Richard Wright "Native Son"

Native Son (1940) is a novel written by the American author Richard Wright. It tells the story of 20-year-old Bigger Thomas, a black youth living in utter poverty in a poor area on Chicago's South Side in the 1930s. While not apologizing for Bigger's crimes, Wright portrays a systemic causation behind them.
​

Richard Wright 


Native Son 


With an Introduction 
"How 'Bigger' Was Born" 
by the author 



Jonathan Cape Thirty Bedford Square London 



First published in Gieal Biituin by Vicloi Gollancz iy4o 
Copyright i(j40 by Richard Wiighl 
Reissued 1970 

Jonathan Cape Ltd, 30 Bedford Square, London wci 


SEN 224 61847 4 


Acknowledgment is made to the Satmduv Re\ww of Liu-muin’ loi 
permission lo reproduce those pints of “How ‘Biggei’ Was Bom" 
which appeared m the issue of June isi 7940 'I he amcle was pub- 
lished m Its entiiety for the hist time in !()4o by lUupor & BuUheis. 


Printed in Great Britain 

by Lowe and Brydone (Printers) Ltd, London 

bound by James Burn & Co Ltd, Esher, Surrey 



CONTENTS 


Introduction; How “Bigger” Was Born, 

by Richard Wright 


Book One 

7 

Book Two 

93 

Book Three 

254 




To My Mother 

who, when I was a child at her knee, 
taught me to revere the fanciful and the 
imaginative 




Introduction 

HOW "BIGGER" WAS BORN 

By Richard Wright 


I am not so pretentious as to imagine that it is possible for 
me to account completely for my own book, Native Son. But 
I am going to try to account for as much of it as I can, the 
sources of it, the material that went into it, and my own years’ 
long changing attitude toward that material. 

In a fundamental sense, an imaginative novel represents the 
merging of two extremes; it is an intensely intimate expression 
on the part of a consciousness couched m terms of the most 
objective and commonly known events. It is at once some- 
thing pnvate and public by its very nature and texture. Con- 
founding the author who is trying to lay his cards on the table 
is the dogging knowledge that his imagination is a kind of 
community medium of exchange: what he has read, felt, 
thought, seen, and remembered is translated into extensions as 
impersonal as a worn dollar bill. 

The more closely the author thinks of why he wrote, the 
more he comes to regard his imagination as a kind of self- 
generating cement which glued his facts together, and his emo- 
tions as a kind of dark and obscure designer of those facts. 
Always there is something that is just beyond the tip of the 
tongue that could explain it all. Usually, he ends up by dis- 
cussing something far afield, an act which incites skepticism 



HOW “bigger” was born 


and suspicion in those anxious for a straight-out explanation, 

Yet the author is eager to explain. But the moment he 
makes the attempt his words falter, for he is confronted and 
defied by the inexplicable array of his own emotions. Emo- 
tions are subjective and he can communicate thena only when 
he clothes them in objective guise; and how can he ever be so 
arrogant as to know when he is dressing up the right emotion 
in the right Sunday suit? He is always left with the uneasy 
notion that maybe any objective drapery is as good as any 
other for any emotion. 

And the moment he does dress up an emotion, his mind is 
confronted with the riddle of that “dressed up" emotion, and 
he is left peering with eager dismay back into the dim reaches 
of his own incommunicable life. Reluctantly, he comes to the 
conclusion that to account for his book is to account for his 
life, and he knows that that is impossible. Yet, some curious, 
wayward motive urges him to supply the answer, for there is 
the feeling that his dignity as a living being is challenged by 
something within him that is not understood. 

So, at the outset, I say frankly that there are phases of 
Native Son which I shall make no attempt to account for. 
There are meanings in my book of which I was not aware 
until they literally spilled out upon the paper. I shall sketch 
the outline of how I consciously came into possession of the 
materials that went into Native Son, but there will be many 
things I shall omit, not because I want to, but simply because 
I don’t know them. 

The birth of Bigger Thomas goes back to my childhood, 
and there was not just one Bigger, but many of them, more 
than I could count and more than you suspect. But let me 
start with the first Bigger, whom I shall call Bigger No. 1, 

When 1 Was a bareheaded, barefoot kid in Jackson, Mis- 
sissippi, there was a boy who terrorized me and all of the 
boys I played with. If we were playing games, he would 
saunter up and snatch from us our balls, bats, spinning tops, 
and marbles. We would stand around pouting, sniffling, try- 
ing to keep back our tears, begging for our playthings. But 
Bigger would refuse. We never demanded that he give them 
back; we were afraid, and Bigger was bad. We had seen him 
clout boys when he was angry and we did not want to run that 
risk. We never recovered our toys unless we flattered him and 
made him feel that he was superior to us. Then, perhaps, if 



HOW “bigger” was born 


he felt like it, he condescended, threw them at us and then 
gave each of us a swift kick in the bargain, just to make us 
feel his utter contempt. 

That was the way Bigger No. 1 lived. His life was a con- 
tinuous challenge to others. At all times he took his way, 
right or wrong, and those who contradicted him had him to 
fight. And never was he happier than when he had someone 
cornered and at his mercy; it seemed that the deepest mean- 
ing of his squalid life was in him at such times. 

I don’t know what the fate of Bigger No. 1 was. His swag- 
gering personality is swallowed up somewhere in the amnesia 
of my childhood. But I suspect that his end was violent. Any- 
way, he left a marked impression upon me; maybe it was 
because I longed secretly to be like him and was afraid. I 
don’t know. 

If I had known only one Bigger I would not have written 
Native Sort, Let me call the next one Bigger No. 2; he was 
about seventeen and tougher than the first Bigger. Since I, 
too, had grown older, 1 was a little less afraid of him. And 
the hardness of this Bigger No. 2 was not directed toward 
me or the other Negroes, but toward the whites who ruled 
the South, He'bought clothes and food on credit and would 
not pay for them. He lived in the dingy shacks of the white 
landlords and refused to pay rent. Of course, he had no 
money, but neither did we. We did without the necessities of 
life and starved ourselves, but he never would. When we 
asked him why he acted as he did, he would tell us (as 
though we were little children in a kindergarten) that the 
white folks had everything and he had nothmg. Further, he 
would tell us that we were fools not to get what we wanted 
while we were alive in this world. We would listen and si- 
lently agree. We longed to believe and act as he did, but we 
were afraid. We were Southern Negroes and we were hungry 
and we wanted to live, but we were more willing to tighten 
our belts than risk conflict. Bigger No. 2 wanted to live and 
he did; he was in prison the last time I heard from him. 

There was Bigger No. 3, whom -the white folks called a 
“bad nigger.” He carried his life in his hands in a literal 
fashion. I once worked as a ticket-taker in a Negro movie 
house (all movie houses in Dixie are Jim Crow; there are 
movies for whites and movies for blacks), and many times 
Bigger No. 3 came to the door and gave my arm a hard pinch 



HOW “bigger” was born 


and walked into the theater. Resentfully and silently, I’d nurse 
my bruised arm. Presently, the proprietor would come over 
and ask how things were going. I’d point into the darkened 
theater and say: “Bigger’s in there.” “Did he pay?” the pro- 
prietor would ask. “No, sir,” I’d answer. The proprietor 
would pull down the comers of his lips and speak through his 
teeth: “We’ll kill that goddamn nigger one of these days.” 
And the episode would end right there. But later on Bigger 
No. 3 was killed during the days of Prohibition: while de- 
livering liquor to a customer he was shot through the back 
by a white cop. 

And then there was Bigger No. 4, whose only law was 
death. The Jim Crow laws of the South were not for him. 
But as he laughed and cursed and broke them, he knew that 
some day he’d have to pay for his freedom. His rebellious 
spirit made him violate all the taboos and consequently he 
always oscillated between moods of intense elation and de- 
pression. He was never happier than when he had outwitted 
some foolish custom, and he was never more melancholy than 
when brooding over the impossibility of his ever being free. 
He had no job, for he regarded digging ditches for fifty cents 
a day as slavery. “I can’t live on that,” he would say. Ofttimes 
I’d find him readmg a book; he would stop and in a joking, 
wistful, and cynical manner ape the antics of the white folks. 
Generally, he’d end his mimicry in a depressed state and say: 
"The white folks won’t let us do nothing.” Bigger No. 4 was 
sent to the asylum for the insane. 

Then there was Bigger No. 5, who always rode the Jim 
Crow streetcars without paying and sat wherever be pleased. 
I remember one morning his getting into a streetcar (all 
streetcars in Dixie are divided into two sections: one section 
is for whites and is labeled — ^FOR WHITES; the other sec- 
tion is for Negroes and is labeled — FOR COLORED) and 
sitting in the white section. The conductor went to him and 
said: “Come on, nigger. Move over where you belong. Can’t 
you read?” Bigger answered: “Naw, I can’t read.” The con- 
ductor flared up: “Get out of that seat!” Bigger took out his 
knife, opened it, held it nonchalantly in his hand, and re- 
plied: “Make me.” The conductor turned red, blinked, 
clenched his fists, and walked away, stammering: “The god- 
damn scum of the earth!” A small angry conference of white 
men took place m the front of the car and the Negroes sit- 



HOW "bigger” was born 


ting in the Jim Crow section overheard: “That’s that Bigger 
Thomas nigger and you’d better leave ’im alone.” The Ne- 
groes experienced an intense flash of pride and the streetcar 
moved on its journey without incident. I don’t know what 
happened to Bigger No. 5. But I can guess. 

The Bigger Thomases were the only Negroes I know of 
who consistently violated the Jim Crow laws of the South 
and got away with it, at least for a sweet brief spell. Even- 
tually, the whites who restricted their lives made them pay a 
terrible price. They were shot, hanged, maimed, lynched, and 
generally hounded until they were either dead or their spirits 
broken. 

There were many variations to this behavioristic pattern. 
Later on I encountered other Bigger Thomases who did not 
react to the locked-in Black Belts with this same extremity 
and violence. But before I use Bigger Thomas as a spring- 
board for the examination of milder types, I’d better indicate 
more precisely the nature of the environment that produced 
these men, or the reader will be left with the impression that 
they were essentially and organically bad. 

Bi Dixie there are two worlds, the white world and the 
black world, and they are physically separated. There are 
white schools and black schools, white churches and black 
churches, white businesses and black businesses, white grave- 
yards and black graveyards, and, for all I know, a white God 
and a black God. . . . 

This separation was accomplished after the Civil War by 
the terror of the Ku Klux Klan, which swept the newly freed 
Negro through arson, pillage, and death out of the United 
States Senate, the House of Representatives, the many state 
legislatures, and out of the public, social, and economic life 
of the South. The motive for this assault was simple and 
urgent. The imperialistic tug of history had tom the Negro 
from his African home and had placed him ironically upon 
the most fertile plantation areas of the South; and, when the 
Negro was freed, he outnumbered the whites in many of 
these fertile areas. Hence, a fierce and bitter struggle took 
place to keep the ballot from the Negro, for had he had a 
chance to vote, he would have automatically controlled the 
richest lands of the South and with them the social, political, 
and economic destmy of a third of the Republic. Though the 
South is politically a part of America, the problem that faced 



HOW “bigoer” was born 


her was peculiar and the struggle between the whites and the 
blacks after the Civil War was in essence a struggle for power, 
ranging over thirteen states and involving the lives of tens of 
millions of people. 

But keeping the ballot from the Negro was not enough to 
hold him in check; disfranchisement had to be supplemented 
by a whole panoply of rules, taboos, and penalties designed 
not only to insure peace (complete submission), but to guar- 
antee that no real threat would ever arise. Had the Negro 
lived upon a common territory, separate from the bulk of the 
white population, this program of oppression might not have 
assumed such a bmtal and violent form. But this war took 
place between people who were neighbors, whose homes ad- 
joined, whose farms had common boundaries. Guos and dis- 
franchisement, therefore, were not enough to make the black 
neighbor keep his distance. The white neighbor decided to 
limit the amount of education his black neighbor could re- 
ceive; decided to keep him off the police force and out of 
the local national guards; to segregate him residentially; to 
Jim Crow him in public places; to restrict his participation in 
the professions and jobs; and to build up a vast, dense ide- 
ology of racial superiority that would justify any act of vio- 
lence taken against him to defend white dominance; and 
further, to condition him to hope for little and to receive that 
little without rebelling. 

But, because the blacks were so close to the very civiliza- 
tion which sought to keep them out, because they could not 
help but react in some way to its incentives and priTes, and 
because the very tissue of their consciousness received its 
tone and timbre from the strivings of that dominant civiliza- 
tion, oppression spawned among them a myriad variety of 
reactions, reaching from outright blind rebellion to a sweet, 
other-worldly submissiveness. 

In the main, this delicately balanced state of affairs has not 
greatly altered since the Civil War, save in those parts of the 
South which have been industrialized or urbanized. So vola- 
tile and tense are these relations that if a Negro rebels against 
rule and taboo, he is lynched and the reason lor the lynching 
is usually called “rape,” that catchword which has garnered 
such vile connotations that it can raise a mob anywhere in 
the South pretty quickly, even today. 

Now for the variations in the Bigger Thomas pattern. Some 



HOW “bigger” was born 


of the Negroes living under these conditions got religion, felt 
that Jesus would redeem the void of living, felt that the more 
bitter life was in the present the happier it would be in the 
hereafter. Others, dinging still to that brief glimpse of post- 
Civil War freedom, employed a thousand ruses and strata- 
gems of struggle to wm their rights. Still others projected their 
hurts and longings into more naive and mimdane forms — 
blues, jazz, swing — and, without intellectual guidance, tried 
to build up a compensatory nourishment for themselves. 
Many labored under hot suns and then killed the restless ache 
with alcohol. Then there were those who strove for an educa- 
tion, and when they got it, enjoyed the financial fruits of it 
in the style of their bourgeois oppressors. Usually they went 
hand in hand with the powerfull whites and helped to keep 
their groaning brothers in line, for that was the safest course 
of action. Those who did this called themselves “leaders.” To 
give you an idea of how completely these “leaders” worked 
with those who oppressed, I can tell you that I lived the first 
seventeen years of my life in the South without so much as 
hearing of or seeing one act of rebellion fiom any Negro, 
save the Bigger Thomases, 

But why did Bigger revolt? No explanation based upon a 
hard and fast rule of conduct can be given. But there were 
always two factors psychologically dominant in his person- 
ality. First, through some quirk of circumstance, he had be- 
come estranged from the religion and the folk culture of his 
race. Second, he was trying to react to and answer the call 
of the dominant civilization whose glitter came to him 
through the newspapers, magazmes, radios, movies, and the 
mere imposing sight and sound of daily American life. In 
many respects his emergence as a distinct type was inevitable. 

As I grew older, I became familiar with the Bigger Thomas 
conditionmg and its numerous shadings no matter where I 
saw It in Negro life. It was not, as 1 have already said, as 
blatant or extreme as in the originals; but it was there, never- 
theless, like an undeveloped negative. 

Sometimes, in areas far removed from Mississippi, I’d hear 
a Negro say: “I wish I didn’t have to live this way. I feel like 
I want to burst.” Then the anger would pass; he would go 
back to his job and try to eke out a few pennies to support 
his wife and children 

Sometimes I’d hear a Negro say; “God, I wish I had a flag 



HOW “bigger” was born 

and a country of my own.” But that mood would soon vanish 
and he would go his way placidly enough. 

Sometimes I’d hear a Negro ex-soldier say: “What in hell 
did I fight in the war for? They segregated me even when I was 
offering my life for my country.” But he, too, like the others, 
would soon forget, would become caught up in the tense grind 
of struggling for bread. 

I’ve even heard Negroes, in moments of anger and bitter- 
ness, praise what Japan is doing in China, not because they 
believed in oppression (being obiects of oppression them- 
selves), but because they would suddenly sense how empty 
their lives were when looking at the dark faces of Japanese 
generals in the rotogravure supplements of the Sunday news- 
papers, They would dream of what it would be like to live 
in a country where they could forget their color and play a 
responsible role in the vital processes of the nation’s life. 

I’ve even heard Negroes say that maybe Hitler and Musso- 
lini are all right; that maybe Stalin is all right. They did not 
say this out of any intellectual comprehension of the forces 
at work in the world, but because they felt that these men 
“did things,” a phrase which is charged with more meaning 
than the mere words imply. There was in the back of their 
minds, when they said this, a wild and intense longing (wild 
and intense because it was suppressed!) to belong, to be iden- 
tified, to feel that they were alive as other people were, to be 
caught up forgetfully and exultingly in the swing of events, 
to feel the clean, deep, organic satisfaction of doing a job in 
common with others. 

It was not until I went to live in Chicago that I first thought 
seriously of writing of Bigger Thomas. Two items of my ex- 
perience combined to make me aware of Bigger as a mean- 
ingful and prophetic symbol. First, being free of the daily 
pressure of the Dixie environment, I was able to come into 
possession of my own feelings. Second, my contact with the 
labor movement and its ideology made me see Bigger clearly 
and feel what he meant. 

I made the discovery that Bigger Thomas was not black 
all the time; he was white, too, and there were literally mil- 
lions of him, everywhere. The extension of my sense of the 
personality of Bigger was the pivot of my life; it altered the 
complexion of my existence. I became conscious, at first 
dimly, and then later on with increasmg clarity and convic- 



HOW “BIGGER” WAS BORN 


tion, of a vast, muddied pool of human life in America. It 
was as though I had put on a pair of spectacles whose power 
was that of an x-ray enabling me to see deeper into the lives 
of men. Whenever I picked up a newspaper, I’d no longer 
feel that I was reading of the doings of whites alone (Negroes 
are rarely mentioned in the press unless they’ve committed 
some crime!), but of a complex struggle for life going on in 
my country, a struggle in which I was involved. I sensed, too, 
that the Southern scheme of oppression was but an appendage 
of a far vaster and in many respects more ruthless and im- 
personal commodity-profit machine. 

Trade-union struggles and issues began to grow meaningful 
to me. The flow of goods across the seas, buoying and de- 
pressmg the wages of men, held a fascination. The pro- 
nouncements of foreign governments, their policies, plans, and 
acts were calculated and weighed in relation to the lives of 
people about me. I was literally overwhelmed when, in read- 
ing the works of Russian revolutionists, I came across descrip- 
tions of the “holiday energies of the masses,” “the locomotives 
of history,” “the conditions prerequsitc for revolution,” and 
so forth. I approached all of these new revelations in the light 
of Bigger Thomas, his hopes, fears, and despairs; and I be- 
gan to feel far-flung kinships, and sense, with fright and 
abashment, the possibilities of alliances between the Ameri- 
can Negro and other people possessing a kindred conscious- 
ness. 

As my mind extended in this general and abstract manner, 
it was fed with even more vivid and concrete examples of 
the lives of Bigger Thomas. The urban environment of Chi- 
cago, affording a more stimulating life, made the Negro Big- 
ger Thomases react more violently than even in the South. 
More than ever I began to see and understand the environ- 
mental factors which made for this extreme conduct. It was 
not that Chicago segregated Negroes more than the South, 
but that Chicago had more to offer, that Chicago’s physical 
aspect noisy, crowded, filled with the sense of power and 
fulfillment — did so much more to dazzle the mind with a 
taunting sense of possible achievement that the segregation it 
did impose brought forth from Bigger a reaction more ob- 
streperous than in the South. 

So the concrete picture and the abstract linkages of rela- 
tionships fed each other, each making the other more mean- 
mgful and affording my emotions an opportunity to react to 



HOW “bigger” was born 


them with success and understanding. The process was like 
a swinging pendulum, each to and fro motion throwing up 
its tiny bit of meaning and significance, each stroke helping 
to develop the dim negative which had been implanted in my 
mind in the South. 

During this period the shadings and nuances which were 
filling in Bigger’s picture came, not so much from Negro life, 
as from the lives of whites I met and grew to know. I began 
to sense that they had their own kind of Bigger Thomas be- 
havioristic pattern which grew out of a more subtle and 
broader frustration. The waves of recurring crime, the silly 
fads and crazes, the quicksilver changes in public taste, the 
hysteria and fears — all of these had long been mysteries to 
me. But now I looked back of them and felt the pinch and 
pressure of the environment that gave them their pitch and 
peculiar kind of bemg. I began to feel with my mind the inner 
tensions of the people I met I don’t mean to say that I think 
that environment makes consciousness (I suppose God makes 
that, if there is a God), but I do say that I felt and still feel 
that the environment supplies the instrumentalities through 
which the organism expresses itself, and if that environment 
is warped or tranquil, the mode and manner of behavior will 
be affected toward deadlocking tensions or orderly fulfillment 
and satisfaction. 

Let me give examples of how I began to develop the dim 
negative of Bigger. I met white writers who talked of their 
responses, who told me how whites reacted to this lurid 
American scene. And, as they talked, I’d translate what they 
said in terms of Bigger’s life. But what was more important 
still, I read their novels. Here, for the first time, I found ways 
and techniques of gauging meaningfully the effects of Ameri- 
can civilization upon the personalities of people. I took these 
techniques, these ways of seeing and feeling, and twisted 
them, bent them, adapted them, until they became my ways 
of apprehending the locked-in life of the Black Belt areas. 
This association with white writers was the life preserver of 
my hope to depict Negro life in fiction, for my race pos- 
sessed no fictional works dealing with such problems, had no 
background in such sharp and critical testing of experience, 
no novels that went with a deep and fearless will down to the 
dark roots of life. 



HOW “bigger” was born 


Here are examples of how I culled information relating 
to Bigger from my reading: 

There is in me a memory of reading an interesting pam- 
phlet telhng of the friendship of Gorky and Lenin in exile. 
The booklet told of how Lenin and Gorky were walking down 
a London street. Lenin turned to Gorky and, pointing, said: 
“Here is their Big Ben.” “There is their Westminster Abbey.” 
“There is their library.” And at once, while reading that pas- 
sage, my mind stopped, teased, challenged with the effort to 
remember, to associate widely disparate but meaningful ex- 
periences in my life. For a moment nothing would come, but 
I remained convinced that I had heard the meaning of those 
words sometime, somewhere before. Then, with a sudden 
glow of satisfaction of havmg gained a little more knowledge 
about the world m which I lived. I’d end up by saying: 
“That’s Bigger. That’s the Bigger Thomas reaction.” 

In both instances the deep sense of exclusion was identical. 
The feeling of looking at things with a painful and unwar- 
rantable nakedness was an experience, I learned, that tran- 
scended national and racial boundaries. It was this intolerable 
sense of feeling and understanding so much, and yet living 
on a plane of social reality where the look of a world which 
one did not make or own struck one with a blinding objec- 
tivity and tangibility, that made me grasp the revolutionary 
impulse in my life and the lives of those about me and far 
away. 

I remember reading a passage in a book dealing with old 
Russia which said: “We must be ready to make endless sacri- 
fices if we are to be able to overthrow the Czar.” And again 
I’d say to myself: “I’ve heard that somewhere, sometime be- 
fore.” And again I’d hear Bigger Thomas, far away and long 
ago, telling some white man who was trying to impose upon 
him: “I’ll kill you and go to hell and pay for it.” While living 
in America I heard from far away Russia the bitter accents 
of tragic calculation of how much human life and suffering it 
would cost a man to live as a man in a world that denied him 
the right to live with dignity. Actions and feelings of men 
ten thousand miles from home helped me to understand the 
moods and impulses of those wallung the streets of Chicago 
and Dixie. 

I am not saying that I heard any talk of revolution in the 



HOW “bigger” was born 


South when I w<is a kid there. But 1 did hear the lispings, the 
whispers, the mutters which some day, under one stimulus 
or another, will surely grow into open revolt unless the con- 
ditions which produce Bigger Thomases are changed. 

In 1932 another source of information was dramatically 
opened up to me and I saw data of a surprising nature that 
helped to clarify the personality of Bigger. From the moment 
that Hitler took power in Germany and began to oppress the 
Jews, I tried to keep track of what was happening. And on 
mnumerable occasions I was startled to detect, either from 
the side of the Fascists or from the side of the oppressed, re- 
actions, moods, phrases, attitudes that remmded me strongly 
of Bigger, that helped to bring out more clearly the shadowy 
outlines of the negative that lay in the back of my mind. 

I read every account of the Fascist movement in Germany 
I could lay my hands on, and from page to page I encoun- 
tered and recognized familiar emotional patterns. What struck 
me with particular force was the Nazi preoccupation with 
the construction of a society in which there would exist 
among all people (German people, of coursel) one solidarity 
of ideals, one continuous circulation of fundamental beliefs, 
notions, and assumptions. I am not now speaking of the 
popular idea of regimenting people’s thought; I’m speaking 
of the implicit, almost unconscious, or pre-conscious, assump- 
tions and ideals upon which whole nations and races act and 
live. And while reading these Nazi pages I’d be reminded of 
the Negro preacher in the South telling of a life beyond this 
world, a life in which the color of men’s skins would not 
matter, a life in which each man would know what was deep 
down in the hearts of his fellow man. And I could hear Bigger 
Thomas standing on a street comer in America expressing his 
agonizing doubts and chronic suspicions, thus: “I ain’t going 
to trust nobody. Everything is a racket and everybody is out 
to get what he can for himself. Maybe if we had a true leader, 
we could do something.” And I’d know that I was still on 
the track of learning about Bigger, still in the midst of the 
modem stmggle for solidarity among men. 

When the Nazis spoke of the necessity of a highly ritual- 
ized and symbolized life, I could hear Bigger Thomas on 
Chicago’s ;^uth Side saying; “Man, what we need is a leader 
like Marcus Garvey. We need a nation, a flag, an army of 
our own. We colored folks ought to organize into groups and 



HOW “bigger" was born 


have generals, captains, lieutenants, and so forth. We ought 
to take Africa and have a national honae." I’d know, while 
hstening to these childish words, that a white man would 
smile densively at them. But I could not smile, for I knew 
the truth of those simple words from the facts of my own life. 
The deep hunger in those childish ideas was like a flash of 
lightning illuminating the whole dark inner landscape of 
Bigger’s mind Those words told me that the civilization 
which had given birth to Bigger contained no spiritual sus- 
tenance, had created no culture which could hold and claim 
his allegiance and faith, had sensitized him and had left him 
stranded, a free agent to roam the streets of our cities, a hot 
and whirling vortex of undisciplmed and unchannelized im- 
pulses. The results of these observatioas made me feel more 
than ever estranged from the civilization in which 1 lived, and 
more than ever resolved toward the task of creating with 
words a scheme of images and symbols whose direction could 
enlist the sympathies, loyalties, and yearnings of the millions 
of Bigger Thomases in every land and race. . . . 

But more than anything else, as a writer, I was fascinated 
by the similarity of the emotional tensions of Bigger in 
America and Bigger in Nazi Germany and Bigger in old 
Russia. All Bigger Thomases, white and black, felt tense, 
afraid, nervous, hysterical, and restless. From far away Nazi 
Germany and old Russia had come to me items of knowledge 
that told me that certain modem experiences were creating 
types of personalities whose existence ignored racial and na- 
tional lines of demarcation, that these personalities carried 
with them a more universal drama-element than anything 
I’d ever encountered before; that these personalities were 
mainly imposed upon men and women living in a world whose 
fundamental assumptions could no longer be taken for 
granted: a world ridden with national and class strife; a 
world whose metaphysical meanings had vanished; a world 
in which God no longer existed as a daily focal point of men’s 
lives; a world m which men could no longer retain their faith 
in an ultimate hereafter. It was a highly geared world whose 
nature was conflict and action, a world whose limited area 
and vision impenously urged men to satisfy their organisms, 
a world that existed on a plane of animal sensation alone. 

It was a world in which millions of men lived and behaved 
like drunkards, taking a stiff drink of hard life to lift them 



HOW “bigger" was born 


up for a thrilling moment, to give them a quivering sense of 
wild exultation and fulfillment that soon faded and let them 
down. Eagerly they took another drink, wanting to avoid the 
dull, flat look of things, then still another, this time stronger, 
and then they felt that their lives had meaning. Speaking fig- 
uratively, they were soon chronic alcoholics, men who lived 
by violence, through extreme action and sensation, through 
drowning daily in a perpetual nervous agitation. 

From these items I drew my first political conclusions 
about Bigger: I felt that Bigger, an American product, a 
native son of this land, carried within him the potentialities 
of either Communism or Fascism. I don’t mean to say that 
the Negro boy I depicted in Native Son is either a Communist 
or a Fascist. He is not either. But he is product of a dis- 
located society; he is a dispossessed and disinherited man; he 
is all of this, and he lives amid the greatest possible plenty on 
earth and he is looking and feeling for a way out. Whether 
he’ll follow some gaudy, hysterical leader who’ll promise 
rashly to fill the void in him, or whether he’ll come to an 
understanding with the millions of his kindred fellow workers 
under trade-union or revolutionary guidance depends upon 
the future drift of events in America. But, granting the emo- 
tional state, the tensity, the fear, the hate, the impatience, 
the sense of exclusion, the ache for violent action, the emo- 
tional and cultural hunger, Bigger Thomas, conditioned as 
his organism is, will not become an ardent, or even a luke- 
warm, supporter of the status quo. 

The difference between Bigger’s tensity and the German 
variety is that Bigger’s, due to America’s educational restric- 
tions on the bulk of her Negro population, is in a nascent 
state, not yet articulate. And the difference between Bigger’s 
longing for self-identification and the Russian principle of 
self-determination is that Bigger’s, due to the effects of 
American oppression, which has not allowed for the forming 
of deep ideas of solidarity among Negroes, is still in a state 
of individual anger and hatred. Here, I felt, was drama! Who 
will be the first to touch off these Bigger Thomases in Amer- 
ica, white and black? 

For a long time I toyed with the idea of writing a novel in 
which a Negro Bigger Thomas would loom as a symbolic 
figure of American life, a figure who would hold within him 
the prophecy of our future. I felt strongly that he held within 



HOW “bioger” was born 

him, in a measure which perhaps no other contemporary type 
did, the outlines of action and feeling which we would en- 
counter on a vast scale in the days to come. Just as one sees 
when one walks into a medical research laboratory jars of 
alcohol containing abnormally large or distorted portions of 
the human body, just so did I see and feel that the conditions 
of life under which Negroes are forced to live in America 
contain the embryonic emotional prefigurations of how a 
large part of the body politic would react under stress. 

So, with this much knowledge of myself and the world 
gained and known, why should I not try to work out on paper 
the problem of what will happen to Bigger? Why should I 
not, like a scientist in a laboratory, use my imagination and 
invent test-tube situations, place Bigger in them, and, follow- 
ing the guidance of my own hopes and fears, what I had 
learned and remembered, work out in fictional form an emo- 
tional statement and resolution of this problem? 

But several things militated against my starting to work. 
Like Bigger himself, I felt a mental censor — product of the 
fears which a Negro feels from livmg in America — standing 
over me, draped in white, warning me not to write. This 
censor’s warnings were translated into my own thought proc- 
esses thus: “What will white people think if I draw the pic- 
ture of such a Negro boy? Will they not at once say: ‘See, 
didn’t we tell you all along that niggers are like that? Now, 
look, one of their own kind has come along and drawn the 
picture for usl’ ’’ I felt that if I drew the picture of Bigger 
truthfully, there would be many reactionary whites who 
would try to make of him something I did not intend. And 
yet, and this was what made it difficult, I knew that I could 
not write of Bigger convincingly if I did not depict him as he 
was: that is, resentful toward whites, sullen, angry, ignorant, 
emotionally unstable, depressed and unaccountably elated at 
times, and unable even, because of his own lack of inner or- 
ganization which American oppression has fostered in him, 
to unite with the members of his own race. And would not 
whites misread Bigger and, doubting his authenticity, say: 
“This man is preaching hate against the whole white race”? 

The more I thought of it the more I became convinced that 
if I did not write of Bigger as I saw and felt him, if I did not 
try to make him a living personality and at the same time a 
symbol of all the larger things I felt and saw in him, I’d be 



HOW “biqoer” was born 


reacting as Bigger himself reacted: that is, I’d be acting out 
of fear if I let what I thought whites would say constrict and 
paralyze me. 

As I contemplated Bigger and what he meant, I said to 
myself; “I must wnte this novel, not only for others to read, 
hut to free myself of this sense of shame and fear." In fact, 
the novel, as time passed, grew upon me to the extent that it 
became a necessity to write it; the writing of it turned into 
a way of living for me. 

Another thought kept me from writing. What would my 
own white and black comrades in the Communist party say? 
This thought was the most bewildering of all. Politics is a 
hard and narrow game; its policies represent the aggregate 
desires and aspirations of millions of people. Its goals are 
rigid and simply drawn, and the minds of the majority of 
politicians are set, congealed in terms of daily tactical maneu- 
vers. How could I create such complex and wide schemes of 
assoclatlonal thought and feeling, such filigreed webs of 
dreams and politics, without being mistaken for a “smuggler 
of reaction,” “an ideological confusionist,” or “an individu- 
alistic and dangerous element”? Though my heart is with the 
collectivist and proletarian ideal, I solved this problem by 
assuring myself that honest politics and honest feeling in 
imaginative representation ought to be able to meet on com- 
mon healthy ground without fear, suspicion, and quarreling. 
Further, and more importantly, I steeled myself by coming 
to the conclusion that whether politicians accepted or rejected 
Bigger did not really matter; my task, as I felt it, was to free 
myself of this burden of impressions and feelings, recast 
them into the image of Bigger and make him true. Lastly, I 
felt that a right more immediately deeper than that of poli- 
tics or race was at stake; that is, a human right, the right of 
a man to think and feel honestly. And especially did this 
personal and human right bear hard upon me, for tempera- 
mentally I am inclined to satisfy the claims of my own ideals 
rather than the expectations of others. It was this obscure 
need that had pulled me into the labor movement in the be- ' 
ginning and by exercising it I was but fulfilling what I felt to 
be the laws of my own growth. 

There was another constricting thought that kept me from 
work. It deals with my own race. I asked myself: “What will 
Negro doctors, lawyers, dentists, bankers, school teachers. 



HOW “bigger” was born 


social workers and business men, think of me if I draw such 
a picture of Bigger?” I knew from long and painful experi- 
ence that the Negro middle and professional classes were the 
people of my own race who were more than others ashamed 
of Bigger and what he meant Having narrowly escaped the 
Bigger Thomas reaction pattern themselves — indeed, still re- 
taining traces of it within the confines of their own timid 
personalities — they would not relish being publicly reminded 
of the lowly, shameful depths of life above which they en- 
joyed their bourgeois lives. Never did they want people, 
especially white people, to think that their lives were so much 
touched by anything so dark and brutal as Bigger. 

Their attitude toward life and art can be summed up in a 
single paragraph: “But, Mr. Wright, there are so many of 
us who are not like Bigger. Why don’t you portray in your 
fiction the best traits of our race, something that will show 
the white people what we have done in spite of oppression? 
Don’t represent anger and bitterness. Smile when a white per- 
son comes to you. Never let him feel that you are so small 
that what he has done to crush you has made you hate himl 
Oh, above all, save your pride!” 

But Bigger won over all these claims; he won because I felt 
that I was hunting on the trail of more exciting and thrilling 
game. What Bigger meant had claimed me because I felt with 
all of my being that he was more important than what any 
person, white or black, would say or try to make of him, 
more important than any political analysis designed to explain 
or deny him, more important, even, than my own sense of 
fear, shame, and diffidence. 

But Bigger was still not down upon paper. For a long time 
I had been writing of him in my mind, but I had yet to put 
him into an image, a breathing symbol draped out in the 
guise of the only form of life my native land had allowed me 
to know mtimately, that is, the ghetto life of the American 
Negro. But the basic reason for my hesitancy was that an- 
other and far more complex problem had risen to plague me. 
Bigger, as I saw and felt him, was a snarl of many realities; 
he had in him many levels of life. 

First, there was his personal and private life, that intimate 
existence that is so difficult to snare and nail down in fiction, 
that elusive core of being, that individual data of conscious- 
ness which in every man and woman is like that in no other. 



HOW “bigger” was noRiJ 


I had to deal with Bigger's dreams, his fleeting, momentary 
sensations, his yearning, visions, his deep emotional responses. 

Then I was confronted with that part of him that was dual 
in aspect, dim, wavering, that part of him which is so much 
a part of oil Negroes and all whites that I realixed that I could 
put it down upon paper only by feeling out its meaning first 
within the confines of my own life. Bigger was attracted and 
repelled by the American scene. He was an American, be- 
cause he was a native son; but he was also a Negro nationalist 
in a vague sense because he was not allowed to live as an 
American. Such was his way of life and mine; neither Bigger 
nor I resided fully in either camp. 

Of this dual aspect of Bigger’s social consciousness, I 
placed the nationalistic side first, not because I agreed with 
Bigger’s wild and intense hatred of white people, but because 
his hate had placed him, like a wild animal at bay, in a posi- 
tion where he was most symbolic and explainable. In other 
words, his nationalist complex was for me a concept through 
which I could grasp more of the total meaning of his life 
than I cbuld in any other way. I tried to approach Bigger’s 
snarled and confused nationalist feelings with conscious and 
informed ones of my own. Yet, Bigger was not nationalist 
enough to feet the need of religion or the folk culture of his 
own people. What made Bigger’s social consciousness most 
complex was the fact that he was hovering unwanted between 
two worlds — between powerful America and his own stunted 
place in life— and I took upon myself the task of trying to 
make the reader feel this No Man’s Land. The most that I 
could say of Bigger was that he felt the need for a whole life 
and acted out of that need; that was all. 

Above and beyond all this, there was that American part 
of Bigger which is the heritage of us all, that part of him 
which we get from our seeing and hearing, from school, from 
the hopes and dreams of our friends; that part of him which 
the common people of America never talk of but take for 
granted. Among millions of people the deepest convictions of 
life are never discussed openly; they are felt, implied, hinted 
at tacitly and obliquely in their hopes and fears. We live by 
an idealism that makes us believe that the Constitution is a 
good document of government, that the Bill of Rights is a 
good legal and humane principle to safeguard our civil lib- 
erties, that every man and woman should have the oppor- 



HOW “BICGER” WAS BORN 


tunity to realize himself, to seek his own individual fate and 
goal, his own peculiar and untranslatable destiny. I don’t say 
that Bigger knew this in the terms in which I’m speaking of 
it; I don’t say that any such thought ever entered his head. 
His emotional and intellectual life was never that articulate. 
But he knew it emotionally, intuitively, for his emotions and 
his desires were developed, and he caught it, as most of us 
do, from the mental and emotional climate of our time. Big- 
ger had all of this in him, dammed up, buried, implied, and 
I had to develop it in fictional form. 

There was still another level of Bigger’s life that I felt 
bound to account for and render, a level as elusive to discuss 
as it was to grasp in writing. Here again, I had to fall back 
upon my own feelings as a guide, for Bigger did not offer in 
his life any articulate verbal explanations. There seems to 
hover somewhere in that dark part of all our lives, in some 
more than in others, an objectless, timeless, spaceless element 
of primal fear and dread, stemming, perhaps, from our birth 
(depending upon whether one’s outlook upon personality is 
Freudian or non-Freudian!), a fear and dread which exercises 
an impelling influence upon our lives all out of proportion to 
its obscurity. And, accompanying this first fear, is, for the want 
of a better name, a reflex urge toward ecstasy, complete sub- 
mission, and trust. The springs of religion are here, and also 
the origins of rebellion. And in a boy like Bigger, young, un- 
schooled, whose subjective life was clothed in the tattered 
rags of American “culture,” this primitive fear and ecstasy 
were naked, exposed, unprotected by religion or a framework 
of government or a scheme of society whose final faiths would 
gain his love and trust; unprotected by trade or profession, 
faith or belief; opened to every trivial blast of daily or hourly 
circumstance. 

There was yet another level of reality in Bigger’s life: the 
impliedly political. I’ve already mentioned that Bigger had in 
him impulses which I had felt were present in the vast up- 
heavals of Russia and Germany. Well, somehow, I had to 
make these political impulses felt by the reader in terms of 
Bigger’s daily actions, keeping in mind as I did so the prob- 
able danger of my being branded as a propagandist by those 
who would not like the subject matter. 

Then there was Bigger’s relationship with white America, 
both North and South, which I had to depict, which I had to 



HOW “biooer” was born 


make known once again, alas; a relationship whose effects 
are earned by every Negro, like scars, somewhere in his body 
and mind. 

I had also to show what oppression had done to Rigger’s 
relationships with his own people, how it had split him off 
from them, how it had baffled him; how oppression seems to 
hinder and stifle in the victim those very qualities of charac- 
ter which are so essential for an effective struggle against the 
oppressor. 

Then there was the fabulous city in which Bigger lived, an 
indescribable city, huge, roaring, dirty, noisy, raw, stark, 
brutal; a city of extremes; torrid summers and sub-zero win- 
ters, white people and black pleople, the English language 
and strange tongues, foreign bora and native bora, scabby 
poverty and gaudy luxury, high idealism and hard cynicism! 
A city so young that, in thinking of its short history, one’s 
mind, as it travels backward in time, is stopped abruptly by 
the barren stretches of wmd-swept prairie! But a city old 
enough to have caught within the homes of its long, straight 
streets the symbols and images of man's age-old destiny, of 
truths as old as the mountains and seas, of dramas as abiding 
as the soul of man itself! A city which has become the pivot 
of the Eastern, 'Western, Northern, and Southern poles of the 
nation. But a city whose black smoke clouds shut out the 
sunshine for seven months of the year; a city in which, on a 
fine balmy May morning, one can sniff the stench of the 
stockyards; a city where people have grown so used to gangs 
and murders and graft that they have honestly forgotten that 
government can have a pretense of decency! 

With all of this thought out, Bigger was still unwritten. 
Two events, however, came into my life and accelerated the 
process, made me sit down and actually start work on the 
typewriter, and just stop the writing of Bigger in my mind as 
I walked the streets. 

The first event was my getting a job in the South Side Boys’ 
Club, an institution which tried to reclaim the thousands of 
Negro Bigger Thomases from the dives and the alleys of the 
Black Belt. Here, on a vast scale, I had an opportunity to ob- 
serve Bigger in all of his moods, actions, haunts. Here I felt 
for the first time that the rich folk who were paying ray wages 
did not really give a good goddamn about Bigger, that their 
kindness was prompted at bottom by a selfish motive. They 



HOW “bigger” was born 


were paying me to distract Bigger with ping-pong, checkers, 
swimming, marbles, and baseball in order that he might not 
roam the streets and harm the valuable white property which 
adjoined the Black Belt. I am not condemning boys’ clubs 
and ping-pong as such; but these little stopgaps were utterly 
inadequate to fill up the centuries-long chasm of emptiness 
which American civilization had created in these Biggers. I 
felt that I was doing a kind of dressed-up police work, and 
I hated it. 

I would work hard with these Biggers, and when it would 
come time for me to go home I’d say to myself, under my 
breath so that no one could hear: “Go to it, boys! Prove to 
the bastards that gave you these games that life is stronger 
than pmg-pong. . . . Show them that full-blooded life is 
harder and hotter than they suspect, even though that life 
is draped in a black skin which at heart they despise. . . .” 

They did. The police blotters of Chicago are testimony to 
how much they did. That was the only way I could contain 
myself for doing a job I hated; for a moment I’d allow myself, 
vicariously, to feel as Bigger felt — not much, just a little, just 
a little — but, still, there it was. 

The second event that spurred me to write of Bigger was 
more personal and subtle, I had written a book of short 
stories which was published under the title of Uncle Tom’s 
Children. When the reviews of that book began to appear, I 
realized that I had made an awfully naive mistake. I found 
that I had written a book which even bankers’ daughters 
could read and weep over and feel good about. I swore to 
myself that if I ever wrote another book, no one would 
weep over it; that it would be so hard and deep that they 
would have to face it without the consolation of tears. It 
was this that made me get to work in dead earnest. 

Now, until this moment I did not stop to think very much 
about the plot of Native Son. The reason I did not is because 
I was not for one moment ever worried about it. I had 
spent years learning about Bigger, what had made him, what 
he meant; so, when the time came for writing, what had made 
him and what he meant constituted my plot. But the far- 
flung items of his life had to be couched in imaginative terms, 
terms known and acceptable to a common body of readers, 
terms which would, in the course of the story, manipulate 
the deepest held notions and convictions of their lives. That 



HOW “bigger” was born 


came easy. The moment I began to write, the plot fell out, so 
to speak. I’m not trying to oversimplify or make the process 
seem oversubtle. At bottom, what happened is very easy to 
explain. 

Any Negro who has lived in the North or the South knows 
that times without number he has heard of some Negro boy 
being picked up on the streets and carted off to jail and 
charged with “rape.” This thing happens so often that to my 
mind it had become a representative symbol of the Negro’s 
uncertain position in America. Never for a second was I in 
doubt as to what kind of social reality or dramatic situation 
I’d put Bigger in, what kind of test-tube life I’d set up to 
evoke his deepest reactions. Life had made the plot over and 
over again, to the extent that I knew it by heart. So frequently 
do these acts recur that when I was halfway through the first 
draft of Native Son a case paralleling Digger’s flared forth in 
the newspapers of Chicago. (Many of the newspaper items 
and some of the incidents in Native Son are but fictionalized 
versions of the Robert Nixon case and reVvrites of news 
stories from the Chicago Tribune.) Indeed, scarcely was 
Native Son off the press before Supreme Court Justice Hugo 
L. Black gave the nation a long and vivid account of the 
American police methods of handling Negro boys. 

Let me describe this stereotyped situation: A crime wave 
is sweeping a city and citizens are clamoring for police action. 
Squad cars cruise the Black Belt and grab the first Negro boy 
who seems to be unattached and homeless. He is held for 
perhaps a week without charge or bail, without the privilege 
of communicating with anyone, including his own relatives. 
After a few days this boy “confesses” anything that he is 
asked to confess, any crime that handily happens to be un- 
solved and on the calendar. Why does he confess? After the 
boy has been grilled night and day, hanged up by his thumbs, 
dangled by his feet out of twenty-story windows, and beaten 
(in places that leave no scars — cops have found a way to do 
that), he signs the papers before him, papers which are 
usually accompanied by a verbal promise to the boy that he 
will not go to the electric chair. Of course, he ends up by 
being executed or sentenced for life. If you think I’m telling 
tall tales, get chummy with some white cop who works in a 
Black Belt district and ask him for the lowdown. 

When a black boy is carted off to jail in such a fashion, it 



HOW “bigger” was born 


is almost impossible to do anything for him. Even well-disposed 
Negro lawyers find it difficult to defend him, for the boy will 
plead guilty one day and then not guilty the next, according 
to the degree of pressure and persuasion that is brought to bear 
upon his frightened personality from one side or the other. 
Even the boy’s own family is scared to death; sometimes fear 
of police intimidation makes them hesitate to acknowledge 
that the boy is a blood relation of theirs. 

Such has been America’s attitude toward these boys that 
if one is picked up and confronted in a police cell with ten 
white cops, he is intimidated almost to the point of confessing 
anything. So far removed are these practices from what the 
average American citizen encounters in his daily life that it 
takes a huge act of his imagination to believe that it is true; 
yet, this same average citizen, with his kindness, his American 
sportsmanship and good will, would probably act with the mob 
if a self-respecting Negro family moved into his apartment 
building to escape the Black Belt and its terrors and limita- 
tions. . . . 

Now, after all of this, when I sat down to the typewriter, 
I could not work; I could not think of a good opening scene 
for the book. I had definitely in mind the kind of emotion I 
wanted to evoke in the reader in that first scene, but I could 
not think of the type of concrete event that would convey the 
motif of the entire scheme of the book, that would sound, in 
varied form, the note that was to be resounded throughout its 
length, that would introduce to the reader just what kind of 
an organism Bigger’s was and the environment that was bearing 
hourly upon it. Twenty or thirty times I tried and failed; then 
I argued that if I could not write the opening scene, I'd start 
with the scene that followed. I did. The actual writing of the 
book began with the scene in the pool room. 

Now, for the writing. During the years in which I had 
met all of those Bigger Thomases, those varieties of Bigger 
Thomases, I had not consciously gathered matenal to write of 
them; I had not kept a notebook record of their sayings and 
doings. Their actions had simply made impressions upon my 
sensibilities as I lived from day to day, impressions which 
crystallized and coagulated into clusters and configurations 
of memory, attitudes, moods, ideas. And these subjective 
states, in turn, were automatically stored away somewhere in 
me. I was not even aware of the process. But, excited over the 



HOW “bigger” was born 


book which I had set myself to write, under the stress of emo- 
tion, these things came surging up, tangled, fused, knotted, 
entertaining me by the sheer variety and potency of their 
meaning and suggestiveness. 

With the whole theme m mind, in an attitude almost akin 
to prayer, I gave myself up to the story. In an effort to capture 
some phase of Bigger's life that would not come to me readily, 
rd jot down as much of it as I could. Then I’d read it over 
and over, adding each time a word, a phrase, a sentence until 
I felt that I had caught all the shadings of reality I felt dimly 
were there. With each of these rereadings and rewritings it 
seemed that I’d gather in facts and facets that tried to run 
away. It was an act of concentration, of trying to hold within 
one’s center of attention all of that bewildering array of facts 
which science, politics, experience, memory, and imagination 
were urging upon me. And then, while writing, a new and 
thrilling relationship would spring up under the drive of emo- 
tion, coalescing and telescoping alien facts into a known and 
felt truth. That was the deep fun of the job: to feel within my 
body that I was pushing out to new areas of feeling, strange 
landmarks of emotion, tramping upon foreign soil, compound- 
ing new relationships of perceptions, making new and — until 
that very split second of time! — unheard-of and unfelt effects 
with words. It had a buoying and tonic impact upon me; my 
senses would strain and seek for more and more of such re- 
lationships; my temperature would rise as I worked. That is 
writing as I feel it, a kind of significant living. 

The first draft of the novel was written in four months, 
straight through, and ran to some 576 pages. Just as a man 
rises in the mornings to dig ditches for his bread, so I’d work 
daily. I’d think of some abstract principle of Bigger’s conduQt 
and at once my mind would turn it into some act I'd seen 
Bigger peTlorm, some act which I hoped would be familiar 
enough to the American reader to gain his credence. But in 
the writing of scene after scene I was guided by but one 
criterion: to tell the tnnh as I saw it and felt it. That is, to 
objectify in words some insight derived from my living in the 
form of action, scene, and dialogue. If a scene seemed im- 
probable to me, I’d not tear it up, but ask myself: “Does it 
reveal enough of what I feel to stand in spite of its unreality?” 
If I felt it did, it stood. If I felt that it did not, I ripped it out. 
The degree of morality in my writing depended upon the de- 



HOW “bigger” was born 

gree of felt life and truth I could put down upon the printed 
page. For example, there is a scene in Native Son where 
Bigger stands in a cell with a Negro preacher, Jan, Max, the 
State’s Attorney, Mr. Dalton, Mrs. Dalton, Bigger’s mother, 
his brother, his sister, Al, Gus, and Jack. White wnting that 
scene, I knew that it was unlikely that so many people would 
ever be allowed to come into a murderer’s cell. But I wanted 
those people in that cell to elicit a certain important emotional 
response from Bigger. And so the scene stood. I felt that what 
I wanted that scene to say to the reader was more important 
than Us surface reality or plausibility. 

