“What were they talking about?”
Bigger hung his head.
“I don’t know, suh.”
He saw Mrs. Dalton lift her right hand and he knew that she meant for Mr. Dalton to stop questioning him so closely. He felt her shame.
“That’s all right, Bigger,” Mrs. Dalton said. She turned to Mr. Dalton. “Where do you suppose this Jan would be now?”
“Maybe he’s at the Labor Defender office.”
“Can you get in touch with him?”
“Well,” said Mr. Dalton, standing near Bigger and looking hard at the floor. “I could. But I’d rather wait. I still think Mary’s up to some of her foolish pranks. Bigger, you’d better get that trunk.”
“Yessuh.”
He got the car and drove through the falling snow toward the Loop. In answering their questions he felt that he had succeeded in turning their minds definitely in the direction of Jan. If things went at this pace he would have to send the ransom note right away. He would see Bessie tomorrow and get things settled. Yes; he would ask for ten thousand dollars. He would have Bessie stand in the window of an old building at some well-lighted street corner with a flashlight. In the note he would tell Mr. Dalton to put the money in a shoe box and drop it in the snow at the curb; he would tell him to keep his car moving and his lights blinking and not to drop the money until he saw the flashlight blink three times in the window…. Yes; that’s how it would be. Bessie would see the lights of Mr. Dalton’s car blinking and after the car was gone she would pick up the box of money. It would be easy.
He pulled the car into the station, presented the ticket, got the trunk, hoisted it to the running board, and headed again for the Dalton home. When he reached the driveway the snow was falling so thickly that he could not see ten feet in front of him. He put the car into the garage, set the trunk in the snow, locked the garage door, lifted the trunk to his back and carried it to the entrance of the basement. Yes; the trunk was light; it was half-empty. No doubt they would question him again about that. Next time he would have to go into details and he would try to fasten hard in his mind the words he spoke so that he could repeat them a thousand times, if necessary. He could, of course, set the trunk in the snow right now and take a street car and get the money from Bessie and leave town. But why do that? He could handle this thing. It was going his way. They were not suspecting him and he would be able to tell the moment their minds turned in his direction. And, too, he was glad he had let Bessie keep that money. Suppose he were searched here on the job? For them to find money on him was alone enough to fasten suspicion upon him definitely. He unlocked the door and took the trunk inside; his back was bent beneath its weight and he walked slowly with his eyes on the wavering red shadows on the floor. He heard the fire singing in the furnace. He took the trunk to the corner in which he had placed it the night before. He put it down and stood looking at it. He had an impulse to open it and look inside. He stooped to fumble with the metal clasp, then started violently, jerking upright.
“Bigger!”
Without answering and before he realized what he was doing, he whirled, his eyes wide with fear and his hand half-raised, as though to ward off a blow. The moment of whirling brought him face to face with what seemed to his excited senses an army of white men. His breath stopped and he blinked his eyes in the red darkness, thinking that he should be acting more calmly. Then he saw Mr. Dalton and another white man standing at the far end of the basement; in the red shadows their faces were white discs of danger floating still in the air.
“Oh!” he said softly.
The white man at Mr. Dalton’s side was squinting at him; he felt that tight, hot, choking fear returning. The white man clicked on the light. He had a cold, impersonal manner that told Bigger to be on his guard. In the very look of the man’s eyes Bigger saw his own personality reflected in narrow, restricted terms.
“What’s the matter, boy?” the man asked.
Bigger said nothing; he swallowed, caught hold of himself and came forward slowly. The white man’s eyes were steadily upon him. Panic seized Bigger as he saw the white man lower his head, narrow his eyes still more, sweep back his coat and ram his hands into his pants’ pockets, revealing as he did so a shining badge on his chest. Words rang in Bigger’s mind: This is a cop! He could not take his eyes off the shining bit of metal. Abruptly, the man changed his attitude and expression, took his hands from his pockets and smiled a smile that Bigger did not believe.
“I’m not the law, boy. So don’t be scared.”
Bigger clamped his teeth; he had to control himself. He should not have let that man see him staring at his badge.
“Yessuh,” he said.
“Bigger, this is Mr. Britten,” Mr. Dalton said. “He’s a private investigator attached to the staff of my office….”
“Yessuh,” Bigger said again, his tension slackening.
“He wants to ask you some questions. So just be calm and try to tell him whatever he wants to know.”
“Yessuh.”
“First of all, I want to have a look at that trunk,” Britten said.
Bigger stood aside as they passed him. He glanced quickly at the furnace. It was still very hot, droning. Then he, too, went to the trunk, standing discreetly to one side, away from the two white men, looking with surface eyes at what they were doing. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets; he stood in a peculiar attitude that allowed him to respond at once to whatever they said or did and at the same time to be outside and away from them. He watched Britten turn the trunk over and bend to it and try to work the lock. I got to be careful, Bigger thought. One little slip now and I’ll spoil the whole thing. Sweat came onto his neck and face. Britten could not unlock the trunk and he looked upward, at Bigger.
“It’s locked. You got a key, boy?”
“Nawsuh.”
