yessuh.”
Mr. Dalton paused, frowned, and looked up at the ceiling.
“What kind of a building is that over there?”
“You mean where I live, suh?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, it’s just an old building.”
“Where do you pay rent?”
“Down on Thirty-first Street.”
“To the South Side Real Estate Company?”
“Yessuh.”
Bigger wondered what all these questions could mean; he had heard that Mr. Dalton owned the South Side Real Estate Company, but he was not sure.
“How much rent do you pay?”
“Eight dollars a week.”
“For how many rooms?”
“We just got one, suh.”
“I see…. Now, Bigger, tell me, how old are you?”
“I’m twenty, suh.”
“Married?”
“Nawsuh.”
“Sit down. You needn’t stand. And I won’t be long.”
“Yessuh.”
He sat. The white cat still contemplated him with large, moist eyes.
“Now, you have a mother, a brother, and a sister?”
“Yessuh.”
“There are four of you?”
“Yessuh, there’s four of us,” he stammered, trying to show that he was not as stupid as he might appear. He felt a need to speak more, for he felt that maybe Mr. Dalton expected it. And he suddenly remembered the many times his mother had told him not to look at the floor when talking with white folks or asking for a job. He lifted his eyes and saw Mr. Dalton watching him closely. He dropped his eyes again.
“They call you Bigger?”
“Yessuh.”
“Now, Bigger, I’d like to talk with you a little….”
Yes, Goddammit! He knew what was coming. He would be asked about that time he had been accused of stealing auto tires and had been sent to the reform school. He felt guilty, condemned. He should not have come here.
“The relief people said some funny things about you. I’d like to talk to you about them. Now, you needn’t feel ashamed with me,” said Mr. Dalton, smiling. “I was a boy myself once and I think I know how things are. So just be yourself….” Mr. Dalton pulled out a package of cigarettes. “Here; have one.”
“Nawsuh; thank you, suh.”
“You don’t smoke?”
“Yessuh. But I just don’t want one now.”
“Now, Bigger, the relief people said you were a very good worker when you were interested in what you were doing. Is that true?”
“Well, I do my work, suh.”
“But they said you were always in trouble. How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know, suh.”
“Why did they send you to the reform school?”
His eyes glared at the floor.
“They said I was stealing!” he blurted defensively. “But I wasn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yessuh.”
“Well, how did you get mixed up in it?”
“I was with some boys and the police picked us up.”
Mr. Dalton said nothing. Bigger heard a clock ticking somewhere behind him and he had a foolish impulse to look at it. But he restrained himself.
“Well, Bigger, how do you feel about it now?”
“Suh? ’Bout what?”
“If you had a job, would you steal now?”
“Oh, nawsuh. I don’t steal.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dalton, “they say you can drive a car and I’m going to give you a job.”
He said nothing.
“You think you can handle it?”
“Oh, yessuh.”
“The pay calls for $20 a week, but I’m going to give you $25. The extra $5 is for yourself, for you to spend as you like. You will get the clothes you need and your meals. You’re to sleep in the back room, above the kitchen. You can give the $20 to your mother to keep your brother and sister in school. How does that sound?”
“It sounds all right. Yessuh.”
“I think we’ll get along.”
“Yessuh.”
“I don’t think we’ll have any trouble.”
“Nawsuh.”
“Now, Bigger,” said Mr. Dalton, “since that’s settled, let’s see what you’ll have to do every day. I leave every morning for my office at nine. It’s a twenty-minute drive. You are to be back at ten and take Miss Dalton to school. At twelve, you call for Miss Dalton at the University. From then until night you are more or less free. If either Miss Dalton or I go out at night, of course, you do the driving. You work every day, but we don’t get up till noon on Sundays. So you will have Sunday mornings to yourself, unless something unexpected happens. You get one full day off every two weeks.”
“Yessuh.”
“You think you can handle that?”
“Oh, yessuh.”
“And any time you’re bothered about anything, come and see me. Let’s talk it over.”
“Yessuh.”
“Oh, Father!” a girl’s voice sang out.
“Yes, Mary,” said Mr. Dalton.
Bigger turned and saw a white girl walk into the room. She was very slender.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were busy.”
“That’s all right, Mary. What is it?”
Bigger saw that the girl was looking at him. Yes; she was the same girl he had seen in the movie.
“Is this the new chauffeur, Father?”
“What do you want, Mary?”
“Will you get the tickets for the Thursday concert?”
“At Orchestra Hall?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. I’ll get them.”
“Is this the new chauffeur?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Dalton. “This is Bigger Thomas.”
“Hello, Bigger,” the girl said.
Bigger swallowed. He looked at Mr. Dalton, then felt that he should not have looked.
“Good evening, mam.”
The girl came close to him and stopped just opposite his chair.
“Bigger, do you belong to a union?” she asked.
“Now, Mary!” said Mr. Dalton, frowning.
“Well, Father, he should,” the girl said, turning to him, then back to Bigger. “Do you?”
“Mary….” said Mr. Dalton.
“I’m just asking him a question, Father!”
Bigger hesitated. He hated the girl then. Why did she have to do this when he was trying to get a job?
“No’m,” he mumbled, his head down and his eyes glowering.
“And why not?” the girl asked.
Bigger heard Mr. Dalton mumble something. He wished Mr Dalton would speak and end
this thing. He looked up and saw Mr Dalton staring at the girl. She’s making me lose my job! he thought. Goddamn! He knew nothing about unions, except that they were considered bad. And what did she mean by talking to him this way in front of Mr. Dalton, who, surely, didn’t like unions?
“We can settle about the union later, Mary,” said Mr. Dalton.
“But you wouldn’t mind belonging to a union, would you?” the girl asked.
“I don’t know, mam,” Bigger said.
“Now, Mary, you can see that the boy is new,” said Mr. Dalton. “Leave him alone.”
The girl turned and poked out a red tongue at him.
“All right, Mr. Capitalist!” She turned again to Bigger. “Isn’t he a capitalist, Bigger?”
Bigger looked at the floor and did not answer. He did not know what a capitalist was.
The girl started to leave, but stopped.
“Oh, Father, if he hasn’t anything else to do, let him drive me to my lecture at the University tonight.”
“I’m talking to him now, Mary. He’ll be through in a moment.”
The girl picked up the cat and walked from the room. There was a short interval of silence. Bigger wished the girl had not said anything about unions. Maybe he would not be hired now? Or, if hired, maybe he would be fired soon if she kept acting like that. He had never seen anyone like her before. She was not a bit the way he had imagined she would be.
“Oh, Mary!” Mr. Dalton called.
“Yes, Father,” Bigger heard her answer from the hallway.
Mr. Dalton rose and left the room. He sat still, listening. Once or twice he thought he heard the girl laugh, but he was not sure. The best thing he could do was to leave that crazy girl alone. No wonder they called her a Communist in the movies. She was crazy, all right. He had heard about unions; in his mind unions and Communists were linked. He relaxed a little, then stiffened when he heard Mr. Dalton walk back into the room. Wordlessly, the white man sat behind the desk and picked up the paper and looked at it in a long silence. Bigger watched him with lowered eyes; he knew that Mr. Dalton was thinking of something other than that paper. In his heart he cursed the crazy girl. Maybe Mr. Dalton was deciding not to hire him? Goddamn! Maybe he would not get the extra five dollars a week now? Goddamn that woman! She spoiled everything! Maybe Mr. Dalton would feel that he could not trust him.
“Oh, Bigger,” said Mr. Dalton.
Native Son Page 7