Always, as I wrote, I was both reader and writer, both the 
conceiver of the action and the appreciator of it. I tried to 
wnte so that, in the same instant of time, the objective and 
subjective aspects of Bigger’s life would be caught in a focus 
of prose. And always I tried to render, depict, not merely to 
tell the story. If a thing was cold, 1 tried to make the reader 
feel cold, and not just tell about it. In writing in this fashion, 
sometimes I’d find it necessary to use a stream of consciousness 
technique, then rise to an interior monologue, descend to a 
direct rendering of a dream state, then to a matter-of-fact 
depiction of what Bigger was saying, doing, and feeling. Then 
I’d find it impossible to say what I wanted to say without 
stepping in and speaking outright on my own; but when doing 
this I always made an effort to retain the mood of the story, 
explaining everything only in terms of Bigger’s life and, if 
possible, in the rhythms of Bigger’s thought (even though the 
words would be mine). Again, at other times, in the guise of 
the lawyer’s speech and the newspaper items, or in terms of 
what Bigger would overhear or see from afar. I’d give what 
others were saying and thinking of him. But always, from the 
start to the finish, it was Bigger’s story, Bigger’s fear, Bigger’s 
flight, and Bigger’s fate that I tried to depict. I wrote with the 
conviction in mind (I don’t know if this is right or wrong; I 
only know that I’m temperamentally mclmed to feel this way) 
that the main burden of all serious fiction consists almost 
wholly of character-destiny and the items, social, political, and 
personal, of that character-destiny. 

As I wrote I followed, almost unconsciously, many prin- 
ciples of the novel which my reading of the novels of other 
writers had made me feel were necessary for the building of a 
well-constructed book. For the most part the novel is rendered 



ttow “bigger” was born 


in the present; I wanted the reader to feel that Bigger’s story 
was happening now, like a play upon the stage or a movie 
unfolding upon the screen. Action follows action, as in a prize 
fight. Wherever possible, I told of Bigger’s life in close-up, 
slow-motion, giving the feel of the grain in the passing of time. 
I had long had the feeling that this was the best way to 
“enclose" the reader’s mind in a new world, to blot out all 
reality except that which I was giving him. 

Then again, as much as I could, I restricted the novel to 
what Bigger saw and felt, to the limits of his feeling and 
thoughts, even when I was conveying more than that to the 
reader. I had the notion that such a manner of rendering made 
for a sharper effect, a more pointed sense of the character, 
his peculiar type of being and consciousness. Throughout there 
is but one point of view: Bigger’s. This, too, I felt, made for 
a richer illusion of reality. 

I kept out of the story as much as possible, for I wanted the 
reader to feel that there was nothing between him and Bigger; 
that the story was a special premiere given in his own private 
theater. 

I kept the scenes long, made as much happen within a 
short space of time as possible; all of which, I felt, made for 
greater density and richness of effect. 

In a like manner I tried to keep a unified sense of back- 
ground throughout the story; the background would change, 
of course, but I tried to keep before the eyes of the reader at 
all times the forces and elements against which Bigger was 
striving. 

And, because I had limited myself to rendering only what 
Bigger saw and felt, I gave no more reality to the other char- 
acters than that which Bigger himself saw. 

This, honestly, is all I can account for in the book. If I 
attempted to account for scenes and characters, to tell why 
certain scenes were written in certain ways. I’d be stretching 
facts in order to be pleasantly mtelligible. All else in the book 
came from my feelings reacting upon the material, and any 
honest reader knows as much about the rest of what is in the 
book as I do; that is, if, as he reads, he is willing to let his 
emotions and Imagination become as in fluenced by the ma- 
terials as I did. As I wrote, for some reason or other, one 
image, symbol, character, scene, mood, feeling evoked its 
opposite, its parallel, its complementary, and its ironic counter- 



HOW “bigger” was born 

part. Why? I don't know. My emotions and imagination just 
like to work that way. One can account for just so much of 
life, and then no more. At least, not yet. 

With the first draft down, I found that I could not end the 
book satisfactorily. In the first draft I had Bigger going smack 
to the electric chair; but I felt that two murders were enough 
for one novel. I cut the final scene and went back to worry 
about the beginning. I had no luck. The book was one-haft 
finished, with the opening and closing scenes unwritten. Then, 
one night, in desperation — I hope that I’m not disclosing the 
hidden secrets of my craft! — I sneaked out and got a bottle. 
With the help of it, I began to remember many things which 
I could not remember before. One of them was that Chicago 
was overrun with rats. I recalled that I’d seen many rats on 
the streets, that Fd heard and read of Negro children being 
bitten by rats in their beds. At first I rejected the idea of 
Bigger battling a rat in his room; I was afraid that the rat 
would Vhog” the scene. But the rat would not leave me; he 
presented himself in many attractive guises. So, cautioning 
myself to allow the rat scene to disclose only Bigger, his 
family, their little room, and their relationships, I let the rat 
walk in, and he did his stuff. 

Many of the scenes were tom out as I reworked the book. 
The mere rereading of what I’d written made me think of the 
possibility of developing themes which had been only hinted at 
in the first draft. For example, the entire guilt theme that runs 
through Native Son was woven in after the first draft was 
written. 

At last I found out how to end the book; I ended it just as 
I had begun it, showing Bigger living dangerously, taking his 
life into his hands, accepting what life had made him. The 
lawyer, Max, was placed in Bigger’s cell at the end of the 
.novel to register the moral — or what / felt was the moral — 
I horror of Negro life in the United States. 

The writmg of Native Son was to me an exciting, enthralling, 
and even a romantic experience. With what I’ve learned in the 
writmg of this book, with all of its blemishes, imperfections, 
with all of its unrealized potentialities, I am launching out 
upon another novel, this time about the status of women m 
modem American society. This book, too, goes back to my 
childhood just as Bigger went, for, while I was storing away 
impressions of Bigger, I was stormg away impressions of many 



HOW “bigger” was born 


other things that made me think and wonder. Some experience 
will ignite somewhere deep down in me the smoldering embers 
of new fires and I’ll be oflE again to write yet another novel. 
It is good to live when one feels that such as that will happen 
to one. Life becomej'sufficient unto life; the rewards of living 
are found in living. 

I don’t know if Native Son is a good book or a bad book. 
And I don’t know if the book I’m working on now will be a 
good book or a bad book. And I really don’t care. The mere 
wnting of it will be more fun and a deeper satisfaction than 
any praise or blame from anybody. 

I feel that I’m lucky to be alive to write novels today, when 
the whole world is caught in the pangs of war and change. 
Early American writers, Henry James and Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne, complained bitterly about the bleakness and flatness 
of the American scene. But I think that if they were alive, 
they’d feel at home in modem America. True, we have no 
great church in America; our national traditions are still of 
such a sort that we are not wont to brag of them; and we have 
no army that’s above the level of mercenary fighters; we have 
no group acceptable to the whole of ouf country upholding 
certain humane values; we have no rich symbols, no colorful 
rituals. We have only a money-grubbing, industrial civiliza- 
tion. But we do have in the Negro the embodiment of a past 
tragic enough to appease the spiritual hunger of even a James; 
and we have in the oppression of the Negro a shadow athwart 
our national life dense and heavy enough to satisfy even the 
gloomy broodings of a Hawthorne. And if Poe were alive, he 
would not have to invent horror; horror would invent him. 


New York, March 7, 1940. 



Native Son 




Even today is my complaint rebellious, 
My stroke is heavier than my groaning. 

—Job 




Book One 


FEAR 


IB rrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiMiiinngl 

An alarm clock clanged in the dark and silent room. A 
bed spring creaked. A woman's voice sang out impatiently: 

“Bigger, shut that thing offl" 

A surly grunt sounded above the tinny ring of metal. 
Naked feet swished dryly across the planks in the wooden 
floor and the clang ceased abruptly. 

“Turn on the light, Bigger.” 

“Awiight,” came a sleepy mumble. 

Light flooded the room and revealed a black boy standing 
in a narrow space between two iron beds, rubbing his eyes 
with the backs of his hands. From a bed to his right the 
woman spoke again: 

“Buddy, get up from there! I got a big washing on my hands 
today and I want you-all out of here.” 

Another black boy rolled from bed and stood up. The 
woman also rose and stood in her nightgown. 

“Turn your heads so I can dress," she said. 

The two boys averted their eyes and gazed into a far 
comer the room. The woman rushed out of her night- 
gown I'ud put on a pair of step-ins. She turned to the bed 
from which she had risen and called: 

7 



8 


NATIVE SON 


“Vera! Get up from there!” 

"What time is it, Ma?” asked a muffled, adolescent voice 
from beneath a quilt. 

“Get up from there, I say!” 

“O.K., Ma." 

A brown-skinned girl in a cotton gown got up and 
stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Sleepily, 
she sat on a chair and fumbled with her stockings. The two 
boys kept their faces averted while their mother and sister 
put on enough clothes to keep them from feeling ashamed; 
and the mother and sister did the same while the boys 
dressed. Abruptly, they all paused, holding their clothes in 
their hands, their attention caught by a light tapping in the 
thinly plastered walls of the room. They forgot their con- 
spiracy against shame and their eyes strayed apprehensively 
over the floor. 

“There he is again. Bigger!” the woman screamed, and the 
tiny one-room apartment galvanized into violent action, A chair 
toppled as the woman, half-dressed and in her stocking feet, 
scrambled breathlessly upon the bed. Her two sons, barefoot, 
stood tense and motionless, their eyes searching anxiously 
under the bed and chairs. The girl ran into a corner, half- 
stooped and gathered the hem of her slip into both of her 
hands and held it tightly over her knees. 

“Ohl Oh!” she wailed. 

“There he goes!” 

The woman pointed a shaking finger. Her eyes were round 
with fascinated horror. 

“Where?” 

“I don’t see ’imi” 

“Bigger, he’s behind the trunk!” the girl whimpered. 

“Vera!” the woman screanned. “Get up here on the bed! 
Don’t let that thing bite you I" 

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 comer. 

Bigger looked round the room wnldly, then darted to a 
curtain and swept it aside and grabbed two heavy iron skil- 
lets from a wall above a gas stove. He whirled and called 
softly to his brother, his eyes glued to the trunk. 

“Buddy!” 



FEAR 


9 


“Yeah?” 

“Here; take this skillet” 

“O.K.” 

“Now, get over by the doorl” 

“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. Care- 
fully, 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 kick- 
ing 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 glittenng, its tiny forefeet pawing the air rest- 



NATTVB SON 


10 

lessly. 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 tip- 
toed forward and peered. 

“I got ’im," he muttered, tis 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, Us two long yellow tusks 
showing distinctly. Bigger took a shoe and pounded the 
rat’s head, crushing it, cursing hysterically: 

“You sonofaAi/chl” 

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.” 

“That sonofabitch could cut your throat.” 

“He’s over a foot long.” 

“How in hell do they get so big?” 

“Eating garbage and anything else they can get.” 

“Look, Bigger, there’s a three-inch rip in your pant-leg.” 

“Yeah; he was after me, all right.” 

“Please, Bigger, take 'im out,” Vera begged. 

“Aw, don’t be so scary,” Buddy said. 

The woman on the bed continued to sob. Bigger took a 



PEAR 11 

piece of newspaper and gingerly lifted the rat by its tail and 
held it out at arm’s length. 

“Bigger, take ’im out,” Vera begged again. 

Bigger laughed and approached the bed with the dangling 
rat, swinging it to and fro like a pendulum, en)oying his 
sister’s fear. 

“Biggerl” Vera gasped convulsively; she screamed and 
swayed and closed her eyes and fell headlong across her 
mother and rolled limply from the bed to the floor. 

“Bigger, for God’s sake'” the mother sobbed, rising and 
bending over Vera. “Don’t do that! Throw that rat outl” 

He laid the rat down and started to dress. 

“Bigger, help me lift Vera to the bed,” the mother said. 

He paused and turned round. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

“Do what I asked you, will you, boy?” 

He went to the bed and helped his mother lift Vera. Vera’s 
eyes were closed. He turned away and finished dressing. He 
wrapped the rat in a newspaper and went out of the door 
and down the stairs and put it into a garbage can at the 
comer of an alley. When he returned to the room his mother 
was still bent over Vera, placing a wet towel upon her head. 
She straightened and faced him, her cheeks and eyes wet 
with tears and her lips tight with anger. 

“Boy, sometimes 1 wonder what makes you act like you 
do.” 

“What I do now?” he demanded belligerently. 

“Sometimes you act the biggest fool I ever saw." 

“What you talking about?” 

“You scared your sister with that rat and she faintedl 
Ain’t you got no sense at all?” 

“Aw, I didn’t know she was that scary,” 

“Buddy!” the mother called. 

“Yessum.” 

“Take a newspaper and spread it over that spot” 

“Yessum.” 

Buddy opened out a newspaper and covered the smear of 
blood on the floor where the rat had been crushed. Bigger 
went to the window and stood looking out abstractedly into 
the street. His mother glared at his back. 

“Bigger, sometimes I wonder why I birthed you,” she said 
bitterly. 



12 


NATIVE SON 


Bigger looked at her and turned away. 

“Maybe you oughtn’t’ve. Maybe you ought to left me where 
I was.” 

“You shut your sassy mouth!” 

“Aw, for chnssakes!” Bigger said, lighting a cigarette, 

“Buddy, pick up them skillets and put ’em in the sink,” the 
mother said. 

“Yessum.” 

Bigger walked across the" floor and sat on the bed. His 
mother’s eyes followed him. 

"We wouldn’t have to hve in this garbage dump if you had 
any manhood in you,” she said. 

“Aw, don’t start that again.” 

"How you feel, ’Vera?” the mother asked. 

Vera raised her head and looked about the room as though 
expecting to see another rat 

“Oh, Mamal” 

“You poor thing!” 

“1 couldn’t help it. Bigger scared me.” 

"Did you hurt yourself?” 

“I bumped my head.” 

"Here; take it easy. You’ll be all right.” 

"How come' Bigger acts that way?” Vera asked, crying 
again. 

“He’s just crazy,” the mother said. “Just plain dumb black 
crazy.” 

“I’ll be late for my sewing class at the Y.W.C.A.,” Vera 
said. 

“Here; stretch out on the bed. You’ll feel better in a little 
while,” the mother said. 

She left Vera on the bed and turned a pair of cold eyes 
upon Bigger. 

“Suppose you wake up some morning and find your sister 
dead? What would you think then?” she asked. “Suppose 
those rats cut our veins at night when we sleep? Naw! Noth- 
ing like that ever bothers you' All you care about is your 
own pleasure! Even when the relief offers you a job you 
won’t take it till they threaten to cut off your food and 
starve you! Bigger, honest, you the most no-countest man I 
ever seen in all my life!” 

“You done told me that a thousand times,” he said, not 
lookmg round. 



FEAR 


13 


“Well, I’m telling you aginl And mark my word, some of 
these days you going to set down and cry. Some of these 
days you going to wish you had made something out of your- 
self, instead of just a tramp. But it’ll be too late then.” 

“Stop prophesying about me,” he said. 

"I prophesy much as I please! And if you don’t like it, you 
can get out. We can get along without you. We can live in one 
room just like we living now, even with you gone,” she 
said. 

“Aw, for chrissakes!” he said, his voice filled with nervous 
irritation. 

“You’ll regret how you living some day,” she went on. 
“If you don’t stop running with that gang of yours and do 
right you’ll end up where you never thought you would. You 
think I don’t know what you boys is doing, but I do. And the 
gallows is at the end of the road you traveling, boy. Just 
remember that.” She turned and looked at Buddy. “Throw 
that box outside, Buddy.” 

“Yessura.” 

There was silence. Buddy took the box out. The mother 
went behind the curtain to the gas stove. Vera sat up in bed 
and swung her feet to the floor. 

“Lay back down, Vera,” the mother said. 

“I feel all right now, Ma. I got to go to my sewing class.” 

“Well, if you feel like it, set the table,” the mother said, 
going behind the curtain again. “Lord, I get so tired of this 
I don’t know what to do,” her voice floated plaintively from 
behind the curtain. “All I ever do is try to make a home for 
you children and you don’t care.” 

“Aw, Ma,” Vera protested. "Don’t say that.” 

“Vera sometimes I just want to lay down and quit." 

“Ma, please don’t say that.” 

“I can’t last many more years, living like this." 

“I’ll be old enough to work soon, Ma.” 

“I reckon I’ll be dead then. I reckon God’ll call me home.” 

Vera went behind the curtain and Bigger heard her trying 
to comfort his mother. He shut their voices out of his mind. 
He hated his family because he knew that they were suffering 
and that he was powerless to help them. He knew that the 
moment he allowed himself to feel to its fullness how they 
lived, the shame and misery of their lives, he would be swept 
out of himself with fear and despair. So he held toward 



NATIVE SON 


14 

them an attitude of iron reserve; he lived with them, but 
behind a wall, a curtain And toward himself he was even 
more exacting. He knew that the moment he allowed what 
his life meant to enter fully into his consciousness, he would 
either kill himself or someone else. So he denied himself 
and acted tough. 

He got up and crushed his cicarette upon the window sill. 
Vera came into the room and placed knives and forks upon 
the table. 

“Get ready to eat, you-all,” the mother called. 

He sat at the table The odor of frying bacon and boiling 
coffee drifted to him from behind the curtain. His mother’s 
voice floated to him in song. 

Life is like a mountain railroad 
With an en^tjinccr that's brave 
JVe must make the run successful 
From the cradle to the grave. . , . 

The song irked him and he was glad when she stopped and 
came into the room with a pot of coffee and a plate of 
crinkled bacon. Vera brought the bread in and they sat 
down. His mother closed her eyes and lowered her head and 
mumbled, 

“Lord, we thank Thee for the food You done placed before 
us for the nourishment of our bodies. Amen." She lifted 
her eyes and without changing her tone of voice, said, “You 
going to have to learn to get up earlier than this. Bigger, to 
hold a job.” 

He did not answer or look up. 

“You want me to pour you some coffee?” Vera asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“You going to take the job, ain’t you. Bigger?” his mother 
asked. 

He laid down his fork and stared at her. 

“I told you last night I was going to take it. How many 
times you want to ask me?” 

‘"Well, don’t bite her head off,” Vera said. “She only 
asked you a question ” 

“Pass the bread and stop being smart.” 

“You know you have to see Mr. Dalton at five-thirty,” his 
mother said. 



fear 


15 


“You done said that ten times.” 

“I don’t want you to forget, son.” 

“And you know how you can forget,” Vera said. 

“Aw, lay off Bigger,” Buddy said “He told you he was 
going to take the job.” 

“Don’t tell ’em nothing,” Bigger said. 

“You shut your mouth. Buddy, or get up from this table,” 
the mother said. “I’m not going to take any stinking sass 
from you. One fool in the family’s enough.” 

“Lay off, Ma,” Buddy said. 

“Bigger’s setting here like he ain’t glad to get a job,” she 
said. 

“What you want me to do? Shout?” Bigger asked. 

“Oh, Biggerl” his sister said. 

“I wish you’d keep your big mouth out of thisl” he told 
his sister. 

“If you get that job,” his mother said in a low, kind tone 
of voice, busy slicing a loaf of bread, “I can fix up a nice 
place for you children. You could be comfortable and not 
have to live like pigs.” 

“Bigger ain’t decent enough to think of nothing like that,” 
Vera said, 

“God, I wish you-all would let me eat,” Bigger said. 

His mother talked on as though she had not beard him 
and he stopped listening. 

“Ma’s talking to you, Bigger,” Vera said. 

“So whatr 

“Don’t be that way, Biggerl” 

He laid down his fork and his strong black fingers gripped 
the edge of the table; there was silence save for the tinkling 
of his brother’s fork against a plate. He kept staring at his 
sister till her eyes fell. 

“I wish you’d let me eat,” he said again. 

As he ate he felt that they were thinking of the job he 
was to get that evening and it made him angry; he felt that 
they had tricked him into a cheap surrender. 

“I need some carfare,” he said. 

“Here’s all I got,” his mother said, pushing a quarter to the 
nde of his plate. 

He put the quarter in his pocket and drained his cup of 
coffee in one long swallow. He got his coat and cap and 
went to the door. 



16 


NATTVB SON 


“You know. Bigger,” his mother said, “if you don’t take 
that job the relief’ll cut us otf. We won't have any food.” 

“I told you I’d take itl” he shouted and slammed the door. 

He went down the steps into the vestibule and stood look- 
ing out into the street through the plate glass of the front 
door. Now and then a street car rattled past over steel 
tracks He was sick of his life at home. Day in and day out 
there was nothing but shouts and bickering. But what could 
he do? Each time he asked himself that question his mind hit 
a blank wall and he stopped thinking. Across the street di- 
rectly in front of him, he saw a truck pull to a stop at the 
curb and two white men in overalls got out with pails and 
brushes. Yes, he could take the job at Dalton’s and be 
miserable, or he could refuse it and starve. It maddened him 
to think that he did not have a wider choice of action. Well, 
he could not stand here all day like this. What was he to do 
with himself? He tried to decide if he wanted to buy a 
ten-cent magazine, or go to a movie, or go to the poolroom 
and talk with the gang, or just loaf around With his hands 
deep m his pockets, another cigarette slanting across his 
chin, he brooded and watched the men at work across the 
street. They were pasting a huge colored poster to a sign- 
board. The poster showed a white face. 

“That’s Buckley!” He spoke softly to himself. “He’s run- 
ning for State’s Attorney again.” The men were slapping the 
poster with wet brushes. He looked at the round florid face 
and wagged his head. “I bet that sonofabitch rakes off a 
million bucks in graft a year. Boy, if 1 was in his shoes for 
just one day I’d never have to worry again.” 

When the men were through they gathered up their pails 
and brushes and got into the truck and drove off. He looked 
at the poster: the white face was fleshy but stem; one hand 
was uplifted and its index finger pointed straight out into 
the street at each passer-by. The poster showed one of those 
faces that looked straight at you when you looked at it and 
all the while you were walking and turning your head to look 
at it it kept looking unblinkingly back at you until you got 
so far from it you had to take your eyes away, and then it 
stopped, like a movie blackout. Above the top of the poster 
were tall red letters: IF YOU BREAK THE LAW, YOU 
CAN’T WIN! 

He snuffed his cigarette and laughed silently. “You crook,” 



FEAR 


17 


he mumbled, shaking his head. “You let whoever pays 
you off win!” He opened the door and met the morning air. 
He went along the sidewalk with his head down, fingering the 
quarter in his pocket. He stopped and searched all of his 
pockets; in his vest pocket he found a lone copper cent. That 
made a total of twenty-six cents, fourteen cents of which 
would have to be saved for carfare to Mr. Dalton’s; that is, 
if he decided to take the job In order to buy a magazine 
and go to the movies he would have to have at least twenty 
cents more “Goddammit, I’m always broke!” he mumbled. 

He stood on the comer in the sunshine, watching cars and 
people pass. He needed more money; if he did not get more 
than he had now he would not know what to do with him- 
self for the rest of the day. He wanted to see a movie, his 
senses hungered for it. In a movie he could dream without 
effort; all he had to do was lean back in a seat and keep his 
eyes open. 

He thought of Gus and G.H. and Jack. Should he go to 
the poolroom and talk with them? But there was no use m his 
going unless they were ready to do what they had been 
long planning to do. If they could, it would mean some sure 
and quick money. From three o’clock to four o'clock in the 
afternoon there was no policeman on duty in the block where 
Blum’s Delicatessen was and it would be safe. One of them 
could hold a gun on Blum and keep him from yelling; one 
could watch the front door; one could watch the back; and 
one could get the money from the box under the counter. 
Then all four of them could lock Blum in the store and run 
out through the back and duck down the alley and meet an 
hour later, either at Doc’s poolroom or at the South Side 
Boy’s Club, and split the money. 

Holding up Blum ought not take more than two minutes, 
at the most. And it would be their last job. But it would be 
the toughest one that they had ever pulled All the other times 
they had raided newsstands, fruit stands, and apartments. 
And, too, they had never held up a white man before. They 
had always robbed Negroes. They felt that it was much 
easier and safer to rob their own people, for they knew that 
white policemen never really searched diligently for Negroes 
who committed crimes against other Negroes For months 
they had talked of robbing Blum’s, but had not been able to 
bnng themselves to do it. They had the feeling that the 



18 


NATIVE SON 


robbing of Blum’s would be a violation of ultimate taboo; it 
would be a trespassing into territory where the full wrath of 
an alien white world would be turned loose upon them; in 
short, it would be a symbolic challenge of the white world’s 
rule over them, a challenge which they yearned to make, but 
were afraid to. Yes; if they could rob Blum’s, it would be a 
real hold-up, in more senses than one. In comparison, all of 
their other jobs had been play. 

“Good-bye, Bigger.” 

He looked up and saw Vera passing with a sewing kit dan- 
gling from her arm. She paused at the comer and came back 
to him. 

“Now, what you want?” 

“Bigger, please. . . . You’re getting a good job now. 
Why don’t you stay away from Jack and Gus and G.H. and 
keep out of trouble?” 

“You keep your big mouth out of my businessi” 

“But, Bigger!” 

“Go on to school, will youl” 

She turned abruptly and walked on. He knew that his 
mother had been talking to Vera and Buddy about him, telU 
ing them that if he got into any more trouble he would be 
sent to prison and not just to the reform school, where they 
sent him last time. He did not mind what his mother said to 
Buddy about him. Buddy was all right. Tough, plenty. But 
Vera was a sappy girl; she did not have any more sense than 
to believe everything she was told. 

He walked toward the poolroom. 'When he got to the door 
he saw Gus half a block away, coming toward him. He 
stopped and waited. It was Gus who had first thought of 
robbing Blum’s. 

“Hi, Bigger!” 

“What you saying, Gus?” 

"Nothing. Seen G.H. or Jack yet?” 

“Naw You?” 

“Naw Say, got a cigarette?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bigger took out his pack and gave Gus a cigarette; he lit 
his and held the match for Gus. They leaned their backs 
against the red-brick wall of a building, smoking, their 
ogarettes slanting white across their black chuis To the east 
Bigger saw the sun burning a. dazzling yellow. In the sky 



FEAR 


19 


above him a few big white clouds drifted. He puffed silently, 
relaxed, his mind pleasantly vacant of purpose. Every slight 
movement in the street evoked a casual curiosity in him. Auto- 
matically, his eyes followed each car as it whirred over the 
smooth black asphalt. A woman came by and he watched the 
gentle sway of her body until she disappeared into a door- 
way. He sighed, scratched his chin and mumbled, 

“Kmda warm today.” 

“Yeah,” Gus said. 

“You get more heat from this sun than from them old 
radiators at home.” 

“Yeah; them old white landlords sure don’t give much 
heat.” 

“And they always knocking at your door for money.” 

“I’ll be glad when summer comes.” 

“Me too,” Bigger said. 

He stretched his arms above his head and yawned; his 
eyes moistened. The sharp precision of the world of steel 
and stone dissolved into blurred waves. He blinked and the 
world grew hard again, mechanical, distinct. A weaving mo- 
tion in the sky made him turn his eyes upward; he saw a slen- 
der streak of billowing white blooming against the deep 
blue. A plane was writing high up in the air. 

“LookI” Bigger said, 

•"What?” 

“That plane writing up there,” Bigger said, pointing. 

“OhI” 

They squinted at a tiny ribbon of unfolding vapor that 
spelled out the word: USE . . . The plane was so far away 
that at times the strong glare of the sun blanked it from 
sight. 

“You can hardly see it,” Gus said. 

"Looks like a little bird,” Bigger breathed with childlike 
wonder. 

“Them white boys sure can fly,” Gus said, 

“Yeah,” Bigger said, wistfully. “They get a chance to do 
everything.” 

Noiselessly, the tiny plane looped and veered, vanishing 
and appearing, leaving behind it a long trail of white plu- 
mage, hke coils of fluffy paste being squeezed from a tube; a 
plume-coil that grew and swelled and slowly began to fade 



NATIVE SON 


20 

into the air at the edges. The plane wrote another word: 
SPEED ... 

“How high you reckon he is?” Bigger asked. 

“I don't know. Maybe a hundred miles; maybe a thousand.” 

“I could fly one of them things if I had a chance,” Bigger 
mumbled reflectively, as though talking to himself. 

Gus pulled down the corners of his lips, stepped out from 
the wall, squared his shoulders, doffed his cap, bowed low 
and spoke with mock deference: 

“Yessuh.” 

“You go to hell,” Bigger said, smiling. 

“Yessuh,” Gus said again. 

“I could fly a plane if I had a chance,” Bigger said. 

“If you wasn’t black and if you had some money and if 
they’d let you go to that aviation school, you could fly a 
plane,” Gus said. 

For a moment Bigger contemplated all the “ifs” that Gus 
had mentioned. Then both boys broke into hard laughter, 
looking at each other through squinted eyes. When their 
laughter subsided, Bigger said in a voice that was half-question 
and half-statement: 

“It’s funny how the white folks treat us, ain’t it?” 

“It better be funny,” Gus said. 

“Maybe they right in not wanting us to fly,” Bigger said. 
“ ’Cause it I took a plane up I’d take a couple of bombs along 
and drop ’em as sure as hell . . . .” 

They laughed again, still looking upward. The plane sailed 
and dipped and spread another word against the sky: GASO- 
LINE 

“Use Speed Gasoline,” Bigger mused, rolling the words 
slowly from his lips. “God, I’d like to fly up there in that 
sky.” 

“Godfll let you fly when He gives you your wings up in 
heaven,” Gus said. 

They laughed again, reclining against the wall. Smoking, 
the lids of their eyes drooped softly against the sun. Cars 
whizzed past on rubber tires. Bigger’s face was metallically 
black in the strong sunlight. There was in his eyes a pensive, 
brooding amusement, as of a man who had been long con- 
fronted and tantalized by a riddle whose answer seemed al- 
ways just on the verge of escaping him, but prodding him ir- 
resistibly on to seek its solution. The silence irked Bigger; he 



PEAR 21 

was anxious to do something to evade looking so squarely at 
this problem. 

“Let’s play ‘white,’ ’’ Bigger said, referring to a game of 
play-acting in which he and his friends imitated the ways and 
manners of white folks. 

“I don’t feel like it,” Gus said. 

“Generali” Bigger pronounced in a sonorous tone, looking 
at Gus expectantly. 

“Aw, hell! I don’t want to play,” Gus whined. 

“You’ll be court-martialed,” Bigger said, snapping out his 
words with military precision. 

“Nigger, you nuts!” Gus laughed. 

“General!” Bigger tried again, determinedly. 

Gus looked wearily at Bigger, then straightened, saluted 
and answered: 

“Yessuh.” 

“Send your men over the river at dawn and attack the 
enemy’s left flank,” Bigger ordered. 

“Yessuh.” 

“Send the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Regiments,” Bigger 
said, frowning. “And attack with tanks, gas, planes, and in- 
fantry.” 

“Yessuh!” Gus said again, saluting and clicking his heels. 

For a moment they were silent, facing each other, their 
shoulders thrown back, their lips compressed to hold down 
the mounting impulse to laugh. Then they guffawed, partly 
at themselves and partly at the vast white world that sprawled 
and towered in the sun before them. 

“Say, what’s a ‘left flank’?” Gus asked, 

“I don’t know,” Bigger said. “I heard it in the movies.” 

They laughed again. After a bit they relaxed and leaqpd 
against the wall, smoking. Bigger saw Gus cup his left hand 
to his ear, as though holding a telephone receiver; and cup 
his right hand to his mouth, as though talking into a trans- 
mitter. 

“Hello,” Gus said. 

“Hello,” Bigger said. ‘“Who’s this?” 

“This is Mr. J. P. Morgan speaking,” Gus said. 

“Yessuh, Mr, Morgan,” Bigger said; his eyes filled with 
mock adulation and respect. 

“I want you to sell twenty thousand shares of U. S. 
Steel in the market this morning,” Gus said. 



22 


NATIVE SON 


“At what price, suh?” Bigger asked. 

“Aw, just dump ’em at any price,” Gus said with casual 
irritation. “We’re holding too much.” 

“Yessuh,” Bigger said. 

“And call me at my club at two this afternoon and tell me 
if the President telephoned,” Gus said. 

“Yessuh, Mr. Morgan,” Bigger said. 

Both of them made gestures signifying that they were hang- 
ing up telephone receivers; then they bent double, laughing. 

“I bet that’s ]ust the way they talk,” Gus said. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Bigger said. 

They were silent again. Presently, Bigger cupped his hand 
to his mouth and spoke through an imaginary telephone 
transmitter. 

“Hello.” 

“Hello,” Gus answered. “Who’s this?” 

“This is the President of the United States speaking,” Big- 
ger said. 

“Oh, yessuh, Mr. President,” Gus said. 

“I’m calling a cabinet meeting this afternoon at four 
o’clock and you, as Secretary of State, must be there.” 

“Well, now, Mr. President,” Gus said, “I’m pretty busy. 
They raising sand over there in Germany and 1 got to send 
’em a note. . . .” 

“But this is important,” Bigger said. 

“What you going to take up at this cabinet meeting?” Gus 
asked. 

“Well, you see, the niggers is raising sand all over the 
country,” Bigger said, struggling to keep back his laughter. 
“We’ve got to do something with these black folks. . . .” 

“Oh, if it’s about the niggers. I’ll be right there, Mr. Presi- 
dent,” Gus said. 

They hung up imaginary receivers and leaned against the 
wall and laughed. A street car rattled by. Bigger sighed and 
swore. 

“Goddammit!” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“They don’t let us do nothing.” 

“Who?” 

“The white folks.” 

‘JYou talk like you just now finding that out,” Gus said. 

“Naw. But I just can’t get used to it,” Bigger said. “I swear 



FEAR 


23 

to God I can’t. I know 1 oughtn’t think about it, but I can’t 
help it. Every time I think about it I feel like somebody’s 
poking a red-hot iron down my throat. Goddammit, look! 
We live here and they live there. We black and they white. 
They got things and we ain’t. They do things and we can’t. 
It’s just like living in jail. Half the tune I feel like I’m on the 
outside of the world peeping m through a knot-hole in the 
fence. . . 

“Aw, ain’t no use feelmg that way about it. It don’t help 
none,” Gus said. 

“You know one thing?” Bigger said. 

“What?” 

“Sometimes I feel like something awful’s going to happen 
to me,” Bigger spoke with a tinge of bitter pride in his voice. 

“What you mean?” Gus asked, looking at him quickly. 
There was fear in Gus’s eyes. 

“I don’t know, I just feel that way. Every time I get to think- 
ing about me being black and they being white, me being here 
and they being there, I feel like something awful’s going to 
happen to me. . , 

“Aw, for chrissakes! There ain’t nothing you can do about 
it. How come you want to worry yourself? You black and 
they make the laws. , . .” 

“Why they make us live in one comer of the city? Why 
don’t they let us fly planes and run ships. . . 

Gus hunched Bigger with his elbow and mumbled good- 
naturedly, “Aw, nigger, quit thinking about it. You’ll go 
nuts.” 

The plane was gone from the sky and the white plumes of 
floating smoke were thinly spread, vanishing. Because he was 
restless and had time on his hands, Bigger yawned again and 
hoisted his arms high above his head. 

“Nothing ever happens,” he complained. 

“What you want to happen?” 

“Anything,” Bigger said with a wide sweep of his dingy 
palm, a sweep that included all the possible activities of the 
world. 

Then their eyes were riveted; a slate-colored pigeon swooped 
down to the middle of the steel car tracks and began strutting 
to and fro with ruffled feathers, its fat neck bobbing with 
regal pnde. A street car rumbled forward and the pigeon rose 
swiftly through the air on wings stretched so taut and sheer 



NATIVE SON 


24 

that Bigger could see the gold of the sun through their trans- 
lucent tips. He tilted his head and watched the slate-colored 
bird flap and wheel out of sight over the edge of a high roof. 

“Now, if I could only do that," Bigger said. 

Gus laughed. 

“Nigger, you nuts.” 

“I reckon we the only things in this city that can’t go where 
we want to go and do what we want to do.” 

“Don’t think about it,” Gus said. 

“I can’t help it.” 

“That’s why you feeling like something awful’s going to 
happen to you,” Gus said “You think too much.” 

“What in hell can a man do?” Bigger asked, turning to 
Gus. 

“Get drunk and sleep it off.” 

“1 can’t. I’m broke ” 

Bigger crushed his cigarette and took out another one and 
offered the package to Gus. They continued smoking. A huge 
truck swept past, lifting scraps of white paper into the sun- 
shine; the bits settled down slowly. 

“Gus?” 

“Hunh?” 

“You know where the white folks live?” 

“Yeah,” Gus said, pointing eastward. "Over across the ‘line’; 
over there on Cottage Grove Avenue.” 

“Naw; they don’t,” Bigger said. 

“What you mean?” Gus asked, puzzled. “Then, where do 
they live?” 

Bigger doubled his flst and struck his solar plexus. 

“Right down here in my stomach,” he said. 

Gus looked at Bigger searchingly, then away, as though 
ashamed. 

“Yeah; I know what you mean,” he whispered. 

“Every time I think of ’em, I feel ’em,” Bigger said. 

“Yeah; and in your chest and throat, too,” Gus said. 

“It’s like fire.” 

“And sometimes you can’t hardly breathe. . . .” 

Bigger’s eyes were wide and placid, gazing into space. 

“That’s when 1 feel like something awful’s going to happen 
to me. . . .” Bigger paused, narrowed his eyes. “Naw; it ain’t 
like something going to happen to me. It’s . . . It’s like I was 
going to do something I can’t help. . . .” 



FEAR 


25 


“Yeah!” Gus said with uneasy eagerness. His eyes were 
full of a look compounded of fear and admiration for Bigger. 
“Yeah; I know what you mean. It’s like you going to fall and 
don’t know where you going to land. . . .’’ 

Gus’s voice trailed off. The sun slid behind a big white 
cloud and the street was plunged in cool shadow; quickly 
the sun edged forth again and it was bright and warm once 
more. A long sleek black car, its fenders glinting like glass in 
the sun, shot past them at high speed and turned a comer a 
few blocks away. Bigger pursed his lips and sang; 
“Zoooooooooom! ’’ 

“They got everything,” Gus said. 

“They own the world,” Bigger said. 

“Aw, what the hell,” Gus said. “Let’s go in the poolroom.” 
“O.K.” 

'They walked toward the door of the poolroom. 

“Say, you taking that job you told us about?” Gus asked. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You talk like you don’t want it ” 

“Oh, hell, yes! I want the job,” Bigger said. 

They look^ at each other and laughed. They went inside. 
The poolroom was empty, save for a fat, black man who held 
a half-smoked, unlit cigar in his mouth and leaned on the 
front counter. To the rear burned a single green-shaded bulb. 
"Hi, Doc,” Bigger said. 

“You boys kinda early this morning,” Doc said. 

“Jack or G.H. around yet?” Bigger asked. 

“Naw,” Doc said. 

“Let’s shoot a game,” Gus said. 

“I’m broke,” Bigger said. 

“I got some money.” 

“Switch on the light. The balls are racked,” Doc said. 
Bigger turned on the light. They lagged for first shot. Bigger 
won They started playing Bigger’s shots were poor; he was 
thinking of Blum’s, fascinated with the idea of the robbery, 
and a little afraid of it. 

“Remember what we talked about so much?” Bigger asked 
in a flat, neutral tone, 

“Naw.” 

“Old Blum.” 

“Oh,” Gus said. “We ain’t talked about that for a month. 
How come you think of it all of a sudden?” 



26 


NATIVE SON 


“Let’s clean the place out.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“It was your plan from the start,” Bigger said. 

Gus straightened and stared at Bigger, then at Doc who was 
looking out of the front window. 

“You going to tell Doc? Can’t you never learn to talk low?” 
“Aw, I was just asking you, do you want to try it?” 

“Naw ” 

“How come? You scared ’cause he’s a white man?” 
“Naw. But Blum keeps a gun. Suppose he beats us to it?” 
“Aw, you scared; that’s all. He’s a white man and you 
scared.” 

“The hell I’m scared,” Gus, hurt and stung, defended him- 
self. 

Bigger went to Gus and placed an arm about his shoulders. 
“Listen, you won’t have to go in. You just stand at the door 
and keep watch, see? Me and Jack and G.H.’ll go in If any- 
body comes along, you whistle and we’ll go out the back way. 
That’s all.” 

The front door opened; they stopped talking and turned 
their heads. 

“Here comes Jack and G.H. now,” Bigger said. 

Jack and G.H. walked to the rear of the poolroom. 

“What you guys doing?” Jack asked. 

“Shooting a game. Wanna play?” Bigger asked, 

“You asldng ’em to play and I’m paying for the game,” Gus 
said. 

They all laughed and Bigger laughed with them but stopped 
quickly. He felt that the joke was on him and he took a 
seat alongside the wall and propped his feet upon the rungs 
of a chair, as though he had not heard. Gus and G.H. kept on 
laughing. 

“You niggers is crazy,” Bigger said. “You laugh like mon- 
keys and you ain’t got nerve enough to do nothing but talk.” 
“What you mean?” G.H. asked. 

“I got a haul all figured out,” Bigger said. 

“What haul?” 

“Old Blum’s.” 

There was silence. Jack lit a cigarette. Gus looked away, 
avoiding the conversation. 

“If old Blum was a black man, you-all would be itching to 
go. ’Cause he’s white, everybody’s scared.” 



PEAR 


27 


“I ain’t scared,” Jack said, “I’m with you.” 

“You say you got it all figured out?” G H. asked. 

Bigger took a deep breath and looked from face to face. It 
seemed to him that he should not have to expla'm. 

“Look, it’ll be easy. There ain’t nothing to be scared of. Be- 
tween three and four ain’t nobody in the store but the old 
man. The cop is way down at the other end of the block. One 
of us’ll stay outside and watch. Three of us’ll go in, see? One 
of ns’ll throw a gun on old Blum; one of us’ll make for the 
cash box under the counter, one of us’ll make for the back 
door and have it open so we can make a quick get-away 
down the back alley. . . . That’s all. It won’t take three min- 
utes.” 

“I thought we said we wasn’t never going to use a gun,” 
G.H. said. “And we ain’t bothered no white folks before.” 

“Can’t you see? This is something big,” Bigger said. 

He waited for more objections. When none were forth- 
coming, he talked again. 

“We can do it, if you niggers ain’t scared.” 

Save for the sound of Doc’s whistling up front, there was 
silence. Bigger watched Jack closely; he knew that the sit- 
uation was one in which Jack’s word would be decisive. Bigger 
was afraid of Gus, because he knew that Gus would not 
hold out if Jack said yes. Gus stood at the table, toying with 
a cue stick, his eyes straying lazily over the billiard balls 
scattered about the table in the array of an unfinished game. 
Bigger rose and sent the balls whirling with a sweep of his 
hand, then looked straight at Gus as the gleaming balls kissed 
and rebounded from the rubber cushions, zig-zagging across 
the table’s green cloth. Even though Bigger had asked Gus 
to be with him in the robbery, the fear that Gus would really 
go made the muscles of Bigger’s stomach tighten; he was hot 
all over. He felt as if he wanted to sneeze and could not; only 
it was more nervous than wanting to sneeze. He grew hotter, 
tighter; his nerves were taut and his teeth were on edge. He 
felt that something would soon snap within him. 

“Goddammit! Say something, somebody!” 

“I’m in,” Jack said again. 

"rU go if the rest goes,” G.H. said. 

Gus stood without speaking and Bigger felt a curious 
sensation — half-sensual, half-thoughtful. He was divided and 
pulled agamst himself. He had handled things just nght so 



28 


NATTVE SON 


far; all but Gus had consented. The way things stood now 
there were three against Gus, and that was just as he had 
wanted it to be. Bigger was afraid of robbing a white man and 
he knew that Gus was afraid, too. Blum’s store was smaU and 
Blum was alone, but Bigger could not think of robbing him 
without being flanked by his three pals. But even with his paU 
he was afraid. He had argued all of his pals but one into 
consenting to the robbery, and toward the lone man who held 
out he felt a hot hate and fear; he had transferred his fear 
of the whites to Gus. He hated Gus because he knew that 
Gus was afraid, as even he was; and he feared Gus because 
he felt that Gus would consent and then he would be com- 
pelled to go through with the robbery. Like a man about to 
shoot himself and dreading to shoot and yet knowing that he 
has to shoot and feeling it all at once and powerfully, he 
watched Gus and waited for him to say yes. But Gus did not 
speak. Bigger’s teeth clamped so tight that his jaws ached. He 
edged toward Gus, not looking at Gus, but feeling the pres- 
ence of Gus over all his body, through him, in and out of 
him, and hating himself and Gus because he felt it. Then he 
could not stand it any longer. The hysterical tensity of his 
nerves urged him to speak, to free himself. He faced Gus, 
his eyes red with anger and fear, his fists clenched and held 
stiffly to his sides. 

“’i’^ou black sonofabitch,” he said in a voice that did not 
vary in tone. “You scared ’cause he’s a white man." 

“Don’t cuss me. Bigger,” Gus said quietly. 

“I am cussing you!’’ 

“You don’t have to cuss me,” Gus said. 

“Then why don’t you use that black tongue of yours?” 
Bigger asked. “Why don’t you say what you going to do?” 

“I don’t have to use my tongue unless I want to!” 

“You bastard! You scared bastard!” 

“You ain’t my boss,” Gus said. 

“You yellow!” Bigger said. “You scared to rob a r^diite 
man.” 

“Aw, Bigger. Don’t say that,” G.H. said. “Leave ’im alone.” 

“He’s yellow,” Bigger said “He won’t go with us.” 

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go,” Gus said. 

“Then, for chrissakes, say what you going to do,” Bigger 
said. 

Gus leaned on his cue stick and gazed at Bigger and Bigger’s 



FEAR 


29 

Stomach tightened as though he were expecting a blow and 
were getting ready for it. His fists clenched harder In a split 
second he felt how his fist and arm and body would feel if 
he hit Gus squarely in the mouth, drawing blood; Gus would 
fall and he would walk out and the whole thing would be 
over and the robbery would not take place. And his thinking 
and feeling in this way made the choking tightness rising 
from the pit of his stomach to his throat slacken a little. 

“You see, Bigger,” began Gus in a tone that was a com- 
promise between kindness and pride. “You see. Bigger, you 
the tause of all the trouble we ever have. It’s your hot temper. 
Now, how come you want to cuss me? Ain’t 1 got a right to 
make up my mind? Naw; that ain’t your way. You start cuss- 
ing. You say I’m scared. It’s you who’s scared. You scared 
I’m going to say yes and you’U have to go through with the 
job. . . 

“Say that again! Say that again and I’ll take one of these 
balls and sink it in your goddamn mouth,” Bigger said, his 
pride wounded to the quick. 

“Aw, for chrissakes,” Jack said. 

“You see how he is,” Gus said. 

“Why don’t you say what you going to do?” Bigger de- 
manded. 

“Aw, I’m going with you-all,” Gus said in a nervous tone 
that sought to hide itself; a tone that hurried on to other 
things. “I’m going, but Bigger don’t have to act like that. He 
don’t have to cuss me.” 

“Why didn’t you say that at first?” Bigger asked; his anger 
amounted almost to frenzy. “You make a man want to sock 
youl” 

“. . . I’ll help on the haul,” Gus continued, as though Big- 
ger had not spoken. “I’ll help just like I always help. But 
I’ll be goddamn if I’m taking orders from you. Bigger! You 
just a scared coward! You calling me scared so nobody’ll 
see how scared you is!” 

Bigger leaped at him, but Jack ran between them. G.H, 
caught Gus’s arm and led him aside. 

“Who’s asking you to take orders?” Bigger said. “I never 
want to give orders to a piss-sop like you!” 

“You boys cut out that racket back there!” Doc called. 

They stood silently about the pool table. Bigger’s eyes fol- 
lowed Gus as Gus put his cue stick in the rack and brushed 



30 


NATIVE SON 


chalk dust from his trousers and walked a little distance 
away. Bigger’s stomach burned and a hazy black cloud 
hovered a moment before his eyes, and left. Mixed images 
of violence ran like sand through his mind, dry and fast, 
vanishing. He could stab Gus with his knife; he could slap 
him; he could kick him; he could trip him up and send him 
sprawlmg on his face. He could do a lot of things to Gus 
for making him feel this way. 

“Come on, G H.,” Gus said. 

“Where we going?" 

“Let’s walk.” 

“O.K." 

"What we gonna do?” Jack asked. “Meet here at three?” 

“Sure,” Bigger said. “Didn’t we just decide?” 

“I’ll be here,” Gus said, with his back turned. 

When Gus and G.H. had gone Bigger sat down and felt 
cold sweat on his skin. It was planned now and he would 
have to go through with it. His teeth gritted and the last 
image he had seen of Gus going through the door lingered 
in his mind. He could have taken one of the cue sticks and 
gripped it hard and swung it at the back of Gus’s head, feel- 
ing the impact of the hard wood cracking against the bottom 
of the skull. The tight feeling was stUl in him and he knew 
that it would remain until they were actually doing the job, 
until they were in the store taking the money. 

“You and Gus sure don’t get along none,” Jack said, shak- 
ing his head. 

Bigger turned and looked at Jack; he had forgotten that 
Jack was still there. 

“Aw, that yellow black bastard,” Bigger said. 

“He’s all ri^t,” Jack said. 

“He’s scared,’’ Bigger said. “To make him ready for a job, 
you have to make him scared two ways. You have to make 
him more scared of what’ll happen to him if he don’t do the 
job than of what’ll happen to him if he pulls the job.” 

“If we going to Blum’s today, we oughtn’t fuss like this” 
Jack said. “We got a job on our hands, a real job.” 

“Sure. Sure, I know,” Bigger said. 

Bigger felt an urgent need to hide his growing and deepen- 
ing feeling of hysteria; he had to get rid of it or else he would 
succumb to it He longed for a stimulus powerful enough to 
focus his attention and drain off his energies. He wanted to 



FEAR 


31 


run. Or listen to some swing music Or laugh or joke. Or read 
a Real Detective Story Magazine. Or go to a movie. Or visit 
Bessie. All that morning he had lurked behind his curtain 
of indifference and looked at things, snapping and glanng at 
whatever had tried to make him come out into the open. But 
now he was out; the thought of the job at Blum’s and the 
tilt he had had with Gus had snared him into things and his 
self-trust was gone. Confidence could only come again now 
through action so violent that it would make him forget. 
These were the rhythms of his life; indifference and violence; 
periods of abstract brooding and periods of intense desire; 
moments of silence and moments of anger — like water ebbing 
and flowing from the tug of a far-away, invisible force. 
Being this way was a need of his as deep as eating. He was 
like a strange plant blooming in the day and wilting at night; 
but the sun that made it bloom and the cold darkness that 
made it wilt were never seen It was his own sun and 
darkness, a private and personal sun and darkness. He was 
bitterly proud of his swiftly changing moods and boasted 
when he had to suffer the results of them. It was the way he 
was, he would say; he could not help it, he would say, and 
his head would wag. And it was his sullen stare and the 
violent action that followed that made Gus and Jack and 
G.H. hate and fear him as much as he hated and feared him- 
self. 