Bigger wondered if this were a trap; he decided to play safe and speak only when he was spoken to.
“You mind if I break it?”
“Go right ahead,” Mr. Dalton said. “Say, Bigger, get Mr. Britten the hatchet.”
“Yessuh,” he answered mechanically.
He thought rapidly, his entire body stiff. Should he tell them that the hatchet was somewhere in the house and offer to go after it and take the opportunity and run away? How much did they really suspect him? Was this whole thing a ruse to confuse and trap him? He glanced sharply and intently at their faces; they seemed to be waiting only for the hatchet. Yes; he would take a chance and stay; he would lie his way out of this. He turned and went to the spot where the hatchet had been last night, the spot from which he had taken it to cut off Mary’s head. He stopped and pretended to search. Then he straightened.
“It ain’t here now…. I—I saw it about here yesterday,” he mumbled.
“Well, never mind,” Britten said. “I think I can manage.”
Bigger eased back toward them, waiting, watching. Britten lifted his foot and gave the lock a short, stout kick with the heel of his shoe and it sprang open. He lifted out the tray and looked inside. It was half-empty and the clothes were disarrayed and tumbled.
“You see?” Mr. Dalton said. “She didn’t take all of her things.”
“Yes. In fact, she didn’t need a trunk at all from the looks of this,” Britten said.
“Bigger, was the trunk locked when she told you to take it down?” Mr. Dalton asked.
“Yessuh,” Bigger said, wondering if that answer was the safest.
“Was she too drunk to know what she was doing, Bigger?”
“Well, they went into the room,” he said. “I went in after them. Then she told me to take the trunk down. That’s all happened.”
“She could have put these things into a small suitcase,” Britten said.
The fire sang in Bigger’s ears and he saw the red shadows dance on the walls. Let them try to find out who did it! His teeth were clamped hard, until they ached.
“Sit down, Bigger,” Britten said.
B
igger looked at Britten, feigning surprise.
“Sit on the trunk,” Britten said.
“Me?”
“Yeah. Sit down.”
He sat.
“Now, take your time and think hard. I want to ask you some questions.”
“Yessuh.”
“What time did you take Miss Dalton from here last night?”
“About eight-thirty, suh.”
Bigger knew that this was it. This man was here to find out everything. This was an examination. He would have to point his answers away from himself quite definitely. He would have to tell his story. He would let each of the facts of his story fall slowly, as though he did not realize the significance of them. He would answer only what was asked.
“You drove her to school?”
He hung his head and did not answer.
“Come on, boy!”
“Well, mister, you see, I’m just working here….”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Dalton came close and looked hard into his face.
“Answer his questions, Bigger.”
“Yessuh.”
“You drove her to school?” Britten asked again.
Still, he did not answer.
“I asked you a question, boy!”
“Nawsuh. I didn’t drive her to school.”
“Where did you take her?”
“Well, suh. She told me, after I got as far as the park, to turn round and take her to the Loop.”
“She didn’t go to school?” Mr. Dalton asked, his lips hanging open in surprise.
“Nawsuh.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Bigger?”
“She told me not to.”
There was silence. The furnace droned. Huge red shadows swam across the walls.
“Where did you take her, then?” Britten asked.
“To the Loop, suh.”
“Whereabouts in the Loop?”
“To Lake Street, suh.”
“Do you remember the number?”
“Sixteen, I think, suh.”
“Sixteen Lake Street?”
“Yessuh.”
“That’s the Labor Defender office,” Mr. Dalton said, turning to Britten. “This Jan’s a Red.”
“How long was she in there?” Britten asked.
“About half-hour, I reckon, suh.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, I waited in the car….”
“She stayed there till you brought her home?”
“Nawsuh.”
“She came out….”
“They came out….”
“This man Jan was with her, then?”
“Yessuh. He was with her. Seems to me she went in there to get him. She didn’t say anything; she just went in and stayed awhile and then came out with him.”
“Then you drove ’em….”
“He drove,” Bigger said.
“Weren’t you driving?”
“Yessuh. But he wanted to drive and she told me to let him.”
There was another silence. They wanted him to draw the picture and he would draw it like he wanted it. He was trembling with excitement. In the past had they not always drawn the picture for him? He could tell them anything he wanted and what could they do about it? It was his word against Jan’s, and Jan was a Red.
“You waited somewhere for ’em?” Britten asked; the tone of curt hostility had suddenly left his voice.
“Nawsuh. I was in the car….”
“And where did they go?”
He wanted to tell of how they had made him sit between them; but he thought that he would tell that later on, when he was telling how Jan and Mary had made him feel.
“Well, Mr. Jan asked me where was a good place to eat. The only one I knew about where white folks,” he said “white folks” very slowly, so that they would know that he was conscious of what was meant, “ate on the South Side was Ernie’s Kitchen Shack.”
“You took them there?”
“Mr. Jan drove the car, suh.”
“How long did they stay there?”
“Well, we must’ve stayed….”
“Weren’t you waiting in the car?”
“Nawsuh. You see, mister, I did what they told me. I was only working for ’em….”
“Oh!” Britten said. “I suppose he made you eat with ’im?”