“Where you want to go?” Jack asked. ‘Tm tired of setting.” 

“Let’s walk,” Bigger said. 

They went to the front door. Bigger paused and looked 
round the poolroom with a wild and exasperated expression, 
his lips tightening with resolution 

“Goin’?” Doc asked, not moving his head. 

“Yeah,” Bigger said. 

“See you later,” Jack said. 

They walked along the street in the morning sunshine. 
They waited leisurely at corners for cars to pass; it was not 
that they feared cars, but they had plenty of time. 'They 
reached South Parkway smoking freshly lit cigarettes. 

“I’d like to see a movie,” Bigger said. 

“Trader Horn’s running again at the Regal. They’re bring- 
ing a lot of old pictures back.” 

“How much is it?” 

“Twenty cents.” 



32 


NATIVE SON 


“O.K Let’s see it.” 

Bigger strode silently beside Jack for six blocks. It was 
noon when they reached Forty-seventh Street and South 
Parkway. The Regal was just opening. Bigger lingered in 
the lobby and looked at the colored posters while Jack bought 
the tickets. Two features were advertised: one, The Gay 
Woman, was pictured on the posters in unages of white men 
and white women lolling on beaches, swimming, and dancing 
in night clubs; the other, Trader Horn, was shown on the 
posters \n terms of black merv and black women dancing 
against a wild background of barbaric jungle Bigger looked 
up and saw Jack standing at his side. 

"Come on. Let’s go in,” Jack said. 

“O.K.” 

He followed Jack into the darkened movie. The shadows 
were soothing to his eyes after the glare of the sun. The 
picture had not started and he slouched far down in a seat 
and listened to a pipe organ shudder in waves of nostalgic 
tone, like a voice humming hauntingly within him. He 
moved restlessly, looking round as though expecting to see 
someone sneaking upon him. The organ sang forth full, then 
dropped almost to silence. 

“You reckon we’ll do all right at Blum’s?” he asked in a 
drawling voice tinged with uneasiness. 

“Aw, sure,” Jack said; but his voice, too, was uneasy, 

“You know, I’d just as soon go to jail as take that damn 
relief job,” Bigger said. 

“Don’t say that^ Everything’ll be all right.” 

“You reckon it will?” 

“Sure.” 

“I don’t give a damn.” 

“Let’s think about how we’U do it, not about bow we’ll get 
caught.” 

“Scared?” 

“Naw, You?” 

“Hell, nawl” 

They were silent, listening to the organ. It sounded for 
a long moment on a trembling note, then died away Then it 
stole forth again in whispenng tones that could scarcely be 
heard. 

“We better take our guns along this time,” Bigger said. 



PEAR 33 

“O.K. But we gotta be careful. We don’t wanna kill no- 
body.” 

“Yeah. But I’ll feel safer with a gun this time.” 

“Gee, I wished it was three o’clock now. I wished it was 
over.” 

“Me too.” 

The organ sighed into silence and the screen flashed with 
the rhythm of moving shadows. There was a short newsreel 
which Bigger watched without much interest Then came 
The Gay Woman in which, amid scenes of cocktail drinking, 
dancing, golfing, swimming, and spinning roulette wheels, 
a rich young white woman kept clandestine appointments 
with her lover while her millionaire husband was busy in the 
offices of a vast paper mill. Several times Bigger nudged Jack 
in the ribs with his elbow as the giddy young woman duped 
her husband and kept from him the knowledge of what she 
was doing. 

“She sure got her old man fooled,” Bigger said. 

“Looks like it. He’s so busy making money he don’t know 
what’s going on,” Jack said. “Them rich chicks’ll do any- 
thing.” 

“Yeah. And she’s a hot looking number, all right,” Bigger 
said. “Say, maybe I’ll be working for folks like that if 1 take 
that relief job. Maybe I’ll be driving ’em around. ...” 

“Sure,” Jack said. “Man, you ought to take that job. You 
don’t know what you might run into. My ma used to work 
for rich white folks and you ought to hear the tales she used 
to tell ” 

“What she say?” Bigger asked eagerly. 

“Ah, man, them rich white women’ll go to bed with any- 
body, from a poodle on up. Shucks, they even have their 
chauffeurs. Say, if you run into anything on that new job 
that’s too much for you to handle, let me know. . . 

They laughed. The play ran on and Bigger saw a night club 
floor thronged with whirling couples and heard a swing band 
playing music. The rich young woman was dancing and 
laughing with her lover. 

“I’d like to be invited to a place like that just to find out 
what it feels like,” Bigger mused. 

“Man, if them folks saw you they’d run,” Jack said, “They’d 
think a gorilla broke loose from the zoo and put on a tuxedo.” 

They bent over low in their seats and giggled without re- 



NATIVE SON 


34 

straint. When Bigger sat up again he saw the picture flashing 
on. A tall waiter was serving two slender glasses of drinks to 
the rich young woman and her lover. 

“I bet their mattresses is stuffed with paper dollars,” Bigger 
said. 

“Man, them folks don’t even have to turn over in their sleep,” 
Jack said. “A butler stands by their beds at night, and when 
he hears ’em sigh, he gently rolls ’em over . . .” 

They laughed again, then fell silent abruptly. The music 
accompanying the picture dropped to a low, rumbling note 
and the rich young woman turned and looked toward the 
front door of the night club from which a chorus of shouts 
and screams was heard. 

“I bet it’s her husband,” Jack said. 

“Yeah,” Bigger said. 

Bigger saw a sweating, wild-eyed young man fight his way 
past a group of waiters and whirling dancers. 

“He looks like a crazy man,” Jack said. 

“What you reckon he wants?” Bigger asked, as though he 
himself was outraged at the sight of the frenzied intruder. 

“Damn if I know,” Jack muttered preoccupiedly. 

Bigger watched the wild young man elude the waiters and 
run in the direction of the rich woman’s table. The music of 
the swing band stopped and men and women scurried franti- 
cally into comers and doorways. There were shouts; Stop 'imi 
Grab 'im! The wild man hidted a few feet from the rich 
woman and reached inside of his coat and drew forth a 
black object. There were more screams: He's got a bomb! 
Stop 'itnl Bigger saw the woman’s lover leap to the center 
of the floor, fling his hands high into the air and catch the 
bomb just as the wild man threw it. As the rich woman 
fainted, her lover hurled the bomb out of a window, shat- 
tering a pane. Bigger saw a white flash light up the night 
outside as the bomb exploded deafeningly. Then he was 
looking at the wild man who was now pinned to the floor by 
a dozen hands. He heard a woman scream: He’s a Com- 
munist! 

“Say, Jack?” 

“Hunh?” 

“What’s a Communist?" 

“A Communist is a red, ain't he?” 

“Yeah; but what’s a red?” 



FEAR 35 

“Damn if I know. It’s a race of folks who live in Russia, 
ain’t it?’’ 

“They must be wild.” 

“Looks like it. That guy was trying to kill somebody.” 

The scenes showed the wild man weeping on his knees 
and cursing through his tears. 1 wanted to kill 'im, he sobbed. 
Bigger now understood that the wild bomb-thrower was a 
Communist who had mistaken the rich woman’s lover for her 
husband and had tried to kill him. 

“Reds must don’t like rich folks,” Jack said. 

“They sure must don’t,” Bigger said. “Every time you 
hear about one, he’s trying to kill somebody or tear things 
up.” 

The picture continued and showed the rich young woman 
in a fit of remorse, telling her lover that she thanked him 
for saving her life, but that what had happened had taught 
her that her husband needed her. Suppose it had been he? 
she whimpered. 

“She’s going back to her old man,” Bigger said. 

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said. “They got to kiss in the end.” 

Bigger saw the rich young woman rush home to her mil- 
lionaire husband. There were long embraces and kisses as 
the rich woman and the rich man vowed never to leave each 
other and to forgive each other. 

“You reckon folks really act like that?” Bigger asked, full 
of the sense of a life he had never seen. 

“Sure, man. They nch,” Jack said. 

“I wonder if this guy I’m going to work for is a rich man 
like that?” Bigger asked. 

“Maybe so,” Jack said. 

“Shucks, I got a great mind to take that job,” Bigger said. 

“Sure. You don’t know what you might see.” 

They laughed. Bigger turned his eyes to the screen, but 
he did not look. He was filled with a sense of excitement 
about his new job. Was what he had heard about nch white 
people really true? Was he going to work for people like you 
saw in the movies? If he were, then he’d see a lot of things 
from the inside; he’d get the dope, the low-down. He looked 
at Trader Horn unfold and saw pictures of naked black men 
and women whirling in wild dances and heard drums beating 
and then gradually the African scene changed and was re- 
placed by images in his own mind of white men and women 



NATIVE SON 


36 

dressed in black and white clothes, laughing, talking, drinking 
and dancing. Those were smart people; they knew how to get 
hold of money, millions of it. Maybe if he were working for 
them something would happen and he would get some of 
it. He would see just how they did it Sure, it was all a 
game and white people knew how to play it. And rich white 
people were not so hard on Negroes' it was the poor whites 
who hated Negroes. They hated Negroes because they didn’t 
have their share of the money. His mother had always told 
him that rich white people liked Negroes better than they 
did poor whites. He felt that if he were a poor white and 
did not get his share of the money, then he would deserve to 
be kicked. Poor white people were stupid. It was the rich 
white people who were smart and knew how to treat people. 
He remembered hearing somebody tell a story of a Negro 
chauffeur who had married a rich white girl and the girl’s 
family had shipped the couple out of the country and had 
supplied them with money. 

Yes, his going to work for the Daltons was something big. 
Maybe Mr. Dalton was a millionaire Maybe he had a 
daughter who was a hot kind of girl; maybe she spent lots 
of money: maybe she’d like to come to the South Side and 
see the sights sometimes Or maybe she had a secret sweet- 
heart and only he would know about it because he would 
have to drive her around; maybe she would give him money 
not to tell. 

He was a fool for wanting to rob Blum’s just when he was 
about to get a good job Why hadn’t he thought of that 
before? Why take a fool’s chance when other things, big 
things, could happen? If something slipped up this afternoon 
he would be out of a job and in jail, maybe. And he wasn’t 
so hot about robbing Blum’s, anyway. He frowned in the 
darkened movie, hearing the roll of tom-toms and the 
screams of black men and women dancing free and wild, 
men and women who were adjusted to their soil and at home 
in their world, secure from fear and hysteria. 

“Come on. Bigger," Jack said. “We gotta go.” 

“Hunh?” 

“It’s twenty to three." 

He rose and walked down the dark aisle over the soft, in- 
visible carpet. He had seen practically nothing of the picture, 



FEAR 37 

but he did not care. As he walked into the lobby his insides 
tightened again with the thought of Gus and Blum’s. 

‘‘Swell, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it was a killer,” Bigger said. 

He walked alongside Jack briskly until they came to Thirty- 
ninth Street. 

“We better get out gims,” Bigger said. 

“Yeah.” 

“We got about fifteen minutes.” 

“O.K.” 

“So long.” 

He walked home with a mounting feeling of fear. When he 
reached his doorway, he hesitated about going up. He didn’t 
want to rob Blum’s; he was scared. But he had to go through 
with it now. Noiselessly, he went up the steps and inserted 
his key in the lock; the door swung in silently and he heard 
his mother smging behmd the curtam. 

Lord, I want to be a Christian, 

In my heart, in my heart, 

Lord, I want to be a Christian, 

In my heart, in my heart. . . . 

He tiptoed into the room and lifted the top mattress of his 
bed and pulled forth the gun and slipped it inside of his 
shirt. Just as he was about to open the door his mother 
paused in her singing. 

“That you. Bigger?” 

He stepped quickly into the outer hallway and slammed 
the door and bounded headlong down the stairs. He went to 
the vestibule and swung through the door into the street, 
feeling that ball of hot tightness growing larger and heavier 
m his stomach and chest. He opened his mouth to breath* 
He headed for Doc’s and came to the door and looked inside. 
Jack and G.H. were shooting pool at a rear table. Gus was 
not there. He felt a slight lessening of nervous tension and 
swallowed. He looked up and down the street, very few 
people were out and the cop was not in sight. A clock in a 
window across the street told him that it was twelve minutes 
to three. Well, this was it; he had to go in. He lifted his 
left hand and wiped sweat from his forehead in a long slow 
gesture. He hesitated a moment longer at the door, then 



NATIVE SON 


38 

went in, walking With firm steps to the rear table. He did 
not speak to Jack or G H . nor they to him. He lit a cigarette 
with shaking fingers and watched the spinning billiard balls 
roll and gleam and clack over the green stretch of cloth, 
dropping into holes after bounding to and fro from the 
rubber cushions He felt impelled to say something to ease 
the swelling in his chest Hurriedly, he flicked his cigarette 
into a spittoon and, with twin eddies of blue smoke jutting 
from his black nostrils, shouted hoarsely, 

"Jack, I betcha two bits you can’t make itl" 

Jack did not answer; the ball shot straight across the table 
and vanished into a side pocket. 

“You would've lost,” Jack said. 

“Too late now,” Bigger said. “You wouldn’t bet, so you 
lost," 

He spoke without looking. His entire body hungered for 
keen sensation, something exciting and violent to relieve the 
tautness. It was now ten minutes to three and Gus had not 
come. If Gus stayed away much longer, it would be too late. 
And Gus knew that. If they were going to do anything, it 
certainly ought to be done before folks started coming into 
the streets to buy their food for supper, and while the cop 
was down at the other end of the block. 

“That bastard!” Bigger said. "I knew itl” 

“Oh. he’ll be along,” Jack said. 

"Sometimes I’d like to cut his yellow heart out,” Bigger 
said, fingering the knife in his pocket. 

“Maybe he’s hanging around some meat,” O.H. said. 

“He’s just scared,”' Bigger said. “Scared to rob a white 
man.” 

The billiard balls clacked. Jack chalked his cue stick and 
the metallic noise made Bigger gnt his teeth until they 
ached. He didn’t like that noise; it made him feel like 
cutting something with his knife. 

“If he makes us miss this job. I’ll fix 'im, so help me,” 
Bigger said. “He oughtn’t be late. Every time somebody’s 
late, things go wrong. Look at the big guys. You don’t ever 
hear of them being late, do you? Nawl They work like 
clocks!” 

“Ain’t none of us got more guts’n Gus,” G.H. said. “He’s 
been with us every time.” 

"Aw, shut your trap,” Bigger said. 



FEAR 


39 

“There you go again, Bigger," G.H. said. “Gus was just 
talking about how you act this morning. You get too nervous 
when something’s coming off. . . .” 

"Don’t tell me I’m nervous,” Bigger said. 

“If we don’t do it today, we can do it tomorrow,” Jack 
said. 

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, fooll” 

“Bigger, for chrissakes! Don’t holler!” Jack said tensely. 

Bigger looked at Jack hard and long, then turned away 
with a grimace. 

“Don’t tell the world what we’re trying to do,” Jack whis- 
pered m a mollifying tone. 

Bigger walked to the front of the store and stood looking 
out of the plate glass window. Then, suddenly, he felt sick. 
He saw Gus coming along the street. And his muscles 
stiffened. He was going to do something to Gus, just what, he 
did not know. As Gus neared he heard him whistling: “The 
Merry-Go-Round BroTce Down. . . .” The door swung in. 

“Hi, Bigger,” Gus said. 

Bigger did not answer. Gus passed him and started toward 
the rear tables. Bigger whirled and kicked him hard. Gus 
flopped on his face with a single movement of his body. 
With a look that showed that he was looking at Gus on the 
floor and at Jack and G.H. at the rear table and at Doc — 
looking at them all at once in a kind of smiling, roving, 
turning-slowly glance — Bigger laughed, softly at first, then 
harder, louder, hysterically; feeling something like hot water 
bubbling inside of him and trying to come out. Gus got up 
and stood, quiet, tus mouth open and his eyes dead-black 
with hate. 

“Take it easy, boys,” Doc said, looking up from behind 
his counter, and then bending over again. 

“What you kick me for?” Gus asked. 

“ ’Cause I wanted to,” Bigger said. 

Gus looked at Bigger with lowered eyes. G.H. and Jack 
leaned on their cue sticks and watched silently. 

“I’m going to fix you one of these days,” Gus threatened. 

‘‘Say that again,” Bigger said. 

Doc laughed, straightemng and looking at Bigger, 

“Lay off the boy. Bigger.” 

Gus turned and walked toward the rear tables. Bigger, with 



40 NATIVE SON 

an amazing bound, grabbed him in the back of his collar. 

“I asked you to say that again*" 

“Quit, Bigger!” Gus spluttered, choking, sinking to his 
knees. 

“Don't tell me to quit!" 

The muscles of his body gave a tightening lunge and he 
saw his fist come down on the side of Gus's head; he had 
Struck him really before he was conscious of doing so. 

“Don’t hurt ’im,” Jack said. 

“I’ll kill ’im,” Bigger said through shut teeth, tightening his 
hold on Gus’s collar, choking him harder. 

“T-tum m-m-m-me l-Ioose ” Giis gurgled, struggling. 

“Make me!” Bigger said, drawing his fingers tighter. 

Gus was very still, resting on his knees. Then, like a taut 
bow finding release, he sprang to his feet, shaking loose from 
Bigger and turning to get away. Bigger staggered back against 
the lyall, breathless for a moment. Bigger’s band moved so 
swiftly that nobody saw it; a gleaming blade flashed. He made 
a long step, as graceful as an animal leaping, threw out his 
left foot and tripped Gus to the floor. Gus turned over to rise, 
but Bigger was on top of him, with the knife open and ready. 

“Get up! Get up and I’ll slice your tonsils!" 

Gus lay still. 

“That’s all right, Bigger,” Gus said in surrender. “Lemme 
up." 

“You trying to make a fool out of me. ain’t you?" 

“Naw,” Gus said, his Ups scarcely moving. 

“You goddamn right you ain’t.” Bigger said. 

His face softened a bit and the hard glint in his bloodshot 
eyes died. But he still knelt with the open knife. Then he 
stood. 

“Get up!" he said. 

“Please, Bigger!” 

“You want me to slice you?” 

He stooped again and placed the knife at Gus’s throat. Gus 
did not move and his large black eyes looked pleadingly. 
Bigger was not satisfied, he felt his muscles tightening again. 

“Get up! I ain’t going to ask you no more!" 

Slowly, Gus stood. Bigger held the open blade an inch 
from Gus’s lips. , 

“Lick it,” Bigger said, his body tingling with elation, 

Gus’s eyes filled with tears. 



FEAR 


41 


“Lick it, I said! You think I’m playing?” 

Gus looked round the room without moving his head, just 
rolling his eyes in a mute appeal for help But no one moved. 
Bigger’s left fist was slowly lifting to strike, Gus’s lips moved 
toward the knife; he stuck out his tongue and touched the 
blade Gus’s lips quivered and tears streamed down his 
cheeks. 

“Hahahahal” Doc laughed. 

“Aw, leave 'im alone,” Jack called. 

Bigger watched Gus with lips twisted in a crooked smile. 

“Say, Bigger, ain’t you scared ’im enotigh?” Doc asked. 

Bigger did not answer. His eyes gleamed hard agam, preg- 
nant with another idea. 

“Put your hands up, way up!” he said. 

Gus swallowed and stretched his hands high along the wall. 

“Leave ’im alone. Bigger,” G.H. called weakly. 

“I’m doing this,” B.gger said. 

He put the tip of the blade into Gus’s shirt and then made 
an arc with his arm, as though cutting a circle. 

“How would you like me to cut your belly button out?” 

Gus did not answer. Sweat trickled down his temples. His 
lips hung wide, loose. 

“Shut them liver lips of yours!” 

Gus did not move a muscle. Bigger pushed the knife 
harder into Gus’s stomach. 

“Biggerl” Gus said in a tense whisper. 

“Shut your mouth!” 

Gus shut his mouth. Doc laughed Jack and G.H laughed. 
Then Bigger stepped back and looked at Gus with a smile. 

“You clown,” he said “Put your hands down and set on 
that chair.” He watched Gus sit “That ought to teach you not 
to be late next tune, see?” 

“We ain’t late. Bigger. We still got time. . . 

“Shut up! It is latel” Bigger insisted commandingly. 

Bigger turned aside; then, hearing a sharp scrape on the 
floor, stiffened Gus sprang from the chair and grabbed a bil- 
liard ball from the table and threw it with a half-sob and 
half-curse. Bigger flung his hands upward to shield his face 
and the impact of the ball struck his wrist. He had shut his 
eyes when he had glimpsed the ball sailing through the air 
toward him and when he opened his eyes Gus was flying 
through the rear door and at the same time he heard the ball 



NATIVE SON 


42 

hit the floor and roll away A hard pain throbbed in his hand. 
He sprang forward, cursing, 

“You sonofabitch!" 

He slipped on a cue stick lying In the middle of the floor 
and tumbled forward. 

“That’s enough now. Bigger,” Doc said, laughing. 

Jack and G.H also laughed. B.ggcr rose and faced them, 
holding his hurt hand. His eyes were red and he stared with 
speechless hate. 

“Just keep laughing,” he said. 

“Behave yourself, boy.” Doc said. 

“Just keep laughing,” Bigger said again, taking out his 
knife. 

“Watch what you’re doing now." Doc cautioned. 

“Aw, Bigger,” Jack said, backing away toward the rear 
door. 

“You done spoiled things now,” G.H. said. “1 reckon that 
was what you wanted. . . .” 

“You go to helll” Bigger shouted, drowning out G.H.’s 
voice. 

Doc bent down behind the counter and when he stood up 
he had something in his hand which he did not show. He 
stood there laughing. White spittle showed at the corners of 
Digger’s lips. He walked to the billiard table, his eyes on Doc. 
Then he began to cut the green cloth on the table with long 
sweeping strokes of his arm. He never took his eyes from 
Doc’s face. 

"Why, you sonofabitch!” Doc said. "I ought to shoot you, 
so help me GodI Get out, before I call a cop!” 

Bigger walked slowly past Doc, looking at him, not hurry- 
ing, and holding the open knife in his hand. He paused in the 
doorway and looked back. Jack and G.H. were gone. 

“Get out of here!” Doc said, showing a gun. 

“Don’t you like it?” Bigger asked. 

“Get out before I shoot you!” Doc said, “And don't you 
ever set your black feet inside here again!” 

Doc was angry and Bigger was afraid. He shut the knife 
and slipped it in his pocket and swung through the door to the 
street. He blinked his eyes from the bright sunshine; his 
nerves were so taut that he had difficulty in breathing. Halfway 
down the block he passed Blum’s store; he looked out of the 
comers of his eyes through the plate glass window and saw 



FEAR 


43 


that Blum was alone and the stcwe was empty of customers. 
Yes; they would have had time to rob the store; in fact, they 
still had time He had lied to Gus and G H. and Jack. He 
walked on; there was not a policeman in sight. Yes; they 
could have robbed the store and could have gotten away. 
He hoped the fight he had had with Gus covered up what he 
was trying to hide. At least the fight made him feel the equal 
of them. And he felt the equal of Doc, too; had he not slashed 
his table and dared him to use his gun? 

He had an overwhelming desire to be alone; he walked to 
the middle of the next block and turned into an alley. He 
began to laugh, softly, tensely; he stopped still in his tracks 
and felt something warm roll down his cheek and he brushed 
it away. “Jesus,” he breathed “1 laughed so hard I cried.” 
Carefully, he dried his face on his coat sleeve, then stood 
for two whole minutes stanng at the shadow of a telephone 
pole on the alley pavement. Suddenly he straightened and 
walked on with a single expulsion of breath. “What the hell!” 
He stumbled violently over a tiny crack in the pavement. 
“GoddamnI” he said. When he reached the end of the alley, 
he turned into a street, walking slowly in the sunshine, his 
hands jammed deep into his pockets, his head down, de- 
pressed. 

He went home and sat in a chair by the window, looking 
out dreamily. 

“That you, Bigger?” his mother called from behind the 
curtain. 

“Yeah," he said. 

“What you run in here and run out for, a little while ago?” 

“Nothing ” 

“Don’t you go and get into no trouble, now, boy.” 

“Aw, Ma! Leave me alone ” 

He listened awhile to her rubbing clothes on the metal 
washboard, then he gazed abstractedly into the street, thinking 
of how he had felt when he fought Gus in Doc’s poolroom. 
He was relieved and glad that in an hour he was going to see 
about that job at the Dalton place. He was disgusted with 
the gang; he knew that what had happened today put an end 
to his being with them in any more jobs. Like a man staring re- 
gretfully but hopelessly at the stump of a cut-off arm or leg, 
he knew that the fear of robbing a white man had had hold of 
him when he started that fight with Gus; but he knew it m a 



44 


NATIVE SON 


way that kept it from coming to his mind in the form of a 
hard and sharp idea. His confused emotions had made him 
feel instinctively that it would be better to fight Gus and 
spoil the plan of the robbery than to confront a white naan 
with a gun. But he kept this knowledge of his fear thrust 
firmly down in him; his coimage to live depended upon how 
successfully his fear was hidden from his consciousness. He 
had fought Gus because Gus was late; that was the reason 
his emotions accepted and he did not try to justify himself in 
his own eyes, or in the eyes of the gang. He did not think 
enough of them to feel that he had to; he did not consider 
himself as being responsible to them for what he did, even 
though they had been mvolved as deeply as he in the planned 
robbery. He felt that same way toward everyone. As long as 
he could remember, he had never been responsible to anyone. 
The moment a situation became so that it exacted some- 
thing of him, he rebelled. That was the way he lived; he 
passed his days trying to defeat or gratify powerful impulses 
in a world he feared. 


Outside his window he saw the sim dying over the roof- 
tops in the western sky and watched the first shade of dusk 
fall. Now and then a street car ran past. The rusty radiator 
hissed at the far end of the room. All day long it had been 
spnnglike; but now dark clouds were slowly swallowing the 
sun. All at once the street lamps came on and the sky was 
black and close to the house-tops. 

Inside his shirt he felt the cold metal of the gun resting 
against his naked skin; he ought to put it back between the 
mattresses. No! He would keep it. He would take it with him 
to the Dalton place. He felt that he would be safer if he took 
it. He was not planning to use it and there was nothing in 
particular that he was afraid of, but there was in him an 
uneasiness and distrust that made him feel that he ought 
to have it along. He was going among white people, so he 
would take his knife and his gtm; it would make him feel that 
he was the equal of them, give him a sense of completeness. 
Then he thought of a good reason why he should take it; in 
order to get to the Dalton place, he had to go through a 
white neighborhood. He had not heard of any Negroes being 
molested recently, but he felt that it was always possible. 



FEAR 


45 


Far away a clock boomed five times. He sighed and got 
up and yawned and stretched his arms high above his head 
to loosen the muscles of his body. He got his overcoat, for it 
was growing cold outdoors, then got his cap. He tiptoed to 
the door, wanting to slip out without his mother hearing him. 
Just as he was about to open it, she called, 

“Bigger!” 

He stopped and frowned. 

“Yeah, Ma.” 

“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 
eastward. Well, he would see in a few moments if the Daltons 
for whom he was to work were like the people he had seen and 
heard 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 dis- 
tant 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. V^en he came to it, he stopped and stood 
before a high, black, iron picket fence, feeling constricted in- 
side. 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 tlicre was none. 
Other than the front gate, there was only a driveway, the 
entrance to which was securely locked. Suppose a policeman 
saw him wandering in a white neighborhood like this? It 
would be thought that he was trying to rob or rape some- 



46 


NATIVE SON 


body. 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; ^ 
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 burtung 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. 
Hie woman was so close to him that he could see a tiny 
mole at the comer of her mouth. He held his breath. It 
seemed that there was not room enough for him to pass with- 
out 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, walk- 
ing 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 hell be out in a moment.” 

“Yessum.” 

He sat and looked up at the woman; she was staring at 



FEAR 


47 


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 distrust- 
fully 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 up- 
right 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 issue involuntarily from his lips, as of a force of 
their own. 

“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 



NATIVB SON 


48 

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 
gray 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.” 

“You shouldn’t be alone this way. When is Mrs. Patterson 
coming back?” the man asked. 

“She’ll be back Monday. But Mary’s here. I’m all right; 
don’t worry about me. Is someone with you?” 

“Oh, yes. This is the boy the relief sent.” 

“The relief people were very anxious for you to work for 
us,” the woman said; she did not move her body or face as 
she talked, but she spoke in a tone of voice that indicated that 
she was speaking to Bigger. “I hope you’ll like it here.” 

“Yessum,” Bigger whispered faintly, wondermg as he did 
so if he ought to say anything at all. 

“How far did you go in school?” 

“To the eighth grade, mam.” 

“Don’t you think it would be a wise procedure to in- 
ject him into his new environment at once, so he could get 
the feel of things?” the woman asked, addressing herself by 
the tone of her voice to the man now. 

"Well, tomorrow’ll be time enough,” the man said hesitantly. 

“I think it’s important emotionally that he feels free to 
trust his environment,” the woman said. “Using the analysis 
contained in the case record the relief sent us, I think we 
should evoke an immediate feeling of confidence . . 

“But that’s too abrupt,” the man said. 

Bigger listened, blinking and bewildered. The long strange 
words they used made no sense to him; it was another 
language. He felt from the tone of their voices that they were 
having a difference of opinion about him, but he could not 
determine what it was about. It made him uneasy, tense, as 
though there were influences and presences about him which 
he could feel but not see. He felt strangely blind. 

“Well, let’s try it,” the woman said. 

“Oh, all right. We’ll see. We’ll see,” the man said. 

The man let go of the woman and she walked on slowly, the 
long white fingers of her hands just barely touching the walls. 



FEAR 


49 


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. Tl^ere 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 hi; 
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 hts 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 aiiu oloi out 



50 


NATIVE SON 


the white man who was making him feel like 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 be 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 fed 
that they did. He laid the cap down, noticing that Mr. Dalton 
was watching him dosely. 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 jMJcket,” 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 celling, 

“What kind of a building is that over theref ’ 

‘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?” 



FEAH 


51 


“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 ex- 
pected 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 bo 
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?” 

“Welt, 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.” 



52 


NATIVE SON 


“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 some- 
where 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 wiU 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 docs 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’U 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 imd 
see me. Let’s talk it over.” 



fear 


53 


“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 , 

“Is this the new chauffeur, Father?” 

“What do you want, Mary?” 

“Will you get the tickets for the Thursday concert?” 

“At Orchestra HaU?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes. ra 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, tiuming 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 trymg 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. Goddanml He knew nothing about unions, 
except that they were considered bad. And what did she mean 
by talking to him this way m front of Mr. Dalton, who, 
surely, didn’t like umons? 

“We can settle about the union later, Mary,” said Mr. 
Dalton. 



54 


NATIVE SON 


“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 mo- 
ment.” 

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, Mar}'!” 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. 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. Word- 
lessly, the white man sat behind the desk and picked up the 
paper and looked at it in a long silence. Bigger watched him 
vfith 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. 

“Yessuh ” 

“I want you to know why I’m hiring you.” 

"Yessuh.” 

“You see, Bigger, I’m a supporter of the National As- 



FEAR 55 

sociation for the Advancement of Colored People. Did you 
ever hear of that organization?” 

“Nawsuh.” 

“Well, It doesn’t matter,” said Mr Dalton. “Have you had 
your dinner?” 

“Nawsuh.” 

“Well, I think you’ll do.” 

Mr Dalton pushed a button. There was silence. The 
woman who had answered the front door came in. 

“Yes, Mr. Dalton.” 

“Peggy, this IS Bigger. He’s going to drive for us. Give him 
something to eat, and show him where he’s to sleep and where 
the car is.” 

“Yes, Mr. Dalton.” 

“And, Bigger, at eight-thirty, drive Miss Dalton out to the 
University and wait for her,” said Mr. Dalton. 

“Yessuh.” 

“That’s all now,” 

“Yessuh.” 

“Come with me,” Peggy said 

Bigger rose and got his cap and followed the woman 
through the house to the kitchen. The air was full of the scent 
of food cooking and pots bubbled on the stove. 

“Sit here,” Peggy said, clearing a place for him at a white- 
topped table. He sat and rested his cap on his knees He felt 
a little better now that he was out of the front part of the 
house, but still not quite comfortable 

“Dinner isn’t quite ready yet,” Peggy said. “You like bacon 
and eggs?” 

“Yessum.” 

“Coffee?” 

“Yessum,” 

He sat looking at the white walls of the kitchen and heard 
the woman stir about behind him. 

“Did Mr. Dalton tell you about the furnace?” 

“No’m.” 

“Well, he must have forgotten it. You’re supposed to attend 
to that, too. ni show you where it is before you go.” 

“You mean I got to keep the fire going, mam?" 

“Yes But it’s easy. Did you ever fire before?” 

“No’m.” 

“You can learn. There’s nothing to it ’’ 



56 


NATIVE SON 


“Yessum.” 

Peggy seemed kind enough, but maybe she was being kind 
in order to shove her part of the work on him. Well, he would 
wait and see. If she got nasty, he would talk to Mr. Dalton 
about her. He smelt the odor of frying bacon and realized 
that he was very hungry. He had forgotten to buy a sandwich 
with the quarter his mother had given him, and he had not 
eaten since morning. Peggy placed a plate, knife, fork, spoon, 
sugar, cream, and bread before him; then she dished up the 
bacon and eggs. 

“You can get more if you want it.” 

The food was good. This was not going to be a bad job. 
The only thing bad so far was that crazy girl. He chewed his 
bacon and eggs whUe some remote part of his mind considered 
in amazement how different this rich girl was from the one he 
had seen in the movies. This woman he had watched on the 
screen had not seemed dangerous and his mmd had been 
able to do with her as it liked, but this rich girl walked over 
everything, put herself in the way and, what was strange 
beyond understanding, talked and acted so simply and di- 
rectly that she confounded him. He had quite forgotten that 
Peggy was in the kitchen and when his plate was empty he took 
a soft piece of bread and began to sop it clean, carrying the 
bread to his mouth in huge chunks. 

“You want some more?” 

He stopped chewing and laid the bread aside. He had not 
wanted to let her see him do that; he did that only at home. 

“No’m,” he said. “I got a plenty," 

“You reckon you’ll like it hereT’ Peggy asked. 

“Yessum. I hope so.” 

“This is a swell place,” Peggy said. “About as good as you'll 
find anywhere. The last colored man who worked for us stayed 
ten years.” 

Bigger wondered why she said “us.” She must stand in with 
the old man and old woman pretty good, he thought. 

‘Ten years?” he said. 

“Yes; ten years. His name was Green. He was a good man, 
too.” 

“How come he to leave?” 

“Oh, he was smart, that Green was. He took a job with 
the government. Mrs. Dalton made him go to night school. 
Mrs. Dalton’s always trying to help somebody.” 



FEAR 


57 


Yes; Bigger knew that. But he was not going to any night 
school. He looked at Peggy; she was bent over the sink, wash- 
ing dishes. Her words had challenged him and he felt he had 
to say something. 

“Yessum, he was smart,” he said. “And ten years is a long 
time.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t so long,” Peggy said. “I’ve been here twenty 
years myself I always was one for sticking to a job. I always 
say when you get a good place, then stick there. A rolhng 
stone gathers no moss, and it’s true.” 

Bigger said nothing. 

“Everything’s simple and nice around here,” Peggy said. 
“They’ve got millions, but they live like hurrian beings. They 
don't put on airs and strut. Mrs. Dalton believes that people 
should be that way.” 

“Yessum.” 

“They’re Christian people and beheve in everybody work- 
ing hard, and living a clean life. Some people think we ought 
to have more servants than we do, but we get along. It’s just 
like one big family.” 

“Yessum.” 

“Mr. Dalton’s a fine man,” Peggy said. 

“Oh, yessum. He is.” 

“You know, he does a lot for your people.” 

“My people?” asked Bigger, puzzled. 

“Yes, the colored people. He gave over five million dollars 
to colored schools.” 

“Ohl” 

“But Mrs. Dalton’s the one who’s really nice. If it wasn’t 
for her, he would not be doing what he does. S' e made him 
rich She had millions when he married her Of course, he 
made a lot of money himself afterwards out of real estate. 
But most of the money’s hers. She’s blind, poor thing. She 
lost her sight ten years ago. Did you see her yet?” 

“Yessum.” 

“Was she alone?” 

“Yessum.” 

“Poor thing! Mrs. Patterson, who takes care of her, is 
away for the week-end and she’s all alone. Isn’t it too bad, 
about her?” 

“Oh, yessum,” he said, trying to get into his voice some 



native son 


58 

of the pity for Mrs. Dalton that he thought Peggy expected 
him to feel. 

“It’s really more than a job you’ve got here," Peggy went 
on. “It’s just like home. I’m always telling Mrs. Dalton that 
this is the only home I’ll ever know I wasn’t in this country 
but two years before I started working here. . . 

“Oh." said Bigger, looking at her. 

“I’m Irish, you know,” she said “My folks in the old 
country feel about England like the colored folks feel 
about this country. So I know something about colored peo- 
ple Oh, these are fine people, fine as silk. Even the girl. Did 
you meet her yet?” 

“Yessum ” 

“Tonight?” 

"Yessum,” 

Peggy turned and looked at him sharply. 

"She’s a sweet thing, she is,” she said ‘T've known her since 
she was two years old. To me she’s still a baby and will al- 
ways be one. But she’s kind of wild, she is, Always in 
hot water. Keeps her folks worried to death, she does. She 
runs around with a wild and crazy bunch of reds. . . 

“Reds!" Bigger exclaimed. 

"Yes. But she don’t mean nothing by it,” Peggy said. "Like 
her mother and father, she feels sorry for people and she 
thinks the reds’ll do something for ’em. The Lord only 
knows where she got her wild ways, but she’s got ’em. If you 
stay around here, you'll get to know her. But don’t you pay 
no attention to her red friends. They just keep up a lot of 
fuss,” 

Bigger wanted to ask her to tell him more about the girl, 
but thought that he had better not do that now. 

"If you’re through. I’ll show you the furnace and the car, 
and where your room is,” she said and turned the fire low 
under the pots on the stove. 

“Yessum ” 

He rose and followed her out of the kitchen, down a 
narrow stairway at the end of which was the b.isement It 
was dark: Bigger heard a sharp click and the light came on. 

“This way. . . . What did you say your name was?” 

"Bigger, mam.” 

“What?” 

“Bigger.” 



FEAR 59 

He smelt the scent of coal and ashes and heard fire roar- 
ing. He saw a red bed of embers glowing m the furnace. 

“This is the furnace,” she said. 

“Yessum." 

“Every morning you’ll find the garbage here; you bum it 
and put the bucket on the dumb-waiter." 

“Yessum.” 

“You never have to use a shovel for coal. It's a self-feeder. 
Look, see?” 

Peggy pulled a lever and there came a loud rattle of fine 
lumps of coal sliding down a metal chute. Bigger stooped and 
saw, through the cracks of the furnace, the coal spreadmg 
out fanwise over the red bed of fire. 

“That’s fine,” he mumbled in admiration. 

“And you don’t have to worry about water, either. It fills 
itself.” 

Bigger liked that; it was easy; it would be fun, almost. 

“Your biggest trouble will be taking out the ashes and 
sweeping. And keep track of how the coal runs; when it’s 
low, tell me or Mr. Dalton and we’ll order some more,” 

“Yessum. I can handle it." 

"Now, to get to your room all you have to do is go up 
these back stairs. Come on ” 

He followed up a stretch of stairs. She opened a door and 
switched on a light and Bigger saw a large room whose 
walls were covered with pictures of girls’ faces and prize 
fighters. 

“This was Green’s room. He was always one for pictures. 
But he kept things neat and nice. It’s plenty warm here. 
Oh, yes; before I forget. Here are the keys to the room and 
the garage and the car. Now, I’ll show you the garage. You 
have to get to it from the outside.” 

He followed her down the steps and outside into the 
driveway. It was much warmer, 

“Looks like snow,” Peggy said. 

“Yessum.” 

“This is the garage," she said, unlocking and pushing open 
a door which, as it swung in, made lights come on auto- 
matically. “You always bring the car out and wait at the 
side door for the folks. Let’s see. You say you’re driving 
Miss Dalton tonight?” 

“Yessum.” 



60 


NATIVE SON 


“Well, she leaves at eight-thirty. So you’re free until then. 
You can look over your room if you want to.” 

“Yessuni I reckon I will.” 

Bigger went behind Peggy down the stairs and back into 
the basement. She went to the kitchen and he went to his 
room He stood in the middle of the floor, looking at the 
walls. There were pictures of Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, Jack 
Dempsey, and Henry Armstrong; there were others of 
Ginger Rogers, Jean Harlow, and Janet Gay nor The room 
was large and had two radiators. He felt the bed; it was 
soft Geel He would bring Bessie here some night Not 
right at once; he would wait until he had learned the 
ropes of the place A room all to himself! He could bnng a 
pint of liquor up here and drink it in peace. He would not 
have to slip around any more. He would not have to sleep 
with Buddy and stand Buddy’s kicking all night long He lit 
a cigarette and stretched himself full length upon the bed. 
Ohhhh. . . . This was not going to be bad at all. He looked 
at his dollar watch; it was seven. In a little while he would 
go down and examine the car, And he would buy himself 
another watch, too. A dollar watch was not gond enough for 
a job like this; he would buy a gold one. There were a lot of 
new things he could get. Oh, boy' This would be an easy life. 
Everything was all right, except that girl. She worried him. 
She might cause him to lose his job if she kept talking about 
unions She was a funny girl, all right. Never in his life had 
he met anyone like her She puzzled him. She was rich, but 
she didn’t act like she was rich. She acted like , . . Well, he 
didn’t know exactly what she did act like. In all of the white 
women he had met, mostly on jobs and at relief stations, 
there was always a certain coldness and reserve; they stood 
their distance and spoke to him from afar. But this girl waded 
right in and hit him between the eyes with her words and 
ways. Aw, hell! What good was there m thinking about her 
like this? Maybe she was all right Maybe he would just have 
to get used to her; that was all. I bet she spends a plenty of 
dough, he thought. And the old man had snven five million 
dollars to colored people. If a man could give five million 
dollars away, the millions must be as common to him as 
nickels. He rose up and sat on the edge of the bed. 

What make of car was he to drive? He had not thought 
to look when Peggy had opened the gmage door He hoped 



FEAR 


61 


it would be a Packard, or a Lincoln, or a Rolls Royce. Boy! 
Would he drive! Just wait! Of course, he would be careful 
when he was driving Miss or Mr Dalton But when he was 
alone he would bum up the pavement; he would make those 
tires smoke! 

He licked his lips; he was thirsty. He looked at his 
watch; it was ten past eight He would go to the kitchen and 
get a drink of water and then drive the car out of the garage. 
He went down the steps, through the basement to the stairs 
leading to the kitchen door Though he did not know it, he 
walked on tiptoe He eased the door open and peeped in. 
What he saw made him suck his breath in; Mrs. Dalton 
in flowing white clothes was standing stonestill in the middle 
of the kitchen floor. There was silence, save for the slow 
ticking of a large clock on a white wall For a moment he 
did not know if he should go in or go back down the steps; 
his thirst was gone. Mrs. Dalton’s face was held in an at- 
titude of intense listening and her hands were hanging 
loosely at her sides. To Big'>er her face seemed to be capable 
of hearing in every pore of the skin and listening always to 
some low voice speaking, Sitting quietly on the floor beside 
her was the white cat, its large black eyes fastened upon 
him. It made him uneasy just to look at her and that 
white cat; he was about to close the door and tiptoe softly 
back down the stairs when she spoke. 

“Are you the new boy?” 

•'Yessum.” 

“Did you want something?” 

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, mam. I — I ... I j’ust 
wanted a drink of water.” 

“Well, come on in. I think youll find a glass somewhere ” 

He went to the sink, watching her as he walked, feeling 
that she could see him even though he knew that she was 
blind. His skin tingled. He took a glass from a narrow shelf 
and filled it from a faucet. As he drank he stole a glance at 
her over the rim of the glass Her face was still, tilted, wait- 
ing. It reminded him of a dead man’s face he had once seen. 
Then he realized that Mrs. Dalton had turned and listened 
to the sound of his feet as he had walked. She knows exactly 
where I’m standing, he thought. 

“You like your room?” she asked; and as she spoke he 



NATtVE SON 


62 

realized that she had been standing there waiting to hear the 
sound of his glass as it had clinked on the sink. 

“Oh, yessum ” 

"I hope you’re a careful driver." 

“Oh, yessum I’ll be careful.” 

“Did you ever drive before?” 

“Yessum. But it was a grocery truck.” 

He had the feeling that talking to a blind person was 
like talking to someone whom he himself could scarcely see. 

“How far did you say you went in school. Bigger?” 

“To the eighth grade, mam.” 

“Did you ever think of going back?” 

“Well, I gotta work now, mam. 

“Suppose you had the chance to go back?” 

“Well, I don’t know, mam.” 

“The last man who worked here went to night school and 
got an education.” 

“Yessum.” 

“What would you want to be if you had an education?” 

“I don’t know, mam ” 

“Did you ever think about it?” 

“No’m.” 

"You would rather work?” 

“I reckon I would, mam.” 

“Well, we’ll talk about that some other time. I think 
you’d better get the car for Miss Dalton now.” 

“Yessum.” 

He left her standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, 
exactly as he had found her. He did not know just how to 
take her; she made him feel that she would judge all he did 
harshly but kindly. He had a feeling toward her that was 
akin to that which he held toward his mother. The difference 
in his feelings toward Mrs. Dalton and his mother was that 
he felt that his mother wanted him to do the things she 
wanted him to do, and he felt that Mrs. Dalton wanted him 
to do the things she felt that he should have wanted to do. 
But he did not want to go to night school Night school was 
all right, but be had other plans. Well, he didn’t know just 
what they were right now, but he was working them out. 

The night air had grown warmer A wind had risen. He 
lit a cigarette and unlocked the garage; the door swung in 
and again he was surprised and pleased to see the hghts 



FEAR 


63 


spring on automatically. These people’s got everything, he 
mused. He examined the car, it was a dark blue Buick, with 
steel spoke wheels and of a new make. He stepped back from 
it and looked it over; then he opened the door and looked at 
the dashboard He was a little disappointed that the car was 
not so expensive as he had hoped, but what it lacked in price 
was more than made up for in color and style. ‘‘It's all right," 
he said half-aloud. He got m and backed it into the drive- 
way and turned it round and pulled it up to the side door. 

‘‘Is that you. Bigger?” 

The girl stood on the steps. 

‘‘Yessum.” 

He got out and held the rear door open for her. 

"Thank you ’’ 

He touched his cap and wondered if it were the right thing 
to do. 

“Is it that university-school out there on the Midway, 
mam?” 

Through the rear mirror above him he saw her hesitate 
before answering. 

“Yes; that’s the one.” 

He pulled the car into the street and headed south, driv- 
ing about thirty-five miles an hour. He handled the car ex- 
pertly, picking up speed at the beginning of each block and 
slowing slightly as he approached each street intersection. 

‘‘You drive well,” she said. 

“Yessum,” he said proudly. 

He watched her through the rear mirror as he drove; she 
was kind of pretty, but very little She looked like a doll 
in a show window: black eyes, white face, red lips. And 
she was not acting at all now as she had acted when he first 
saw her In fact, she had a remote look in her eyes. He 
stopped the car at Forty-seventh Street for a red light; he 
did not have to stop again until he reached Fifty-first Street 
where a long line of cars formed in front of him and a long 
line in back He held the steering wheel lightly, waiting for 
the line to move forward. He had a keen sense of power 
when driving; the feel of a car added something to him He 
loved to press his foot against a pedal and sail along, 
watching others stand still, seeing the asphalt road unwind 
under him The lights hashed from red to green and he 
nosed the car forward. 



64 


NATIVE SON 


“Biggerl" 

“Yessum.** 

“Turn at this comer and pull up on a side street.” 

“Here, mam?” 

“Yes; here.” 

Now, what on earth did this mean? He pulled the car off 
Cottage Grove Avenue and drew to a curb He turned to 
look at her and was startled to see that she was sitting on 
the sheer edge of the back seat, her face some six mches 
from his. 

“I scare you?” she asked softly, smilmg. 

“Oh, no’m,” he mumbled, bewildered. 

He watched her through the mirror. Her tiny white hands 
dangled over the back of the front seat and her eyes looked 
out vacantly. 

“I don’t know how to say what I’m going to say,” she said. 

He said nothing. There was a long silence. What in all 
hell did this ^1 want? A street car rumbled by. Behind 
him, reflected in the rear mirror, he saw the traffic lights 
flash from green to red, and back again. Well, whatever she 
was going to say, he wished she would say it and get it 
over. This girl was strange She did the unexpected every 
minute. He waited for her to speak She took her hands from 
the back of the front seat and fumbled in her purse. 

"Gotta match?” 

“Yessum.” 

He dug a match from his vest pocket. 

“Strike it,” she said. 

He bimked. He struck the match and held the flame for 
her. She smoked awhile in silence. 

“You’re not a tattletale, are you?” she asked with a smile. 

He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. What 
she had asked and the tone of voice in which she had asked 
it made him feel that he ought to have answered in some way; 
but what? 

“I’m not going to the University,” she said at last. “But you 
can forget that. I want you to drive me to the Loop But if 
anyone should ask you, then I went to the University, see, 
Bigger?” 

“Yessum, it’s all right with me,” he mumbled. 

“I think I can trust you.” 

“Yessum.” 



FEAR 


65 


“After all, I'm on your side.” 

Now, what did that mean? She was on his side. What 
side was he on? Did she mean that she liked colored people? 
Well, he had heard that about her whole family. Was she 
really crazy? How much did her folks know of how she 
acted? But if she were really crazy, why did Mr. Dalton let 
him drive her out? 

“I’m going to meet a friend of mine who’s also a friend of 
yours,” she said. 

“Fnend of mine!" he could not help exclaiming. 

“Oh, you don’t know him yet,” she said, laughing. 

“Oh.” 

“Go to the Outer Drive and then to 16 Lake Street.” 

“Yessum.” 

Maybe she was talking about the reds? That was it! But 
none of his friends were reds. What was all this? If Mr. Dal- 
ton should ask him if he had taken her to the University, he 
would have to say yes and depend upon her to back him up. 
But suppose Mr Dalton had someone watching, someone 
who would tell where he had really taken her? He had heard 
that many rich people had detectives working for them. If 
only he knew what this was all about he would feel much 
better. And she had said that she was going to meet someone 
who was a friend of his He didn’t want to meet any Com 
munists. They didn't have any money. He felt that it was 
all right for a man to go to jail for robbery, but to go to 
jail for fooling around with reds was bunk. Well, he would 
dnve her; that was what he had been hired for. But he was 
going to watch his step in this business. The only thing he 
hoped was that she would not make him lose his job. He 
pulled the car off the Outer Drive at Seventh Street, drove 
north on Michigan Boulevard to Lake Street, then headed 
west for two blocks, looking tor number 16. 

“It’s right here. Bigger.” 

“Yessum.” 

He pulled to a stop in front of a dark building. 

“Wait,” she said, getting out of the car 

He saw her smiling broadly at him, almost laughing. He 
felt that she knew every feeling and thought he had at 
that moment and he turned his head away in confusion. 
Goddamn that woman! 

“1 won’t be long,” she said. 



66 


native son 


She started off, then tamed back. 

•Take it easy, Bigger. You’ll understand it better bye 
and bye.” 

“Yessura,” ho said, trying to smile; but couldn’t. 

“Isn’t there a song like that, a song your people sing?” 

“Like what, mam?” 

“We’ll understand it better bye and bye?” 

“Oh, yessum.” 

She was an odd girl, all right. He felt something in her 
over and above the fear she inspired in him She responded 
to him as if he were human, as if he lived in the same 
world as she. And he had never felt that before in a white 
person. But why? Was this some kind of game? The guarded 
feeling of freedom he had while listening to her was tangled 
with the hard fact that she was white and rich, a part of the 
world of people who told him what he could and could not 
do. 

He looked at the biiilding into which she had gone; it was 
old and impjunted; there were no lights in the windows or 
doorway. Maybe she was meeting her sweetheart? If that 
was all, then things would straighten out, But if she had 
gone to meet those Communists? And what were Communists 
like, anyway? Was she one? What made people Communists? 
He remembered seeing many cartoons of Communists in 
newspapers and always they had flaming torches in their 
hands and wore beards and were trying to commit murder or 
set things on fire. People who acted that way were crazy. All 
he could recall having heard about Communists was as- 
sociated in his mind with darkness, old houses, people speak- 
ing in whispers, and trade unions on strike. And this was 
something like it 

He stiffened; the door into which she had gone opened. 
She came out, followed by a young white man. They walked 
to the car; but, instead of getting into the back seat, they 
came to the side of the car and stood, facing him. 

“Oh, Bigger, this is Jan. And Jan, this is Bigger Thomas.” 
Jan smiled broadly, then extended an open palm toward 
him. Bigger’s entire body tightened with suspense and dread. 
“How are you, Bigger?” 

Bigger’s right hand gripped the steering wheel and he 
wondered if he ought to shake hands with this white man. 
“I’m fine,” he mumbled. 



FEAR 


67 


Jan’s hand was still extended. Bigger’s right hand raised itself 
about three inches, then stopped in imd-air. 

“Come on and shake," Jan said. 

Bigger extended a limp palm, his mouth open in astonish- 
ment. He felt Jan’s fingers tighten about his own. He tried to 
pull his hand away, ever so gently, but Jan held on, firmly, 
smiling. 

“We may as well get to know each other,” Jan said. “I’m 
a friend of Mary’s.” 

“Yessuh,” he mumbled. 

“First of all,” Jan continued, putting his foot upon the 
running-board, “don’t say sir to me. I’ll call you Bigger and 
you’ll call me Jan. That’s the way it'll be between us. How’s 
that?” 

Bigger did not answer. Mary was s milin g. Jan still 
gripped his hand and Bigger held his head at an oblique 
angle, so that he could, by merely shifting his eyes, look at 
Jan and then out into the street whenever he did not wish to 
meet Jan’s gaze. He heard Mary laughing softly. 

“It’s all right, Bigger,” she said. “Jan means it” 

He flushed warm with anger. Goddam her soul to belli 
Was she lau ghin g at him? Were they making fun of him? 
What was it that they wanted? Why didn’t they leave him 
alone? He was not bothering them. It’es, anything could hap- 
pen with people like these. His entire mind and body were 
painfully concentrated into a single sharp point of attention. 
He was trying desperately to understand. He felt foolish sit- 
ting behind the steering wheel like this and letting a white 
man hold his hand. What would people passing along the 
street think? He was very conscious of his black skin and 
there was in him a prodding conviction that Jan and men 
like him had made it so that he would be conscious of that 
black skm. Did not white people despise a black skin? Then 
why was Jan doing this? Why was Mary standing there so 
eagerly, with shining eyes? What could they get out of this? 
Maybe they did not despise him? But they made him feel 
his black skin by just standing there looking at him, one 
holding his hand and the other smiling. He felt he had no 
physicd existence at all nght then; he was something he 
hated, the badge of shame which he knew was attached to 
a black skm. It was a shadowy region, a No Man’s Land, 
the ground that separated the white world from the black 



68 


NATIVE SON 


that he stood upon. He felt naked, transparent; he felt that 
this white man, having helped to put him down, having 
helped to deform him, held him up now to look at him and be 
amused. At that moment he felt toward Mary and Jan a 
dumb, cold, and inarticulate hate. 

“Let me dnve awhile,” Jan said, letting go of his hand and 
opening the door. 

Bigger looked at Mary. She came forward and touched 
his arm. 

“It’s all right. Bigger,” she said. 

He turned in the seat to get out, but Jan stopped him, 

“No; stay m and move over." 

He slid over and Jan took his place at the wheel. He 
was still feeling his hand strangely; it seemed that the 
pressure of Jan’s fingers had left an indelible imprint. Mary 
was getting into the front seat, too. 

“Move over, Bigger,” she said. 

He moved closer to Jan, Mary pushed herself in, wedging 
tightly between him and the outer door of the car. There 
were white people to either side of him; he was sitting 
between two vast white looming walls. Never in his life had 
he been so close to a white woman. He smelt the odor of her 
hair and felt the soft pressure of her thigh against his own. 
Jan headed the car back to the Outer Drive, weaving in and 
out of the line of traffic. Soon they were speeding along the 
lake front, past a huge flat sheet of dully gleaming water. 
The sky was heavy with snow clouds' and the wind was 
blowing strong. 

“Isn’t it glonous tonight?” she asked, 

“God, yes!” Jan said. 

Bigger listened to the tone of their voices, to their strange 
accents, to the exuberant phrases that flowed so freely from 
their lips. 

“That sky!” 

“And that water!” 

“It’s so beautiful it makes you ache just to look at it,” 
said Mary. 

“This is a beautiful world. Bigger,” Jan said, turning to him. 
“Look at that skyline!” 

Bigger looked without turning his head; he just rolled his 
eyes. Stretching to one side of him was a vast sweep of tall 
buildings flecked with tiny squares of yellow light. 



FEAR 


69 


“We’ll own all that gome day. Bigger,” Jan said with a wave 
of his hand. “After the revolution it’ll be ours But we’ll have 
to fight for it. What a world to win, Biggerl And when that 
day comes, things’!! be different. TTiere’ll be no white and 
no black; there’ll be no rich and no poor.” 

Bigger said nothing. The car whirred along. 

“We seem strange to you, don’t we. Bigger?” Mary asked. 

“Oh, no’m,” he breathed softly, knowing that she did not 
believe him, but finding it impossible to answer her in any 
other way. 

His arms and legs were aching from being cramped into 
so small a space, but he dared not move. He knew that they 
would not have cared if he had made himself more comfort- 
able, but his moving would have called attention to himself 
and his black body And he did not want that. These people 
made him feel things he did not want to feel. If he were 
white, if he were like them, it would have been different. But 
he was black So he sat still, his arms and legs aching. 

“Say, Bigger,” asked Jan, “where can we get a good meal 
on the &uth Side?” 

“Well,” Bigger said, reflectively. 

“We want to go to a real place,” Mary said, turning to 
him gayly. 

“You want to go to a night club?” Bigger asked in a tone 
that indicated that he was simply mentioning names and not 
recommendmg places to go. 

“No; we want to eat.” 

“Look, Bigger. We want one of those places where colored 
people eat, not one of those show places.” 

\^at did these people want? When he answered his voice 
was neutral and toneless. 

“Well, there’s Ernie’s Kitchen Shack. . . 

“That sounds good!” 

“Let’s go there, Jan,” Mary said. 

“O.K Jan said, “Where is it?” 

“It’s at Forty-seventh Street and Indiana,” Bigger told them. 

Jan swung the car off the Outer Drive at Thirty-first 
Street and drove westward to Indiana Avenue. Bigger wanted 
Jan to drive faster, so that they could reach Ernie’s Kitchen 
Shack in the shortest possible time That would allow him a 
chance to sit in the car and stretch out his cramped and 
aching legs while they ate. Jan turned onto Indiana Avenue 



NATIVE SON 


70 

and headed south. Bigger wondered what Jack and Gus 
and G. H, would say if they saw him sitting between two white 
people in a car like this. They would tease him about such 
a tWng as long as they could remember it. He felt Mary turn 
in her seat She placed her hand on his arm. 

“You know, Bigger, I’ve long wanted to go into those 
houses,” she said, pointing to the tall, dark apartment build- 
ings looming to either side of them, “and just see how your 
people live. You know what I mean? I’ve been to England, 
France and Mexico, but 1 don’t know how people live ten 
blocks from me. We know so little about each other. I just 
want to see. I want to know these people. Never in my life 
have 1 been inside of a Negro home. Yet they must live like 
we hve. They’re human. . . . There are twelve million of 
them. . . . They live in our country. ... In the same city 
with us. . . .” her voice trailed off wistfully. 

There was silence. The car sped through the Black Belt, 
past tall buildings holding black life. Bigger knew that they 
were thinking of his life and the life of his people. Suddenly 
he wanted to seize some heavy object m his hand and grip it 
with all the strength of his body and in some strange way 
rise up and stand in naked space above the speeding car 
and with one final blow blot it out — with himself and them in 
it. His heart was beating fast and he struggled to control his 
breath. This thing was getting the better of him; he felt 
that he should not give way to his feelings, like this. But 
he could not help it. Why didn’t they leave him alone? 
What had he done to them? What good could they get out 
of sitting here making him feel so miserable? 

“Tell me where it is, Bigger,” Jan said, 

“Yessuh.” 

Bigger looked out and saw that they were at Forty-sbcth 
Street. 

“It’s at the end of the next block, suh.” 

“Can I park along here somewhere?” 

“Oh; yessuh.” 

“Bigger, pleasel Don’t say sir to me. ... I don’t like it. 
You’re a man just like I am; I’m no better than you. Maybe 
other white men like it. But I don’t Look, Bigger. . . .” 

“Yes. . . .” Bigger paused, swallowed, and looked down at 
his black hands. “O.K.,” he mumbled, hopmg that they did 
not hear the choke in his voice. 



FEAR 


71 


“You see, Bigger. . . Jan began. 

Mary reached her hand round back of Bigger and touched 
Jan’s shoulder. 

“Let’s get out,’’ she said hurriedly. 

Jan pulled the car' to the curb and opened the door and 
stepped out. Bigger slipped behind the steering wheel again, 
glad to have room at last for his arms and legs. Mary got 
out of the other door. Now, he could get some rest. So in- 
tensely taken up was he with his own immediate sensations, 
that he did not look up until he felt something strange in the 
long silence. When he did look he saw, in a split second 
of time, Mary turn her eyes away from his face. She was 
looking at Ian and Jan was looking at her. There was no 
mistaking the meaning of the look in their eyes. To Bigger 
it was plainly a bewildered and questioning look, a look 
that asked: What on earth is wrong with him? Bigger’s 
teeth clamped tight and he stared straight before him. 

“Aren’t you coming with us. Bigger?” Mary asked in a 
sweet tone that made him want to leap at her. 

The people in Ernie’s Kitchen Shack knew him and he did 
not want them to see him with these white people. He knew 
that if he went in they would ask one another: Who're them 
white folks Bigger’s hanging around with? 

“I — ... I don’t want to go in. . . he whispered 
breathlessly. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Jan asked. 

“Naw; I ain’t hungry.” 

Jan and Mary came close to the car. 

“Come and sit with us anyhow,” Jan said. 

“I . . . I . . .” Bigger stammered. 

“It’ll be all right,” Mary said. . 

“I can stay here. Somebody has to watch the car," he said. 

“Oh, to hell with the carl” Mary said, “Come on in.” 

“I don’t want to eat,” Bigger said stubbornly. 

“Well,” Jan sighed. “If that’s the way you feel about it, we 
won’t go in.” 

Bigger felt trapped. Oh, goddamn I He saw in a flash that he 
could have made all of this very easy if he had simply acted 
from the beginning as if they were doing nothing unusual. 
But he did not understand them; he distrusted them, really 
hated them. He was puzzled as to why they were treating 
him this way. But, after all, this was his job and it was just 



72 NATIVE SON 

as painful to sit here and let them stare at him as it was to 
go in. 

“O.K.,” he mumbled angrily. 

He got out and slammed the door Mary came close to him 
and caught his arm. He stared at her in a long silence; 
it was the first time he had ever looked directly at her, and 
he was able to do so only because he was angry. 

“Bigger,” she said, “you don’t have to come in unless you 
really want to. Please, don’t think . . Oh, Bigger . . . We’re 
not trying to make you feel badly ” 

Her voice stopped. In the dim light of the street lamp 
Bigger saw her eyes cloud and her lips tremble. She swayed 
against the car. He stepped backward, as though she were 
contaminated with an invisible contagion. Jan slipped his 
arm about her waist, supporting her. Bigger heard her sob 
softly. Good God! He had a wild impulse to turn around and 
walk away. He felt ensnared in a tangle of deep shadows, 
shadows as black as the night that stretched above his head. 
The way he had acted had made her cry, and yet the way 
she had acted had made him feel that he had to act as he had 
toward her. In his relations with her he felt that he was rid- 
ing a seesaw; never wore they on a common level; either he or 
she was up in the air. Mary dried her eyes and Jan whispered 
something to her. Bigger wondered what he could say to his 
mother, or the relief, or Mr. Dalton, if he left them. They 
would be sure to ask why he had walked off his job, and 
he would not be able to tell. 

“I’m all right, now, Jan,” he heard Mary say. “I’m sorry. 
Tm just a fool, I suppose. ... I acted a ninny.” She lifted 
her eyes to Bigger. “Don’t mind me, Bigger. I'm just silly, 
I guess. . . .” 

He said nothing. 

“Come on. Bigger,” Jan said in a voice that sought to cover 
up everything. “Let's eat.” 

Jan caught his arm and tried to pull him forward, but 
Bigger hung back, Jan and Mary walked toward the en- 
trance of the caf6 and Bigger followed, confused and re- 
sentful. Jan went to a small table near a wall. 

“Sit down. Bigger.” 

Bigger sat. Jan and Mary sat in front of him. 

“You like fried chicken?” Jan asked. 

“Yessuh,” he whispered. 



FEAR 


73 


He scratched his head How on earth could he learn not 
to say yessuh and yessum to white people in one night when 
he had been saying it all his life long? He looked before 
him in such a way that his eyes would not meet theirs. The 
waitress came and Jan ordered three beers and three por- 
tions of fried chicken. 

“Hi, Biggerl” 

He turned and saw Jack waving at him, but staring at 
Jan and Mary. He waved a stiff palm in return. Goddamn! 
Jack walked away humedly Cautiously, Bigger looked 
round; the waitresses and several people at other tables were 
staring at him. They all knew him and he knew that they 
were wondering as he would have wondered if he had been 
in their places. Mary touched his arm. 

“Have you ever been here before, Bigger?” 

He groped for neutral words, words that would convey in- 
formation but not indicate any shade of his own feelings. 

“A few times.” 

“It’s very nice,” Mary said. 

Somebody put a nickel in an automatic phonograph and 
they listened to the music. Then Bigger felt a hand grab his 
shoulder. 

“Hi, Bigger! Where you been?” 

He looked up and saw Bessie laughing in his face. 

“Hi,” he said gruffly. 

“Oh, ’scuse me. I didn’t know you had company,” she 
said, walking away with her eyes upon Jan and Mary. 

“Tell her to come over. Bigger,” Mary said. 

Bessie had gone to a far table and was sitting with anoth- 
er girl. 

“She’s over there now,” Bigger said. 

The waitress brought the beer and chicken. 

“This is simply grandl” Mary exclaimed 

“You got something there,” Jan said, looking at Bigger. 
“Did I say that right. Bigger?” 

Bigger hesitated. 

“That’s the way they say it,” he spoke flatly. 

Jan and Mary were eating. Bigger picked up a piece of chick- 
en and bit it. When he tried to chew he found his mouth 
dry. It seemed that the very organic functions of his body 
had altered; and when he realized why, when he understood 



NATIVE SON 


74 

the cause, he could not chew the food. After two or three 
bites, he stopped and sipped his beer. 

“Eat your chicken," Mary said. “It’s goodl" 

“I ain’t hungry,” he mumbled. 

“Want some more beer?" Jan asked after a long silence. 
Maybe if he got a little drunk it would help him. 

“I don’t mind,” he said. 

Jan ordered another round. 

“Do they keep anything stronger than beer here?" Jan 
asked. 

“They got anything you want," Bigger said. 

Jan ordered a fifth of rum and poured a round. Bigger 
felt the liquor wanning him. After a second drink Jan began 
to talk. 

"Where were you bom, Bigger?” 

“In the South.” 

“Whereabouts?" 

“Mississippi." 

“How far did you go in school?” 

“To the eighth grade." 

“Why did you stop?” 

"No money.” 

“Did you go to school in the North or South?” 

“Mostly in the South. I went two years up here,” 

“How long have you been in Chicago?” 

“Oh, about five years.” 

“You like it here?” 

“It’U do.” 

“You live with your people?" 

“My mother, brother, and sister.” 

“Where’s your father?” 

“Dead.” 

“How long ago was that?" 

“He got killed in a riot when I was a kid — in the South.” 
There was silence. The rum was helping Bigger. 

“And what was done about it?” Jan asked. 

"Nothing, far as I know.” 

“How do you feel about it?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Listen, Bigger, that’s what we want to stop. That’s what 
we Communists are fighting. We want to stop people from 
treatmg others that way. I’m a member of the Party. Mary 



FEAR 75 

sympathizes. Don’t you think if we got together we could 
stop things like that'^" 

“I don’t know,” Bigger said; he was feeling the rum rising 
to his head. "There's a lot of white people in the world.” 

"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 an- 
other 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 yon 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 m the reflection of the rear mir- 
ror 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 up>on his arm. 

“How was the demonstration?” 

“Pretty good. But the cops arrested three comrades.” 

“Who were they?” 



76 


NATIVE BON 


“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." 

“SweU." 

“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 darlmg, isn’t he?” 

“He’s one of the best lawyers we’ve got.” 

Bigger listened; he knew that they were talking commu- 
nism and he tried to understand. But he couldn’t. 

“Jan.” 

“Yes, honey,” 

“Pm 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 ivith me, m 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 
eveiything.” 

“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 some- 
thing.” 

“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 eniotioni 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. 



FEAR 77 

“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. 

“Wiere’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 
dnnk. 

"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 tilt- 
ed it twice, taking two huge swallows. 

“Woooow!” Mary laughed. 

“You took a swig, all right,” Jan said 

Bigger wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and 
continued driving slowly through the dark park. Now and 
then he heard the half-empty bottle of rum gurgling. They 
getting plastered, he thought, feeling the effect of the rum 
creeping outward to his fingers and upward to his lips. Pres- 
ently, he heard Mary giggle Hell, she’s plastered already! 
The car rolled slowly round and round the sloping curves. 
The rum's soft heat was spreading fanwise out from his 
stomach, engulfing his whole body. He was not driving; he 
was simply sittmg and floating along smoothly through dark- 



78 


NATIVE SON 


ness. His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel and his 
body slouched lazily down m the seat. He looked at the mir- 
ror; they were drinking again They plastered, all right, he 
thought. He pulled the car softly round the curves, looking 
at the road before him one second and up at the mirror the 
next. He heard Jan whispering; then he heard them both 
sigh. His lips were numb. I’m almost drunk, he thought. His 
sense of the city and park fell away; he was floating m the 
car and Jan and Mary were in back, kissing. A long time 
passed. 

“It’s one o’clock, honey,” Mary said. “I better go in.” 

“O K. But let’s drive a little more. It’s great here.” 

“Father says I’m a bad girl.” 

“I’m sorry, darhng.” 

“I’ll call you in the morning before I go.” 

“Sure. What time?” 

“About eight-thirty.” 

“Gee, but I hate to see you go to Detroit.” 

“I hate to go too. But I got to. You see, honey, I got to 
make up for being bad with you down in Florida. I got to 
do what Mother and Father say for awhile.” 

“I hate to see you go just the same.” 

“I’ll be back in a couple of days.” 

“A couple of days is a long time.” 

“You’re silly, but you’re sweet,” she said, laughing and 
kissing him. 

"You better drive on, Bigger,” Jan called. 

Bigger drove out of the park onto Cottage Grove Avenue 
and headed north. The city streets were empty and quiet 
and dark and the tires of the car hummed over the asphalt. 
When he reached Forty-sixth Street, a block from the Dal- 
ton home, he heard a street car rumbling faindy behind 
him, far down the avenue. 

“Here comes ray car,” Jan said, turning to peer through 
the rear window. 

“Oh, gee, honey!” Mary said. “You’ve got such a long 
way to go. If I had the time, I’d ride you home. But I’ve 
been out so late as it is that Mama’s going to be suspicious.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.” 

“Oh, say! Let Bigger drive you home." 

“Nonsensel Why should he drive me all that distance 
this time of morning?” 



PEAK 


79 


“Then you’d better take this car, honey." 

“No. I’ll see you home first ’’ 

“But, honey, the cars run only every half hour when it’s 
late like this,’’ Mary said. “You’ll get ill, waiting out here 
in the cold. Look, you take this car. I’ll get home all right. 
It’s only a block. . . .’’ 

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” 

“Of course. I’m in sight of home now. There; see. . . •" 

Through the rear mirror Bigger saw her pointing to the 
Dalton home. 

“O.K.,” Jan said. “You’d better stop here and let me off, 
Bigger." 

He stopped the car. Bigger heard them speak in whispers. 

“Good-bye, Jan.” 

“Good-bye, honey.” 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” 

“Sure.” 

Jan stood at the front door of the car and held out his 
palm. Bigger shook timidly. 

“It’s been great meeting you. Bigger,” Jan said. 

“O.K.,” Bigger mumbled. 

“I’m damn glad I know you. Look Have another drink.” 

Bigger took a big swallow. 

“You better give me one, too, Jan. It’ll make me sleep," 
Mary said. 

“You’re sure you haven’t had enough?” 

“Aw, come on, honey.” 

She got out of the car and stood on the curb. Jan gave her 
the bottle and she tilted it. 

“Whoa!” Jan said. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I don’t want you to pass out." 

“I can hold it.” 

Jan tilted the bottle and emptied it, then laid it in the gut- 
ter. He fumbled clumsily m his pockets for something. He 
swayed; he was drunk. 

“You lose something, honey?” Mary lisped, she, too, was 
drunk. 

“Naw; I got some stuff here I want Bigger to read. Listen, 
Bigger, I got some pamphlets here. I want you to read ’em, 
see?” 



80 


NATIVE SON 


Bigger held out his hand and received a small batch of 
booklets. 

“O K.” 

“I really want you to read ’em, now. We’ll have a talk 
’bout ’em in a coupla days. . . His speech was thick. 

“I’ll read ’em,” Bigger said, stiBmg a yawn and stuffing 
the booklets into his pocket. 

“I’ll see that he reads ’em,” Mary said. 

Jan kissed her agam. Bigger heard the Loop-bound car rum- 
blmg forward. 

“Well, good-bye,” he said. 

“Goo’-bye, honey,” Mary said. “I’m gonna ride up front 
with Bigger.” 

She got into the front seat. The street car clanged to a 
stop. Jan swung onto it and it started north. Bigger drove to- 
ward Drexel Boulevard. Mary slumped down m the seat and 
sighed. Her legs sprawled wide apart. The car rolled along. 
Bigger’s head was spinning. 

“You’re very nice, Bigger,” she said. 

He looked at her. Her face was pasty white. Her eyes were 
glassy. She was very drunk. 

“I don’t know,” he said. 

“Myl But you say the /unniest things,” she giggled, 

“Maybe,” he said. 

She leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“You know, for three hours you haven’t said yes or no." 

She doubled up with laughter. He tightened with hate. 
Again she was looking inside of him and he did not like it. 
She sat up and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. He 
kept his eyes straight in front of him and swung the car 
into the dnveway and brought it to a stop. He got out and 
opened the door. She did not move. Her eyes were closed. 

“We’re here,” he said. 

She tried to get up and slipped back into the seat 

“Aw, shucks I” 

She’s drunk, really drunk. Bigger thought. She stretched 
out her hand. 

“Here; ginime a lift. I’m wobbly. . . .” 

She was resting on the small of her back and her dress 
was pulled up so far that he could see where her stockings 



PEAR 8 1 

ended on her thighs. He stood looking at her for a moment; 
she raised her eyes and looked at him. She laughed. 

“Help me, Bigger. I’m stuck.” 

He helped her and his hands felt the softness of her body 
as she stepped to the ground. Her dark eyes looked at him 
feverishly from deep sockets. Her hair was in his face, filling 
him with its scent. He gritted his teeth, feeling a little dizzy. 

“Where’s my hat? I dropped it shomewhere. . . ” 

She swayed as she spoke and he tightened his arms about 
her, holding her up. He looked around; her hat was lymg 
on the running board. 

“Here it is,” he said. 

As he picked it up he wondered what a white man would 
think seeing him here with her like this. Suppose old man 
Dalton saw him now? Apprehensively, he looked up at the 
big house. It was dark and silent. 

“Well,” Mary sighed. “I suppose I better go to bed. . . 

He turned her loose, but had to catch her again to keep 
her oS the pavement. He led her to the steps. 

“Can you make it?” 

She looked at him as though she had been challenged. 

“Sure. Turn me loose. . . .” 

He took his arm from her and she mounted the steps 
firmly and then stumbled loudly on the wooden porch. Big- 
ger made a move toward her, but stopped, his hands out- 
stretched, frozen with fear. Good God, she’ll wake up every- 
body! She was half-bent over, resting on one knee and one 
hand, looking back at him in amused astonishment. That 
girl’s crazy! She pulled up and walked slowly back down the 
steps, holding onto the railing. She swayed before him, snul- 
ing 

“I sure am drunk. . . 

He watched her with a mingled feeling of helplessness, 
admiration, and hate. If her father saw him here with her 
now, his job would be over. But she was beautiful, slender, 
with an air that made him feel that she did not hate him 
with the hate of other white people. But, for all of that, she 
was white and he hated her. She closed her eyes slowly, then 
opened them; she was trying desperately to take hold of 
herself Since she was not able to get to her room alone, 
ought he to call Mr. Dalton or Peggy? Naw. . . . That would 
betray her. And, too, m spite of bus hate for her, he was ex- 



82 


NATIVE SON 


cited standing here watching her like this. Her eyes closed 
again and she swayed toward him. He caught her. 

“I’d better help you,” he said. 

“Let’s go the back way. Bigger. I’ll stumble sure as hell 
. . . and wake up everybody ... if we go up the front. . . .” 

Her feet dragged on the concrete as he led her to the base- 
ment. He switched on the light, supporting her with his free 
hand. 

“I didn’t know I was sho drunk," she mumbled. 

He led her slowly up the narrow stairs to the kitchen door, 
his hand circling her waist and the tips of his fingers feeling 
the soft swelling of her breasts. Each second she was lean- 
ing more heavily against him. 

“Try to stand up,” he whispered fiercely as they reached 
the kitchen door. 

He was thinking that perhaps Mrs. Dalton was standing 
in flowing white and staring with siony blind eyes in the mid- 
die of the floor, as she had been when he had come for the 
glass of water. He eased the door back and looked. The 
kitchen was empty and dark, save for a faint blue hazy light 
that seeped through a window from the winter sky. 

“Come on.” 

She pulled heavily on him, her arm about his neck. He 
pushed the door in and took a step inside and stopped, wait- 
ing, listening. He felt her hair brush his Ups. His skin glowed 
warm and his muscles flexed; he looked at her face in the 
dim light, his senses drunk with the odor of her hair and 
skin. He stood for a moment, then wintered in excitement 
and fear; 

“Come on; you got to get to your room.” 

He led her out of the kitchen into the hallway; he had to 
walk her a step at a time. The hall was empty and dark; 
slowly he half-walked and half-dragged her to the back 
stairs. Again he hated her; he shook her. 

“Come on; wake upl” 

She did not move or open her eyes; finally she mumbled 
somethmg and swayed limply. His fingers felt the soft curves 
of her body and he was still, looking at her, enveloped in a 
sense of physical elation. This Uttle bitchl he thought. Her 
face was touching his. He turned her round and began to 
mount the steps, one by one. He heard a slight creaking and 
stopped. He looked, straining his eyes in the gloom. But 



FEAR 


83 


there was no one. When he got to the top of the steps she 
was completely limp and was still trying to mumble some- 
thing. Goddamn! He could move her only by lifting her bod- 
ily. He caught her in his arms and earned her down the 
hall, then paused. Which was her door? Goddamn! 

“Where’s your room?” he whispered 

She did not answer. Was she completely out? He could 
not leave her here; if he took his hands from her she would 
sink to the floor and lie there ail night. He shook her hard, 
speaking as loudly as he d-red. 

“Where’s your room?” 

Momentarily, she roused herself a id looked at him with 
blank eyes. 

“Where’s your room?” he asked again. 

She rolled her eyes toward a door He got her as far as 
the door and stopped. Was this really her room? Was she 
too drunk to know? Suppose he opened the door to Mr. and 
Mrs. Dalton’s room? Well, all they could do was fire him. 
It wasn’t his fault that she was dnuik. He felt strange, pos- 
sessed, or as if he were acting upon a stage in front of a 
crowd of people. Carefully, he freed one hand and turned the 
knob of the door. He waited; nothing happened He pushed 
the door in quietly; the room was dark and silent. He felt 
along the wall with his fingers for the electric switch and 
could not find it. He stood, holding her in his arms, fearful, 
in doubt. His eyes were growing used to the darkness and a 
little light seeped into the room from the winter sky through 
a wmdow. At the far end of the room he made out the shad- 
owy form of a white bed. He lifted her and brought her 
into the room and closed the door softly. 

“Here; wake up, now,’’ 

He tried to stand her on her feet and found her weak as 
jelly. He held her in his arms again, listening in the darkness. 
His senses reeled from the scent of her hair and skin. She 
was much smaller than Bessie, his girl, but much softer. Her 
face was buned in his shoulder; his arms tightened about her. 
Her face turned slowly and he held his face still, waiting for 
her face to come round, in front of his. Then her head leaned 
backward, slowly, gently; it was as though she had given up. 
Her lips, faintly moist in the hazy blue light, were parted 
and he saw the furtive glints of her white teeth. Her eyes 
were closed. He stared at her dim face, the forehead capped 



84 


NATIVE SON 


with curly black hair. He eased his hand, the fingers spread 
wide, up the center of her back and her face came toward 
him and her lips touched his, like something he had imagined. 
He stood her on her feet and she swayed against him. 

He lifted her and laid her on the bed Something urged 
him to leave at once, but he leaned over her, excited, looking 
at her face in the dim light, not wanting to take his hands 
from her breasts. She tossed and mumbled sleepily. He 
tightened his fingers on her breasts, kissing her again, feeling 
her move toward him. He was aware only of her body now; 
his lips trembled. Then he stiffened. The door behind him 
had creaked. 

He turned and a hysterical terror seized him, as though he 
were falling from a great height in a dream A white blur 
was standing by the door, silent, ghostlike. It filled his eyes 
and gripped his body It was Mrs Dalton He wanted to knock 
her out of his way and bolt from the room. 

“Mary!” she spoke softly, questioninaly. 

Bigger held his breath Mary mumbled again; he bent over 
her, his fists clenched in fear. He knew that Mrs. Dalton could 
not see him; but he knew that if Mary spoke she would come 
to the side of the bed and discover him, touch him. He 
waited tensely, afraid to move for fear of bumping into 
something in the dark and betraying his presence. 

“Maryl" 

He felt Mary trying to rise and quickly he pushed her head 
back to the pillow. 

“She must be asleep,” Mrs. Dalton mumbled. 

He wanted to move from the bed, but was afraid he would 
stumble over something and Mrs Dalton would hear him, 
would know that someone besides Mary was in the room. 
Frenzy dominated him. He held his hand over her mouth and 
his head was cocked at an angle that enabled him to see 
Mary and Mrs. Dalton by merely shifting his eyes. Mary mum- 
bled and tried to rise again Frantically, he caught a corner 
of the pillow and brought it to her lips He had to stop her 
from mumbling, or he would be caught, Mrs Dalton was mov- 
ing slowly toward him and he grew tight and full, as though 
about to explode. Mary’s fingernails tore at his hands and he 
caught the pillow and covered her entire face with it, 
firmly. Mary’s body surged upward and he pushed downward 
Upon the pillow with all of his weight, determined that 



PEAS 


85 


she must not move or make any sound that would betray 
him His eyes were filled with the white blur moving toward 
him in the shadows of the room. Again Mary’s body heaved 
and he held the pillow m a grip that took aU of his strength. 
For a long time he felt the sharp pain of her fingernails 
biting into his wrists The white blur was stiU. 

“Mary? Is that you?” 

He clenched his teeth and held his breath, intimidated to 
the core by the awesome white blur floating toward him. His 
muscles flexed taut as steel and he pressed the pillow, feeling 
the bed give slowly, evenly, but silently. Then suddenly her 
fingernails did not bite into his wrists. Mary’s fingers loosened. 
He did not feel her surging and heaving against him. Her 
body was still. 

“Maryl Is that you?” 

He could see Mrs. Dalton plainly now. As he took his hands 
from the pillow he heard a long slow sigh go up from the 
bed into the air of the darkened room, a sigh which after- 
wards, when he remembered it, seemed final, irrevocable. 

“Mary! Are you ill?” 

He stood up. With each of her movements toward the bed 
his body made a movement to match hers, away from her, 
his feet not lifting themselves from the floor, but slidmg 
softly and silently over the smooth de^ rug, his muscles 
flexed so taut they ached. Mrs. Dalton now stood over the 
bed. Her hands reached out and touched Mary. 

“Mary! Are you asleep? I heard you movmg about. . . .” 

Mrs. Dalton straightened suddenly and took a quick step 
back. 

“You’re dead drunk! You stink with whiskey!” 

She stood silently in the hazy blue light, then she knelt at 
the side of the bed. Bigger heard her whispering. She’s 
praying, he thought in amazement and the words echoed in 
his mind as though someone had spoken them aloud. Fmally, 
Mrs. Dalton stood up and her face tilted to that upward angle 
at which she always held it. He waited, his teeth clamped, his 
fists clenched She moved slowly toward the door; he could 
scarcely see her now. The door creaked; then silence. 

He relaxed and sank to the floor, his breath going in a 
long gasp. He was weak and wet with sweat. He stayed 
crouched and bent, hearing the sound of his breathing fill- 
ing the darkness. Gradually, the intensity of his sensations 



NATTVB SON 


86 

subsided and he was aware of the room. He felt that he had 
been in the grip of a weird spell and was ncrw free. The 
fingertips of his right hand were pressed deeply into the soft 
fibers of the rug and his whole body vibrated from the wild 
pounding of his heart He had to get out of the room, and 
quickly Suppose that had been Mr. Dalton? His escape had 
been narrow enough, as it was. 

He stood and listened Mrs. Dalton might be out there in 
the hallway. How could he get out of the room? He all but 
shuddered with the intensity of his loathing for this house 
and all it had made him feel since he had first come into it. 
He reached his hand behind him and touched the wall; he 
was glad to have something solid at his back. He looked at 
the shadowy bed and remembered Mary as some person he 
had not seen in a long time. She was still there Had he hurt 
her? He went to the bed and stood over her; her face lay 
sideways on the pillow. His hand moved toward her, but 
stopped in mid-air. He blinked bis eyes and stared at Mary's 
face; it was darker than when he had first bent over her. Her 
mouth was open and her eyes bulged glassily. Her bosom, her 
bosom, her — her bosom was not moving! He could not hear 
her breath coming and going now as he had when he had 
first brought her into the room! He bent and moved her head 
with his hand and found that she was relaxed and limp. He 
snatched his hand away. Thought and feeling were balked in 
him; there was something he was trying to tell himself des- 
perately, but could not. Then, convulsively, he sucked his 
breath in and huge words formed slowly, ringing in his ears; 
She’s dead. . . . 

The reality of the room fell from him; the vast city of 
white people that sprawled outside took its place. She was 
dead and he had killed her. He was a murderer, a Negro 
murderer, a black murderer. He had killed a white woman. 
He had to get away from here. Mrs. Dalton had been in the 
room while he was there, but she had not known it. But, 
had she? No! Yes! Maybe she had gone for help? No. 
If she had known she would have screamed. She didn’t know. 
He had to slip out of the house. Yes. He could go home to 
bed and tomorrow he could tell them that he had driven 
Mary home and had left her at the side door. 

In the darkness his fear made hve in him an element which 
he reckoned with as “them.” He had to construct a case for 



FEAR 


87 

“them.” But, Jan! Oh . . . Jan. would give him away. When it 
was found that she was dead Jan would say that he had left 
them together in the car at Forty-sixth Street and Cottage 
Grove Avenue. But he would tell them that that was not 
true. And, after all, was not Jan a red? Was not his word as 
good as Jan’s? He would say that Jan had come home 
with them. No one must know that he was the last person who 
had been with her. 

Fingerprints 1 He had read about them in magazines. His 
fingerprints would give him away, surely 1 They could prove 
that he had been inside of her room! But suppose he told 
them that he had come to get the trunk? That was it I The 
trunk! His fingerprints had a nght to be there. He looked 
round and saw her trunk on the other side of the bed, open, 
the top standing up. He could take the trunk to the base- 
ment and put the car into the garage and then go home. Not 
There was a better way. He would not put the car into the 
garage! He would say that Jan had come to the house and 
he had left Jan outside in the car. But there was still a better 
way! Make them think that Jan did it. Reds’d do anything. 
Didn't the papers say so? He would tell them that he had 
brought Jan and Mary home in the car and Mary had asked 
him to go with her to her room to get the trunk — and Jan 
was with them! — and he had got the trunk and had taken it 
to the basement and when he had gone he had left Mary and 
Jan — who had come back down — ^sitting in the car, kissing. 

. . . That's it! 

He heard a clock ticking and searched for it with his eyes; 
it was at the head of Mary’s bed, its white dial glowing in the 
blue darkness. It was five minutes past three. Jan had left 
them at Forty-sixth Street and Cottage Grove. Jan didn’t 
leave at Forty-sixth Street, he rode with us. . 

He went to the trunk and eased the top down and dragged 
it over the rug to the middle of the floor. He lifted the top 
and felt inside; it was half -empty. 

Then he was still, barely breathing, filled with another 
idea. Hadn’t Mr. Dalton said that they did not get up early 
on Sunday mornings? Hadn’t Mary said that she was going to 
Detroit? If Mary were missing when they got up, would they 
not think that she had already gone to Detroit? He . . . Yes! 
He could, he could put her in the trunkl She was small. Yes; 
put her m the trunk. She had said that she would be gone for. 



NATIVE SON 


88 

three days For three days, then, maybe no one would know, 
He would have three days of time. She was a crazy girl 
anyhow. She was always running around with reds, wasn’t 
she? Anything could happen to her. People would think that 
she was up to some of her crazy ways when they missed her. 
Yes, reds’d do anything. Didn’t the papers say so'^ 

He went to the bed; he would have to lift her into the 

trunk. He did not want to touch her, but he knew he had to. 
He bent over. His hands were outstretched, trembling in 
mid-air. He had to touch her and lift her and put her in the 
trunk. He tried to move his hands and could not. It was as 
though he expected her to scream when he touched her. 
Goddamn! It all seemed foolish! He wanted to laugh. It was 
unreal. Like a nightmare. He had to lift a dead woman and 
was afraid He felt that he had been dreaming of something 

like this for a long time, and then, suddenly, it was true. 

He heard the clock ticking Time was passing. It would soon 
be morning. He had to act. He could not stand here all night 
like this; he might go to the electric chair He shuddered and 
something cold crawled over his skin. Goddamn! 

He pushed his hand gently under her body and lifted it. He 
stood with her in his arms; she was limp. He took her to 
the trunk and involuntarily jerked his head round and saw a 
white blur standing at the door and his body was instantly 
wrapped in a sheet of blazing terror and a hard ache seized 
his head and then the white blur went away, I thought that 
■was her. . . . His heart pounded. 

He stood with her body in his arms in the silent room and 
cold facts battered him like waves sweeping in from 
the sea: she was dead, she was white; she was a woman; 
he had killed her; he was black, he might be caught; he did 
not want to be caught, if he were they would kill him. 

He stooped to put her in the trunk. Could he get her in? 
He looked again toward the door, expecting to see the white 
blur; but nothing was there. He turned her on her side in 
his arms, he was breathing hard and his body trembled. He 
eased her down, listening to the soft rustle of her clothes. 
He pushed her head into a corner, but her legs were too long 
and would not go in. 

He thought he heard a noise and straightened; it seemed to 
him that his breathing was as loud as wind in a storm. He 
listened and heard nothing. He had to get her legs in' Bend 



PEAR 


89 


her legs at the knees, he thought. Yes, almost. A little more 
... He bent them some more. Sweat dripped from his chin 
onto his hands. He doubled her knees and pushed her com- 
pletely into the trunk. That much was done. He eased the top 
down and fumbled in the darkness for the latch and heard 
it click loudly. 

He stood up and caught hold of one of the handles of the 
trunk and pulled. The trunk would not move. He was weak 
and his hands were slippery with sweat. He gntted his teeth 
and caught the trunk with both hands and pulled it to the 
door. He opened the door and looked into the hall; it was 
empty and silent. He stood the trunk on end and earned his 
right hand over his left shoulder and stooped and caught 
the strap and lifted the trunk to his back Now, he would 
have to stand up. He strained; die muscles of his shoulders and 
legs quivered with effort. He rose, swaying, biting his lips. 

Putting one foot carefully before the other, he went down 
the hall, down the stairs, then through another hall to the 
kitchen and paused. His back ached and the strap cut into his 
palm like fire. The trunk seemed to weigh a ton. He expected 
the white blur to step before him at any moment and hold 
out its hand and touch the trunk and demand to know what 
was in it. He wanted to put the trunk down and rest; but 
he was afraid that he would not be able to lift it again. 
He walked across the kitchen floor, down the steps, leaving 
the kitchen door open behmd him. He stood in the darkened 
basement with the trunk upon his back and listened to the 
roaring draft of the furnace and saw the coals burning red 
through the cracks. He stooped, waiting to hear the bottom of 
the trunk touch the concrete floor. He bent more and rested 
on one knee. Goddamn! His hand, seared with fire, slipped 
from the strap and the tr unk hit the floor with a loud clatter. 
He bent forward and squeezed his right hand in his left to 
still the fiery pain. 

He stared at the furnace. He trembled with another idea. 
He — he could, he — he could put her, he could put her in 
the furnace. He would burn her! That was the safest thing of 
aU to do. He went to the furnace and opened the door. A 
huge red bed of coals blazed and quivered with molten fury. 

Hp opened the trunk, She was as he had put her; her head 
buried in one comer and her knees bent and doubled toward 
her stomach. He would have to fift her agam. He stooped 



native son 


90 

and caught her shoulders and lifted her in his arms. He went 
to the door of tlie furnace and paused The fire seethed. 
Ought he to put her in head or feet first? Because he was 
tired and scared, and because her feet were nearer, he pushed 
her in, feet first The heat blasted his hands. 

He had all but her shoulders in He looked into the furnace; 
her clothes were ablaze and smoke was filling the interior so 
that he could scarcely see The draft roared upward, droning 
in his ears He gripped her shoulders and pushed hard, but 
the body would not go any farther. He tried again, but her 
head still remained out. Now. . . . Goddamn! He wanted to 
strike something with his fist. What could he do? He stepped 
back and looked. 

A noise made him whirl; two green burning pools — pools 
of accusation and guilt — stared at him from a white blur 
that sat perched upon the edge of the trunk His mouth 
opened in a silent scream and his body became hotly para- 
lyzed. It was the white cat and its round green eyes gazed 
past him at the white face hanging limply from the fiery 
furnace door. Godt He closed his mouth and swallowed. 
Should he catch the cat and kill it and put it in the furnace, 
too? He made a move. The cat stood up; its white fur 
bristled; its back arched. He tried to grab it and it bounded 
past him with a long wail of fear and scampered up the 
steps and through the door and out of sight. Ohl He had 
left the kitchen door open. That was it. He closed the door 
and stood again before the furnace, thinking, Cats can’t 
talk. ... I 

He got his knife from his pocket and opened it and stood 
by the furnace, looking at Mary’s white throat. Could he 
do it? He had to. Would there be blood? Oh, Lordl He 
looked round with a haunted and pleading look in his eyes. 
He saw a pile of old newspapers stacked carefully in a comer. 
He got a thick wad of them and held them under the head. 
He touched the sharp blade to the throat, just touched it, as 
if expecting the knife to cut the white flesh of itself, as if he 
did not have to put pressure behind it. Wistfully, he gazed at 
the edge of the blade resting on the white skin; the gleaming 
metal reflected the tremulous fury of the cpals. Yes; he had 
to. Gently, he sawed the blade into the flesh and stmck a 
bone. He gritted his teeth and cut harder. As yet there was no 
blood anywhere but on the knif e. But the bone made it 



PEAK 


91 

difflcult. Sweat crawled down his back. Then blood crept 
outward in widening circles of pink on the newspapers, 
spreading quickly now. He whacked at the bone with the 
luufe. The head hung limply on the newspapers, the curly 
black hair dragging about in blood He whacked harder, but 
the head would not come off. 

He paused, hysterical. He wanted to run from the base- 
ment and go as far as possible from the sight of this bloody 
throat. But he could not. He must not. He had to burn this 
girl. With eyes glazed, with nerves tingling with excitement, 
he looked about the basement. He saw a hatchet. Yes! That 
would do it He spread a neat layer of newspapers beneath 
the head, so that the blood would not drip on the floor He got 
the hatchet, held the head at a slanting angle with his left 
hand and, after pausing in an attitude of prayer, sent the 
blade of the hatchet mto the bone of the throat with all 
the strength of his body. The head rolled off. 

He was not crying, but ius lips were trembling and his chest 
was heaving He wanted to lie down upon the floor and 
sleep off the horror of this thing. But he had to get out of 
here Quickly, he wrapped the head in the newspapers and 
used the wad to push Ae bloody trunk of the body deeper 
into the furnace. Then he shoved the head in. The hatchet 
went next. 

Would there be coal enough to bum the body? No one 
would come down here before ten o’clock in the morning, 
maybe. He looked at his watch. It was four o’clock. He got 
another piece of paper and wiped his knife with it. He put 
the paper into the furnace and the knife into his pocket He 
pulled the lever and coal rattled against the sides of the 
tin chute and he saw the whole furnace blaze and the draft 
roared still louder. When the body was covered with coal, 
he pushed the lever back. Now! 

Then, abruptly, he stepped back from the furnace and 
looked at it, his mouth open. Hell! Folks’d smell it! There 
would be an odor and someone would look in the furnace. 
Aimlessly, his eyes searched the basement. There' That ought 
to do It! He saw the smutty blades of an electnc exhaust fan 
high up in the wall of the basement, back of the furnace He 
found the switch and threw it. There was a quick whir, then 
a hum. Things would be all right now; the exhaust fan would 
suck the air out of the basement and there would be no scent. 



92 NATIVE SON 

He shut the trunk and pushed it into a comer. In the 
morning he would take it to the station. He looked around 
to see if he had left anything that would betray him; he 
saw nothing. 

He went out of the back door; a few fine flakes of snow 
were floating down. It had grown colder. The car was still in 
the dnveway. Yes; he would leave it there. 

Jan and Maty were sitting m the car, kissing. They said. 
Good night, Bigger. . .. And he said. Good night. . . . And 
he touched his hand to his cap. . . . 

As he passed the car he saw the door was still open. Mary’s 
purse was on the floor. He took it and closed the door. Nawl 
Leave it open; he opened it and went on down the driveway. 

The streets were empty and silent. The wind chilled his 
wet body He tucked the purse under his arm and walked. 
What would happen now? Ought he to run away? He stopped 
at a street comer and looked into the purse. There was a 
thick roll of bills; tens and twenties. . . . Good! He would 
wait until morning to decide what to do. He was tired and 
sleepy. 

He hurried home and ran up the steps and went on tiptoe 
into the room. His mother and brother and sister breathed 
regularly in sleep. He began to undress, thinking, Til tell 'em I 
left her with Jan in the car after I took the trunk down in the 
basement. In the morning I’ll take the trunk to the station, 
like she told me. . . . 

He felt something heavy sagging in his shirt; it was the 
gun. He took it out; it was warm and wet. He shoved it imder 
the pUlow. They can’t say I did it. If they do, they can’t 
prove it. 

He eased the covers of the bed back and slipped beneath 
them and stretched out beside Buddy; in five minutes he 
was sound asleep. 



Book Two 


FLIGHT 


It seemed to Bigger that no sooner had he closed his eyes 
than he was wide awake again, suddenly and violently, as 
though someone had grabbed his shoulders and had shaken 
him He lay on his back, in bed, hearing and seeing nothing. 
Then, like an electric switch being clicked on, he was aware 
that the room was filled with pale daylight Somewhere 
deep in him a thought formed- It’s morning. Sunday morning. 
He lifted himself on his elbows and cocked his head m an 
attitude of listening. He heard his mother and brother and 
sister breathing softly, in deep sleep He saw the room and 
saw snow falling past the window; but his mind formed no 
image of any of these. They simply existed, unrelated to 
each other; the snow and the daylight and the soft sound of 
breathing cast a strange spell upon him, a spell that waited 
for the wand of fear to touch it and endow it with reality 
and meaning He lay in bed, only a few seconds from deep 
sleep, caught in a deadlock of impulses, unable to rise to the 
land of the living. 

Then, in answer to a foreboding call from a dark part of 
his mind, he leaped from bed and landed on his bare feet in 
the middle of the room His heart raced; his lips parted; 
hrs legs trembled. He struggled to come fully awake He 

93 



94 


NATIVE SON 


relaxed his taut muscles, feeling fear, remembering that he 
had killed Mary, had smothered her, had cut her head off 
and put her body in the fiery furnace. 