“I didn’t want to, mister. I swear I didn’t. He kept worrying me till I went in.”
Britten walked away from the trunk, running the fingers of his left hand nervously through his hair. Again he turned to Bigger.
“They got drunk, hunh?”
“Yessuh. They was drinking.”
“What did this Jan say to you?”
“He talked about the Communists….”
“How much did they drink?”
“It seemed like a lot to me, suh.”
“Then you brought ’em home?”
“I drove ’em through the park, suh.”
“Then you brought ’em home?”
“Yessuh. That was nearly two.”
“How drunk was Miss Dalton?”
“Well, she couldn’t hardly stand up, suh. When we got home, he had to lift her up the steps,” Bigger said with lowered eyes.
“That’s all right, boy. You can talk to us about it,” Britten said. “Just how drunk was she?”
“She passed out,” Bigger said.
Britten looked at Dalton.
“She could not have left this house by herself,” Britten said. “If Mrs. Dalton’s right, then she could not have left.” Britten stared at Bigger and Bigger felt that some deeper question was on Britten’s mind.
“What else happened?”
He would shoot now; he would let them have some of it.
“Well, I told you Miss Dalton told me to take the trunk. I said that ’cause she told me not to tell about me taking her to the Loop It was Mr. Jan who told me to take the trunk down and not put the car away.”
“He told you not to put the car away and to take the trunk?”
“Yessuh. That’s right.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before, Bigger?” asked Mr. Dalton.
“She told me not to, suh.”
“How was this Jan acting?” Britten asked.
“He was drunk,” said Bigger, feeling that now was the time to drag Jan in definitely. “Mr. Jan was the one who told me to take the trunk down and leave the car in the snow. I told you Miss Dalton told me that, but he told me. I would’ve been giving the whole thing away if I had told about Mr. Jan.”
Britten walked toward the furnace and back again; the furnace droned as before. Bigger hoped that no one would try to look into it now; his throat grew dry. Then he started nervously as Britten whirled and pointed his finger into his face.
“What did he say about the Party?”
“Suh?”
“Aw, come on, boy! Don’t stall! Tell me what he said about the Party!”
“The party? He asked me to sit at his table….”
“I mean the Party!”
“It wasn’t a party, mister. He made me sit at his table and he bought chicken and told me to eat. I didn’t want to, but he made me and it was my job.”
Britten came close to Bigger and narrowed his grey eyes.
“What unit are you in?”
“Suh?”
“Come on, Comrade, tell me what unit you are in?”
Bigger gazed at him, speechless, alarmed.
“Who’s your organizer?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Bigger said, his voice quavering.
“Don’t you read the Daily?”
“Daily what?”
“Didn’t you know Jan before you came to work here?”
“Nawsuh. Nawsuh!”
“Didn’t they send you to Russia?”
Bigger stared and did not answer. He knew now that Britten was trying to find out if he were a Communist. It was something he had not counted on, ever. He stood up,
trembling. He had not thought that this thing could cut two ways. Slowly, he shook his head and backed away.
“Nawsuh. You got me wrong. I ain’t never fooled around with them folks. Miss Dalton and Mr. Jan was the first ones I ever met, so help me God!”
Britten followed Bigger till Bigger’s head struck the wall. Bigger looked squarely into his eyes. Britten, with a movement so fast that Bigger did not see it, grabbed him in the collar and rammed his head hard against the wall. He saw a flash of red.
“You are a Communist, you goddamn black sonofabitch! And you’re going to tell me about Miss Dalton and that Jan bastard!”
“Nawsuh! I ain’t no Communist! Nawsuh!”
“Well, what’s this?” Britten jerked from his pocket the small packet of pamphlets that Bigger had put in his dresser drawer, and held them under his eyes. “You know you’re lying! Come on, talk!”
“Nawsuh! You got me wrong! Mr. Jan gave me them things! He and Miss Dalton told me to read ’em….”
“Didn’t you know Miss Dalton before?”
“Nawsuh!”
“Wait, Britten!” Mr. Dalton laid his hand on Britten’s arm. “Wait. There’s something to what he says. She tried to talk to him about unions when she first saw him yesterday. If that Jan gave him those pamphlets, then he knows nothing about it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. I thought at first, when you brought me those pamphlets, that he must have known something. But I don’t think he does. And there’s no use blaming him for something he didn’t do.”
Britten loosened his fingers from Bigger’s collar and shrugged his shoulders. Bigger relaxed, still standing, his head resting against the wall, aching. He had not thought that anyone would dare think that he, a black Negro, would be Jan’s partner. Britten was his enemy. He knew that the hard light in Britten’s eyes held him guilty because he was black. He hated Britten so hard and hot, while standing there with sleepy eyes and parted lips, that he would gladly have grabbed the iron shovel from the corner and split his skull in two. For a split second a roaring noise in his ears blotted out sound. He struggled to control himself; then he heard Britten talking.
“…got to get hold of that Jan.”
“That seems to be the next thing,” said Mr. Dalton, sighing.
Bigger felt that if he said something directly to Mr. Dalton, he could swing things round again in his favor; but he did not know just how to put it.
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