This was Sunday morning and he had to take the trank to 
the station He glanced about and saw Mary’s shmy black 
purse lying atop his trousers on a chair. Good God! Though 
the air of the room was cold, beads of sweat broke onto his 
forehead and his breath stopped. Quickly, he looked round; 
his mother and sister were still sleeping. Buddy slept in the 
bed from which he had just arisen. Throw that purse away! 
Maybe he had forgotten other things? He searched the 
pockets of his trousers with nervous fingers and found the 
knife. He snapped it open and tiptoed to the window. Dried 
ridges of black blood were on the blade! He had to get nd 
of these at once. He put the kmfe into the purse and dressed 
hurriedly and silently. Throw the knife and purse into a 
garbage can. That’s it! He put on his coat and found stuffed 
in a pocket the pamphlets Jan had given him. Throw these 
away, too! Oh, but . . . Naw! He paused and gripped the 
pamphlets in his black fingers as his mind filled with a cun- 
ning idea Jan had given him these pamphlets and he would 
keep them and show them to the police if he were ever ques- 
tioned That’s It! He would take them to his room at Dalton’s 
and put them in a dresser drawer. He would say that he had 
not even opened them and had not wanted to. He would 
say that he had taken them only because Jan had insisted. 
He shuffled the pamphlets softly, so that the paper would 
not rustle, and read the titles: Race Prejudice on Trial. The 
Negro Question in the United States. Black and White Unite 
and Fight. But that did not seem so dangerous. He looked at 
the bottom of a pamphlet and saw a black and white picture 
of a hammer and a curving knife. Below it he read a line 
that said: Issued by the Communist Party of the United States. 
Now, that did seem dangerous. He looked further and saw a 
pen-and-ink drawing of a white hand clasping a black hand 
m solidarity and remembered the moment when Jan had 
stood on the running board of the car and had shaken hands 
with him. That had been an awful moment of hate and 
shame. Yes, he would tell them that he was afraid of reds, 
that he had not wanted to sit m the car with Jan and Mary, 
that he had not wanted to eat with them He would say that 
he had done so only because it had been his job. He would 



FLIGHT 95 

tell them that it was the first time he had ever sat at a 
table with white people. 

He stuffed the pamphlets into his coat pocket and looked at 
his watch. It was ten minutes until seven. He had to hurry 
and pack his clothes. He had to take that trunk to the sta- 
tion at eight-thirty. 

Then fear rendered his legs like water. Suppose Mary had 
not burned? Suppose she was still there, exposed to view? He 
wanted to drop everything and rush back and see. But maybe 
even something worse had happened; maybe they had dis- 
covered that she was dead and maybe the police were look- 
ing for him? Should he not leave town right now? Gripped 
by the same impelling excitement that had had hold of him 
when he was carrying Mary up the stairs, he stood in the 
middle of the room No; he would stay. Things were with him; 
no one suspected that she was dead He would carry through 
and blame the thing upon Jan. He got his gun from beneath 
the pillow and put it in his shirt. 

He tiptoed from the room, looking over his shoulder at 
his mother and sister and brother sleeping He went down 
the steps to the vestibule and into the street. It was white and 
cold Snow was falling and an icy wind blew. The streets 
were empty. Tucking the purse under his arm, he walked to 
an alley where a garbage can stood covered with snow Was 
it safe to leave it here? The men on the garbage trucks 
would empty the can early in the morning and no one would be 
prying round on a day like this, with all the snow and its 
being Sunday. He lifted the top of the can and pushed the 
purse deep into a frozen pile of orange peels and mildewed 
bread. He replaced the top and looked round; no one was in 
sight. 

He went back' to the room and got his suitcase from under 
the side of the bed. His folks were stiU sleeping. In order to 
pack his clothes, he had to get to the dresser on the other 
side of the room But how could he get there, with the bed 
on which his mother and sister slept standing squarely in 
the way? Goddamn! He wanted to wave his hand and blot 
them out. They were always too close to him, so close that he 
could never have any way of his own. He eased to the bed and 
stepped over it. His mother stirred slightly, then was still. 
He pulled open a dresser drawer and took out his clothes 
and piled them in the suitcase. While he worked there hov- 



96 


NATIVE SON 


ered before his eyes an image of Mary’s head lying on the 
wet newspapers, the curly black ringlets soaked with blood. 

“Bigger!” 

He sucked his breath in and whirled about, his eyes glaring. 
His mother was leaning on her elbow in bed. He knew at 
once that he should not have acted frightened. 

“What’s the matter, boy?” she asked In a whisper. 

“Nothing,” he answered, whispering too. 

“You jumped like something bit you.” 

“Aw, leave me alone I got to pack.” 

He knew that his mother was waiting for him to give an 
account of himself, and he hated her for that. Why couldn’t 
she wait until he told her of his own accord? And yet he knew 
that if she waited, he would never tell her. 

“You get the job?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What they paying you?” 

‘Twenty.” 

“You started already?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Whenr’ 

“Last night." 

“I wondered what made you so late.” 

“I had to work,” he drawled with impatience. 

“You didn’t get in until after four.” 

He turned and looked at her. 

“I got in at two" 

“It was after four, Bigger,” she said, turning and straining 
her eyes to look at an alarm clock above hef head. “I tried 
to wait up for you, but I couldn’t. When I heard you come in, 
I looked up at the clock and it was after four.” 

'7 know when I got in, Ma.” 

“But, Bigger, it was after four." 

“It was just a little after tvio." 

“Oh, Lord! If you want it two, then let it be two, for all 
I care. You act like you scared of something.” 

“Now, what you want to start a fuss for?” 

“A fvm? Boyt" 

“Before I get out of bed, you pick on me.” 

“Bigger, I’m not picking on you, honey. I’m glad you 
got the job.” 

“You don’t talk like it” 



FUQHT 


97 

He felt that his acting in this manner was a mistake. If 
he kept on talking about the time he had gotten in last 
night, he would so impress it upon her that she would remem- 
ber it and perhaps say something later on that would hurt 
him. He turned away and continued packing. He had to do 
better than this; he had to control himself. 

“You want to eat?" 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll fix you something.” 

“O. K.” 

“You going to stay on the place?” 

“Yeah.” 

He heard her getting out of bed; he did not dare look round 
now. He had to keep his head turned while she dressed. 

“How you like the people, Bigger?” 

“They all right.” 

“You don’t act like you glad.” 

“Oh, Mai For chnssakes! You want me to cry\" 

“Bigger, sometunes I wonder what makes you act like you 
do." 

He had spoken in the wrong tone of voice; he had to be 
careful. He fought down the anger rising in him. He was in 
trouble enough without getting into a fuss with his mother. 

“You got a good job, now,” his mother said “You ought 
to work hard and keep it and try to make a man out of your- 
self. Some day you’ll want to get mamed and have a home 
of your own. You got your chance now. You always said 
you never had a chance. Now, you got one.” 

He heard her move about and he knew that she was 
dressed enough for him to turn round. He strapped the suit- 
case and set it by the door; then he stood at the window, 
looking wistfully out at the feathery flakes of falling snow. 

“Bigger, what’s wrong with you?” 

He whirled. 

“Nothing,” he said, wondering what change she saw in 
him “Nothing You just worry me, that’s all,” he concluded, 
feeling that even if he did say something wrong he had to fight 
her off him now. He wondered just how his words really did 
sound. Was the tone of his voice this morning different 
from other mornings? Was there something unusual in his 
voice since he had killed Mary? Could people tell he had done 
somethmg wrong by the way he acted? He saw his mother 



NATIVE SON 


98 

shake her head and go behind the curtain to prepare 
breakfast. He heard a yawn; he looked and saw that Vera 
was leaning on her elbow, smiling at him. 

“You get the job?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How much you making?” 

“Aw, Vera. Ask Ma I done told her everything.” 

“Ooodyl Bigger got a jobi” sang Vera. 

“Aw, shut up," he said. 

“Leave him alone, Vera,” the mother said. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“What’s the matter with ’im all the time?” asked the 
mother. 

“Oh, Bigger,” said Vera, tenderly and plaintively. 

“That boy just ain’t got no sense, that’s all,” the mother said. 
“He won’t even speak a decent word to you.” 

“Turn your head so I can dress,” Vera said. 

Bigger looked out of the window. He heard someone say, 
“Awl” and he knew that Buddy was awake, 

‘Turn your head. Buddy,” Vera said. 

“O K.” 

Bigger heard his sister rushing into her clothes. 

“You can look now,” Vera said. 

He saw Buddy sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Vefa was 
sitting on the edge of a chair, with her right foot hoisted 
upon another chair, buckling her shoes. Bigger stared 
vacantly in her direction. He wished that he could rise up 
through the ceiling and float away from this room, forever. 
“I wish you wouldn’t look at me,” Vera said. 

“Hunh?” said Bigger, looking in surprise at her pouting 
lips. Then he noticed what she meant and poked out his 
bps at her. Quickly, she jumped up and threw one of her shoes 
at him. It sailed past his head and landed against the win- 
dow, rattling the panes. 

“I told you not to look at me!” Vera screamed. 

Bigger stood up, his eyes red with anger. 

“I just wish you had hit me,” he said. 

"You, Vera!” the mother called. 

“Ma, make ’im stop looking at me,” Vera wailed. 
“Wasn’t nobody looking at her,” Bigger said. 

“You looked under my dress when I was buttoning my 
shoesl” 



FLIGHT 


99 


“I just wish you had hit me,” Bigger said again. 

“I ain’t no dog!” Vera said, 

‘ Come on in the kitchen and dress, Vera,” the mother said. 

“He makes me feel like a dog," Vera sobbed with her face 
buried in her hands, going behind the curtain. 

“Boy,” said Buddy, “I tried to keep awake till you got in 
last mght, but I couldn’t I had to go to bed at three. I was 
so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open.” 

“I was here before then,” Bigger said. 

“Aw, naw! I was up. . . .” 

“I know when I got ini” 

They looked at each other in silence. 

“O.K.,” Buddy said. 

Bigger was uneasy. He felt that he was ‘not handlmg him- 
self nght. 

“You get the job?” Buddy asked. 

“Yeah,” 

“Driving?” 

“Yeah." 

“What kind of a car is it?” 

“A Buick.” 

“Can I ride with you some time?” 

“Sure; soon as I get settled.” 

Buddy’s questions made him feel a little more at ease; he 
always liked the adoration Buddy showed him. 

“Gee! That’s the kind of job I want,” Buddy said. 

“It’s easy.” 

“Will you see if you can find me one?” 

“Sure Give me time.” 

“Got a cigarette?” 

“Yeah.” 

They were silent, smoking. Bigger was thinking of the 
furnace. Had Mary burned? He looked at his watch; it was 
seven o’clock. Ought he go over right now, without waitmg 
for breakfast? Maybe he had left something lying round that 
would let them know Mary was dead But if they slept late on 
Sunday mornings, as Mr. Dalton had said, they would have 
no reason to be looking round down there. 

“Bessie was by last mght,” Buddy said. 

“Yeah?” 

“She said she saw you in Ernie’s Kitchen Shack with 
some white folks.” 



100 


NATIVE SON 


“Yeah. I was driving ’em last night.” 

“She was talking about you and her getting married.” 

“Humph!” 

“How come gals that way. Bigger? Soon’s a guy get a 
good job. they want to marry?” 

“Damn if I know ” 

“You got a good job now. You can get a better gal than 
Bessie,” Buddy said. 

Although he agreed with Buddy, he said nothing. 

“I’m going to tell Bessie!” Vera called. 

“If you do. I’ll break vour neck.” Bigger said. 

“Hush that kind of talk in here.” the mother said. 

“Oh, yeah.” Buddy said. “I met Jack last night. He said 
you almost murdered old Gus.” 

“I ain’t having nothing to do with that gang no more,” 
Bigger said emphatically. 

“But Jack’s all right,” Buddy said. 

“Well, Jack, but none of the rest,” 

Gus and G H. and Jack seemed far away to Bigger now, 
in another life, and all becau.se he had been in Dalton’s 
home for a few hours and had killed a white girl. He looked 
round the room, seeing it for the first time. There was no 
rug on the floor and the plastering on the walls and ceiling 
hung loose in many places There were two worn iron 
beds, four chairs, an old dresser, and a drop-leaf table on 
which they ate This was much different from Dalton's home. 
Here all slept in one room; there he would have a room for 
himself alone He smelt food cooking and remembered that 
one could not smell food cooking in Dalton’s home; pots 
could not be heard rattling all over the house. Each person 
lived in one room and had a little world of his own. He hated 
this room and all the people in it, including himself.(^hy did 
I- he and his folks have to live like this‘s What had they 
ever done? Perhaps they had not done anything Maybe they 
had to live this way precisely because none of them in all 
their lives had ever done anything, right or wrong, that 
mattered much.j 

“Fix the table, 'Vera. Breakfast’s ready,” the mother called. 

“Yessum.” 

Bigger sat at the table and waited for food Maybe this 
would be the last time he would eat here He felt it keenly and 
it helped him to have patience. Maybe some day he would be 



FLIGHT 


101 


eating in jail. Here he was sitting with them and they did not 
know that he had murdered a white girl and cut her head off 
and burnt her body. The thought of what he had done, the 
awful horror of it, the daring associated with such actions, 
formed for him for the first tirfte m his fear-ndden life a 
barrier of protection between him and a world he fearedtHe 
had murdered and had created a new life for himself. It 
was something that was all his own, and it was the first 
time in his life he had had anything that others could not 
take from him^JVes; he could sit here calmly and eat and not 
be concerned about what his family thought or did. He had 
a natural wall from behind which he could look at them His 
crime was an anchor weighing him safely in time; it added 
to him a certain confidence which his gun and knife did 
not He was outside of his family now, over and beyond 
them; they were mcapable of even thinking that he had 
done such a deedjj^And he had done something which even 
he had not thought possible."*^ 

Though he had killed by "accident, not once did he feel the 
need to tell himself that it had been an accident. He was black 
and he had been alone in a room where a white girl had 
been killed; therefore he had killed her. That was what 
everybody would say anyhow, no matter what he said. 
And in a certain sense he knew that the girl’s death had not 
been accidental. He had killed many times before, only on 
those other times there had been no handy victim or cir- 
cumstance to make visible or dramatic his will to kill. His 
crime seemed natural, he felt that all of his hfe had been 
leading to something like this It was no longer a matter 
of dumb wonder as to what would happen to him and his black 
skin; he knew now. The hidden meaning of his life — a mean- 
ing which others did not see and which he had always 
tried to hide — had spilled out. No, it was no accident, and he 
would never say that it was. There was m him a kind of 
terrified pride in feeling and thinking that some day he would 
be able to say publicly that he had done it. It was as 
though he had an obscure but deep debt to fulfill to himself 
in accepting the deed. 

Now that the ice was broken, could he not do other things? 
What was there to stop him? While sitting there at the table 
waiting for his breakfast, he felt that he was arnving at some- 
thing which had long eluded him, Thmgs were becoming 



102 


NATIVE SON 


clear; he would know how to act from now on The thing to 
do was to act just like others acted, live like they lived, 
and while they were not looking, do what you wanted. 
They would never know. He felt in the quiet presence of his 
mother, brother, and sister a force, inarticulate and uncon- 
scious, making for living without thinking, making for peace 
and habit, making for a hope that blinded. He felt that they 
wanted and yearned to see life m a certain way; they needed 
a certain picture of the world, there was one way of living 
they preferred above all others; and they were blind to what 
did not fit. They did not want to see what others were 
doing if that doing did not feed their own desires All one had 
to do was be bold, do something nobody thought of. The 
whole thing came to him in the form of a powerful and simple 
feeling; there was in everyone a great hunger to believe that 
made him blind, and if he could see while others were blind, 
then he could get what he wanted and never be caught at it. 
Now, who on earth would think that he, a black timid Negro 
boy, would murder and bum a rich white girl and would sit 
and wait for his breakfast like this? Elation filled him. 

He sat at the table watching the snow fall past the window 
and many things became plain No, he did not have to hide 
behind a wall or a curtain now; he' had a safer way of 
being safe, an easier way. What he had done last night had 
proved that Jan was blind Mary had been blind Mr. Dalton 
was blind. And Mrs. Dalton was blind; yes, blind in more 
ways than one. Bigger smiled slightly. Mrs Dalton had not 
known that Mary was dead while she had stood over the 
bed in that room last night. She had thought that Mary was 
drunk, because she was used to Mary’s coming home drunk. 
And Mrs. Dalton had not known that he was in the room 
with her, it would have been the last thing she would have 
thought of. He was black and would not have figured in her 
thoughts on such an occasion. Bigger felt that a lot of peo- 
ple were like Mrs. Dalton, blind. . . . 

“Here you are. Bigger,” his mother said, setting a plate of 
grits on the table. 

He began to eat, feeling much better after thinking out 
what had happened to hun last night. He felt he could control 
himself now. 

“Ain't you-all eating?” he asked, looking around. 



PLIGHT 103 

“You go on and eat. You got to go. We’ll eat later,” his 
mother said. 

He did not need any money, for he had the money he had 
gotten from Mary’s purse; but he wanted to cover his tracks 
carefully. 

“You got any money, Ma?” 

“Just a little, Bigger.” 

“I need some.” 

“Here’s a half. That leaves me exactly one dollar to last 
till Wednesday.” 

He put the half-dollar in his pocket. Buddy had fin- 
ished dressing and was sitting on the edge of the bed Sud- 
denly, he saw Buddy, saw him in the light of Jan. Buddy 
was soft and vague; his eyes were defenseless and their 
glance went only to the surface of things It was strange that 
he had not noticed that before. Buddy, too, was blind. 
Buddy was sitting there longing for a job hke his. Buddy, too, 
went round and round in a groove and did not see things. 
Buddy’s clothes hung loosely compared with the way Jan’s 
hung Buddy seemed aimless, lost, with no sharp or hard 
edges, like a chubby puppy. Looking at Buddy and thinking 
of Jan and Mr. Dalton, he saw in Buddy a certain stillness, an 
isolation, meaninglessness, 

“How come you looking at me that way. Bigger?” 

“Hunh?” 

“You looking at me so funny ” 

“I didn’t know it. I was thinkmg." 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

His mother came into the room with more plates of food 
and he saw how soft and shapeless she was Her eyes were 
tired and sunken and darkly ringed from a long lack of 
rest She moved about slowly, touching objects with her 
fingers as she passed them, using them for support. Her feet 
dragged over the wooden floor and her face held an ex- 
pression of tense effort. Whenever she wanted to look at 
anything, even though it was near her, she turned her entire 
head and body to see it and did not shift her eyes. There 
was in her heart, it seemed, a heavy and delicately balanced 
burden whose weight she did not want to assume by disturb- 
ing It one whit She saw him looking at her. 

"Eat your breakfast, Bigger.” 



104 


NATIVE SON 


“I’m eating.” 

Vera brought her plate and sat opposite him. Bigger felt 
that even though her face was smaller and smoother than his 
mother’s, the beginning of the same tiredness was already 
there. How different Vera was from Mary! He could see 
it in the very way Vera moved her hand when she carried 
the fork to her mouth; she seemed to be shrinking from life 
in every gesture she made. The very manner in which she sat 
showed a fear so deep as to be an organic part of her' she 
carried the food to her mouth in tiny bits, as if dread- 
ing its choking her, or fearing that it would give out too 
quickly. 

“Bigger!” Vera waded. 

“Hunh?” 

“You stop now,” Vera said, laying aside her fork and slap- 
ping her hand through the air at him. 

“What?” 

“Stop looking at me, Bigger!” 

“Aw, shut up and eat your breakfast!” 

“Ma, make ’im stop looking at me!” 

“I ain't looking at her, Mai” 

“You is\” Vera said. 

“Eat your breakfast, Vera, and hush,” said the mother. 
“He just keeps watching me, Ma!" 

“Gal, you crazy!” said Bigger. 

“I ain’t no crazy’n you!” 

“Now, both of you hush,” said the mother. 

“1 ain’t going to eat with him watching me,” Vera said, 
getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"Go on and eat your grub!” Bigger said, leaping to his feet 
and grabbing his cap. “I’m getting out of here ” 

“What’s wrong with you, Vera?” Buddy asked. 

“Tend to your businessl” Vera said, tears welling to her 
eyes. 

“Will you children please hush,” the mother wailed. 

“Ma, you oughtn’t let ’im treat me that way,” Vera said. 
Bigger picked up his suitcase. Vera came back to the table, 
drying her eyes. 

“When will I see you again. Bigger?" the mother asked. 

“I don’t know ” he said, slamming the door. 

He was halfway down the steps when he heard his name 
called. 



FLIGHT 


105 


“Say, Bigger!" 

He stopped and looked back. Buddy was running down 
the steps. He waited, wondering what was wrong. 

“What you want?” 

Buddy stood before him, diffident, smiling. 

“I— I . . 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Shucks, I just thought . . .” 

Bigger stiffened with fright. 

“Say, what you so excited about?” 

“Aw, I reckon it am’t nothing. I just thought maybe you was 
in trouble. . . .” 

Bigger mounted the steps and stood close to Buddy. 

“Trouble? What you mean?” he asked m a frightened 
whisper. 

“I — I just thought you was kind of nervous. I wanted to 
help you, that’s all I — I just thought . . 

“How come you think that?” 

Buddy held out a roll of bills in his hand. 

“You dropped it on the floor,” he said. 

Bigger stepped back, thunder-struck. He felt in his pocket 
for the money; it was not there. He took the money from 
Buddy and stuffed it hurriedly m his pocket 

"Did Ma see it?” 

“Naw.” 

He gazed at Buddy in a long silence. He knew that Buddy 
was yearning to be with him, aching to share his confidence; 
but that could not happen now. He caught Buddy’s arm m 
a tight gnp. 

“Listen, don't tell nobody, see? Here,” he said, taking 
out the roll and peeling off a bill. “Here; take this and buy 
something But don’t tell nobody.” 

“Gee! Thanks. I — I won’t tell. But can I help you?” 

“Naw; naw . . 

Buddy started back up the steps. 

“Wait,” Bigger said. 

Buddy came back and stood facing him, his eyes eager, 
shining. Bigger looked at him, his body as taut as th t of 
an animal about to leap But his brother would not betray 
him. He could trust Buddy. He caught Buddy’s arm again and 
squeezed it until Buddy flinched with pam. 

“Don’t you tell nobody, hear?” 



106 


NATIVE SON 


“Naw, naW. ... I won’t . . . 

“Go on back, now.” 

Buddy ran up the steps, out of sight Bigger stood brood- 
ing in the shadows of the stairway He thrust the feeling 
from him, not with shame, but with impatience. He had felt 
toward Buddy for an instant as he had felt toward Mary 
when she lay upon the bed with the white blur moving toward 
him in the hazy blue hght of the room. But he won’t tell, he 
thought. 

He went down the steps and i/j o the street. The air was 
cold and the snow had stopped Overhead the sky was clear- 
ing a little. As he neared the corner drug store, which stayed 
open all night, he wondered if any of the gang was around. 
Maybe Jack or G H. was hangir j out and had not gone 
home, as they sometimes did. Though he felt he was cut oflf 
from them forever, he had a strange hankering for their 
presence. He wanted to know how he would feel if he saw 
them again. Like a man reborn, he wanted to test and taste 
each thing now to see how it went; like a man risen up well 
from a long illness, he felt deep and wayward whims. 

' He peered through the frosted glass’, yes, G.H was there. 
He opened the door and went in G H. sat at the fountain, 
talking to the soda-jerker. Bigger sat next to him They did 
not speak. Bigger bought two packages of cigarettes and 
shoved one of them to G H., who looked at him m surprise. 

“This for me?” G.H asked. 

Bigger waved his palm and pulled down the comers of his 
Ups. 

“Sure.” 

G.H. opened the pack. 

“Jesus, I sure needed one. Say, you working now?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How you like it?” 

“Aw, swell,” Bigger said, crossing his fingers. He was 
trembling with excitement; sweat was on his forehead. He 
was excited and something was impelling him to become 
more excited. It was like a thirst springing from his blood. 
The door oepned and Jack came in. 

“Say, how fs it. Bigger?” 

Bigger wagged his head. 

“Honky dory,” he said. "Here; gimme another pack of 
cigarettes,” he told the clerk. “This is for you, Jack.” 



FLIGHT 


107 


“Jesus, you in clover, sure ’nough,” Jack said, glimpsing 
the thick roll of bills 

“Where’s Gus?" Bigger asked. 

“He’ll be along in a minute. We been hanging out at Clara’s 
all night.” 

The door opened again; Bigger turned and saw Gus step 
inside. Gus paused. 

“Now, you-all don’t fight," Jack said. 

Bigger bought another package of cigarettes and tossed 
it toward Gus. Gus caught it and stood, bewildered. 

“Aw, come on, Gus Forget it,” Bigger said 

Gus came forward slowly, he opened the package and lit 
one. 

“Bigger, you sure is crazy,” Gus said with a shy smile. 

Bigger knew that Gus was glad that the fight was 
over. Bigger was not afraid of them now; he sat with his 
feet propped upon his suitcase, looking from one to the other 
with a quiet smile. 

“Lemme have a dollar," Jack said. 

Bigger peeled off a dollar bill for each of them. 

“Don’t say I never give you nothing," he said, laughing. 

"Bigger, you sure is one more crazy nigger,” Gus said 
again, laughing with joy. 

But he had to go: he could not stay here talking with 
them. He ordered three bottles of beer and picked up his 
suitcase. 

“Ain’t you going to drink one, too?” G.H. asked. 

“Naw, I got to go ” 

“We’ll be seeing you!” 

"So long!” 

He waved at them and swung through the door He walked 
over the snow, feeling giddy and elated. His mouth was 
open and his eyes shone. It was the first time he had ever been 
in their presence without feeling fearful. He was following a 
strange path into a strange land and his nerves were hungry 
to see where it led He lugged his suitcase to the end of the 
block, and stood waiting for a street car. He slipped his fingers 
into his vest pocket and felt the crisp roll of bills Instead 
of going to Dalton’s, he could take a street car to a railway 
station and leave town But what would happen if he left? If he 
ran away now it would be thought at once that he knew some- 
thing about Mary, as soon as she was rmssed. No; it would 



108 


NATIVE SON 


be far better to stick it out and see what happened. It might be 
a long time before anyone would think that Mary was killed 
and a still longer time before anyone would think that he had 
done it. And when Mary was missed, would they not think 
of the reds first? 

The street car rumbled up and he got on and rode to Forty- 
seventh Street, where he transferred to an eastbound car. 
He looked anxiously at the dim reflection of his black face 
in the sweaty wmdowpane. Would any of the white faces all 
about him think that he had killed a nch white girl? No! They 
might think he would steal a dune, rape a woman, get drunk, 
or cut somebody; but to kill a millionaire’s daughter and 
burn her body? He snuled a little, feeling a tingling sensa- 
tion enveloping all his body. He saw it all very sharply and 
simply; act like other people thought you ought to act, yet 
. do what you wanted. In a certain sense he had been doing just 
that m a loud and rough manner all his life, but it was only 
last night when he had smothered Mary in her room while 
her blmd mother had stood with outstretched arms that he 
had seen how clearly it could be done. Although he was 
trembling a little, he was not really afraid, He was eager, 
tremendously excited. I can take care of them, he thought, 
thinking of Mr. and Mrs Dalton. 

There was only one thing that worried him; he had to get 
that lingering image of Mary’s bloody head lying on those 
newspapers from before his eyes. If that were done, then he 
would be all right. Gee, what a fool she was, he thought, 
remembering how Mary had acted. Carrying on that wayl 
Hell, she mode me do itl I couldn’t help it! She should’ve 
known better! She should’ve left me alone, goddammit! He 
I did not feel sorry for Mary; she was not real to him, not 
j a human being; he had not known her long or well enough for 
1 that. He felt that his murder of her was more than amply justi- 
fied by the fear and shame she had made him feel. It seemed 
that her actions had evoked fear and shame in him But when 
he thought hard about it it seemed impossible that they 
could have. He really did not know just where that fear and 
shame had come from; it had just been there, that was all. 
Each tune he had come in contact with her it had risen hot 
and hard. 

It was not Mary he was reacting to when he felt that fear 
and shame. Mary had served to set oil his emotions, emo- 



FLIGHT 


tions conditioned by many Marys And now that he had 
kiUed Mary he felt a lessening of tension in his muscles; he 
had shed an invisible burden he had long carried 

As the car lurched over the snow he lifted his eyes and 
saw black people upon the snow-covered sidewalks Those 
people had feelings of fear and shame like his. Many a time 
he had stood on street corners with them and talked of white 
people as long sleek cars zoomed past/^To Bigger and his 
kind white people were not really people/lhey were a sort of 
great natural force, like a stormy sky looming overhead, or 
like a d^p swirling river stretching suddenly at one’s feet in 
the dark^As long as he and his black folks did not go be- 
yond certain limits, there was no need to fear that white 
force. But whether they feared it or not, each and every day 
of their lives they lived with it; even when words did not 
sound its name, they acknowledged its reality. As long as 
thevjiyed here in this prescribed corner of the city, they 
tribute to it. 

There were rare moments when a feeling and longing for 
solidarity with other black people would take hold of him. 
He would dream of making a stand against that white force, 
but that dream would fade when he looked at the other black 
people near him Everf though black like them, he felt there 
.. was too much-difier cnce between h im anri thp-m -to allow for 
^ comm on binding and a common life. Only when threat- 
ened'^wlth death could that happen, only in fear and shame, 
with their backs against a wall, could that happen. But never 
could they sink their differences in hope. 

As he rode,flooking at the black people on the sidewalks, 
he felt that one way to end fear and shame was to make all 
those black people act together, rule them, tell them what to 
do, and make them do it^Dimly, he felt that there should 
be one direction in which ne and all other black people could 
go whole-heartedly; that there should be a way in which 
gnawing hunger and restless aspiration could be fused; that 
there should be a manner of acting that caught the mind 
and body in certainty and faith. But he felt that such 
would never happen to him and his black people, and he 
hated them and wanted to wave his hand and blot them out. 
rYetT-hE--stiI L.hoped. vaguely Of late he had liked to hear 
tell of men who could rule others^ for in actions such as these 
he felt that there was a way to escape from this tight morass 



110 NATIVE SON 

nf fp.ar and shame that sapped at the base of his life, 
liked to hear of how Japan was conquering Chirta; of how 
Hitler wa s runni ng the Jews to the ground; of how Musso- 
lini was invading 5ipainliHe~was not concerned with whether 
these acts ^ere flg hr-e^-wrong, they simply appealed to hlrn' 
as po ssible avenues bt escape VHc jEinhat sotne day there 
wofflcTbe a black man who would whip the black people into 
a tighi bancr~and toRether~ they would act and elfa " fear . autT 
sha maJp-Ie never thought~ot' this i n precise ment^ images, h e 
felt IT^l ^would feel it for a while and then fo rgeti-Bin^epe 
was always waiting so mewhere deep down in him. 

It was fear that had made hinTTigHrTjus'Tn'tRe poolroom. 
If he had felt certain of himself and of Gus, he would not 
have fought. But he knew Gus, as he knew himself, and he 
knew that one of them might fail through fear at the de- 
cisive moment. How could he think of going to rob Blum’s 
that way? He distrusted and feared Gus and he knew that 
Gus distrusted and feared him; and the moment he tried to 
band himself and Gus together to do something, he would 
hate Gus and himself Ultimately, though, his hate and hope 
turned outward from himself and Gus-. his hope toward a 
vague benevolent something that would help and lead him, 
and his hate toward the whites; for he felt that they ruled 
him, even when they were far away and not thinking of 
him, ruled him by condihonmg him in his relations to his 
own people. 

The street car crawled through the snow, Drexel Boule- 
vard was the next stop. He lifted the suitcase and stood at 
the door. In a few minutes he would know if Mary had 
burned. The car stopped; he swung off and walked through 
snow as deep as his ankles, heading for Dalton’s. 

When he got to the driveway he saw that the car was stand- 
ing just as he had left it, but all covered with a soft crust 
of snow. The house loomed white and silent He unlatched 
the gate and went past the car, seeing before his eyes an 
image of Mary, her bloody neck just inside the furnace and 
her head with its curly black hair lying upon the soggy news- 
papers. He paused. He could turn round now and go back. 
He could get mto the car and be miles from here before any- 
body knew it. But why run away unless there was good rea- 
son? He had some money to make a run fpr__it when the 
time came. And he had his gun. His fingers trembled so that 



FLIGHT 


111 

hejiad difficulty lti_u nlocking t he door; but they were not 
trembling from fear. It was a kmT of eagemess~Iie~felt,~a 
confid ence , a fulness, a_freedom; his whole life was caught 
up in a supreme and meaningful" act He pushed the door 
in, then was stone-still, sucking his breitinh softly In the 
red -glar^ofjhe furnacV stood a shadowy figure. Is that Mrs. 
Dalton? But it was taller and stouter_ffian Mrs Dalton. Oh, 
itjyas Peggy! She stood with her back to hirn; a little bent! 
She seemed to "Be peering Jiard into the furnace She didn’t 
heanfie com e In, he th ought Maybe I ought to go.f^But 
before he, c ould move Teg gy turned around. 

“Oh, good morning, BiggerT* 

He did not answer. 

“I’m glad you came. I was just about to put more coal into 
the fire ” 

“I’ll fix it, mam.” 

He came forward, straining his eyes to see if any traces of 
Mary were in the furnace. When he reached Peggy’s side he 
saw that sh e was staring through the crac ks of the door at 
th e red bed of Imd c oals~ 

"The lire was very hot last night," Peggy said. “But this 
morning it got low.” 

“I’ll fix It,” Bigger said, standing and not daring to open 
the door of the furnace while she stood there beside him in 
the red darkness. 

He heard the dull roar of the draft going upwards and 
wondered if she suspected anything. He knew that he should 
have turned on the light, but what if he did and the light re- 
vealed parts of Mary in the furnace? 

“I’ll fix It, mam,” he said again. 

Quickly, he wandered if he would have to kill her to keep 
her from telling if she turned on the light and saw some- 
thing that made her think that Mary was dead? Without 
turning his head he saw an iron shovel resting in a near-by 
comer. His hands clenched Peggy moved from his side to- 
ward a light that swung from the ceiling at the far end of 
the room near the stairs 

“I'll give you some light,” she said. 

He moved silently and quickly toward the shovel and 
waited to see what would happen. The light came on, blind- 
ingly bright; he blinked Peggy stood near the steps holding 
her right hand tightly over her breast. She had on a kimono 



112 


NATIVE SON 


and was trying to hold it closely about her. Bigger under- 
stood at once. She was not even thinking of the furnace; 
she was just a little ashamed of having been seen in the 
basement in her kimono. 

“Has Miss Dalton come down yet?” she asked over her 
shoulder as she went up the steps. 

“No’m. I haven’t seen her.” 

“You just come?” 

“Yessum ’’ 

She stopped and looked back at him. 

“But the car, it’s in the driveway.” 

“Yessum,” he said simply, not volunteering any informa- 
tion. 

“Then it stayed out all night?” 

“I don’t know, mam.” 

“Didn’t you put it in the garage?” 

“No’m Miss Dalton told me to leave it out.” 

“Ohl Then it did stay out all night. That’s why it’s cov- 
ered with snow,” 

“I reckon so, mam ” 

Peggy shook her head and sighed. 

“Well, I suppose she’ll be ready for you to take her to the 
station in a few minutes.” 

“Yessum.” 

“I see you brought the trunk down.” 

“Yessum, She told me to bring it down last night." 

“Don’t forget it,” she said, going through the kitchen door. 

For a long time after she had gone he did not move from 
his tracks Then, slowly, he looked round the basement, turn- 
ing his head like an animal with eyes and ears alert, search- 
ing to see if anything was amiss. The room was exactly as 
he had left it last' night. He walked about, looking closer. 
All at once he stopped, his eyes widening. Directly in front 
of him he saw a small piece of blood-stained newspaper 
lying in the livid reflection cast by the cracks in the door of 
the furnace. Had Peggy seen that? He ran to the light and 
turned it out and ran back and looked at the piece of paper. 
He could barely see it That meant that Peggy had not seen 
it How about Mary? Had she burned? He turned the light 
back on and picked up the piece of paper. He glanced to 
the left and right to see if any one was watching, then 
opened the furnace door and peered in, his eyes filled with 



FLIGHT 


113 

the vision of Mary and her bloody throat. The inside of the 
furnace breathed and quivered in the grip of fiery coals. But 
there was no sign of the body, even though the body’s image 
hovered before his eyes, between his eyes and the bed of 
coals burning hotly. Like the oblong mound of fresh clay 
of a newly made grave, the red coals revealed the bent out- 
line of Mary’s body. He had the feeling that if he simply 
touched that red oblong mound with his finger it would cave 
in and Mary’s body would come into full view, unburnt. The 
coals had the appearance of having burnt the body beneath, 
leaving the glowing embers formed into a shell of red hot- 
ness with a hollowed space in the center, keeping still in the 
embrace of the quivering coals the huddled shape of Mary’s 
body. He blinked his eyes and became aware that he still 
held the piece of paper in his hand. He lifted it to the level 
of the door and the draft sucked it from his fingers^ he 
watched it fly into the red trembling heat, smoke, turn black, 
blaze, then vanish. He shut off the fan; there was no dan- 
ger of scent now. 

He shut the door and pulled the lever for more coal. The 
rattling of the tiny lumps against the tin sides of the chute 
came loudly to his ears as the oblong mound of red fire 
turned gradually black and blazed from the fanwise spread- 
ing of coal whirling into the furnace. He shut off the lever 
and stood up; things were all nght so far. As long as no 
one poked round in that fire, things would be all right. He 
himself did not want to poke in it, for fear that some part 
of Mary was still there. If things could go on like this until 
afternoon, Mary would be burned enough to make hirti safe. 
He turned and looked at the trunk again. Oh! He must not 
forget! He had to put those Communist pamphlets m his 
room right away. He ran back of the furnace, up the steps to 
his room and placed the pamphlets smoothly and neatly in 
a corner of his dresser drawer Yes, they would have to be 
stacked neatly. No one must think that he had read them. 

He went back to the basement and stood uncertainly in 
front of the furnace. He felt that he had left something un- 
done, something that would betray him. Maybe he ought to 
shake the ashes down? Yes. The fire must not become so 
clogged with cinders that it would not burn, At the moment 
he stooped to grasp the protruding handle of the lower bin 
to shake it to and fro, a vivid image of Mary’s face as he 



114 


NATIVE SON 


had seen it upon the bed in the blue light of the room 
gleamed at him from the smoldering embers and he rose ab- 
ruptly, giddy and hysterical with guilt and fear. His hands 
twitched; he could not shake the ashes now. He had to get 
out into the air, away from this basement whose very walls 
seemed to loom closer about him each second, making it 
difficult for him to breathe. 

He went to the trunk, grasped its handle and dragged it to 
the door, lifted it to his back, carried it to the car and fas- 
tened it to the running board. He looked at his watch; it was 
eight-twenty. Now, he would have to wait for Mary to come 
out. He took his seat at the steering wheel and waited for 
five minutes He would ring the bell for her. He looked at 
the steps leadmg up to the side door of the house, remem- 
bering how Mary had stumbled last night and how he had 
held her up. Then, involuntarily, he started m fright as a 
full blast of mtense sunshine fell from the sky, making the 
snow leap and glitter and sparkle about him in a world of 
magic whiteness without sound. It’s getting late! He would 
have to go in and ask for Miss Dalton. If he stayed here too 
long it would seem that he was not expecting her to come 
down. He got out of the car and walked up the steps to the 
side door. He looked through the glass, no one was in sight. 
He tried to open the door and found it locked. He pushed 
the bell, hearing the gong sound softly within. He waited a 
moment, then saw Peggy hurrying down the hall. She opened 
the door. 

“Hasn’t she come out yet?” 

“No’m. And it’s getting late.” 

“Wait. I’ll call her.” 

Peggy, still dressed in the kimono, ran up the stairs, the 
same stairs up which he had half-dragged Mary and the 
same stairs down which he had stumbled with the trunk last 
night. Then he saw Peggy coming back down the stairs, 
much slower than she had gone up. She came to the door. 

“She ain’t here. Maybe she’s gone What did she tell you?” 

“She said to drive her to the station and to take her trunk, 
mam.” 

“Well, she ain’t in her room and she ain’t in Mrs. Dalton’s 
room. And Mr Dalton’s asleep. Did she tell you she was go- 
ing this morning?” 

“That’s what she told me last night, mam.” 



FLIGHT 


115 


“She told you to bring the trunk down last night?" 

“Yessum.” 

Peggy thought a moment, looking past him at the snow- 
covered car, 

“Well, you better take the trunk on. Maybe she didn't stay 
here last mght.’’ 

“Yessum.” 

He turned and started down the steps. 

“Biggerl” 

“Yessum.” 

“You say she told you to leave the car out, all night?” 

“Yessum.” 

“Did she say she was going to use it again?" 

“No’ra. You see,” Bigger said, feehng his way, “he was in 
it ” 

“Who?” 

“The gentleman.” 

“Oh; yes. Take the trunk on. 1 suppose Mary was up to 
some of her pranks ” 

He got into the car and pulled it down the driveway to the 
street, then headed northward over the snow. He wanted to 
look back and see if Peggy was watching him, but dared not. 
That would make her think that he thought that something 
was wrong, and he did not want to give that impression now. 
Well, at least he had one person thinking it as he wanted it 
thought. 

He reached the La Salle Street Station, pulled the car to a 
platform, backed into a narrow space between other cars, 
hoisted the trunk up, and waited for a man to give hun a 
ticket for the trunk. He wondered what would happen if no 
one called for it Maybe they would notify Mr Dalton. Well, 
he would wait and see. He had done his part. Miss Dalton had 
asked him to take the trunk to the station and he had done it. 

He drove as hurriedly back to the Daltons’ as the snow- 
covered streets would allow him. He wanted to be back on 
the spot to see what would happen, to be there with his fin- 
gers on the pulse of time. He reached the driveway and nosed 
the car into the garage, locked it, and then stood wondenng 
if he ought to go to his room or to the kitchen. It would be 
better to go straight to the kitchen as though nothing had 
happened. He had not as yet eaten his breakfast as far as 
Peggy was concerned, and his coming into the kitchen would 



NA-nVE SON 


116 

be thought natural. He went through the basement, pausing 
to look at the roaring furnace, and then went to the kitchen 
door and stepped in softly. Peggy stood at the gas stove with 
her back to him. She turned and gave him a bnet glance. 

"You make it all right?” 

“Yessum.” 

“You see her down there?” 

“No’m.” 

“Hungry?" 

“A little, mam.” 

“A little?” Peggy laughed “You’ll get used to how this 
house is run on Sundays Nobody gets up early and when 
they do they’re almost famished.” 

“I’m all right, mam.” 

“That was the only kick Green had while he was working 
here,” Peggy said. “He swore we starved him on Sundays " 

Bigger forced a smile and looked down at the black and 
white linoleum on the floor. What would she think if she 
knew? He felt very kindly toward Peggy just then; he felt he 
had something of value which she could never take from him 
even if she despised him. He heard a phone ring in the hall- 
way. Peggy straightened and looked at him as she wiped her 
hands on her apron. 

“Who on earth’s calling here this early on a Sunday morn- 
ing?” she mumbled. 

She went out and he sat, waiting. Maybe that was Jan ask- 
ing about Mary He remembered that Mary had promised 
to call him. He wondered how long it took to go to Detroit. 
Five or six hours? It was not far Marv’s tram had already 
gone. About four o’clock she would be due in Detroit. Maybe 
someone had planned to meet her? If she was not on the 
train, would they call or wire about it? Peggy came back, 
went to the stove and continued cooking. 

“Things’ll be ready in a mmute,” she said. 

“Yessum.” 

Then she turned to him. 

“Who was the gentleman with Miss Dalton last night?” 

“I don’t know, mam. 1 think she called him Jan, or some- 
thing like that.” i 

“Jan? He just called,” Peggy said. She tossed her headjand 
her lips tightened. “He’s a no-good one, if there ever was 
one. One of them anarchists who’s agin the government,” 



FLIGHT 


117 


Bigger listened and said nothing. 

“What on earth a good girl like Mary wants to hang around 
with that crazy bunch for, God only knows. Nothing good’ll 
come of it, just yOu mark my word. If it wasn’t for that 
Mary and her wild ways, this household would run like a 
clock It’s such a pity, too. Her mother’s the very soul of 
goodness And there never was a finer man than Mr. Dalton. 
. . But later on Mary’ll settle down They all do. They think 
they’re missing something unless they kick up their heels 
when they’re young and foolish. . . .” 

She brought a bowl of hot oatmeal and milk to him and 
he began to eat He had difficulty in swallowing, for he had no 
appetite. But he forced the food down Peggy talked on and 
he wondered what he should say to her; he found that he 
could say nothing Maybe she was not expecting him to say 
anything Maybe she was talking to him because she had no 
one else to talk to, like his mother did sometimes Yes; he 
would. see about that fire again when he got to the basement 
He would fill that furnace as full of coal as it would get and 
make sure that Mary burned in a hurry. The hot cereal was 
making him sleepy and he suppressed a yawn. • 

“What all I got to do today, mam?” 

“Just wait on call. Sunday’s a dull day. Maybe Mr. or Mrs. 
Dalton’ll go out” 

“Yessum.” 

He finished the oatmeal. 

“You want me to do anything now?” 

“No. But you’re not through eatmg. You want some ham 
and eggs?” 

“No’m. I got a plenty.” 

“Well, It’s right here for you. Don’t be afraid to ask for it.” 

“I reckon I’ll see about the fire now.” 

“All right, Bigger Just you listen for the bell about two 
o’clock. Till then I don’t think there’ll be anything.” 

He went to the basement. The fire was blazing. The em- 
bers glowed red and the draft droned upward. It did not 
need any coal Again he looked round the basement, into 
every nook and corner, to see if he had left any trace of 
what had happened last night. There was none. 

He went to his room and lay on the bed. Well; here he 
was now What would happen? The room was quiet. No! He 
heard something! He cocked his head, listemng. He caught 



118 


NATrsna son 


faint sounds of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen below. 
He got up and walked to the far end of the room; the sounds 
came louder. He heard the soft but firm tread of Peggy as 
she walked across the kitchen floor. She’s right under me, he 
thought. He stood still, listening. He heard Mrs Dalton’s 
voice, then Peggv’s He stooped and put his ear to the floor. 
Were they talking about Mary? He could not make out what 
they were saying. He stood up and looked round A foot 
from him was the door of the clothes closet. He opened it, the 
voices came clearly He went into the closet and the planks 
squeaked, he stopped. Had they heard him? Would they think 
he was snooping? Oh' He had an idea! He got his suitcase 
and opened it and took out an armful of clothes If anyone 
came into the room it would seem that he was putting his 
clothes away He went into the closet and listened. 

“. . . . you mean the car stayed out all night in the drive- 
way?” 

“Yes; he said she told him to leave it there.” 

“What time was that?” 

*‘I don’t know, Mrs, Dalton. I didn’t ask him.” 

“I don’t understand this at all.” 

“Oh, she’s all right I don’t think you need worry.” 

"But she didn’t even leave a note, Peggy. That’s not like 
Mary Even when she ran away to New York that time she at 
least left a note.” 

“Maybe she hasn’t gone. Maybe something came up and 
she stayed out all night, Mrs. Dalton.” 

"But why would she leave the car out?” 

“1 don’t know.” 

“And he said a man was with her?” 

“It was that Jan, I think, Mrs. Dalton." 

"Jan?” 

“Yes; the one who was with her in Florida ” 

“She just won't leave those awful people alone." 

“He called here this morning, asking for her.” 

“Called here?” 

"Yes.” 

“And what did he say?” 

"He seemed sort of peeved when I told him she was gone.” 

“What can that poor child be up to? She told me she was 
not seeing him any more.” 

“Maybe she had him to call, Mrs. Dalton, . . 



FLIGHT 


119 


“What do you mean?” 

“Well, mam, I was kind of thinking that maybe she's ivith 
him again, like that time she was in Florida And maybe 
she had him to call to see if we knew she was gone. . ” 

“Oh, Peggyl” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, mam. . . . Maybe she stayed with some 
friends of hers?” 

“But she was in her room at two o’clock this morning, 
Peggy. Whose house would she go to at that hour?” 

“Mrs. Dalton, I noticed something when I went to her 
room this morning.” 

“What?” 

“Well, mam, it looks like her bed wasn’t slept in at all. 
The cover wasn’t even pulled back. Looks like somebody had 
just stretched out awhile and then got up. . . 

“Ohl” 

Bigger listened intently, but there was silence. They knew 
that something was wrong now. He heard Mrs. Dalton’s voice 
again, quavering with doubt and fear. 

“Then she didn’t sleep here last night?” 

“Looks like she didn't." 

“Did that boy say Jan was in the car?” 

^ "Yes, I thought something was strange about the car being 
left out in the snow all night, and so 1 asked him. He said 
she told him to leave the car there and he said Jan was in it” 

“Listen, Peggy. . . .” 

“Yes, Mrs. Dalton.” 

“Mary was drunk last night. I hope nothing’s happened to 
her.” 

“Oh, what a pityl” 

“I went to her room just after she came in. . . . She was 
too drunk to talk. She was drunk, I teU you. I never thought 
she’d come home in that condition.” 

“She’ll be all right, Mrs. Dalton. I know she will.” 

There was another long silence. Bigger wondered if Mrs. 
Dalton was on her way to his room. He went back to the 
bed and lay down, listening. There were no sounds, He lay a 
long time, hearing nothing; then he heard footsteps m the 
kitchen again. He hurried into the closet. 

“Peggyl” 

“Yes, Mrs. Dalton.” 

“Listen, 1 just felt around in Mary’s room. Something’s 



NATIVE SON 


120 

wrong. She didn’t finish packing her trunk. At least half of her 
things are still there. She said she was planning to go to some 
dances in Detroit and she didn’t take the new things she 
bought.” 

“Maybe she didn’t go to Detroit” 

“But where is she?” 

Bigger stopped listening, feeling fear for the first time. He 
had not thought that the trunk was not fully packed. How 
could he explain that she had told him to take a half-packed 
trunk to the station? Oh, shucks! The girl was drunk. That 
was it. Mary was so drunk that she didn’t know what she 
was doing. He would say that she had told him to take it and 
he had just taken it; that's all. If someone asked him why he 
had taken a half-packed trunk to the station, he would tell 
them that that was no different from all the other foolish 
things that Mary had told him to do that night. Had not 
people seen him eating with her and Jan in Ernie’s Kitchen 
Shack? He would say that both of them were drunk and that 
he had done what they told him because it was his job. He 
listened again to the voices. 

. , and after a while send that boy to me. I want to talk 
to him.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Dalton.” 

Again he lay on the bed. He would have to go over his 
story and make it foolproof. Maybe he had done wrong in 
taking that trunk? Maybe it would have been better to have 
carried Mary down in his arms and burnt her? But he had 
put her in the trunk because of the fear of someone’s seeing 
her in his arms. That was the only way he could have 
gotten her down out of the room. Oh, hell, what had hap- 
pened had happened and he would stick to his story He 
went over the story again, fastening every detail firmly in 
his mind. He would say that she had been drunk, sloppy 
drunk. He lay on the soft bed in the warm room listening to 
the steam hiss in the radiator and thinking drowsily and 
lazDy of how drunk she had been and of how he had lugged 
her up the steps and of how he had pushed the pillow over 
her face and of how he had put her in the trunk and of how 
he had struggled with the trunk on the dark stairs and of 
how his fingers had burned while he had stumbled down the 
stairs with the heavy trunk going bump-bump-bump so loud 
that surely all the world must have heard it. . . . 



FLIGHT 


121 

He jumped awake, hearing a knock at the door. His heart 
raced. He sat up and stared sleepily around the room. Had 
someone knocked? He looked at his watch, it was three 
o’clock. Gee! He must have slept through the bell that was 
to ring at two. The knock came again, 

“O K.'” he mumbled. 

“This is Mrs. Dalton!” 

“Yessum. Just a minute.” 

He reached the door in two long steps, then stood a mo- 
ment trying to collect himself He blinked his eyes and 
wet his lips. He opened the door and saw Mrs Dalton smiling 
before him, dressed in white, her pale face held as it had 
been when she was standing in the darkness while he had 
smothered Mary on the bed. 

“Y-y.yes, mam,” he stammered. “I — I was asleep. . . 

“You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?” 

“No’m,” he drawled, afraid of what she might mean. 

“Peggy rang for you three times, and you didn’t answer.” 

“I’m sorry, mam. . , 

“That’s all right. I wanted to ask 'you about last night. . . . 
Oh, you took the trunk to the station, didn’t you?” she 
asked. 

“Yessum. This morning," he said, detecting hesitancy and 
confusion in her voice. 

“I see,” said Mrs. Dalton, She stood with her face tilted 
upward in the semi-darkness of the hallway. He had his 
hand on the doorknob, waiting, his muscles taut. He had to 
be careful with his answers now. And yet he knew he had a 
certain protection; he knew that a certain element of shame 
would keep Mrs. Dalton from asking him too much and letting 
him know that she was worried. He was a boy and she 'was 
an old woman. He was the hired and she was the hirer. And 
there was a certain distance to be kept between them. 

“You left the car in the driveway last night, didn’t you?” 

“Yessum. I was about to put it up,” he said, indicating that 
his only concern was with keeping his job and doing his 
duties. “But she told me to leave it.” 

“And was someone with her?” 

“Yessum. A gentleman.” 

“That must have been pretty late, wasn’t it?” 

“Yessum. A little before two, mam.” 

“And you took the trunk down a little before two?” 



122 


NATIVE SON 


“Yessum, She told me to.” 

“She took you to her room?” 

He did not want her to think that he had been alone in 
the room with Mary. Quickly, he recast the story in his mind. 

“Yessum They went up. . . .” 

“Oh, he was with her?” 

“Yessum.” 

“1 see. . . ” 

“Anything wrong, mam?” 

“Oh, no! I — I — I . . . No; there’s nothing wrong.” 

She stood in the doorway and he looked at her light-gray 
blind eyes, eyes almost as white as her face and hair and 
dress. He knew that she was really worried and wanted to 
ask him more questions. But he knew that she would not 
want to hear him tell of how drunk her daughter had 
been. After all, he was black and she was white. He was poor 
and she was rich. She would be ashamed to let him think 
that something was so wrong in her family that she had to 
ask him, a black servant, about it. He felt confident. 

“Will there be anything right now, mam?” 

“No. In fact, you may take the rest of the day off, if you 
like. Mr. Dalton is not feeling well and we’re not going out.” 

“Thank you, mam.” 

She turned away and he shut the door; he stood listening 
to the soft whisper of her shoes die away down the hall, then 
on the stairs He pictured her groping her way, her hands 
touching the walls. She must know this house like a book, he 
thought. He trembled with excitement She was white and he 
was black; she was nch and he was poor; she was old and 
he was young, she was the boss and he was the worker. He 
was safe; yes. When he heard the kitchen door open and shut 
he went to the closet and listened again. But there were no 
sounds 

Well, he would go out. To go out now would be the answer 
to the feeling of strain that had come over him while talkmg 
to Mrs. Dalton. He would go and see Bessie. That was it! He 
got his cap and coat and went to the basement. The suction 
of air through the furnace moaned and the fire was white- 
hot; there was enough coal to last until he came back. 

He went to Forty-seventh Street and stood on the comer 
to wait for a car. Yes, Bessie was the one he wanted to see 
now. Funny, he had not thought of her much during the 



FLiaHT 


123 


last day and night Too many exciting things had been hap- 
pening He had had no need to think of her Bqt now he had 
to forget and relax and he wanted to see her. She was always 
home on Sunday afternoons He wanted to see her very badly, 
he felt that he would be stronger to go through tomorrow if 
he saw her. 

The street car came and he got on, thinking of how things 
had gone that day. No; he did not think they would suspect 
him of anything He was black. Again he feit the roll of 
crisp bills in his pocket, if things went wrong he could always 
run away He wondered how much money was in the roU; 
he had not even counted it He would see when he got to 
Bessie’s No; he need not be afraid He felt the gun nestling 
close to his skin That gun could always make folks stand 
away and think twice before bothering him. 

But of the whole business there was one angle that bothered 
him; he should have gotten more money out of it; he should 
have planned it He had acted too hastily and accidentally. 
Next time things would be much different, he would plan 
aftd arrange so that he would have money enough to keep 
him a long time. He looked out of the car window and then 
round at the white faces near him He wanted suddenly to 
stand up and shout, telling them that he had killed a rich 
white girl, a girl whose family was known to all of them. 
Yes; if he did that a look of startled horror would come 
over their faces But, no He would not do that, even 
though the satisfaction would be keen He was so greatly out- 
numbered that he would be arrested, tried, and executed He 
wanted the keen thrill of startling them, but felt that the 
cost was too great. He wished that he had the power to say 
what he had done witliout fear of being arrested; he wished 
that he could be an idea in their minds; that his black 
face and the image of his smothering Mary and cutting off 
her head and burning her could hover before their eyes as a 
terrible picture of reality which they could see and feel and 
yet not destroy He was not satisfied with the way things 
stood now; he was a man who had come in sight of a goal, 
then had won it, and in winning it had seen just within his 
grasp another goal, higher, greater. He had learned to shout 
and had shouted and no ear had heard him; he had just 
learned to walk and was walking but could not see the 
ground beneath his feet, he had long been yearning for 



NATIVE SON 


124 

weapons to hold in his hands and suddenly found that his 
hands held weapons that were invisible. 

The car stopped a block from Bessie’s home and he got off. 
When he reached the building in which she lived, he looked 
up to the second floor and saw a light burning in her window, 
TTie street lamps came on suddenly, lighting up the snow- 
covered sidewalks with a yellow sheen. It had gotten dark 
early. The lamps were round hazy balls of light frozen into 
motionlessness, anchored in space and kept from blowing 
away in the icy wind by black steel posts He went in and 
rang the bell and, in answer to a buzzer, mounted the stairs 
and found Bessie smiling at him in her door. 

“Hello, stranger!’’ 

“Hi, Bessie.” 

He stood face to face with her, then reached for her hands. 
She shied away. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“You know what’s the matter.” 

“bfaw, I don’t.” 

“What you reaching for me for?” 

“1 want to kiss you, honey,” 

“You don’t want to kiss me.” 

“Why?” 

“I ought to be asking you that.” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I saw you with your white friends last night." 

"Aw; they wasn’t my friends.” 

“Who was they?” 

“I work for ’em.” 

“And you eat with ’em.” 

“Aw, Bessie . . 

‘Wou didn’t even speak to me.” 

‘T didV' 

“You just growled and waved your hand.” 

“Aw, baby I was working then. You understand ” 

“I thought maybe ydu was ’shamed of me, sitting there 
with that white gal all dressed in silk and satin.” 

“Aw, hell, Bessie. Corrie on. Don’t act that way.” 

“You really want to kiss me?" 

“Syre What you think I came here for?” 

“How come you so long bceing nle, then?” 



PUGHT 125 

“I told you I been working, honey. You saw me last night 
Come on. Don’t act this way."’ 

“I don’t know," she said, shaking her head. 

He knew that she was trying to see how badly he missed 
her, trying to see how much power she still had over him. 
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, kissing her long 
and hard, feeling as he did so that she was not responding 
When he took his lips away he looked at her with eyes full 
of reproach and at the same time he felt his teeth clamping 
and his hps tingling slightly with rising passion. 

“Let’s go in,” he said. 

“If you want to.” 

“Sure 1 want to.” 

“You stayed away so long.** 

“Aw, don’t be that way.” 

They went in. 

“How come you acting so cold tonighf^” he asked. 

“You could have dropped me a postcard,” she said. 

“Aw, I just forgot It,” 

“Or you could’ve phoned.” 

“Honey, I was busy.” 

“Looking at that old white gal, I reckon.” 

“Aw, hell!” 

“You don’t love me no more.” 

“The hell I don’t.” 

“You could’ve come by just for five minutes.” 

“Baby, 1 was busy.” 

When he kissed her this time she responded a little. To 
let her know that he loved her he circled her waist with his 
arm and squeezed her tightly 

“I’m tired tonight,” she sighed. 

“Who you been seeing?” 

•Wobody.” 

“What you doing tired?” 

“If you want to talk that way you can leave right now. I 
didn’t ask you who you been seeing to make you stay away 
this long, did I?” 

“You all on edge tonight.” 

“You could have just said, ‘Hello, dog!’ ” 

“Really, honey I was busy.” 

“You was setting there at that table with them white folks 



126 


NATIVB SON 


like you was a lawyer or something. You wouldn’t even 
look at me when I spoke to you." 

“Aw, forget it. Let’s talk about something else.” 

He attempted to kiss her again and she shied away. 

“Come on, honey.” 

“Who you been with?” 

“Nobody. 1 swear. I been working. And I been thinking 
hard about you. I been missing you. Listen, I got a room aU 
my own where I’m working. Some nights you can stay there 
with me, see? Gee, I been missing you awful, honey. Soon’s I 
got time I came right over.” 

He stood looking at her in the dim light of the room. She 
was teasing him and he Liked it. At least it took him away 
from that terrible image of Mary’s head lying on the bloody 
newspaper. He wanted to kiss her again, but deep down he 
did not really mind her standing off from him; it made him 
hunger more keenly for her. She was looking at him wist- 
fully, half-leaning against a wall, her hands on her hips. 
Then suddenly he knew how to draw her out, to drive from 
her mind all thought of her teasing him. He reached into his 
pocket and drew forth the roll of bills. Smiling, he held it in 
his palm and spoke as though to himself: 

“Well, I reckon somebody else nught like this if you don’t.” 

She came a step forward 

“Bigger' Geel Where you get all that money from?” 

"Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“How much is it?” 

“What you care?” 

She came to his side. 

“How much is it, really?” 

“What you want to know for?’* 

“Let me see it. I’ll give it back to you.” 

“I’ll let you see it, but it’ll have to stay in my hand, see?” 

He watched the expression of coyness on her face change 
to one of amazement as she counted the bills. 

“Lord, Biggerl Where you get this money from?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he said, slipping his arm 
about her waist, 

“Is it yours?” 

“What in hell you reckon I’m doing with it?” 

“Tell me where you get it from, honey.” 

“You going to be sweet to me?” 



FLIGHT 127 

He felt her body growing gradually less stiff; but her eyes 
were searching his face 

“You ain’t got into nothing, is you?” 

“You going to be sweet to me?” 

“Oh, Bigger'” 

“Kiss me, honey.” 

He felt her relax completely, he kissed her and she drew 
him to the bed. They sat down. Gently, she took the money 
from his hand 

“How much is it’” he asked. 

“Don’t you know?” 

“Naw.” 

“Didn’t you count it?” 

“Naw.” 

“Bigger, where you get this money from?” 

“Maybe I’ll tell you some day,” he said, leaning back and 
resting his head on the pillow. 

“You into something.” 

“How much IS there?" 

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars.” 

“You going to be sweet to me?” 

“But, Bigger, where you get this money from?” 

“What do that matter?” 

“You going to buy me something?” 

“Sure.” 

•“What?” 

"Anything you want.” 

They were silent for a moment. Finally, his arm about her 
waist felt her body relax into a softness he knew and wanted. 
She rested her head on the pillow; he put the money in his 
pocket and leaned over her. 

“Gee, honey I, been wanting you bad.” 

“For real’” 

“Honest to God.” 

He leaned over her, full of desire, and lowered his head 
to hers and kissed her When he took his lips away for breath 
he heard her say 

“Don’t stay away so long from me, hear, honey?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You love me?” 

“Sure.” 

He kissed her again and he felt her arm lifting above his 



128 


NATIVE SON 


head and he heard the click as the light went out. He kissed 
her again, hard. 

“Bessie?” 

“Hunh?” 

“Come on, honey.” 

They were still a moment longer; then she rose. He waited. 
He heard her clothes rustling in the darkness; she was un- 
dressing. He got up and began to undress. Gradually, he 
began to see in the darkness; she was on the other side of the 
bed, her presence hke a shadow in the denser darkness sur- 
rounding her. He heard the bed creak as she lay down. He 
went to her, foldmg her in his arms, mumbling. 

“Gee, kid.” 

He felt two soft palms holding his face tenderly and the 
thought and image of the whole blind world which had made 
him ashamed and afraid fell away as he felt her as a fallow 
field beneath him stretching out under a cloudy sky waiting 
for rain, and he floated on a wild tide, rising and sinking 
with the ebb and flow of her blood, being willingly dragged 
into a warm night sea to rise renewed to the surface to face a 
world hie hated and wanted to blot out of existence, cling- 
ing close to a fountain whose warm waters washed and 
cleaned his senses, cooled them, made them strong and keen 
again to see and smell and touch and taste and hear, 
cleared them to end the tiredness and to reforge in him a 
new sense of time and space; — after he had been tossed to 
dry upon a warm sunlit rock under a white sky he lifted his 
hand slowly and heavily and touched Bessie’s lips with his 
fingers and mumbled. 

“Gee, kid.” 

“Bigger.” ^ 

He took his hand away and relaxed. He did not feel that he 
wanted to step forth and resume where he had left off hving; 
not just yet He was lying at the bottom of a deep dark pit 
upon a pallet of warm wet straw and at the top of the pit 
he could see the cold blue of the distant sky. Some hand had 
reached inside of him and had laid a quiet finger of peace 
upon the restless tossing of his spirit and had made him feel 
that he did not need to long for a home now. Then, like the 
long withdrawing sound of a receding wave, the sense of 
night and sea and warmth went from him and he lay in the 



FLIGHT 


129 

darkness, gazing with vacant eyes at the shadowy ceihng, 
hearing his and her breathing. 

“Bigger?” 

“Hunh?” 

“You like your job?" 

“Yeah Why?” 

“I just asked.” 

“You swell.” 

“You mean that?” 

“Sure.” 

“Where you^ working?” 

“Over on Drexel.” 

“Where?” 

“In the 4600 block.” 

“Oh!" 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“But, what?” 

“Oh, I just happen to think of something.” 

“Tell me. What is it?” 

“It ain’t nothing. Bigger, honey.” 

What did she mean by asking all these questions? He 
wondered if she had detected anything in him Then he 
wondered tf he were not letting fear get the better of him by 
thinking always in terms of Mary and of her having been 
smothered and burnt But he wanted to know why she had 
asked where he worked. 

“Come on, honey Tell me what you thinking.” 

“It ain’t nothing much. Bigger. I used to work over In that 
section, not far from where the Loeb folks lived.” 

“Loeb?" 

"Yeah. One of the families of one of the boys that killed 
that Franks boy. Remember?” 

“Naw; what you mean?” 

“You remember hearmg people talk about Loeb and Leo- 
pold.” 

“OhI” 

“The ones who killed the boy and then tried to get money 
from the boy’s family ...” 

... by sending notes to them Bigger was not listening The 
world of sound fell abruptly away from him and a vast 
picture appeared before his eyes, a picture teeming with so 



NATIVE SON 


130 

much meaning that he could not react to it all at once. He 
lay, his eyes unblinking, his heart pounding, his lips slightly 
open, his breath coming and going so softly that it seemed 
he was not breathing at all. you remember them aw you 
ain't even listening He said nothing how come you won’t 
listen when I talk to you Why could he, why could he not, 
not send a letter to the Daltons, asking for money? Bigger 
He sat up in bed, staring into the darkness, what’s the matter 
honey He could ask for ten thousand, or maybe twenty. 
Bigger what’s the matter I'm talking to you He did not an- 
swer, his nerves were taut with the hard effort to remember 
something. Nowl Yes, Loeb and Leopold had planned to 
have the father of the murdered boy get on a train and 
throw the money out of the window while passing some 
spot. He leaped from bed and stood in the middle of the 
floor Bigger He could, yes, he could have them pack the 
money in a shoe box and have them throw it out of a car 
somewhere on the South Side. He looked round in the dark- 
ness, feeling Bessie's fingers on his arm. He came to himself 
and sighed. 

“What’s the matter, honey?” she asked. 

“Hunh?” 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“Nothmg.” 

“Come on and tell me. You worried?” 

“Naw; naw. . . .” 

“Now, 1 told you what was on my mind, but you won’t tell 
me what’s on yours. That ain’t fair.” 

“I just forgot something. That’s all.” 

“That ain’t what you was thinking about,” she said. 

He sat back on the bed, feeling his scalp tingle with excite- 
ment. Could he do it? This was what had been missing and 
this was what would make the thing complete. But this thing 
was so big he would have to take time and think u over care- 
fully. 

“Honey, tell me where you get that money?” 

“What money?” he asked m a tone of feigned surprise. 

“Aw, Bigger. I know something’s wrong. You worried. You 
got something on your mind. I can tell it.” 

“You want me to make up something to tell you?” 

“All right; if that’s the way you feel about it.” 

“Aw, Bessie, , . 



PLIGHT 


131 


“You didn’t have to come here tonight.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t’ve come.” 

“You don’t have to come no more.” 

“Don’t you love me?” 

“About as much as you love me.” 

“How much is that?” 

“You ought to know.” 

“Aw, let’s stop fussing,” he said. 

He felt the bed sag gently and heard the bed-covers rust- 
ling as she pulled them over her. He turned his head and stared 
at the dim whites of her eyes in the darkness. Maybe, yes, 
maybe he could, maybe he could use her. He leaned and 
stretched himself on the bed beside her; she did not move. 
He put his hand upon her shoulder, pressing it just softly 
enough to let her know that he was thinking about her. 
His nund tried to grasp and encompass as much of her life 
as it could, tried to understand and weigh it in relation to 
his own, as his hand rested on her shoulder. Could he 
trust her? How much could he tell her? Would she act with 
him, blindly, believing his word? 

“Come on. Let’s get dressed and go out and get something 
to drink,” she said. 

“O.K.” 

“You ain’t acting like you always act tonight.” 

“I got something on my mind.” 

“Can’t you tell me?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Don’t you trust me?” 

“Sure.” 

“Then why don’t you tell me?” 

He did not answer Her voice had come in a whisper, a 
whisper he had heard many times when she wanted something 
badly. It brought to him a full sense of her life, what he had 
been thinking and feeling when he had placed his hand upon 
her shoulder. The same deep realization he had had that 
morning at home at the breakfast table, while watching 
Vera and Buddy and his mother came back to him; only 
it was Bessie he was looking at now and seemg how blind 
she was, He felt the narrow orbit of her life: from her room 
to the kitchen of the white folks was the farthest she ever 
moved. She worked long hours, hard and hot hours seven 
days a week, with only Sunday afternoons off; and when 



NATIVE SON 


132 

she did get off she wanted fun, hard and fast fun, something 
to make her feel that she was making up for the starved life 
she led. It was her hankering for sensation that he liked 
about her. Most nights she was too tired to go out; she only 
wanted to get drunk. She wanted liquor and he wanted 
her. So he would give her the liquor and she would give him 
herself. He had heard her complain about how hard the 
white folks worked her; she had told hun over and over 
again that she lived their lives when she was working in 
their homes, not her own. That was why, she told him, she 
drank. He knew why she liked him; he gave her money for 
drinks. He knew that if he did not give it to her someone 
else would; she would see to that. Bessie, too, was very blind. 
What ought he tell her? She might come in just handy. Then 
'he realized that whatever he chose to tell her ought not to 
be anything that would make her feel in any way out of it; she 
ought to be made to feel that she knew it all Goddamn! He 
just simply could not get used to acting like he ought. He 
should not have made her think that something was hap- 
pening that he did not want her to know. 

“Give me time, honey, and I’ll tell you,” he said, trying to 
straighten things out. 

“You don’t have to unless you want to.” 

“Don’t be that way.” 

“You just can’t treat me any old way, Bigger.” 

“I ain’t trying to, honey.” 

“You can’t play me cheap.” 

‘Take it easy. I know what I’m doing,” 

"I hope you do.” 

“For chrissakesl” 

“Aw, come on. I want a drink.” 

“Naw; listen. . . 

“Keep your business. You don’t have to tell me, But don’t 
you come running to me when you need a friend, see'^” 

“When we get a couple of drinks. I’ll tell you all about it.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

He saw her waiting at the door for him; he put on his coat 
tod cap and they walked slowly down the stairs, saying noth- 
mg. It seemed warmer outside, as though it were going to 
snow again. The sky was low and dark. The wind blew 
M he walked beside Bessie his feet sank into the soft snow. 
The streets were empty and silent, stretching before him white 



PLIGHT 


133 

and clean under the vanishing glow of a long string of 
street lamps. As he walked he saw out of the comers of his 
eyes Bessie striding beside him, and it seemed that his mind 
could feel the soft swing of her body as it went forward. He 
yearned suddenly to be back in bed with her, feeling her 
body warm and pliant to his. But the look on her face was 
a hard and distant one; it separated him from her body by 
a great suggestion of space He had not really wanted to 
go out with her tonight; but her questions and suspicions had 
made him say yes when she had wanted to go for a drink^s 
he walked beside her he felt that there were two Bessies: 
one a body that he had just had and wanted badly again; 
the other was in Bessie’s face; it asked question^ it bar- 
gained and sold the other Bessie to advantage^He "wished he 
could clench his fist and swing his arm and blot out, kill, 
sweep away the Bessie on Bessie’s face and leave the other 
helpless and yielding before him. He would then gather her 
up and put her in his chest, his stomach, some place deep in- 
side him, always keeping her there even when he slept, ate, 
talked, keeping her there just to feel and Imow that she was 
his to have and hold whenever he wanted toA 

‘‘Where we going?” 

“Wherever you want to.” 

“Let’s go to the Paris Grill.” 

“O.K.” 

They turned a corner and walked to the middle of the block 
to the grill, and went in. An automatic phonograph was play- 
ing They went to a rear table. Bigger ordered two sloe gin 
fizzes. They sat silent, looking at each other, waiting. He 
saw Bessie’s shoulders jerking in rhythm to the music Would 
she help him? Well, he would ask her; he would frame 
the story so that she would not have to know everything. He 
knew that he should have asked her to dance, but the excite- 
ment that had hold of him would not let him. He was feeling 
different tonight from every other night; he did not need to 
dance and sing and clown over the floor in order to blot out 
a day and rught of doing nothing. He was full of excitement 
The waitress brought the drinks and Bessie lifted hers. 

“Here’s to you, even if you don’t want to talk and even if 
you is acting queer ” 

“Bessie, I'm worried.” 

“Aw, come on and drink,” she said. 



134 


NATIVE SON 


“O.K” 

They sipped. 

“Bigger?" 

“Himb?’’ 

“Can’t I help you in what you doing?” 

“Maybe." 

“I want to,” 

“You trust me?” 

"I have so far.” 

“I mean now?” 

“Yes; if you tell me what to trust you for?” 

“Maybe I can’t do that.” 

“Then you don’t trust me.” 

“It’s got to be that way, Bessie.” 

“If I trusted you, would you tell me?” 

“Maybe." 

“Don’t say ‘maybe,’ Bigger.” 

“Listen, honey,” he said, not liking the way he was talk- 
ing to her, but ^aid of telling her outright. “The reason Tm 
acting this way is I got something big on.” 

“What?” 

“It’ll mean a lot of money.” 

“I wish you’d either tell me or quit talking about it.” 

They were silent; he saw Bessie drain her glass. 

“I’m ready to go,” she said. 

“Aw ” 

"I want to get some sleep.” 

"You mad?” 

“Maybe.” 

He did not want her to be that way. How could he 
make her stay? How much could he tell her? Could he 
make her trust him without telling everything? He suddenly 
felt she would come closer to him if he made her feel that 
he was in danger. That’s iti Make her feel concerned about 
him. 

“Maybe I’ll have to get out of town soon,” he said. 

“The police?” 

"Maybe.” 

"What you do?" 

“I’m planning to do it now.” 

“But where you get that money?” 



FLIGHT 135 

“Look, Bessie, if I had to leave town and wanted dough, 
would you help me if I split with you?” 

“If you took me with you, you wouldn’t have to split.” 

He was silent, he had not thought of Bessie’s being with him. 
A woman was a dangerous burden when a man was running 
away. He had read of how men had been caught because of 
women, and he did not want that to happen to him. But, if, 
yes, but if he told her, yes, just enough to get her to work 
with him? 

“O K.,” he said. “I’ll say this much: I’ll take you if you 
Jhelp me.” 

“You really mean that?" 

“Sure." 

“Then you going to tell me?” 

Yes, he could dress the story up. Why even mention Jan? 
Why not tell it so that if she were ever questioned she would 
say the things that he wanted her to say, things that would 
help him? He lifted the glass and drained the liquor and set it 
down and leaned forward and toyed with the cigarette in his 
fingers. He spoke with bated breath. 

“Listen, here’s the dope, see? The gal where I’m working, 
the daughter of the old man who’s rich, a millionaire, baa 
done run off with a red, see?” 

“Eloped?” 

"Hunh? Er . . . Yeah; eloped.” 

“With a red?” 

“Yeah; one of them Communists.” 

“Ohl What’s wrong with her?” 

"Aw; she’s crazy. Nobody don’t know she’s gone, so last 
night I took the money from her room, see?” 

“Oh!” 

“They don’t know where she is.” 

“But what you going to do?” 

“They don’t know where she is,” he said again. 

“What you mean?” 

He sucked his cigarette; he saw her looking at him, her 
black eyes wide with eager interest. He liked that look. In 
one way, he hated to tell her, because he wanted to keep 
her guessing. He wanted to take as long as possible m order 
to see that look of complete absorption upon her face. It 
made him feel alive and gave him a heightened sense of the 
value of himself. 



NATTVH SON 


136 

got an idea,” he said. 

“Oh, Bigger, tell me!" 

“Don’t talk so loud!" 

“Well, tell me!” 

“They don't know where the girl is‘. They might think she’s 
kidnaped, see?” His whole body was tense and as he spoke 
his lips trembled. 

“Oh, that was what you was so excited about when I 
told you about Loeb and Leopold. , . 

“Well, what you think?” 

“Would they really think she’s kidnaped?” 

“We can make 'em think it.” 

She looked into her empty glass. Bigger beckoned the 
waitress and ordered two more drinks. He took a deep swallow 
and said, 

“The gal’s gone, see? They don’t know where she is? 
Don’t nobody know. But they might think somebody did if 
they was told, see?” 

“You mean . . . You mean we could say we did it? You 
mean write to ’em, . . .” 

, . and ask for money, sure,” be said, “And get it, too. 
You see, we cash in, ’cause nobody else is trymg to.” 

“But suppose she shows up?” 

“She won’t.” 

“How you know?” 

“I just know she won’t." 

“Bigger, you know something about that girl. You know 
where she is?” 

“That’s all right about where she is. I know we won’t have 
to worry about her showing up, see?” 

“Oh, Bigger, this is crazy!” 

“Then, hell, we won’t talk about it no more!” 

“Oh, I don’t mean that.” 

“Then what do you mean?” 

“I mean we got to be careful.” 

“We can get ten thousand dollars,” 

“How?” 

“We can have ’em leave the money somewhere. They’ll 
think they can get the girl back. , . .’’ 

“Bigger, you know where that girl is?” she said, giving her 
voice a tone of half-question and half-statement. 

“Naw.” 



FLIGHT 


137 


“Then it’ll be in the papers. She’ll show up.” 

“She won't." 

“How you know?” 

“She just won’t.” 

He saw her lips moving, then heard her speak softly, lean- 
ing toward him. 

“Bigger, you ain’t done nothing to that girl, is you?” 

He stiffened with fear. He felt suddenly that he wanted 
something in his hand, something solid and heavy: his gun, 
a knife, a bnck. 

“If you say that again. I’ll slap you back from this table!” 

“Oh!” 

“Come on, now. Don’t be a fool.” 

“Bigger, you oughtn’t’ve done it. . . .” 

“You going to help me? Say yes or no.” 

“Gee, Bigger. . . .” 

“You scared? You scared after letting me take that silver 
from Mrs. Heard’s home? After letting me get Mrs. Macy’s 
radio? You scared now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You wanted me to tell you; well, I told you. That’s a 
woman, always. You want to know somethmg, then you run 
like a rabbit.” 

“But we’ll get caught’^ 

“Not if we do right.” 

“But how could we do it. Bigger?” 

“I’ll figure it out.” 

“But I want to know.” 

“It’ll be easy.” 

“But how?” 

“I can fix it so you can pick up the money and nobody’ll 
bother you.” 

“They catch people who do things like that.” 

“If you scared they will catch you.” 

“How could I pick up the money?” 

“We’ll tell ’em where to leave it ” 

“But they’ll have police watching.” 

“Not if they want the gal back. We got a club over ’em, 
see? And I’ll be watching, too. I work in the house where 
they live. If they try to doublecross us. I’ll let you know.” 

“You reckon we could do it?” 

“We could have ’em throw the money out of a car. You 



NATIVE SON 


138 

could bo in some spot to see if they send anybody to 
watch. If you see anybody around, then you don’t touch 
the money, see? But they want the gal, they won’t watch.” 

There was a long silence. 

“Bigger, I don’t know,” she said. 

“We could go to New York, to Harlem, if we had money. 
New York’s a real town. We could lay low for awhile.” 

“But suppose they mark the money?” 

“They won’t. And if they do, I’ll tell you. You see, Tm 
right there in the house.” 

“But if we run off, they’ll think we did it. They’ll be look- 
ing for us for years. Bigger . . .” 

“We won’t run right away. We’ll lay low for awhile,” 

“I don’t know, Bigger.” 

He felt satisfied; he could tell by the way she looked that 
if be pushed her hard enough she would come in with him. 
She was afraid and he could hana’* her through her fear. 
He looked at his watch; it was getting late He ought to go 
back and have a look at that furnace. 

“Listen, I got to go.” 

He paid the waitress and they went out. There was another 
way to bind her to him. He drew forth the roll of bills, peeled 
off one for himself, and held out the rest of the money to- 
ward her. 

“Here,” he said. “Get you something and save the rest 
for me.” 

“Ohl” 

She looked at the money and hesitated. 

“Don’t you want it?” 

“Yeah,” she said, taking the roll. 

“If you string along with me you’ll get plenty more.” 

’They stopped in front of her door, he stood looking at her. 

“Well,” he said. “What you think?” 

“Bigger, honey. I — I don’t know,” she said plaintively. 

“You wanted me to tell you.” 

“I’m scared.” 

“Don’t you trust me?” 

“But we ain’t never done nothing like this before. They’ll 
look everywhere for us for something like this. It ain’t like 
coming to where I work at night when the white folks is 
gone out of town and stealing something. It ain’t . . .” 

“It’s up to you.” 



PLIGHT 


139 


“I'm scared, Bigger.” 

“Who on earth’ll think we did it?” 

“I don’t know. You really think they don’t know where 
the girl is?” 

“I know they don’t.” 

"You knowf ’ 

“Naw.” 

“She’ll turn up.” 

“She won’t. And, anyhow, she’s a cra2y girl. They might 
even think she’s in it herself, just to get money from her 
family. They might think the reds is doing it They won’t 
think we did. They don't think we got enough guts to do it. 
They think niggers is too scared. . , 

“I don’t know.” 

“Did I ever tell you wrong?” 

“Naw; but we ain’t never done nothing like this before.” 

“Well, I ain’t wrong now.” 

“When do you want to do it?” 

“Soon as they begin to worry about the gal.” 

“You really reckon we could?” 

“I told you what I think.” 

“Naw; Bigger! I ain’t going to do h. I think you . . .” 

He turned abrupdy and walked away from her. 

“Bigger!” 

She ran over the snow and tugged at his sleeve. He stopped, 
but did not turn round. She caught his coat and pulled him 
about. Under the yellow sheen of a street lamp they confront- 
ed each other, silently. All about them was the white snow 
and the night; they were cut off from the world and were con- 
scious only of each other. He looked at her without expression, 
waiting Her eyes were fastened fearfully and distrustfully 
upon his face He held his body in an attitude that suggested 
that he was delicately balanced up>on a hairline, waiting to 
see if she would push him forward or draw him back. Her lips 
smiled faintly and she lifted her hand and touched his face 
with her fingers. He knew that she was fighting out in her 
feelings the question of just how much he meant to her. 
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, telling him in the pres- 
sure of her fingers that she wanted him. 

“But, Bigger, honey . . . Let’s don’t do that. We getting 
along all right like we is now. . . 

He drew his hand away. 



140 


NATIVE SON 


“I'm going,” he said. 

“When I'll see you, honey?” 

“I don't know.” 

He started off again and she overtook him and encircled 
him with her arms. 

“Bigger, honey . . 

“Come on, Bessie, What you going to do?” 

She looked at him with round, helpless black eyes. He 
was still poised, wondering if she would pull him toward her, 
or let him fall alone. He was enjoying her agony, seeing and 
feeling the worth of himself in her bewildered desperation. 
Her lips trembled and she began to cry. 

“What you going to do?” he asked again. 

“If I do It, it’s ’cause you want me to,” she sobbed. 

He put his arm about her shoulders. 

“Come on, Bessie,” he said. “Don’t cry.” 

She stopped and dried her eyes, he looked at her closely. 
She’ll do it, he thought. 

“I got to go,” he said. 

“I ain’t going in right now.” 

“Where ymi going?” 

He found that he was afraid of what she did, now (hat she 
was working with hum. His peace of mind depended upon 
knowing what she did and why. 

“I’m going to get a pint” 

That waa all right; she was feeling as he knew she al- 
ways felt. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, hunh?" 

“O.K., honey. But be careful.” 

“Look, Bessie, don’t you worry none. Just trust me. No 
matter what happens, they won’t catch us. And they won’t 
even know you had anything to do with it.” 

"If they start after us, where could we hide, Bigger? You 
know we’s black. We can’t go just anywhere.” 

He looked round the lamp-lit, snow-covered street. 

“There’s plenty of places,” he said. “I know the South Side 
from A to Z. We could even hide out in one of those old 
buildings, see? Like I did last time. Nobody ever looks into 
em. 

He pointed across the street to a black, looming, empty 
apartment building. 

“Well,” she sighed. 



FLIGHT 


141 


“I’m going,” he said, 
long, honey ” 

He walked toward the car line; when he looked back he 
saw her still standing in the snow, she had not moved. She’ll 
be all right, he thought She’ll go along. 

Snow was falling again; the streets were long paths lead- 
ing through a dense jungle, lit here and there with torches 
held high in invisible hands He waited ten minutes for a 
car and none came He turned the comer and walked, his 
head down, his hands dug into his pockets, going to Dal- 
ton’s. 

He was confident During the last day and night new fears 
had come, but new feelings had helped to allay those fears. 
The moment when he had stood above Mary’s bed and 
found that she was dead the fear of electrocution had 
entered his flesh and blood. But at home at the breakfast 
table with his mother and sister and brother, seeing how blind 
they were; and overhearing Peggy and Mrs. Dalton talking 
in the kitchen, a new feeling had been born in him, a feeling 
that all but blotted out the fear of death As long as he moved 
carefully and knew what he was about, he could handle 
things, be thought. As long as he could take his life into his 
own hands and dispose of it as he pleased, as long as he 
could decide just when and where he would run to, he need 
not be afraid. 

He felt that he had his destiny in his grasp. He was more 
alive than he could ever remember having been, his mind 
and attention were pointed, focused toward a goal. For the 
first time in his life he moved consciously between two 
sharply defined poles, he was moving away from the threat- 
ening penalty of death, from the death-like times that brought 
him that tightness and hotness in his chest, and he was 
moving toward that sense of fulness he had so often but 
inadequately felt in magazines and movies. 

The shame and fear and hate which Mary and Jan and Mr. 
Dalton and that huge rich house had made rise so hard and 
hot in him had now cooled and softened. Had he not done 
what they thought he never could? His being black and at 
the bottom of the world was something which he could take 
with a new-born strength. What his knife and gun had once 
meant to him, his knowledge of having secretly murdered 
Mary now meant. No matter how they laughed at him for his 



NATIVE SON 


142 

being black and clownlike, he could look them in the eyes and 
not feel angry. The feeling of being always enclosed in the 
stifling embrace of an mvisible force had gone from him. 

As he turned into Drexel Boulevard and headed toward 
Dalton’s, he thought of how restless he had been, how he was 
consumed always with a body hunger. Well, in a way he had 
settled that tonight, as time passed he would make it more 
definite. His body felt free and easy now that he had lain 
with Bessie. That she would do what he wanted was what he 
had sealed m asking her to work with him in this thing. She 
would be bound to him by ties deeper than marriage. She 
would be his; her fear of capture and death would buid her 
to him with all the strength of her life; even as what he had 
done last night had bound hun to this new path with all the 
strength of his own life. 

He turned off the sidewalk and walked up the Dalton drive- 
way, went into the basement and looked through the bright 
cracks of the furnace door. He saw a red heap of seething coals 
and heard the upward hum of the draft. He pulled the 
lever, hearing the rattle of coal against tin and seeing the 
quivering embers grow black. He shut off the coal and stooped 
and opened the bottom door of the furnace. Ashes were piling 
up. He would have to take the shovel and clean them out 
in the morning and make sure that no unbumt bones were 
left He had closed the door and started to the rear of the 
furnace, going to his room, when he heard Peggy’s voice. 

"Biggerl" 

He stopped and before answering he felt a keen sensation 
of excitement flush over all his skin. She was standing at the 
head of the stairs, m the door leading to the kitchen. 

“Yessum.” 

He went to the bottom of the steps and looked upward. 

"Mrs. Dalton wants you to pick up the trunk at the sta- 
tion " 

‘‘The trunk?” 

He waited for Peggy to answer his surprised question. 
Perhaps he should not have asked it in that way? 

‘They called up and said that no one had claimed it. 
And Mr. Dalton got a wire from Detroit Mary never got 
there.” 

“Yessum.” 

She came all the way down the stairs and looked round the 



FLIGHT 


143 

basement, as though seeking some missing detail. He stiffened; 
if she saw something that would make her ask him about 
Mary he would take the iron shovel and let her have it 
straight across her head and then take the car and make a 
quick getaway. 

“Mr. Dalton’s worried,” Peggy said. “You know, Mary 
didn’t pack the new clothes she bought to take with her on 
the tnp. And poor Mrs. Dalton’s been pacing the floor and 
phoning Mary’s friends all day.” 

“Don’t nobody know where she is?” Bigger asked. 

“Nobody. Did Mary tell you to take the trunk like it was?" 

“Yessum,” he said, knowing that this was the first hard 
hurdle. “It was locked and standing in a corner. I took it 
down and put it right where you saw it this morning.” 

“Oh, Peggy'” Mrs. Dalton’s voice called. 

“Yes!” Peggy answered. 

Bigger looked up and saw Mrs. Dalton at the head of the 
stairs, standing in white as usual and with her face tilted 
trustingly upward. 

“Is the boy back yet?” 

“He’s down here now, Mrs. Dalton." 

“Come m the kitchen a moment, will you, Bigger?” she 
asked. 

“Yessum.” 

He followed Peggy into the kitchen. Mrs. Dalton had her 
hands clasped tightly in front of her and her face was still 
tilted, higher now, and her white lips were parted. 

“Peggy told you about picking up the trunk?” 

“Yessum. I’m on my way now.” 

“What time did you leave here last night?” 

“A little before two, mam ” 

“And she told you to take the trunk down?” 

“Yessum ” 

“And she told you not to put the car up?” 

“Yessum.” 

“And it was just where you left it last night when you 
came this morning?” 

“Yessum.” 

Mrs Dalton turned her head as she heard the inner kitch- 
en door open; Mr. Dalton stood in the doorway. 

“Hello, Bigger.” 

“Good day, suh.” 



144 


NATIVE SON 


“How are things?” 

“Fine, suh.” 

“The station called about the trunk a little while ago. 
You’ll have to pick it up.” 

"Yessuh. I’m on my way now, suh.” 

“Listen, Bigger. What happened last night?” 

“Well, nothing, suh. Miss Dalton told me to take the trunk 
down so I could take it to the station this morning; and I 
did.” 

"Was Jan with you?” 

“Yessuh. All three of us went upstairs when I brought 
'em in in the car. We went to the room to get the trunk. 
Then I took it down and put it in the basement.” 

“Was Jan drunk?” 

“Well, I don’t know, suh. They was drinking. . , .** 

“And what happened?” 

“Nothing, suh. I just took the trunk to the basement and 
left. Miss Dalton told me to leave the car out. She said Mr. 
Jan would take care of it.” 

“What were they talking about?” 

Bigger hung his head. 

“1 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 close- 
ly. 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 oCBce.” 

“Can you get in touch with him?” 

“Well,” said Mr. Dalton, standmg near Bigger and look- 
ing hard at the floor. “I could. But I’d rather wait I still 
think Mary's up to some of her foolisli pranks. Bigger, you’d 
better get Aat 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-hghted street comer with a flash- 



PLIGHT 


145 

light. 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. Bes- 
sie 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 thmg. It was going his way. They were not sus- 
pecting 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 be- 
neath its weight and he walked slowly with his eyes on the 
wavering red shadows on the floor He heard the fire sing- 
ing in the furnace. He took the trunk to the comer 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 vio- 
lently, 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 



NATIVB SOM 


m 

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 base- 
ment; in the red shadows their faces were white discs of 
danger floating still m 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 nar- 
row, 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 stead- 
ily upon him. Fame 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 
ho did so a shining badge on his chest Words rang in Big- 
ger’s mind; This is a cop! He could not take his eyes off 
the shining bit of metal Abruptly, the man changed his at- 
titude and expression, took his hands from his pocket 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 pri- 
vate 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.” 

'Tessuh.” 

“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, dromng. 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 
L once to whatever they said or did and at the same time to 



FLIGHT 


147 

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’U 
spoil the whole thing. Sweat came onto his neck and face. 
Britten could not imlock 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 enttre 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 in- 
tently 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 stooped and pretended to 
search. Then he straightened. 

“It ain’t here now. . , . 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 
thLings.” 

“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?” 



148 NATTVE SON 

“Well, they went into the room,” he said. “I went in after 
them. Then she told me to take the trunk down. That^ 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. 

Bigger looked at Britten, feigning surprise. 

“Sit on the trunk,” Britten said. 

“Mer’ 

“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 nigjjt?” 

"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?" 

“WeU, 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 schooVt" Mr. Dalton asked, his lips hang- 
ing open in surprise. 



FLIGHT 


149 


"Nawsuh.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Bigger?” 

“She told me not to.” 

There was silence. The furnace droned. Kuge red shad- 
ows 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 
pictiue and he would draw it like he wanted it. He was trem- 
bling 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 ’emT’ Britten asked; the tone 
of curt hostility had suddenly left his voice. 

“Nawsuh. I was in the car. . . 

“And where did they go?” 



NATIVE SON 


150 

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 worry- 
ing 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 low- 
ered 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 bouse by herself,” Britten 
said. “If Mrs. Dalton’s right, then she could not have left.” 



FLIGHT 


151 

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 m 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, boyl 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 I” 

“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?” 

‘1 don’t know what you mean,” Bigger said, his voice 
quavermg. 



152 NATIVE SON 

“Don’t you read the Dailyl" 

“Daily what?” 

“Didn’t you know Jan before you came to work herer 

“Nawsuh. /Vflwsuhl” 

“Didn’t they send you to Russia?” 

Bigger stared and did not answer. He knew now that Brit- 
ten was trying to find out if he were a Communist. It was 
something he had not counted on, ever He stood up, trem- 
bling, 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 move- 
ment 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 sonofabitchl 
And you’re going to tell me about Miss Dalton and that Jan 
bastard!” 

‘Wmvsuhl I ain’t no Commimist! JVmvsuhl” 

“Well, what’s thisT’ 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, Brittenl” 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 hun 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 
1 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 standmg, his 



PLIGHT 


153 

head resting against the wail, aching. He had not thought 
that anyone would dare think that he, a black Negro, would 
be Jan’s partner. Bntten was his enemy. He knew that the 
hard hght 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 comer 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 thmg,” said Mr. Dalton, sigh- 
ing. 

Bigger felt that if he said something directly to Mr. Dal- 
ton, he could swing things round again in his favor; but ho 
did not know just how to put it. 

“You suppose she ran off?” he heard Britten ask. 

“I don’t know,” Mr. Dalton said. 

Britten turned to Bigger and looked at him; Bigger kept 
his eyes down. 

“Boy, I just want to know, are you telling the troth?" 

“Yessuh. I’m telling the truth, I just started to work here 
last night. I ain’t done nothing. I did just what they told me 
to do.” 

“You sure he’s all right?" Britten asked Dalton. 

“He’s all right.” 

“If you don’t want me to work for you, Mr. Dalton,” Big- 
ger said, “I’ll go home. I didn’t want to come here,” he con- 
tinued, feeling that his words would awaken in Mr. Dalton a 
sense of why he was here, “but they sent me anyhow.” 

“That’s true,” Mr. Dalton told Brittea “He’s referred to me 
from the relief. He’s been in a reform school and I’m giving 
him a chance. . . .” Mr. Dalton turned to Bigger. “Just for- 
get it, Bigger, We had to make sure. Stay on and do your 
work. I’m sorry this had to happea Don’t let it break you 
down.” 

“Yessuh.” 

“O.K.," said Brittea “If you say he's O.K., then it’s O.K. 
with me.” 

“Go on to your room, Bigger,” said Mr. Daltoa 

“Yessuh.” 

Head down, he walked to the rear of the furnace and up- 



NATIVE SON 


154 

stairs into his room. He turned the latch on the door and 
hurried to the closet to listen. The voices came clearly. Brit- 
ten and Mr. Dalton had come into the kitchen. 

“My, but it was hot down there,” said Mr. Dalton. 

“Yes' ” 

. . I’m a littte sorry you bothered him. He’s here to try 
to get a new slant on things," 

“Well, you see ’em one way and I see 'em another. To me, 
a nigger’s a nigger.” 

“But he’s sort of a problem boy. He’s not really bad.” 

“You got to be rough with ’em, Dalton. See how I got that 
dope out of ’im? He wouldn’t’ve told you that.” 

“But I don’t want to make a mistake here It wasn’t his 
fault. He was doing what that crazy daughter of mine told 
him. I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret. After all, these 
black boys never get a chance. . . .” 

‘They don’t need a chance, if you ask me. They get in 
enough trouble without it ” 

“Well, as long as they do their work, let’s let ’em be.” 

“Just as you say. You want me to stay on the job?” 

“Sure. We must see this Jan. I can’t understand Mary’s going 
away and not saying anything.” 

"I can have ’im picked up." 

“No, no! Not that way. Those reds’U get hold of it and 
theyll raise a stink in the papers.” 

“Well, what do you want me to do?” 

“I’ll try to get 'im to come here. I’ll phone his office, and 
if he’s not there I’ll phone his home.” 

Bigger heard their footsteps dying away, A door slammed 
and then all was quiet. He came out of the closet and 
looked in the dresser drawer where he had put the parnphlets. 
Yes, Britten had searched his room; his clothes were mussed 
and tumbled. He would know how to handle Britten next 
time. Britten was familiar to him; he had met a thousand 
Brittens in his life. He stood in the center of the room, think- 
ing. When Britten questioned Jan, would Jan deny having been 
with Mary at all, in order to protect her? If he did, that would 
be in his favor. If Britten wanted to check on his story about 
Mary’s not going to school last night, he could. If Jan said 
that they had not been drinking it could be proved that they 
had been drinking by folks in the cafe. If Jan lied about one 
thing, it would be readily believed that he would lie about 



FLIGHT 


155 

others If Jan said that he had not come to the house, who 
would believe him after it was seen that he had lied 
about his not dnnking and about Mary’s going to school? If 
Jan tried to protect Mary, as he thought he would, he would 
only succeed in making a case against himself. 

Bigger went to the window and looked out at the white 
curtain of falling snow He thought of the kidnap note. 
Should he try to get money from them now? Hell, yes! He 
would show that Britten bastard! He would work fast. But 
he would wait until after Jan had told his story. He should see 
Bessie tonight And he ought to pick out the pencil and 
paper he would use. And he must not forget to use gloves 
when he wrote the note so that no fingerprints would be 
on the paper. He'd give that Britten something to worry 
about, alt nght Just wait. 

Because he could go now, run off if he wanted to and leave 
it all behind, he felt a certain sense of power, a power 
bom of a latent capacity to live. He was conscious of this 
quiet, warm, clean, rich house, this room with this bed so 
soft, the wealthy white people moving in luxury to all sides 
of him, whites living in a smugness, a secunty, a certainty 
that he had never known The knowledge that he had killed a 
white girl they loved and regarded as their symbol of beauty 
made him feel the equal of them, like a man who had been 
somehow cheated, but had now evened the score. 

The more the sense of Britten seeped mto him the more 
did he feel the need to face him once again and let him 
try to get something from him. Next time be would do bet- 
ter; he had let Bntten trap him on ’that Communist business. 
He should have been on the lookout for that; but the lucky 
thing was that he knew that Bntten had done all his tricks 
at once, had shot his bolt, had played all his cards. Now 
that the thing was out in the open, he would know how to 
act. And furthermore, Britten might want him as a witness 
against Jan. He smiled while he lay in the darkness. If that 
happened, he would be safe in sending the ransom note. He 
could send it just when they thought they had pinned the 
disappearance of Mary upon Jan. That would throw everything 
into confusion and would make them want to reply and 
give the money at once and save the girl. 

The warm room lulled his blood and a deepening sense of 
fatigue drugged him with sleep. He stretched out more fully on 



NATIVE SON 


156 


the bed, sighed, turned on his back, swallowed, and closed his 
eyes Out of the surrounding silence and darkness came the 
quiet ringing of a distant church bell, thin, faint, but clear. 
It tolled, soft, then loud, then still louder, so loud that he 
wondered where it was. It sounded suddenly directly above 
his head and when he looked it was not there but went on 


tolhng and with each passing moment he felt an urgent need 
to run and hide as though the bell were sounding a warning 
and he stood on a street comer in a red glare of light like that 
which came from the furnace and he had a big package in 
his arms so wet and slippery and heavy that he could scarcely 
hold onto it and he wanted to know what was in the package 
and he stopped near an alley comer and unwrapped it and 
the paper fell away and he saw— it was his own head — ^his 
own head lying with black face and half-closed eyes and 
lips parted with white teeth showing and hair wet with blood 
and the red glare grew brighter like light shining down from 
a red moon and red stars on a hot summer night and he was 
sweating and breathless from running and the bell clanged so 
loud that he could hear the iron tongue clapping against 
the metal sides each time it swung to and fro and he was 
running over a street paved with black coal and his shoes 
kicked tiny lumps rattling against tin cans and he knew that 
very soon he had to find some place to hide but there was no 
place and in front of him white people were coining to 
ask about the head from which the newspapers had fallen 
and which was now shppery with blood b bs naked hands 
and he gave up and stood in the middle of the street m the 
red darkness and cursed the boommg bell and the white 
pwple and felt that he did not give a damn what happened to 
^ and when the people closed m he hurled the bloody 
head squarely into their faces dongdongdong. . . 

He open^ his eyes and looked about him m the darkened 
^m, hearmg a bdl ring. He sat up. The bell sounded agam. 
HOW long had it been ringmg? He got to his feet, swaybg 
from stiflfneM, trying to shake ofif sie^ and that awful dream. 

Yessum, he mumbled. 


He fumbled m the dark for 
th li^t chab and puUed it. Excitement quickened withm 
him Had somethbg happened? Was this the poLce? 

Bigger!” a muffled voice called. 

“Yessuh," 



FLIGHT 


157 

He braced himself for whatever was coming and stepped to 
the door As he opened it he felt it being pushed in by 
someone who seemed determined to get in in a hurry. Bigger 
backed away, blinking his eyes. 

“We want to talk to you,” said Britten, 

“Yessuh.” 

He did not hear what Britten said after that, for he saw 
directly behind Britten a face that made him hold his breath. 
It was not fear he felt, but a tension, a supreme gathering of 
all the forces of his body for a showdown. 

“Go on in, Mr Erlone,” Mr. Dalton said. 

Bigger saw Jan’s eyes looking at him steadily. Jan stepped 
mto the room and Mr. Dalton followed. Bigger stood with his 
lips slightly parted, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, 
his eyes watchful, but veiled. 

“Sit down, Erlone,” Britten said. 

“This is all right,” Jan said. “Ill stand.” 

Bigger saw Britten pull from his coat pocket the packet of 
pamphlets and hold them under Jan’s eyes. Jan’s lips twisted 
into a faint smile. 

“Well,” Jan said. 

“You’re one of those tough reds, hunh?” Britten asked. 

“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Jan said. “What do you 
want?” 

‘Take it easy,” Britten said. “You got plenty of time. I 
know your kind You like to rush and have things your way.” 

Bigger saw Mr Dalton standing to one side, looking 
anxiously from one to the other. Several times Mr, Dalton 
made as if to say something, then checked himself, as though 
uncertain. 

“Bigger,” Britten asked, “is this the man Miss Dalton 
brought here last night?” 

Jan’s lips parted. He stared at Britten, then at Bigger. 

“Yessuh,” Bigger whispered, struggling to control his feel- 
ings, hating Jan violently because he knew he was hurting 
him; wanting to strike Jan with something because Jan’s wide, 
incredulous stare made him feel hot guilt to the very core 
of him. 

“You didn’t bring me here, Bigger!” Jan said. “Why do you 
tell them that?” 

Bigger did not answer; he decided to talk only to Britten 
and Mr. Dalton. There was silence. Jan was staring at Bigger; 



NATIVE SON 


158 

Bntfen and Mr Dalton were watching Jan. Jan made a move 
toward Bigger, but Britten’s arm checked him. 

“Say, what is thisl” Jan demanded. “What're you making 
this boy lie for?" 

“I suppose you’re going to teU us you weren’t drunk last 
night, hunh?” asked Britten. 

“What business is that of yours?” Jan shot at him. 

“Where’s Miss Dalton?” Britten asked. 

Jan looked round the room, puzzled. 

“She’s in Detroit,” he said. 

“You know your story by heart, don’t you?” Britten said. 

“Say, Bigger, what’re they doing to you? Don’t be afraid. 
Speak upl" said Jan. 

Bigger did not answer; he looked stonily at the floor. 

“Where did Miss Dalton tell you she was gomg?’’ Britten 
asked. 

“She told me she was going to Detroit." 

“Did you see her last night?” 

Jan hesitated, 

"No.” 

“You didn’t give these pamphlets to this boy last night?” 

Jan shrugged his shoulders, smiled and said: 

“All right. I saw her. So what? You know why I didn’t 
say so in the first place . . 

“No. We don’t know,” Britten said. 

“Well, Mr. Dalton here doesn’t like reds, as you call ’em, 
and I didn’t want to get Miss Dalton in trouble." 

“Then, you did meet her last night?” 

“Yes ” 

"Where is she?" 

“If she’s not in Detroit, then I don’t know where she is.” 

“You gave these pamphlets to this boy?” 

“Yes; I did.” 

“You and Miss Dalton were drunk last night. . . 

“Aw, come onl We weren’t drunk. We had a little to 
drink. . . ,’’ 

“You brought her home about two?” 

Bigger stiffened and waited. 

"Yeah.” 

“You told the boy to take her trunk down to the baso- 
ment?" 



PLiaHT 159 

Jan opened his mouth, but no words came. He looked 
at Bigger, then back to Britten. 

“Say, what is this?” 

“Where’s my daughter, Mr. Erione?" Mr. Dalton asked. 

“I tell you I don’t know,” 

“Listen, let’s be frank, Mr. Erione,” said Mr. Dalton. “We 
know my daughter was drunk last night when you brought 
her here. She was too drunk to leave here by herself. Do 
you know where she is?” 

“I — I didn’t come here last night,” Jan stammered. 

Bigger sensed that Jan had said that he had come home 
with Mary last night in order to make Mr. Dalton believe that 
he would not have left his daughter alone m a car with a 
strange chauffeur And Bigger felt that after Jan admitted 
that they had been dnnking, he was bound to say that he had 
brought the girl home. Unwittingly, Jan’s desire to protect 
Mary had helped him. Jan’s denial of having come to the home 
would not be believed now; it would make Mr Dalton and 
Britten feel that he was trying to cover up something of even 
much greater seriousness. 

“You didn’t come home with her?” Mr. Dalton asked. 

“Nol” 

“You didn’t tell the boy to take the trunk down?” 

“Hell, nol Who says 1 did? 1 left the car and took a trolley 
home ” Jan turned and faced Bigger. “Bigger, what’re you 
telling these people?” 

Bigger did not answer. 

“He’s just told us what you did last night,” Britten said. 

“Where’s Mary. . , , 'Where’s Miss Dalton?” Jan asked. 

“We’re waiting for you to tell us,” said Britten. 

“D-d-didn’t she go to Etetroit?” Jan stammered. 

“No,” said Mr. Dalton. 

“I called here this morning and Peggy told me she had.” 

“You called here just to see if the family had missed her, 
didn’t you?” asked Britten. 

Jap walked over to Bigger. 

“Leave ’im alone!” Britten said. 

“Bigger,” Jan said, “why did you tell these men I came 
here?” 

“You say you didn’t come here at all last night?” Mr. Dal- 
ton asked again. 

“Absolutely not Bigger, tell ’em when I left the car." 



160 


NATIVE SON 


Bigger said nothing. 

“Come on, Erlone. I don’t know what you’re up to, but 
you’ve been lying ever since you’ve been in this room. You 
said you didn’t come here last night, and then you say you 
did. You said you weren’t drunk last night, then you say you 
were. You said you didn’t see Miss Dalton last mght, then 
you say you did. Come on, now. TeU us where Miss Dalton 
is. Her father and mother want to know.” 

Bigger saw Jan’s bewildered eyes. 

“Listen, I’ve told you all I know,” said Jan, putting his hat 
back on. “Unless you tell me what this joke’s all about, I’m 
getting on back home. ...” 

“Wait a minute,” said Mr. Dalton. 

Mr. Dalton came forward a step, and fronted Jan. 

“You and I don’t agree. Let’s forget that. I want to know 
where my daughter is. . . .” 

“Is this a game?” asked Jan. 

“No; no. . . said Mr. Dalton. “I want to know. Fm wor- 
ried. . . ." 

“I tell you, I don’t know!” 

“Listen, Mr Erlone. Mary’s the only girl we’ve got. I don’t 
want her to do anything rash. Tell her to come back. Or you 
bnng her back.” 

“Mr. Dalton, I’m telling you the truth. . . 

“Listen,” Mr. Dalton said. “I’ll make it all right with 
you. . . .” 

Jan's face reddened. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Ill make it worth your while. . . 

“You son . . .” Jan stopped He walked to the door. 

“Let ’im go,” said Britten. "He can’t get away I’ll phone 
and have ’im picked up. He knows more than he’s telling. . . 

Jan paused in the doorway, looking at all three of them. 
Then he went out Bigger sat on the edge of the bed and 
heard Jan’s feet run down the stairs. A door slammed; then 
silence. Bigger saw Mr. Dalton gazing at him queerly. He did 
not like that look But Britten was jotting something on a pad, 
his face pale and hard in the yellow glare of the suspended 
electric bulb. 

“You’re telling us the truth about all this, aren’t you, 
Bigger?” Mr. Dalton asked. 

“Yessuh.” 



FLIGHT 


161 

“He’s all right,” Britten said. “Come on; let’s get to a 
phone. I’m having that guy picked up for questioning. It’s the 
only thing to do. And I’ll have some men go over Miss Dal- 
ton’s room. We’ll find out what happened. I’ll bet my nght 
arm that goddamn red’s up to something!” 

Britten went out and Mr Dalton foUowed, leaving Bigger still 
on the edge of the bed. When he heard the door slam, he got 
up and grabbed his cap and went softly down the stairs into 
the basement He stood a moment looking through the cracks 
into the humming fire, blindingly red now. But how long 
would It keep that way, if he did not shake the ashes down? 
He remembered the last time he had tried and how hys- 
terical he had felt He must do better than this. He stooped and 
touched the handle of the ash bin with the fingers of his right 
hand, keeping his eyes averted as he did so. He imagined 
that if he shook it he would see pieces of bone falling into the 
bin and he knew that he would not be able to endure it. He 
jerked upright and, lashed by fiery whips of fear and guilt, 
backed hurriedly to the door. For the life of him, he could 
not bring himself to shake those ashes. But did it really 
matter? No. He tried to console himself with the thought 
that he was safe. No one would look into the bin. Why 
should they? No one suspected him; things-were going along 
smoothly; he would be able to send the kidnap note and get 
the money without bothering about the ashes and before any- 
one discovered that Mary was dead and in the fire. Then he 
went into the driveway, through the falling snow to the 
street. He had to see Bessie at once; the kidnap note had 
to be sent right away; there was no time to lose. If Mr. 
Dalton, Bntten or Peggy missed him and asked him where 
he had been, he would say that he had gone out to get a pack- 
age of cigarettes. But with all of the excitement, no one would 
probably think of him. And they were after Jan now; he was 
safe. 

“Bigger!” 

He stopped, whirled, his hand reaching inside of his shirt 
for his gun. He saw Jan standing in the doorway of a store. 
As Jan came forward Bigger backed away. Jan stopped. 

“For chrissakesi Don’t be afraid of me. I’m not going to 
hurt you.” 

In the pale yellow sheen of the street lamp they faced 
each other; huge wet flakes of snow floated down slowly, 



NATIVE SON 


162 

forming a delicate screen between them. Bigger had his hand 
inside of bis shirt, on his gun. Jan stood staring, his mouth 
open. 

“Whafs all this about, Bigger? I haven’t done anything to 
you, have I? Where’s Mary?” 

^'Bigger felt guilty; Jan’s presence condemned him. Yet ho 
'^knew of no way to atone for his guilt; he felt he had to act 
as he was acting. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he mumbled. 

“But what have I done to you?” Jan asked desperately. 

Jan had done nothing to him, and it was Jan’s iimocenco 
that made anger rise in him. His fingers tightened about the 
gun. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he said again. 

He felt that if Jan continued to stand there and make him 
feel this awful sense of guilt, he would have to shoot him 
in spite of himself. He began to tremble, aU over; his Ups 
part^ and his eyes widened, 

“Go ’way,” Bigger said. 

“Listen, Bigger, if these people are bothering you, Just 
tell me. Don’t be scared. I’m used to this sort of thing. Listen, 
now. Let’s go some'niiere and get a cup of coffee and talk this 
thing over,” 

Jan came forward again and Bigger drew his gun, Jan 
stopped; his face whitened. 

“For God’s sake, man! What’re you doing? Don’t shoot . . ■ 
I haven’t bothered you. . . . Don’t . . .” 

“Leave me alone,” Bigger said, his voice tense and hys- 
terical. "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” 

Jan backed away from him 

“Leave me alone!” Digger’s voice rose to a scream. 

Jan backed farther away, then turned and walked rapidly 
off, looking back over his shoulder. When he reached the 
comer he ran through the snow, out of sight Bigger stood 
still, the gun in hand. He had utterly forgotten where he was; 
his eyes were stiU riveted on that point in space where he 
had last seen Jan’s retreating form The tension in him slack- 
ened and he lowered the gun imtil it hung at his side^ 
loosely in his fingers. He was coming back into possession of 
himself; for the past three minutes it seemed he had been 
under a strange spell, possessed by a force which he hated, 
but which he had to obey. He was startled when he heard soft 



FLIGHT 


163 

footsteps coming toward him in th# snow. He looked and 
saw a white wonian. The woman saw him and paused; she 
turned abruptly and ran across the street Bigger ^oved the 
gun in his pJwket and ran to the comer. He looked back; the 
woman was vanishing through the snow, in the opposite 
direction. 

In him as he walked was a cold, driving wilL He would 
go through with this; he would work fast He had encoun- 
tered in Jan a mudh stronger deteiminatioa than he had 
thought would be there. If he sent the kidnap note, it would 
have to be done before Jan could prove that he was completely 
ipnocent At that moment he did not care if he was caught 
fit only he could cower-Jan and-l^tten intojsaierinteHieai^ of 
him and lm~b!a^ skin and his nombirr^ners! 

“He reachSTacOThw” and Wfflrintor'g'afxigij^e. A white 
clerk came to him. 

“Give me a envelope, some paper and a pencil,** he said. 

He paid die money, put the padcage into bis pocket and 
went out to the comer to wait for a car. One came; he got on 
and rode eastward, wondering what kind of note he would 
write. He rang the bell for the car to stop, got off and 
walked through the quiet Negro streets. Now and then he 
passed an empty building, white and silent in die night He 
would make Be^e hide in one of these buHdings and watch 
for Mr. Dalton’s car. But the ones be passed were too dd; if 
one went into them they might collapse. He walked pn. He 
had to find a building where Besae could stand in a window 
and see the package of money when it was dirown from the 
car. He reached Langley Avenue and walked westward to 
Wabash Avenue. There were many empty buildings with 
black windows, like blind eyes, buildings like ^letons stand- 
ing with snow on theii hones in the winter winds. But none of 
them were on comers. Finally, at Mfchigan Avenue and 
East Thirty-sixdi Place, he raw the one he wanted. It was 
tall, white, sileat, standing on a wellJighted comer. By look- 
ing from any of the front windows Bessie would be able to 
see in all four dire^ons. OhI He had to have a flashlighti 
He went to a drug store and bought one fm: a dollar. 
He felt in the inner pocket of his coat fw his gloves. Now, he 
was ready. He crossed the street and stood waiting for a car. 
His feet were cold and he stamped them in the snow, sur- 
rounded by peqple waiting, too, for a car. He did not look 



NATTVB SON 


164 

at them; they were simply blind people, blind like his mother, 
his brother, his sister, Peggy, Britten, Jan, Mr. Dalton, and 
the sightless Mrs. Dalton and the quiet empty houses with their 
black gaping windows. 

He looked around the street and saw a sign on a building; 
THIS PROPERTY IS MANAGED BY THE SOUTH SIDE 
REAL ESTATE COMPANY. He had heard that Mr. Dalton 
owned the South Side Real Estate Company, and the South 
Side Real Estate Company owned the house in which he 
lived. He paid eight dollars a week for one rat-infested room. 
He had never seen Mr. Dalton xmtil he had come to work for 
him; his mother always took the rent to the real estate office. 
Mr. Dalton was somewhere far away, high up, distant, 
like a god. He owned property all over the Black Belt, and 
he owned property where white folks lived, too. But Bigger 
could not live in a building across the “line.” Even though 
Mr. Dalton gave millions of dollars for Negro education, he 
would rent houses to Negroes only in this prescribed area, 
this comer of the city tumbling down from rot. In a sullen 
way Bigger was conscious of this. Yes; he would send the 
kidnap note. He would jar them out of their senses. 

When the car came he rode south and got off at Fifty-first 
Street and walked to Bessie's. He had to ring five times 
before the buzzer answered. Goddammit, I bet she’s drunk! 
he thought. He mounted the steps and saw her peering at him 
through the door with eyes red from sleep and alcohol. His 
doubt of her made him fearful and angry. 

“Bigger?” she asked. 

“Get on back in the room,” he said. 

What’s the matter?” she asked, backing away, her mouth 
open. 

“Let me ini Open the door!” 

She threw the door wide, almost stumbling as she did so. 

“Turn on the light,” 

“What’s the matter, Bigger?” 

How many times do you want me to ask you to turn on 
the hght?” 

She turned it on. 

“Pull them shades.” 

She lowered the shades. He stood watching her. Now I 
dont want any trouble out of her. He went to the dresser 
and pushed her jars and combs and brushes aside and took 



PLIGHT 165 

the package from his pocket and laid it in the cleared space. 

“Bigger?” 

He turned and looked at her. 

“What?” 

“You ain’t really planning to do that, sure ’nough?” 

“What the hell you think?” 

“Bigger, naw!” 

He caught her arm and squeezed it in a grip of fear and 
hate. 

“You ain’t going to turn away from me now! Not now, 
goddamn youl” 

She said nothing. He took off his cap and coat and threw 
them on the bed. 

“They’re wet, Bigger!” 

“So what?" 

“I ain’t doing this,” she said. 

“Like hell you ain’t!” 

“You can’t make me!” 

“You done helped me to steal enough from the folks you 
worked for to put you in jail already.” 

She did not answer; he turned from her and got a chair 
and pulled it up to the dresser. He unwrapped the package 
and balled the paper into a knot and threw it into a corner 
of the room. Instinctively, Bessie stooped to pick it up. Big- 
ger laughed and she straightened suddenly. Yes; Bessie was 
blind. He was about to write a kidnap note and she was wor- 
ried about the cleanliness of her room. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked. 

“Nothing,” 

He was smilin g grimly. He took out the pencil; it was not 
sharpened. 

“G imm e a knife.” 

“Ain’t you got one?” 

“Hell, naw! Get me a knife!” 

“What you do with your knife?" 

He stared at her, remembering that she knew that he had 
had a knife. An image of blood gleaming on the metal blade 
in the glare of the furnace came before his eyes and fear 
rose in him hotly. 

“You want me to slap you?” 

She went behind a curtain. He sat looking at the paper 
and pencil. She came back with a butcher knife. 



166 NATIVE SON 

“Bigger, please ... I don't want to do it” 

“Got any liquor?” 

“Yeah ” 

“Get you a shot and set on that bed and keep quiet.” 

She stood undecided, then got the bottle from under a 
pillow and drank. She lay on the bed, on her stomach, her 
face turned so that she could see him. He watched her 
through the looking-glass of the dresser. He sharpened the 
pencil and spread out the piece of paper. He was about to 
write when he remembered that he did not have his gloves 
on. Goddamn! 

“Gimme my gloves.” 

“Hunh?" 

“Get my gloves out of the inside of my coat pocket.” 

She swayed to her feet and got the gloves and stood back 
of his chair, holding them limply in her hands. 

“Give ’em here." 

“Bigger . . 

“Give me the gloves and get back on that bed, will you?” 

He snatched them from her and gave her a shove and 
turned back to the dresser. 

“Bigger . . .” 

“I ain’t asking you but once more to shut up!” he said, 
pushing the knife out of the way so he could write. 

He put on the gloves and took up the pencil in a trembling 
hand and held it poised over the paper. He should disguise 
his handwriting. He changed the pencil from his right to 
his left hand. He would not write it; he woidd print it He 
swallowed with dry throat. Now, what would be the best kind 
of note? He thought, I want you to put ten thousand . . . 
Naw; that would not do. Not “I.” It would be better to say 
“we.” We got your daughter, he printed slowly in big round 
letters. That was better. He ouj^t to say something to let 
Mr. Dalton think that Mary was still alive. He wrote: She is 
safe. Now, teli him not to go to the police. No! Say some- 
thing about Mary first! He bent and wrote: She wants to 
come home. , , . Now, tell him not to go to the police. 
Don't go to the police if you want your daughter back safe. 
Naw; that ain’t good. His scalp tingled with excitement; it 
seemed that he could feel each strand of hair upon his head. 
He read the line over and crossed out “safe” and wrote 
“alive.” For a moment he was frozen, still. There was in his 



FLIGHT 


167 

Stomach a slow, cold, vast risbg movement, as though he 
held within the embrace of his bowels the swing of planets 
through space. He was gjddy. He caught hold of himself, 
focused his attention to write again. Now, about the money. 
How much? Yes; make it ten thousand. Get ten thousand in 
5 and 10 bills and put it in a shoe box. . . . That’s good. 
He had read that somewhere. , . . and tomorrow night ride 
your car up and down Michigan Avenue from 35tk Street to 
40th Street. That would make it hard for anybody to tell Just 
where Bessie would be hiding. He wrote: Blink your head- 
lights some. When you see a light in a window blink three 
times throw the box in the snow and drive off. Do what this 
letter say. Now, he would sign it But how? It should be 
signed in some way that would throw them off the trail. Oh, 
yes! Sign it “Red.” He printed. Red. Then, for some reason, 
he thought that that was not enough. Oh, yes. He would make 
one of those signs, like the ones he had seen on the Com- 
munist pamphlets. He wondered how they were made. There 
was a hammer and a round kind of knife. He drew a ham- 
mer, then a curving knife. But it did not look right. He ex- 
amined it and discovered that he had left the handle off the 
knife. He sketched it in. Now, it was complete. He read it 
over. OhI He had left out something. He had to put in the 
time when he wanted them to bring the money. He bent and 
printed again: ps. Bring the money at midnight. He sighed, 
lifted his eyes and saw Bessie standing behind him. He 
turned and looked at her. 

“Bigger, you ain’t really going to do that?” she whispered 
in horror. 

“Sure.” 

“Where’s that girl?” 

^ “I don’t know.” 

‘You do know. You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t 
know.” 

“Aw, what difference do it make?” 

She looked straight into his eyes and whi^ered, 

“Bigger, did you kill that girl?” 

His jaw clamped tight and he stood up. She turned from 
him and flung herself upon the bed, sobbing. He began to 
feel cold; he discovered that his body was covered with 
sweat. He heard a soft rustle and looked down at his hand; 
the kidnap note was shaking in his trembling fingers, But I 



NATIVE SON 


L6S 

ain’t scared, he told himself. He folded the note, put it into 
an envelope, sealed it by licking the flap, and shoved it in his 
pocket. He lay down cm the bed beside Bessie and took her 
in his arms. He tried to speak to her and found his throat so 
husky that no words came. 

“Come on, kid,” he whispered finally. 

“Bigger, what’s happened to you?” 

“It ain’t nothing. You ain’t got much to do.” 

"I don’t want to.” 

“Don’t be scared.” 

“You told me you was never going to kill nobody.” 

“I ain’t killed nobody.” 

“You did\ I see it in your eyes. I see it all over you.” 

"Don’t you trust me, baby?” 

“Where’s that girl. Bigger?” 

“I don't know.” 

“How you know she won’t turn up?” 

“She just WOTi’t.” 

“You did kill her.” 

“Aw, forget the girl.” 

ri9ie stood up. 

“If you killed her you’ll kill me,” she said. “I ain't in this.” 

I “Don’t be a fool. I love you.” 

"You tdd me you never was going to kill." 

“All right They white folks. They done killed plenty of 
us." 

"That don’t make it right.” 

He began to doubt her; he had never heard this tone in her 
voice before. He saw her tear-wet eyes looking at him in 
stark fear and he remembered that no one had seen him 
leave his roona. To stop Bessie who now knew too much 
wmild be easy. He could take the butcher knife and cut her 
throat He had to make certain of her, one way or the other, 
before he went back to Dalton’s. Quickly, he stooped over her, 
his fists clenched. He was feeling as he had felt when he 
stood over Mary’s bed with the white blur drawing near; an 
iota more of fear would have sent him plunging again into 
murder. 

“I don’t want no playing from you now.” 

*Tm scared. Bigger,” she whimpered. 

Sie tried to get up; he knew she had seen the mad light in 



FLIOHT 


169 

his eyes. Fear sheathed him in fire. His words came in a 
thick whisper. 

“Keep still, now. I ain’t playing. Pretty soon they’ll be 
after me, maybe. And I ain’t going to let ’em catch me, see? 
I ain’t going to let ’emi The first thing they’ll do in looking 
fm: me is to come to you. They’ll grill you about me and you, 
you drunk fool, you'll telll You’ll tell if you ain’t in it, too. 
If you ain’t in it for your life, you’ll tell.” 

“Naw; Bigger!’’ she whimpered tensely. At that moment 
she was too scared even to cry. 

“You going to do what I say?’’ 

She wrenched herself free and rolled across the bed and 
stood up on the other side. He ran round the bed and fol- 
lowed her as she backed into a comer. His voice hissed from 
his throat: 

“I ain’t going to leave you behind to snitchl" 

“I ain’t going to snitchl I swear I ain’t.” 

He held his face a few inches from hers. He had to bind 
her to him. 

“Yeah; I killed the girl,” he said. "Now, you know. You 
got to help me. You in it as deep as me! You done spent 
some of the money. . . 

She sank to the bed agmn, sobbing, her breath catching in 
her throat. He stood looking down at her, waiting for her to 
quiet. When she had control of herself, he lifted her and 
stood her upon her feet. He reached under the pillow and 
brought out the bottle and took out the stopper and put his 
hand round her and tilted her head. 

“Here; take a shot” 

“Naw.” 

“Drink ” 

He carried the bottle to her lips; she drank a small swal- 
low. When he attempted to put the bottle away, she took it 
from him. 

“That’s enough, now. You don’t want to get sloppy drunk.” 

He turned her loose and she lay back on the bed, limp, 
whimpering. He bent to her. 

“Listen, Bessie.” 

“Bigger, pleasel Don't do this to me! Please! All I do is 
work, work like a dc^l From morning till night. I ain't got 
no happiness. I ain’t never had none. I ain’t got nothing and 
you do this to me. After how good I been to you. Now you 



NATTVB SON 


170 

just spoil my whole life. Fve done everything for you I know 
how and you do this to me. Please, Bigger. . . She turned 
her head away and stared at the floor. “Lord, don’t let this 
happen to me! I ain’t done nothing for this to come to 
me! I just work! I ain’t had no happiness, no nothing. I just 
work. Fm black and I work and don’t bother nobody. . . 

“Go on,” Bigger said, nodding his head afflnnatively; he 
knew the truth of all she spoke without her telling it. “Go 
on and see what that gets you.” 

“But I don’t want to do it. Bigger. They’ll catch us. God 
knows they will.” 

“I ain’t going to leave you here to snitch on me.” 

“I won’t tell. Honest, I won’t. I cross my heart and swear 
by God, I won’t You can run away. . . 

“I ain’t got no money.” 

“You have got money. 1 paid rent out of what you gave 
me and I bought some liquor. But the rest is there.” 

“That ain’t enough. I got to have some real dough.” 

She cried again. He got the knife and stood over her. 

“I can stop it all right novi^,” he said. 

She started up, her mouth opening to scream. 

"If you scream, TU have to kill you. So help me GodI” 

“Naw; nawl Bigger, don’t! Don't!” 

Slowly, his arm relaxed and hung at his side; she fell to 
sobbing again. He was afraid that he would have to kill her 
before it was all over. She would not do to take along, and 
he could not leave her behind. 

"All right,” he said. “But you better do the right thing,” 

He put the knife on the dresser and got the flashlight from 
his overcoat pocket and then stood over her with the letter 
and flashlight in his hand. 

“Come on,” he said. “Get your coat on.” 

“Not tonl^t, Biggerl Not tonight . . .” 

“It won’t be tonight But I ^t to show you what to do.” 

“But it’s cold. It’s snowing. . . .” 

"Sure. And nobody’ll see us. Come onl” 

She pulled up; he watched her struggle into her coat Now 
and then she paused and looked at hitr, blinking back her 
tears. When she was dressed, he put on his coat and cap and 
led her to the street The air was thick with snow. The wind 
blew bard. It was a blizzard. The street lamps were faint 



FLIOHT 171 

smudges of yellow. They walked to the corner and waited 
for a car. 

“I’d rather do anything but this,” she said. 

“Stop now. We’re in it.’’ 

“Bigger, honey, I’d run off with you. I’d work for you, 
baby. We don’t have to do this. Don’t you believe I love 
you?’’ 

“Don’t try that on me now.” 

The car came; he helped her on and sat down beside her 
and looked past her face at the silent snow flying white and 
wild outside the window. He brought his eyes farther round 
and looked at her; she was staring with blank eyes, like a 
blind woman waiting for some word to tell her where she 
was gomg. Once she cried and he gripped her shoulder so 
tightly that she stopped, more absorbed in the painful pres- 
sure of steel-Uke fingers than in her fatk They got off at 
Thirty-sixth Place and walked over to Michigan Avenue. 
When they reached the comer. Bigger stopped and made 
her stop by gripping her arm again. They were in front of 
the hi^, white, empty building with black windows. 

“Where we going?” 

“Right here.” 

“Bigger,” she whimpered. 

“Come on, now. Don’t start that!” 

“But I don’t want to.” 

“You got to.” 

He looked up and down the street, past ghostly lamps that 
shed a long series of faintly shimmering cones of yellow 
against the snowy night. He took her to the front entrance 
which gave into a vast pool of inky silence. He brought out 
the flashlight and focused the round spot on a rickety stair- 
way leading upward into a still blacker darkness. The planks 
creaked as he led her up. Now and then be felt his shoes 
sink into a soft, cushy substance. Cobwebs brushed his face. 
All around him was the dank smell of rotting timber. He 
stopped abruptly as something with dry whispering feet flit- 
ted across his path, emitting as the rush of its flight died a 
thin, piping wail of lonely fear. 

“Ooow!” 

Bigger whirled and centered the spot of light on Bessie’s 
face. Her lips were drawn back, her mouth was open, and 
her hands were lifted midway to white-rimmed eyes. 



NATIVE SON 


172 

“What you trying to do?” he asked. “Tell the whole world 
we in here?” 

“Oh, Bigger!” 

“Come on!” 

After a few feet he stopped and swung the light He saw 
dusty walls, walls almost like those of the Dalton home. The 
doorways were wider than those of any house in which he 
had ever lived. Some rich folks lived here once, he thou^t. 
Rich white folks. That was the way most houses on the South 
Side were, ornate, old, stinking; homes once of rich white 
people, now inhabited by Negroes or standing dark and 
empty with yawning black windows. He remembered that 
bombs had been thrown by whites into houses like these 
when Negroes had first moved into the South Side. He swept 
the disc of yellow and walked gingerly down a hall and into 
a room at front of the house. It was feebly lit from the 
street lamps outside; he switched off the flashli^t and looked 
round. The room had six large windows. By standing close 
to any of them, the streets in all four directions were visible. 
“See, Bessie. , . 

He turned to look at her and found that she was not 
there. He called tensely: 

“Bessie!” 

There was no answer; he bounded to the doorway and 
switched on the flashlight. She was leaning against a wall, 
sobbing. He went to her, caught her arm and yanked her 
back into the room. 

“Come onl You got to do better than this.” 

'Td rather have you kill me right now,” she sobbed, 
“Don’t you say that again!” 

She was ^ent His black open palm swept upward in a 
swift narrow arc and smacked solidly against her face. 
“You want me to wake you up?” 

She bent her head to her knees; he caught hold of her 
arm again and dragged her to the window. He spoke like a 
man who had been running and was out of breath: 

“Now, look. All you got to do is come here tomorrow 
nigjit, see? Ain’t nofifing gcring to bother you. I’m seeing to 
everything. Don’t you worry none. You just do what I say. 
You come here and just watch. About twelve o’clock a car’ll 
come along. It’ll be blinking its headlights, see? When it 
comes, you just raise this flashlight and blink it three times. 



FLIGHT 


173 

see? Like this. Remember that. Then watch that car. It’ll 
throw out a package. Watch that package, ’cause the money’ll 
be in it. Itll go into the snow. Look and see if anybody’s 
about. If you see nobody, then go and get the package and 
go home. But don’t go straight home. Make sure nobody’s 
watching you, nobody’s following you, see? Ride three or 
four street cars and transfer fast. Get off about five blocks 
from home and look behind you as you walk, see? Now, 
look. You can see up and down Michigan and Thirty-sixth. 
You can see if anybody’s watching. I’ll be in the white folks’ 
house all day tomorrow. If they put anybody out to watch. 
I’ll let you know not to come.” 

"Bigger. . . 

“Come on, now.” 

‘Take me home.” 

“You going to do it?” 

She did not answer. 

“You already in it,” he said. “You got part of the money.” 

“I reckon it don’t make no difference,” she sighed. 

“It’ll be easy.” 

“It won’t. I’ll get caught. But it don’t make no difference. 
I’m lost anyhow. I was lost when I took up with you. I’m lost 
and it don’t matter. . . .” 

“Come on.” 

He led her back to the car stop. He said nothing as they 
waited in the whirling snow. When he beard the car coming, 
he took her purse from her, opened it and put the flashlight 
inside. The car stopped; he helped her on, put seven cents 
in her trembling hand and stood in the snow watching her 
black face through the window white with ice as the car 
moved off slowly through the night. 

He walked to Dalton’s through the snow. His right hand 
was in his coat pocket, his fingers about the kidnap note. 
When he reached the driveway, he looked about the street 
carefully. There was no one. He looked at the house; it 
was white, huge, sUent. He walked up the steps and stood in 
front of the door. He waited a moment to see what would 
happen. So deeply conscious was he of violating dangerous 
taboo, that he felt that the very air or sky would suddenly 
speak, commanding him to stop. He was sailing fast into the 
face of a cold wind that all but sucked his breath from him; 
but he liked it Around him were silence and night and 



NATIVE SON 


174 

snow falling, falling as though it had fallen from the be- 
ginning of time and would always fall till the end of the 
world. He took the letter out of his pocket and slipped it 
under the door. Turning, he ran down the steps and round 
the house, I done it! I done it now! They’ll see it tonight or 
in the morning. ... He went to the basement door, opened 
it and looked inside; no one was there. Like an enraged beast, 
the furnace throbb^ with heat, suflhising a red glare over 
everything. He stood in front of the cracks and watched 
the restless embers. Had Mary burned completely? He want- 
ed to poke around in the coals to see, but dared not; he 
flinched from it even in thought. He pulled the lever for 
more coal, then went to his room. 

When he stretched out on his bed in the dark he found 
that his whole body was trembling. He was cold and hungry. 
While lying there shaldng, a hot bath of fear, hotter than 
his blood, engulfed him, bringing him to his feet. He stood 
in the middle of the floor, seeing vivid images of his gloves, 
his pencil, and paper. How on earth had he forgotten them? 
He had to bum them. He would do it right now. He puUed 
on the light and went to his overcoat and got the gloves and 
pencil and paper and stuffed them into his shirt. He went to 
the door, listened a moment, then went into the hall and 
down the stairs to the furnace. He stood a moment before the 
gleaming cracks. Hurriedly, he opened the door and dumped 
the gloves and pencil and paper in; he watched them smoke, 
blaze; he closed the door and heard them bum in a furious 
whirlwind of draft. 

A strange sensation enveloped him. Something tingled in 
his stomach and on his scalp. His knees wobbled, giving way. 
He stumbled to the wall and leaned against it weakly. A 
wave of numbness spread fanwise from his stomach over his 
entire body, including his head and eyes, making his mouth 
gap. Strength ebbed from him. He sank to his knees and 
pressed his fingers to the floor to keep from tumbling over. 
An organic sense of dread seized him. His teeth chattered 
and he felt sweat sliding down his armpits and back. He 
groaned, bedding as still as possible. His vision was blurred; 
but gradually it cleared. Again he saw the furnace. Then he 
realized that he had been on the verge of collapse. Soon the 
glare and drone of the fire came to his eyes and ears. He 



FLIGHT 


175 

closed his mouth and gritted his teeth; the peculiar paralyz- 
ing numbness was leaving. 

When he was strong enough to stand without support, 
he rose to his feet and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He 
had strained himself from a too long lack of sleep and food; 
and the excitement was sapping his energy. He should go to 
the kitchen and ask for his dinner. Surely, he should not 
starve like this. He mounted the steps to the door and 
knocked timidly; there was no answer. He turned the knob 
and pushed the door in and saw the kitchen flooded with 
light. On a table were spread several white napkins under 
which was something that looked like plates of food. He 
stood gazing at it, then went to the table and lifted the cor- 
ners of the napkins. There were sliced bread and steak and 
fried potatoes and gravy and string beans and spinach and 
a huge piece of chocolate cake. His mouth watered. Was this 
for him? He wondered if Peggy was around. Ought he try 
to And her? But he disliked the thought of looking for her; 
that would bring attention to himself, something which he 
h ated. H e stood m uw Kitcnen, wondenflg th he ought to 
eat, but afraid to do so. He rested his black Angers on the 
edge of the white table and a silent laugh burst from his 
parted lips as he saw himself for a split second in a lurid 
objective light: he had killed a rich white girl and had burned 
her body after cutting her head off and had lied to throw 
the blame on someone else and had written a kidnap note de- 
manding ten thousand dollars and yet he stood here afraid 
to touch food on the table, food which ipidoubtedly was 
hVo^. 

/“Bigger?" 

\ “Hunh?” he answered before he knew who had called. 
3 ‘‘WTip h -pi^ v a . ymi hpi-.n? Yffl i r dinner’s been w aiting for you 
since five o’clock. There’s a chair. Eat. . . 

aslmuc/t as you want. ... He stopped listening. In Peggy’s 
bandwas me Kidnap note, ru H eat your coffee go ahea d 
and, eat Had~she bpeaed itr Jina sne know what was iin~i t? 
Noi ^the envelope was still sealed. Slie came to the table tmd 
remov^ the napkins. His kn ees W CTg, shaking urith 
dement and sweat broke ouTon his forehe^ His skin -felt 
as though it were puckering up from -aJAast of hf i nt . Woff - ’t - 
y ou want the steak warmed The question reached him from 




NATIVE SON 


176 

far away and he shook his head without really knowing 
what she meant, don't you feel well 

“This is all right,” he murmured. 

“You oughtn't starve yourself that way.” 

“I wasn’t hungry.” 

“You’re hungrier than you think,” she said. 

She set a cup and saucer at his plate, then laid the letter 
on the edge of the table. It held his attention as though it 
were a steel magnet and his eyes were iron. She got the cof- 
fee pot and poured his cup full. No doubt she had just got- 
ten the letter from under the door and had not yet had time 
to give it to Mr. Dalton. She placed a small jar of cream at 
his plate and took up the letter again. 

*‘I’ve got to give this to Mr. Dalton,” she said. “I’ll be back 
in a moment,” 

“Yessum,” he whispered. 

She left. He stopped chewing and stared before him, his 
mouth dry. But he had to eat. Not to eat now would create 
suspicion. He shoved the food in and chewed each mouthful 
awhile, then washed it down with swallows of hot coffee. 
When the coffee gave out, he used cold water. He strained 
his ears to catch sounds. But none came. Then the door 
swung in silently and Peggy came back. He could see noth- 
ing in her round red face. Out of the comers of his eyes he 
watched her go to the stove and putter with pots and pans. 

“Want more coffee?” 

“No’m.” 

“You ain’t scared of all this trouble we’re having round 
here, are you. Bigger?” 

“Oh, no’m,” he said, wondering if something in his man- 
ner had made her ask that. 

“That poor Mary!” Peggy sighed. “She acts like such a 
ninny. Imagine a girl keeping her parents worried sick all 
the time. But there are children for you these days.” 

He hurried with his eating, saying nothing; he wanted to 
get out of the kitchen. The thing was in the open now; not 
of it, but some of it. Nobody knew about Mary yet. He 
saw in his mind a picture of the JDalton family distrau ght 
and horrified when they found that ^ary was kidnaped^ That 
would put them a cSiT ah r dls i aade '' ffbm hhnrThey tv ould 
think th at white men did it: they would never think that a 
black, t ifanid Nego did tKatT They would go afterJan. The 


FLIGHT 177 

“Red” he_haisigned to the letter and the hammer and curv- 
ing kAife would make them look for Communists. 

"You got enough?” 

"Yessum.” 

‘ Vou better clean the ashes out of the furnace in the morn- 
ing, Bigger.” 

“Yessum.” 

"And be ready for Mr. Dalton at eight.” 

"Yessum.” 

“Your room all right?” 

"Yessum.” 

The door swung in violently. Bigger started in fright Mr. 
Dalton came into the kitchen, his face ashy. He stared at Peggy 
and Peggy, holding a dish towel in her hand, stared at him. In 
Mr. Dalton’s hand was the letor, opened. 

'‘What’s the matter, Mr. Diiton?” 

“Who . . . Where did . . .Who gave you this?” 

"Whal?” 

“This letter^ 

WhyToobody. I got it from the door.” 

"V^enr 

“A few minutes ago. Anyt hing wrong?” 

Mr. Dalton look^ round the entire kitchen, not at any- 
thing in particular, but just round the entire stretch of four 
walls, his eyes wide and unseeing. He looked back at Peggy; 
it was as If he had thrown himself upon h« rnercy; was wait- 
ing for her to say some word that would take the horror 
a^y- 

“W-whftt’s the matt er, Mr. Dalton? ” Peggy asked again. 

Before Mr. DaltocTcould ans wer MrsTD al^n groped her 
way jhto^thg kjtc hCT. her white" hands~ held higSTBigger 
watched hw^gers through th « i^ir till they touched 

Dal ton’s s hoti^CT. They gripped his coat hard enough to 
t^ it from his bod)^ Bi^er, without moving an eyelid, felt 
his skin grow hot and his muscles stiffen. 

"Henryl Henryl” Mrs. Dalton caUed. “What’s the matter?” 

Mr. Dalton did not hear her; he still stared at Peggy. 

“Did you see who left this letter?” 

"No, Mr. Dalton.” 

“You, Bigger?” 

“Nawsuh,” he whispered, his mouth full of dry food. 

“Henry, tell mel Please! For Heaven’s sakel” 



178 


NATIVE SON 


Mr. Dalton put his arm about Mlrs. Dalton’s waist and held 
her close to him. 

“It’s . . . It’s about Mary. ... It’s ... She . . .” 

“What? Where is she?’’ 

"They . . . They got her! They kidnaped herl” 

“Henryl Nol” Mrs. Dalton screamed. 

“Oh, nol’’ Peggy whimpered, r unning to Mr. Dalton. 

“My baby,’’ Mrs. Dalton sob^d. 

“She’s been kidnaped,” Mr. Dalton said, as thougb he had 
to say the words over again to convince himself. 

Bigger’s eyes were wide, taking in all three of them in one 
constantly roving glance. Mrs. Dalton continued to sob and 
Peggy sank into a chair, her face in her hands. Then she sprang 
up and ran out of the room, crying: 

“Lord, don’t let them lull herl” 

Mrs. Dalton swayed. Mr. Dalton lifted her and staggered, 
trying to get her through the door. As he watched Mr. Dalton 
there flashed through Bigger’s mind a quick image of how he 
had lifted Mary’s body in his arms the night before. He rose 
and held the door open for Mr. Dalton and watched him walk 
unsteadily down the dim hallway with Mrs. Dalton in his 
arms. 

He was alone in the kitchen now. Again the thought that he 
had the chance to walk out of here and be clear of it 
all came to him, and again he brushed it aside. He was 
tensely eager to stay and see how it would all end, even if 
that end swallowed him in blackness. He felt that he was 
living upon a high pinnacle where bracing winds whipped 
about him. There came to his ears a mu£9ed sound of sobs. 
Then suddenly there was silence. What’s happening? Would 
M[r. Dalton phone the police now? He strained to listen, 
but no soun^ came. He went to the door and took a few 
steps into the hallway. There were still no sounds. He looked 
about to make sure that no one was watching him, then 
crept on tiptoe down the hall. He heard voices. Mr. Dalton 
was talking to someone. He crept farther; yes, he could 
hear. ... I want to talk to Britten please. Nfr. Dalton was 
phoning, come right over please yes at once something awful 
has happened I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. 
’That meant that when Britten came back he would be ques- 
tioned again, yes right away I’ll be waiting. 

He had to get back to his room. He tiptoed along the hall, 



FLIGHT 


179 


through the kitchen, down the steps and into the basement 
The torrid cracks of the furnace gleamed m the crimson dark- 
ness and he heard the throaty undertone of the draft de- 
vouring the air. Was she burnt? But even if she were not, 
who would think of looking in the furnace for her? He went 
to his room, mto the closet, closed the door and listened. 
Silence. He came out, left the door open and, in order to get to 
the closet quickly and without sound, pulled off his shoes. 
He lay again on the bed, his mind whirling with images 
bom of a multitude of impulses. He could run away; he \ 
could remain; he could even go down and confess what he 1 
had done. The mere thought that these avenues of action I 
were open to him made him feel free, that his life was his, that j 
he held his future in his hands. But they would never think I 
that he had done it; not a meek black boy like him. 

He bounded off the bed, listening, thinking that he had 
heard voices. He had been so deeply taken up with his own 
thoughts that he did not know if he had actually heard any- 
thmg or had imagined it. Yes; he heard faint footsteps below. 
He hurried to the closet. The footsteps ceased. There came to 
him the soft sound of sobbing. It was Peggy Her sobbing 
quieted, then rose to a high pitch. He stood for a long time, 
listening to Peggy’s sobs and the long moan of the wind 
sweeping through the night outside. Peggy’s sobs ceased and her 
footsteps sounded once more. Was she going to answer the 
doorbell? Footsteps came again; Peggy had gone to the front 
of the house for something and had come back. He heard a 
heavy voice, a man’s. At first he could not identify it; then 
he realized that it was Britten’s. 

. . and you found the note?” 

“Yes.” 

“How long ago?” 

“About an hour.” 

“You’re sure you didn’t see anyone leave it?” 

“It was sticking under the door.” 

“Think, now. Did you see anybody about the house or 
driveway?” 

“No. The boy and me, that’s all that’s been around here.” 

"And where’s the boy now?” 

“Upstairs in his room, I think." 

“Did you ever see this handwriting before?” 

“No, Mr. Britten.” 



180 


NATIVE SON 


“Can you guess, can you think, imagine who would send 
such a note?” 

“No. Not a soul in this whole wide world, Mr. Britten,” 
Peggy wailed. 

Britten’s voice ceased. There was the sound of other 
heavy feet. Chaiis scraped over the floor. More people were 
in the kitchen. Who were they? Their movements sounded 
like those of men. Then Bigger heard Britten speaking again. 

“Listen, Peggy - Tell me, how does this boy act?” 

“What do you mean, Mr. Britten?” 

“Does he seem intelligent? Does he seem to be actingT' 

“I don’t know, Mr. Britten. He’s just like all the other 
colored boys.” 

“Does he say ‘yes mam’ and ‘no mam’?" 

“Yes, Mr. Britten He’s polite.” 

“But does he seem to be trying to appear like he’s more ig- 
norant than he really is?” 

“I don’t know, Mr. Britten.” 

“Have you missed anything around the house since he’s 
been here?” 

“No; nothing.” 

“Has he ever insulted you, or anything?” 

“Oh, no! No!” 

“What kind of a boy is he?” 

“He’s just a quiet colored boy. That’s all I can say. . . .” 

“Did you ever see him reading anything?” 

“No, Mr. Britten.” 

“Does he speak more intelligently at some times than at 
others?” 

“No, Mr. Britten. He talked always the same, to me." 

“Has he ever done anything that would make you 
think he knows something about this note?” 

“No, Mr. Britten.” 

“When you speak to him, does he hesitate before he an- 
swers, as though he’s thinking up what to say?” 

“No, Mr. Britten. He talks and acts natural-like.” 

“When he talks, does he wave his hands around a lot, like 
he’s been around a lot of Jews?” 

“I never noticed, Mr. Britten.” 

“Did you ever hear ’im call anybody comrade'!” 

“No, Mr. Britten.” 

“Does he pull off his cap when he comes in the house?” 



FLIGHT 


181 


‘1 never noticed. 1 think so, Mr. Britten." 

“Has he ever sat down in your presence without being 
asked, like he was used to beuig around white people?” 

“No, Mr. Britten Only when I told him to.” 

“Does he speak first, or does he wait until he’s spoken to?” 

“Well, Mr. Britten. He seemed always to wait until we 
spoke to him before he said anything." 

“Now, listen, Peggy Think and try to remember if his voice 
goes up when he talks, like Jews when they talk. Know what 
I mean? You see, Peggy, I’m trying to find out if he’s been 
around Communists. . . .’’ 

“No, Mr. Britten. He talks just like all other colored folks 
to me.” 

“Where did you say he is now?" 

“Upstairs in his room.” 

When Britten’s voice ceased Bigger was smiling. Yes; Brit- 
ten was trying to trap him, trymg to make out a case against 
him; but he could not find anything to go upon. Was Bntten 
coming to talk to him now? There came the sound of other 
voices. 

“It’s a ten-to-one chance that she’s dead.’’ 

“Yeah. They usually bump ’em off. They’re scared of ’em 
after they get ’em. They think they might identify them 
afterwards.” 

“Did the old man say he was going to pay?” 

“Sure. He wants his daughter back.” 

“That's just ten thousand dollars shot to hell, if you 
ask me.” 

“But he wants the girl.” 

“Say, I bet it’s those reds trying to raise money.” 

“Yeah!" 

“Maybe that’s how they get their dough They say that 
guy, Bruno Hauptmann, the one who snatched the Lindy 
baby, did it for the Nazis. They needed the money.” 

“I’d like to shoot every one of them goddamn bastards, 
red or no red.” 

There was the sound of a door opening and more footsteps. 

“You have any luck with the old man?” 

“Not yet.” It was Britten’s voice. 

“He’s pretty washed up, eh?” 

“Yeah: and who wouldn't be?” 

“He won’t call the cops?” 



182 


NATIVE SON 


“Naw; he’s scared stiff.” 

“It might seem hard on the family, but if you let them 
snatchers know they can’t scare money out of you, they’ll 
stop.” 

“Say, Brit, try ’ira again.” 

“Yeah; tell ’im there ain’t nothing to do now but to call the 
cops.” 

“Aw, I don’t know. I hate to worry ’im.” 

“Well, after all, it’s his daughter. Let him handle it.” 

“But, listen, Brit. When they pick up this Erlone fellow, 
he’s going to tell the cops and the papers’ll have the story 
anyway. So caU ’em now. The sooner they get started the 
better.” 

“Naw; I’ll wait for the old man to give the signal.” 

Bigger knew that Mr. Dalton had not wanted to notify 
the police; that much was certain. But how long would he 
hold out? The police would know everything as soon as Ian 
was picked up, for Jan would tell enough to make the police 
and the newspapers investigate. But if Jan were confront- 
ed with the fact of the kidnaping of Mary, what would 
happen? Could Jan prove an alibi? If he did, then the police 
would start looking for someone else. They would start ques- 
tioning him again; they would want to know why he had lied 
about Jan’s being in the house. But would not the word 
“Red” which he had signed to the ransom note throw them 
off the track and make them still think that Jan or his com- 
rades did it? Why would anybody want to think that Bigger 
had kidnaped Mary? Bigger came out of the closet and wiped 
sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He had knelt so 
long that his blood had almost stopped and needlelike pains 
shot from the bottom of his feet to the calves of his legs. 
He went to the window and looked out at the swirling snow. 
He could hear wind rising; it was a blizzard all right. The 
snow moved in no given direction, but filled the world with 
a vast white storm of flying powder. The sharp currents 
of wind could be seen in whorls of snow twisting like minia- 
ture tornadoes. 

The window overlooked an alley, to the right of which 
was Forty-fifth Street. He tried the window to see if it 
would open; he lifted it a few inches, then all the way with 
a loud and screechy sound. Had anyone heard him? He 
waited; nothing happened. GoodI If the worst came to the 



PLIGHT 


183 

worst, he could jump out of this window, right here, and 
run away. It was two stories to the ground and there was a 
deep drift of soft snow just below him He lowered the win- 
dow and lay again on the bed, waiting. The sound of firm 
feet came on the stairs. Yes; someone was coming up! His 
body grew rigid. A knock came at the door. 

“Yessuhl” 

“Open upl” 

He pulled on the light, opened the door and met a white 
face. 

“They want you downstairs.’’ 

"Yessuh!” 

The man stepped to one side and Bigger went past him on 
down the hall and down the steps into the basement, feeling 
the eyes of the white man on his back, and hearing as he 
neared the furnace the muffled breathing of the fire and seeing 
directly before his eyes Mary’s bloody head with its jet- 
black curly hair, shining and wet with blood on the crumpled 
newspapers. He saw Britten standing near the furnace with 
three white men. 

“Hello, Bigger," 

“Yessuh,” Bigger said. 

“You heard what happened?” 

“Yessuh.” 

“Listen, boy. You’re talking just to me and my men 
here. Now, teil me, do you think Jan's mixed up in this?" 

Bigger’s eyes fell. He did not want to answer in a hurry 
and he did not want to blame Jan definitely, for that would 
make them question him too closely. He would hint and 
point in Jan’s direction. 

“I don’t know, suh,” he said. 

“Just tell me what you think." 

“I don’t know, suh,” Bigger said again. 

“You really saw him here last night, didn’t you?” 

“Oh, yessuh.” 

“You’d swear he told you to take that trunk down and leave 
the car out in the snow.” 

“I — I’d swear to what’s true, suh," said Bigger. 

“Did he act like he had anything up his sleeve?” 

“I don’t know, suh.” 

“What time did you say you left?” 

“A little before two, suh.” 



184 


NATIVE SON 


Britten turned to the other men, one of whom stood 
near the furnace with his back to the fire, warming his hands 
behind him. The man’s legs were sprawled wide apart and a 
cigar glowed in a corner of his mouth. 

“It must’ve been that red,” Bntten said to him. 

“Yeah,” said the man at the furnace. “What would he have 
the boy take the trunk down for and leave the car out? It 
was to throw us off the scent.” 

“Listen, Bigger,” said Britten. “Did you see this guy act 
in any way out of the ordinary? I mean, sort of nervous, 
say? Just what did he talk about?” 

“He talked about Communists. . . 

“Did he ask you to join?” 

“He gave me that stuff to read.” 

“Come on Tell us some of the things he said.” 

Bigger knew the things that white folks hated to hear 
Negroes ask for; and he knew that these were the things the 
reds were always asking for And he knew that white folks did 
not tike to hear these things asked for even by whites who 
fought for Negroes. 

"Well,” Bigger said, feigning reluctance, “he told me that 
some day there wouldn’t be no rich folks and no poor 
folks . . .” 

“Yeahr’ 

“And he said a black man would have a chance. . . 

"Go on.” 

“And he said there would be no more lynching. . . 

“And what was the girl saying?” 

"She agreed with ’im.” 

“How did you feel toward them?” 

“I don’t know, suh.” 

“I mean, did you like ’em?” 

He knew that the average white man would not approve 
of his liking such talk. 

“It was my job. I just did what they told me,” he mumbled. 

"Did the girl act in any way scared?” 

He sensed what kind of a case they were trying to build 
against Jan and he remembered that Mary had cried last night 
when he had refused to go into the caf6 with her to eat. 

“Well, I don’t know, suh. She was crying once. . . .” 

"Crying?" 

The men crowded about him. 



FLIGHT 


185 


“Yessuh." 

“Did he hit her?” 

“I didn’t see that.” 

“What did he do thenr’ 

“Well, he put his arms around her and she stopped.” 

Bigger had his back to a wall. The crimson luster of the 
fire gleamed on the white men’s faces The sound of air being 
sucked upward through the furnace mingled in Bigger’s 
ears with the faint whine of the wind outside in the night. 
He was tired; he closed his eyes a long second and then 
opened them, knowing that he had to keep alert and answer 
questions to save himself. 

“Did this fellow Jan say anything to you about white 
women?” 

Bigger tightened with alarm. 

“Suh?" 

“Did he say he would let you meet some white women if 
you joined the reds?" 

He knew that sex relations between blacks and whites 
were repulsive to most white men. 

“Nawsuh,” he said, simulating abashment. 

“Did Jan lay the girl?” 

“I don't know, suh.” 

“Did you take them to a foom or a hotel?” 

"Nawsuh, Just to the park ” 

“They were in the back seat?” 

“Yessuh.” 

"How long were you in the park?” 

“Well, about two hours, 1 reckon, suh ” 

“Come on, now, boy. Did he lay the girl?” 

“I don’t know, suh. They was back there kissing and going 
on." 

“Was she lying down?” 

“Well, yessuh. She was,” said Bigger, lowering his eyes 
because he felt that it would be better to do so He knew that 
whites thought that all Negroes yearned for white women, 
therefore he wanted to show a certain fearful deterence even 
when one’s name was mentioned in his presence. 

“They were drunk, weren't they?” 

“Yessuh. They’d been drinking a lot.” 

He heard the sound of autos coming into the driveway. Was 
this the police? 



186 


native son 


“Who’s that?” Britten asked. 

“I don’t know,” said one of the men. 

“I’d better see,” Britten said. 

Bigger saw, after Britten had opened the door, four cars 
standing in the snow with headlights glowing. 

“Who’s that?” Britten caUed. 

“The press!” 

“There’s nothing here for you!” Britten called in an uneasy 
voice. 

“Don’t stall us!” a voice answered. “Some of it’s already 
in the papers. You may as well tell the rest.” 

“What’s in the papers?” Britten asked as the men entered 
the basement. 

A tall red-faced man shoved his hand into his pocket and 
brought forth a newspaper and handed it to Britten. 

‘The reds say you’re charging ’em with spiritmg away the 
old man’s daughter,” 

Bigger darted a glance at the paper from where he was; he 
saw: RED NABBED AS GIRL VANISHES. 

“Goddamn!” said Britten. 

“Phewl” said the tall red-faced man. “What a night! Red 
arrested! Snowstorm. And this place down here looks hke 
somebody’s been murdered.” 

“Come on, you,” said Britten. “You’re in Mr. Dalton’s 
house now.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“Where’s the old man?” 

“Upstairs. He doesn’t want to be bothered.” 

“Is that girl really missing, or is this just a stunt?” 

“I can’t tell you anything,” Britten said. 

“Who’s this boy, here?” 

“Keep quiet. Bigger,” Britten said. 

“Is he the one Erlone said accused him?” 

Bigger stood against the wall and looked around vaguely, 

“You gomg to pull the dumb act on us?” asked one of the 
men. 

“Listen, you guys,” said Britten. “Take it easy. lH go 
and see if the old man will see you.” 

“That’s the time. We’re waiting. All the wires are carrying 
this story." 

Britten went up the steps and left Bigger standing with 
the crowd of men. 



FLIGHT 187 

“Your name’s Bigger Thomas?’’ the red-faced man asked. 

“Keep quiet, Bigger,’’ said one of Britten’s men. 

Bigger said nothing. 

“Say, what’s all this? This boy can talk if he wants to.’’ 

“This smells like something big to me,’’ said one of the 
men. 

Bigger had never seen such men before; he did not know 
how to act toward them or what to expect of them. They 
were not rich and distant like Mr. Dalton, and they were harder 
than Britten, but in a more impersonal way, a way that maybe 
was more dangerous than Britten’s. Back and forth they 
walked across the basement floor in the glare of the furnace 
with their hats on and with cigars and cigarettes in their 
mouths. Bigger felt in them a coldness that disregarded every- 
body. They seemed like men out for keen sport. They would 
be around a long time now that Jan had been arrested 
and questioned. Just what did they think of what he had 
told about Jan? Was there any good in Britten’s telling him 
not to talk to them? Bigger’s eyes watched the balled news- 
paper in a white man’s gloved hand. If only he could read 
that paper! The men were silent, waiting for Britten to 
return. Then one of them came and leaned against the wall, 
near hun. Bigger looked out of the corners of his eyes and 
said nothing He saw the man hght a cigarette. 

“Smoke, kid?” 

“Nawsuh,” he mumbled. 

He felt something touch the center of his palm. He made a 
move to look, but a whisper checked him. 

“Keep still. It’s for you. I want you to give me the dope,” 

Bigger’s fingers closed over a slender wad of paper; he 
knew at once that it was money and that he would give 
it back He held the money and watched his chance Things 
were happening so fast that he felt he was not doing full 
justice to them. He was tired. Oh, if only he could go 
to sleep! If only this whole thing could be postponed for a 
few hours, until he had rested some! He felt that he would 
have been able to handle it then. Events were like the de- 
tails of a tortmed dream, happening without cause. At times 
it seemed that he could not quite remember what had gone 
before and what it was he was expecting to come. At the head 
of the stairs the door opened and he saw Britten. While the 
others were looking off. Bigger shoved the money back into 



188 


NATIVE SON 


the man’s hand The man looked at him, shook his head and 
flicked his cigarette away and walked to the center of the 
floor. 

“I’m sorry, boys,” Britten said. “But the old man won’t be 
able to see you till Tuesday.” 

Bigger thought quickly; that meant that Mr. Dalton was 
going to pay the money and was not going to call in the 
police. 

“Tuesday?” 

“Aw, come on!” 

“Where is the girl?” 

“I’m sorry,” said Britten. 

"'’you're putting us in the position of having to print any- 
thing we can get about this case,” said one of the men. 

“You all know Mr. Dalton,” Britten explained “You 
wouldn’t do that. For God’s sake, give the man a chance I 
can’t tell you why now, but it’s important. He’d do as much 
for you some time ” 

“Is the girl missing!” 

“I don’t know." 

“Is she here in the house?” 

Britten hesitated. 

“No; I don’t think she is.” 

“When did she leave?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“When will she be back?” 

“I can’t say.” 

“Is this Erlone fellow telling the truth?” asked one of the 
men. “He said that Mr. Dalton’s trying to slander the Com- 
munist Party by having him arrested. And he says it’s an 
attempt to break up his relationship with Miss Dalton.” 

“I don’t know,” Britten said. 

“Erlone was picked up and takep to police headquarters 
and questioned,” the man continued. “He claimed that this 
boy here lied about his being in the home last night. Is that 
true?” 

“Really, I can’t say anything about that,” Britten said. 

“Did Mr. Dalton forbid Erlone to see Miss Dalton?” 

“I don’t know,” Britten said, whipping out a handkerchief 
and wiping his forehead. “Honest to God, boys, I can’t tell 
you anything. You’ll have to see the old man.” 

All eyes lifted at once. Mr. Dalton stood at the head of the 



FLIGHT 


189 

stairs in the doorway, white-faced, holding a piece of paper 
in his fingers. Bigger knew at once that it was the kidnap note. 
What was going to happen now? All of the men talked 
at once, shouting questions, asking to take pictures. 

“Where’s Miss Dalton?” 

“Did you swear out a warrant for the arrest of Erlone?” 

“Were they engaged?” 

“Did you forbid her to see him?” 

“Did you object to his politics?” 

“Don’t you want to make a statement, Mr. Dalton?” 

Bigger saw Mr. Dalton lift his hand for silence, then walk 
slowly down the steps and stand near the men, just a few 
feet above them. They gathered closer, raising their silver 
bulbs. 

“Do you wish to comment on what Erlone said about your 
chauffeur?” 

“What did he say?” Mr. Dalton asked. 

“He said the chauffeur had been paid to lie about him.” 

“That’s not true,” Mr. Dalton said firmly. 

Bigger blinked as hghtning shot past his eyes. He saw the 
men lowenng the silver bid bs. 

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Dalton. “Please! Give me just a 
moment. I do want to make a statement.” Mr. Dalton 
paused, his lips quivering. Bigger could see that he was very 
nervous. “Gentlemen,” Mr. Dalton said again, “I want to 
make a statement and I want you to take it carefully. The 
way you men handle this will mean life or death to someone, 
someone close to this family, to me. Someone . . .” Mr. Dal- 
ton's voice traded off. The basement filled with murmurs 
of eagerness. Bigger heard the kidnap note crackling faintly 
in Mr. Dalton’s fingers. Mr. Dalton’s face was dead-white and 
his blood-shot eyes were deep set in his head above patches 
of dark-colored skin. The fire m the furnace was low and 
the draft was but a whisper. Bigger saw Mr. Dalton’s white 
hair glisten like molten silver from the pale sheen of the fire. 

Then, suddenly, so suddenly that the men gasped, the door 
behind Mr. Dalton filled wilh a flowing white presence. It 
was Mrs. Dalton, her white eyes held wide and stony, her 
hands lifted sensitively upward toward her lips, the fingers 
long and white and wide apart. The basement was lit up 
with the white flash of a dozen silver bulbs. 

Ghostlike, Mrs. Dalton moved noiselessly down the steps 



NATIVE SON 


190 

until she came to Mr. Dalton’s side, the big white cat follow- 
ing her. She stood with one hand lightly touching a banister 
and the other held in mid-air. Mr. Dalton did not move or 
look round; he placed one of his hands over hers on the 
banister, covering it, and faced the men. Meanwhile, the big 
white cat bounded down the steps and leaped with one move- 
ment upon Digger’s shoulder and sat perched there. Bigger 
was still, feeling that the cat had given him away, had pointed 
him out as the murderer of Mary He tried to lift the cat 
down; but its claws clutched his coat. The silver lightning 
flashed in his eyes and he knew that the men had taken pic- 
tures of him with the cat poised upon his shoulder He tugged 
at the cat once more and managed to get it down. It land- 
ed on Its feet with a long whine, then began to rub itself 
against Digger’s legs. Goddamn! Why can’t that cat leave 
me alone? He heard Mr. Dalton speaking. 

“Gentlemen, you may take pictures, but wait a moment. 
I’ve just phoned the police and asked that Mr. Erlone be 
released immediately I want it known that I do not want to 
prefer charges against him. It is important that this be under- 
stood. I hope your papers will carry the story." 

Bigger wondered if this meant that suspicion was now 
pointing away from Jan? He wondered what would happen 
if he tried to leave the house? Were they watching him? 

“Further,” Mr. Dalton went on, “I want to announce public- 
ly that I apologize for his arrest and inconvenience.” Mr. Dalton 
paused, wet his lips with his tongue, and looked down over 
the small knot of men whose hands were busy jotting his words 
down upon their white pads of paper. “And, gentlemen, 
I want to announce that Miss Dalton, our daughter. . . . 
Miss Dalton. . . .” Mr. Dalton’s voice faltered. Behind him, a 
little to one side, stood Mrs Dalton; she placed her white 
band upon his arm. The men lifted their silver bulbs and 
again lightning flashed in the red gloom of the basement. 
“I — I want to announce,” Mr. Dalton said in a quiet voice 
that carried throughout the room, though it was spoken in a 
tense whisper, “that Miss Dalton has been kidnaped. , , .” 

“Kidnaped?” 

“Oh!” 

“Whenr 

“We think it happened last night,” said Mr. Dalton. 

‘What are they asking?” 



FLIGHT 


191 


‘Ten thousand dollars.” 

‘‘Have you any idea who it is?” 

“We know nothing.” 

“Have you had any word from her, Mr. Dalton?” 

“No; not directly. But we’ve had a letter from the kid- 
napers. . . 

“Is that it there?” 

“Yes. This is the letter.” 

“When did you get it?” 

“Tonight.” 

“Through the mail?” 

“No; someone left it under our door.” 

“Are you going to pay the ransom?” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Dalton. “I’m going to pay. Listen, gentle- 
men, you can help me and perhaps save my daughter’s life 
by saying m your stories that I’ll pay as I’ve been instructed. 
And, too, what’s most important, tell the kidnapers through 
your papers that I shall not call in the police. Tell them I’ll 
do eveiy^ng they ask. Tell them to return our daughter. Tell 
them, for God’s sake, not to kill her, that they win get what 
they want. ...” 

“Have you any idea, Mr. Dalton, who they are?” 

“I have not.” 

“Can we see that letter?” 

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. The instructions for the delivery 
of the money are here, and I have been cautioned not to 
make them public. But say in your papers that these instruc- 
tions win be followed.” 

“When was Miss Dalton last seen?” 

“Sunday morning, about two o’clock.” 

“Who saw her?” 

“My chauffeur and my wife.” 

Bigger stared straight before him, not allowing his eyes to 
move. 

“Please, don’t ask him any questions,” said Mr. Dalton. “Tm 
speaking for my whole family. I don’t want a lot of crary 
versions of this story going around. We want our daughter 
back; that’s all that matters now. Tell her in the papers that 
we’re doing all we can to get her back and that everything is 
forgiven. Tell her that we . , Again his voice broke and 
he could not go on. 



192 


NATIVE SON 


“Please, Mr. Dalton," begged one man. “Just let us take one 
shot of that note. ...” 

“No, no. . . I can’t do that.” 

“How IS it signed?” 

Mr Dalton looked straight before him. Bigger wondered if 
he would tell. He saw Mr Dalton’s lips moving silently, de- 
bating something. 

“Yes, I’ll tell you how it’s signed,’’ said the old man, his 
hands trembling. Mrs. Dalton’s face turned slightly toward 
him and her fingers gripped m his coat. Bigger knew that 
Mrs. Dalton was asking him silently if he had not better keep 
the signature of the note from the papers; and he knew, too, 
that Mr, Dalton seemed to have reasons of his own for want- 
ing to tell. Maybe it was to let the reds know that he 
received their note. 

“Yes,” Mr, Dalton said. “It’s signed ‘Red.’ That’s all." 
“Red?" 

“Yes." 

“Do you know the identity?" 

“No ’’ 

“Have you any suspicions?’ 

“Beneath the signature is a scrawled emblem of the Com- 
munist Party, the hammer and the sickle,” said Mr Dalton. 

The men were silent. Bigger saw the astonishment on their 
faces. Several did not wait to hear more, they rushed out of 
the basement to telephone their stories in. 

“Do you think the Communists did it?” 

’‘I don’t know. I’m not positively blaming anybody. I’m only 
releasing this information to let the public and the kidnapers 
know that I’ve received this note If they’ll return my daugh- 
ter, I’ll ask no questions of anyone.” 

“Was your daughter mixed up with those people, Mr. 
Dalton?’ 

“I know nothing about that.” 

“Didn’t you forbid your daughter to associate with this 
Erlone?” 

“I hope this has nothing to do with that.” 

“You think Erlone’s mixed in this?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Why did you have him released?” 

“I ordered his arrest before I received this note.” 

“Do you feel that maybe he’ll return the girl if he’s out?" 



FLIGHT 


193 

“I don’t know, I don’t know if he’s got our daughter. I 
only know that Mrs. Dahon and I want our daughter 
back.” 

“Then why did you have Erlone released?” 

“Because I have no charges to prefer against him,” said 
Mr. Dalton stubbornly. 

“Mr Dalton, hold the letter up, and hold your hand 
out, hke you’re making an appeal, Good! Now, put your hand 
out, too, Mrs. Dalton. Like that. O.K , hold it!” 

Bigger watched the silver bulbs flash again. Mr. and Mrs. 
Dalton were standing upon the steps; Mrs. Dalton in white 
and Mr. Dalton with the letter in his hand and his eyes 
looking straight back to the rear wall of the basement 
Bigger heard the soft whisper of the fire in the furnace and 
saw the men adjusting their cameras. Others were standing 
round, still scribbling nervously upon their pads of paper. Hie 
bulbs flashed again and Bigger was startled to see that they 
were pointed in his direction. He wanted to duck his head, or 
throw his hands in front of his face, but it was too late. They 
had enough pictures of him now to know him by sight in a 
crowd. A few more of the men left and Mr. and Mrs. Dalton 
turned and walked slowly up the stairs and disappeared 
through the kitchen door, the big white cat following close 
behind them. Bigger still stood with his back to the wall, 
watching and trying to value every move in relation to him- 
self and his chances of getting the money. 

“You suppose we can use Mr. Dalton’s phone?” one of the 
men asked Britten. 

“Sure.” 

Britten led a group of them up the stairs into the kitchen. 
The three men who had come with Britten sat on the steps 
and stared gloorrlily at the floor. Soon the men who had 
gone to phone their stones in came back Bigger knew 
that they wanted to talk to him. Britten also came back and 
sat upon the steps. 

“Say, can’t you give us any more dope on this?” one of the 
reporters asked Britten. 

“Mr. Dalton’s told you everything,” Britten said. 

“This is a big story,” said one of the men. "Say, how did 
Mrs. Dalton take this?” 

“She collapsed,” said Britten. 

For awhile nobody said anything. Then Bigger saw the 



194 


NATTVB SON 


men, one by one, turn and stare at him. He lowered his 
eyes; he knew that they were longing to ask him questions 
and he dtd not want that. His eyes roved the room and saw 
the crumpled copy of the newspaper lying forgotten in a 
comer. He wanted ever so badly to read it; he would get 
at it the first opportunity and find out just what Jan had 
said. Presently, the men began to wander aimlessly about the 
basement, looking into comers, examining the shovel, the 
garbage pail, and the trunk. Bigger watched one man stand 
in front of the furnace. Hie man’s hand reached out and 
opened the door; a feeble red glare lit the man’s face as he 
stooped and looked inside at the bed of smoldering coals. 
Suppose he poked deeply into them? Suppose Mary's bones 
came into view? Bigger held his breath. But the man would 
not poke into that &e; nobody suspected him. He was just a 
black clown. He breathed again as the man closed the door. 
The muscles of Bigger’s face jerked violently, making him 
feel that he wanted to laugh. He turned his head aside and 
fought to control himself. He was full of hysteria. 

“Say, how about a look at the gu-l’s room?’’ asked one of 
the men. 

“Sure. Why not?’’ Britten said. 

All of the men followed Britten up the stairs and Bigger 
was left alone. At once his eyes went to the newspaper; he 
wanted to pick it up, but was afraid. He stepped to the back 
door and made sure that it was locked; then he went to the 
top of the stairs and looked humedly into the kitchen; he 
saw no one. He bounded down the steps and snatched up 
the paper. He opened it and saw a line of heavy black typo 
stretched across the top of the front page; SEEK HYDE 
PARK HEIRESS MISSING FROM HOME SINCE SAT- 
URDAY. GIRL BELIEVED HIDING OUT WITH COM- 
MUNISTS. POLICE NAB LOCAL RED LEADER; 
GRILLED ON RELATIONSHIP WITH MARY DALTON. 
AUTHORITIES ACT ON TIP SUPPLIED BY GIRL’S 
FATHER. 

And there was the picture of Jan in the center of page 
one. It was Jan all right. Just like him. He turned to the 
story, reading. 

Did the foolish dream of solving the problem of human mis- 
ery and poverty by dividing her father’s real estate millions 



FLIGHT 


195 

among the lowly force Mary Dalton to leave the palatial Hyde 
Park home of her parents, Mr, and Mrs Henry G Dalton, 4605 
Drexel Boulevard, and take up life under an assumed name 
with her long-haired friends in the Communist movement? 

This was the question that police sought to answer late to- 
night as they grilled Jan Erlone, executive secretary of the La- 
bor Defenders, a Communist “front” organization in which it 
was said that Mary Dalton held a membership in defiance of her 
father’s wishes. 

The story went on to say that Jan was being held for inves- 
tigation at the Eleventh Street Police Station and that Mary 
had been missing from her home since eight o'clock Saturday 
night. It also mentioned that Mary had been in the “company 
of Erlone until early Sunday morning at a notorious South 
Side Caf^ in the Black Belt.” 

That was all. He had expected more. He looked further. 
No; here was something else. It was a picture of Mary. It 
was so lifelike that it reminded him of how she had looked 
the first time he had seen her; he blinked his eyes. He was 
looking again in sweaty fear at her head lying upon the 
sticky newspapers with blood oozing outward toward the 
edges. Above the picture was a caption: IN DUTCH WITH 
PA. Bigger lifted his eyes and looked at the furnace; it 
seemed impossible that she was there in the fire, burning. . . . 
The story in the paper had not been as alarming as he had 
thought it would be. But as soon as they heard of Mary’s 
being kidnaped, what would happen? He heard footsteps 
and dropped the paper back in the comer and stood just as 
he had before, his back against the wall, his eyes vacant and 
sleepy. The door opened and the men came down the steps, 
talkmg in low, excited tones. Again Bigger noticed that they 
were watching him. Britten also came back. 

“Say, why can’t we talk to this boy?” one demanded. 

“There’s nothing he can tell you,” Britten said. 

“But he can tell us what he saw. After all, he drove the 
car last night.” 

“O.K with me," Britten said. "But Mr. Dalton’s told you 
everything.” 

One of the men walked over to Bigger. 

“Say, Mike, you think this Erlone fellow did this?” 

“My name ain’t Mike,” Bigger said, resentfully. 



196 


native son 


“Oh, I don’t mean no harm,” the man said. “But do you 
think he did it?” 

“Answer his questions, Bigger,” Britten said. 

Bigger was sorry he had taken offense. He could not afford 
to get angry now. And he had no need to be angry. Why 
should he be angry with a lot of fools? They were looking 
for the girl and the girl was ten feet from them, bummg. 
He had killed her and they did not know it. He would let 
them call lum “Mike.” 

“I don’t know, suh,” he said. 

“Come on; tell us what happened.” 

“I only work here, suh,” Bigger said. 

“Don’t be afraid. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” 

“Mr. Britten can tell you,” Bigger said. 

The men shook their heads and walked away. 

“Good God, Brittenl” said one of the men. “All we’ve got 
on this kidnaping is that a letter was fotind, Erlone’s to be 
released, the letter was signed by ‘Red,’ and there was a 
hammer and sickle emblem on it That doesn’t make sense. 
Give us some more details.” 

“Dsten, you guys,” Britten said. “Give the old man a 
chance. He’s trying to get his daughter back, ahve. He’s given 
you a big story; now wait” 

“Tell us straight now; when was that girl last seen?” 

Bigger listened to Bntten tell the story all over again. He 
listened carefuUy to every word Britten said and to the tone 
of voice in which the men asked their questions, for he 
wanted to know if any of them suspected him. But they did 
not. All of their questions pointed to Jan. 

“But Britten,” asked one of the men, “why did the old 
man want this Erlone released?” 

“Figure it out for yourself,” Britten said. 

“Then he thinks Erlone had something to do with the 
snatching of his daughter and wanted him out so he could 
give her back?” 

“I don’t know,” Britten said. 

“Aw, come on, Britten.” 

“Use your imagination,” Britten said. 

Two more of the men buttoned their coats, pulled their 
hats low over their eyes and left. Bigger knew that they were 
going to phone in more information to their papers; they 
were going to tell about Jau’s trying to convert him to com- 



FLIGHT 


197 

munism, the Communist literature Jan had given him, the 
rum, the half-packed trunk being taken down to the station, 
and lastly, about the kidnap note and the demand for ten 
thousand dollars. The men looked round the basement with 
flashlights Bigger still leaned against the wall Britten sat 
on the steps. The fire whispered in the furnace Bigger knew 
that soon he would have to clean the ashes out, for the fire 
was not burning as hotly as it should. He would do that as 
soon as some of the excitement died down and all of the 
men left, 

“It’s pretty bad, hunh, Bigger?’’ Britten asked. 

“Yessuh.” 

“I’d bet a million dollars that this is Jan’s smart idea." 

Bigger said nothing. He was limp all over; he was stand- 
ing up here against this wall by some strength not his own. 
Hours past he had given up trying to exert himself any more; 
he could no longer call up any energy. So he just forgot it 
and found himself coasting along. 

It was getting a little chilly; the fire was dying The draft 
could scarcely be heard. Then the basement door burst open 
suddenly and one of the men who had gone to telephone 
came in, his mouth open, his face wet and red from the snow. 

“Say!” he called. 

“Yeah?” 

“What is it?" 

“My city editor just told me that that Erlone fellow won’t 
leave jail.” 

For a moment the strangeness of the news made them all 
stare silently. Bigger roused himself and tried to make out 
just what it meant. Then someone asked the question he longed 
to ask. 

“Won’t leave? What you mean?" 

“Well, this Erlone refused to go when they told him that 
Mr. Dalton had requested his release. It seems he had got wmd 
of ±e kidnaping and said that he didn’t want to go out.” 

“That means he’s guiltyl” said Britten “He doesn’t want to 
leave jail because he knows they’ll shadow him and find out 
where the girl is, see? He’s scared.” 

“What else?” 

“Well, this Erlone says he’s got a dozen people to swear 
that he did not come here last night.” 

Bigger’s body stiffened and he leaned forward slightly. 



198 


native son 


“That’s a lie!” Britten said. “This boy here saw him.” 

“Is that right, boy?" 

Bigger hesitated. He suspected a trap. But if Jan really had 
an alibi, then he had to talk; he had to steer them away from 
himself. 

“Yessuh.” 

“Well, somebody’s lying. That Erlone fellow says that he 
can prove it." 

“Prove helll” Britten said. “He’s just got some of his red 
friends to lie for him; that’s aU.” 

“But what in hell’s the good of his not wanting to leave 
jail?” asked one of the men. 

“He says if he stays in they can’t possibly say he’s mixed 
up in this kidnaping business. He said this boy’s lying. He 
claims they told him to say these things in order to blacken 
his name and reputation. He swears the family knows where 
the girl is and that this thing is a stunt to raise a cry 
against the reds.” 

The men gathered round Bigger. 

“Say, boy, come on with the dope now. Was that guy really 
here last night?” 

"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.” 



FLIGHT 


199 


“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. 

“Suref" 

“Atta gall” 

“I’ll brmg some down in just a minute,” she said, closing 
the door. 

“■Who is she?” 

“Mrs. Dalton’s cook and housekeeper,” Britten said. 

“She know anythin g about all this?” 

“Naw.” 

Again the men turned to Bigger. He felt this time he had 
to say somethmg 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 telhng if he 
did not talk. After all, their attitude towmd him so far 
made him feel that they did not consider him as being mixed 
up in the kidnaping. 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 



200 


NATIVE SON 


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 fin- 
ished, 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’E get the sugar and cream 
and some eups.” 

“Say, boy,” Britten said. “Tell the men how Jan made you 
eat with ’Lm.” 

“Yeah; teU us about it” 

"Is it true?” 

"Yessuh." 

"You didn’t want to eat with ’im, did you?” 

“Nawsuh." 



FLIGHT 


201 


“Did you ever eat with white people before?" 

“Nawsuh ” 

“Did this guy Erlone say anything to you about white 
women?” 

“Oh, nawsuh.” 

“How did you feel, eating with him and Miss Dalton?” 

“I don’t know, suh. It was my job.” 

“You didn’t feel just right, did you?” 

“Well, suh. They told me to eat and I ate. It was my job.” 

“In other words, you felt you had to eat or lose your job?” 

“Yessuh,” said Bigger, feeling that this ought to place 
him in the light of a helpless, bewildered man. 

“Good God!” said one of the men. “What a story 1 Don't 
you see it? These Negroes want to be left alone and these 
reds are forcing ’em to hve with ’em, see? Every wire in the 
country’ll carry itl” 

“This is better than Loeb and Leopold,” said one. 

“Say, I’m slantmg this to the primiuve Negro who doesn’t 
want to be disturbed by white civilization.” 

“A swell ideal” 

"Say, is this Erlone really a citizen?” 

“That’s an angle.” 

“Mention his foreign-sounding name.” 

“Is he Jewish?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“This is good enough as it is. You can’t have everythmg 
you want.” 

“It’s classic!”- 

“It’s a natural!” 

Then, before Bigger knew it, the men had their bulbs in 
their hands again, aiming at him He hung his head slowly, 
slowly so as not to let them know that he was trying to 
dodge them. 

“Hold up a little, boy!” 

“Stand straightl” 

“Look over this way. Now, that’s it!” 

Yes; the police would certainly have enough pictures of 
him. He thought it rather bitterly, smiling a smile that did 
not reach his lips or eyes. 

Peggy came back with her arms full of cups, saucers, 
QKKms, a jar of cream and a bowl of sugar. 

“Here it is, sirs. Help yourselves.” 



202 


NATIVE SON 


She turned to Bigger. 

“There’s not enough heat upstairs. You’d better clean those 
ashes out and make a better fire.” 

“Yessum.” 

Qean the fire out! Good God! Not now, not with the men 
standing round. He did not move from his place beside the 
wall; he watched Peggy walk back up the stairs and close the 
door behind her. Well, he had to do something, Peggy had 
spoken to him in the presence of these men, and for him not 
to obey would seem odd. And even if they did not say any- 
thing about it, Peggy herself would soon come back and 
ask about the fire. Yes, he had to do something. He walked 
to the door of the furnace and opened it. The low bed of 
fire was red-hot, but he could tell from the weak blast of heat 
upon his face that it was not as hot as it ought to be, not 
as hot as it had been when he had shoved Mary in. He was 
trying to make his tired brain work fast. What could he do 
to avoid bothering with the ashes? He stooped and opened 
the lower door; the ashes, white and gray, were piled almost 
level with the lower grate. No air could get through. Maybe 
he could sift the ashes down more and make that do until 
the men left? He would try it. He caught hold of the handle 
and worked it to and fro, seeing white ashes and red embers 
falling into the bottom of the furnace Behind him he could 
hear the men’s talk and the tinkle of their spoons against 
the cups. Well, there. He had gotten some of the ashes down 
out of the stove, but they choked the lower bin and still no 
air could get through. He would put some coal in. He shut 
the doors of the furnace and pulled the lever for coal; 
there was the same loud rattle of coal against the tin sides of 
the chute. The interior of the furnace grew black with coal. 
But the draft did not roar and the coal did not blaze God- 
damn' He stood up and looked helplessly into the furnace. 
Ought he to try to slip out of here and leave this whole 
foolish thing right now? Nawl There was no use of being 
scared; he had a chance to get that money. Put more coal 
in; it would bum after awhile. He pulled the lever for still 
more coal. Inside the furnace he saw the coal beginning to 
smoke; there were faint wisps of white smoke at first, then 
the smoke drew dark, bulging out. Bigger’s eyes smarted, 
watered; he coughed. 

The smoke was rolling from the furnace now in heavy 



FLIGHT 


203 

billowing gray clouds, filbng the basement. Bigger backed 
away, catching a lungful of smoke. He bent over, coughing. 
He heard the men coughing. He had to do something about 
those ashes, and quickly. With his hands stretched before 
him, he groped m the corner for the shovel, found it, and 
opened the lower door of the furnace. The smoke surged 
out, thick and acrid Goddamnl 

“You’d better do something about those ashes, boy!” one of 
the men called. 

“That fire can’t get any air, Bigger!” It was Britten’s voice. 

“Yessuh,” Bigger mumbled. 

He could scarcely see. He stood still, his eyes closed and 
stinging, his lungs heaving, trying to expel the smoke. He 
held onto the shovel, wantmg to move, to do something; but 
he did not know what. 

“Say, you! Get some of those ashes out of there!” 

“What’re you trying to do, smother us?” 

“I’m getting ’em out,” Bigger mumbled, not movmg from 
where he stood. 

He heard a cup smash on the concrete floor and a man 
cursed. 

“I can’t see! The smoke’s got my eyes!” 

Bigger heard someone near him; then someone was tug- 
ging at the shovel in his hands. He held onto it desperately, 
not wanting to let it go, feelmg that if he did so he was 
surrendenng his secret, his life. 

“Here! Give me that shovel! I’ll h-h-help y-you. ...” a 
man coughed. 

“Nawsuh. I-I-I can d-do it,” Bigger said. 

“C-come on. L-let go!” 

His fingers loosened about the shovel. 

“Yessuh,” he said, not knowing what else to say 

Through the clouds of smoke he heard the man clanging the 
shovel round inside of the ash bin. He cou^ed and stepped 
back, his eyes blazing as though fire had leaped into them. 
Behind him the other men were coughmg. He opened his 
eyes and strained to see what was happening. He felt that 
there was suspended just above his head a huge weight that 
would soon fall and crush him. His body, despite the smoke 
and his burning eyes and heaving chest, was flexed taut. He 
wanted to lunge at the man and take the shovel from him, lam 
him across the head with it and bolt from the basement But 



NATIVE SON 


204 

he stood still, heanng the babble of voices and the clanging 
of the shovel against iron. He knew that the man was dig- 
ging frantically at the ashes in the bin, trying to clean as 
much out as possible so that air could pass up through the 
grates, pipes, chimney and out into the mght. He heard the 
man yell: 

“Open that door! I’m chokingl" 

There was a scuffle of feet. Bigger felt the icy wind of the 
night sweep over him and he discovered that he was wet with 
sweat Somehow something had happened and now things 
were out of his hands. He was nervously poised, waiting for 
what the new flow of events would bring The smoke drifted 
past him toward the open door The room was clearing; the 
smoke thinned to a gray pall He heard the man grunting and 
saw him bent over, digging at th^ ashes in the bin He wanted 
to go to him and ask for the shovel; he wanted to say that he 
could take care of it now. But he did not move He felt that 
he had let things slip through his hands to such an extent 
that he could not get at them again. Then he heard the draft, 
this time a long low sucking of air that grew gradually to a 
drone, then a roar. The air passage was clear. 

“There was a hell of a lot of ashes in there, boy," the man 
gasped. “You shouldn’t let it get that way.” 

“Yessuh,” Bigger whispered. 

The draft roared loud now, the air passage was completely 
clear. 

“Shut that door, boyl It’s cold in herel" one of the men 
called, 

He wanted to go to the door and keep right on out of it 
and shut it behind him. But he did not move One of the. 
men closed it and Bigger felt the cold air fall away from 
his wet body. He looked round; the men were still standing 
about the table, red-eyed, sipping coffee. 

“What’s the matter, boy?” one of them asked. 

“Nothing,” Bigger said. 

The man with the shovel stood in front of the furnace and 
looked down into the ashes strewn over the floor. What’s he 
doing? Bigger wondered. He saw the man stoop and poke the 
shovel into the ashes. W Hal’s he looking at? Bigger’s muscles 
twitched. He wanted to run to the man’s side and see what it 
was he was looking at; he had in his mind an image of 
Mary’s head lying there bloody and unbumt before the 



FLIGHT 


205 

man’s eyes Suddenly, the man straightened, only to stoop 
again, as though unable to decide if the evidence of his eyes 
was true. Bigger edged forward, his lungs not taking in or 
letting out air, he himself was. a huge furnace now through 
which no air could go; and the fear that surged into his 
stomach, filling him, choking him, was like the fumes of 
smoke that had belched from the ash bin. 

“Say. . . the man called; his voice sounded tentative, 
dubious. 

“What?” one man at the table answered. 

“Come here' Look!" The man’s voice was low, excited, 
tense; but what it lacked in volume was more than made up 
for in the breathless manner in which he spoke. The words 
had rolled without effort from his lips. 

The men set their cups down and ran to the pile of ashes. 
Bigger, doubtful and uncertam, paused as the men ran past 
him. 

“What is it?” 

“What’s the matter?” 

Bigger tiptoed and looked over their shoulden; he did not 
know how he got strength enough to go and look; he just 
found himself walking and then found himself standing and 
peenng over the men’s shoulders He saw a pile of scat- 
tered ashes, nothing else. But there must be something, or 
why would the men be lookmg? 

“What IS it?” 

“See? This!" 

“What?” 

"Lookl It’s...” 

The man’s voice trailed off and he stooped again and 
poked the shovel deeper. Bigger saw come into full view on 
the surface of the ashes several small pieces of white bone. 
Instantly, his whole body was wrapped in a sheet of fear. 
Yes; he should have cleaned those ashes out; but he had 
been too excited and scared; he had trapped himself. Now, 
he must leave; they must not catch him. . , , With the rush 
of lightning, these thoughts flashed through his mind, leaving 
him weak and helpless. 

“It’s bone. . . 

“Aw,” one of the men said. "That’s just some garbage 
they’re burning. . . ." 

“Naw! Wait; let’s see that!” 



206 


NATIVE SON 


“Toorman, come here. You studied medicme once. . . 

The man called Toorman reached out his foot and kicked 
an oblong bone front the ashes; it slid a few mches over the 
concrete floor. 

“My God! It’s from a body. . . 

“And look! Here’s something. . . .” 

One of them stooped and picked up a bit of round metal 
and held it close to his eyes. 

“It’s an earring. . . 

There was silence. Bigger stared without a thought or an 
image in his nund. There was just the old feelmg, the feeling 
that he had had all his life; he was black and had done 
wrong; white men were looking at something with which 
they would soon accuse him. It was the old feeling, hard 
and constant again now, of wanting to grab something and 
clutch it In his hands and swmg it into someone’s face. He 
knew. They were looking at the bones of Mary’s body. With- 
out its making a clear picture in his mind, he understood 
how it had happened. Some of the bones had not burnt 
and had fallen into the lower bm when he had worked the 
handle to sift the ashes. The white man had poked in the 
shovel to clear the air passage and had raked them out. And 
now there they lay, tiny, oblong pieces of white bone, cush- 
ioned in gray ashes. He could not stay here now. At any 
moment they would begin to suspect him. They would hold 
him; they would not let him go even if they were not certain 
whether he had done it or not. And Jan was still in jail, 
swearing that he had an alibi. They would know that Mary 
was dead; they had stumbled upon the white bones of her 
body. They would be looking for the murderer. The men 
were silent, bent over, poking mto the pile of gray ashes. 
Bigger saw the hatchet blade come into view. God! The whole 
world was tumbling down. Quickly, Bigger’s eyes looked at 
their bent backs; they were not watching him. The red glare 
of the fire lit their faces and the draft of the 'furnace 
drummed. Yes; he would go, now! He tiptoed to the rear of 
the furnace and stopped, listening. The men were whispering 
in tense tones of horror. 

“It’s the girl!” 

“Good God!” 

“Who do you suppose did it?” 

Bigger tiptoed up the steps, one at a time, hopmg that the 



FLIGHT 


207 


roar of the furnace and the men’s voices and the scraping 
of the shovel would drown out the creaking sounds his feet 
made. He reached the top of the steps and breathed deeply, 
his lungs aching from holding themselves full of air so long. 
He stole to the door of his room and opened it and went 
m and pulled on the light. He turned to the window and 
put his hands under the upper ledge and lifted; he felt a cold 
rush of air laden with snow He heard muffled shouts down- 
stairs and the inside of his stomach glowed white-hot. He ran 
to the door and locked it and then turned out the light. He 
groped to the window and climbed into it, feeling again the 
chilling blast of snowy wind. With his feet upon the bottom 
ledge, his legs bent under him, his sweaty body shaken by 
wind, he looked into the snow and tried to see the ground 
below; but he could not. Then he leaped, headlong, sensing 
his body twistnig in the icy air as he hurtled. His eyes were 
shut and his hands were clenched as his body turned, sailing 
through the snow. He was in the air a moment; then he hit. 
It seemed at first that he hit softly, but the shock of it went 
through him, up his back to his head and he lay buried in 
a cold pile of snow, dazed. Snow was in his mouth, eyes, 
ears; snow was seeping down his back. His hands were wet 
and cold. Then he felt all of the muscles of his body contract 
violently, caught in a spasm of reflex action, and at the same 
time he felt his groin laved with warm water It was his urine. 
He had not been able to control the muscles of his hot body 
against the chilled assault of the wet snow over all his skin. 
He lifted his head, blinking his eyes, and looked above him. 
He sneezed He was himself now; he struggled against the 
snow, pushing it away from him. He got to his feet, one at 
a time, and pulled himself out He walked, then tried to run; 
but he felt too weak. He went down Drexel Boulevard, not 
knowing just where he was heading, but knowing that he had 
to get out of this white neighborhood. He avoided the car 
line, turned down dark streets, walking more rapidly now, his 
eyes before him, but turning now and then to look behind. 

Yes, he would have to tell Bessie not to go to that house. It 
was all over. He had to save himself. But it was familiar, this 
running away. All his life he had been knowing that sooner 
or later something like this would come to him. And now, 
here it was He had always felt outside of this white world, 
and now it was true. It made things simple. He felt in his 



NATIVE SON 


208 

shirt. Yes; the gun was stUl there He might have to use it He 
would shoot before he would let them take him; it meant 
death either way, and he would die shooting every slug he 
had. 

He came to Cottage Grove Avenue and walked southward. 
He could not make any plans untU he got to Bessie’s and 
got the money. He tried to shut out of his mind the fear of 
being caught. He lowered his head against the driving 
snow and tramped through the icy streets with clenched fists. 
Although his hands were almost frozen, he did not want to 
put them in his pockets, for that would have made him feel 
that he would not have been ready to defend himself were 
the police to accost him suddenly. He went on past street 
lamps covered with thick coatings of snow, gleaming like 
huge frosted moons above his head. His face ached from the 
subzero cold and the wind cut into his wet body like a long 
sharp knife going to the heart of him with pain. 

He was in sigjit of Forty-seventh Street now He saw, 
through a gauzelike curtain of snow, a boy standing under an 
awning selling papers. He pulled his cap visor lower and 
shpped into a doorway to wait for a car. Back of the news- 
boy was a stack of papers piled high upon a newsstand. He 
wanted to see the tdl black headline, but the driving snow 
would not let him. The papers ought to be full of him now. 
It did not seem strange that they should be, for all his life 
he had felt that things had been happening to him that 
/shotild have gone into them. But only after he had acted 
upon feelings which he had had for years would the papers 
carry the story, his story. He felt that they had not wanted to 
print it as long as it had remained buried and burning in his 
own heart. But now that he had thrown it out, thrown it at 
those who made him live as they wanted, the papers were 
printing it. He fished two cents out of his pocket; he went 
over to the boy with averted face. 

^'Tribune." 

He took the paper into a doorway. . His eyes swept the 
streets above the top of it; then he read in tall black type; 
MILUONAIRE HEIRESS KIDNAPED. ABDUCTORS 
DEMAND $10,000 IN RANSOM NOTE. DALTON FAM- 
ILY ASK RELEASE OF COMMUNIST SUSPECT. Yes; 
they had it noW. Soon they would have the story of her death, 
of the reporters’ finding her bones in the furnace, of her head 



FLIGHT 


209 

being cut off, of his running away during the excitement. He 
looked up, hearing the approach of a car. When it heaved 
into sight he saw it was almost empty of passengers. Good! 
He ran into the street and reached the steps just as the last 
man got on. He paid his fare, watchmg to see if the con- 
ductor was noticing him; then went through the car, watchmg 
to see if any face was turned to him. He stood on the front 
platform, back of the motorman. If anything happened he 
could get off quickly here. The car started and he opened the 
paper again, reading; 

A servant’s discovery early yesterday evening of a crudely 
penciled ransom note demanding $10,000 for the return of Mary 
Dalton, missing Chicago heiress, and the Dalton family's sud- 
den demand for the release of Jan Erlone, Commimist leader 
held m connection with the girl’s disappearance, were the star- 
tling developments in a case which is baffling local and state 
police. 

The note, bearing the signature of “Red” and the famed ham- 
mer and sickle emblem of the Communist Party, was found 
sticking under the front door by Peggy O’Flagherty, a cook 
and housekeeper in the Henry Dalton residence in Hyde Park. 

Bigger read a long stretch of type in which was described 
the “questioning of a Negro chauffeur,” “the half-packed 
trunk,” "the Communist pamphlets,” “drunken sexual orgies,” 
“the frantic parents,” and “the radical’s contradictory story.” 
Bigger’s eyes skimmed the words: “clandestine meetings of- 
fered opportunities for abduction,” “police asked not to 
interfere in case,” “anxious family trying to contact kidnap- 
ers”; and: 

It was conjectured that perhaps the family had information 
to the effect that Erlone knew of the whereabouts of Miss Dal- 
ton, and certain police officials assigned that as the motive be- 
hind the family’s request for the radical’s release. 

Reiterating that police had framed him as a part of a drive to 
oust Communists from Chicago, Erlone demanded that the 
charges upon which he had been onginally held be made pub- 
lic. Failing to obtain a satisfactory answer, he refused to leave 
jail, whereupon police again remanded him to his ceU upon a 
charge of diwrderly conduct 

Bigger lifted his eyes and looked about; no one was 
watching him. His hand was shaking with excitement The 



210 


NATIVE SON 


car moved lumbenngly through the snow and he saw that he 
was near Fiftieth Street. He stepped to the door and said, 

“Out.” 

The car stopped and he swung off into the driving snow. He 
was almost in front of Bessie’s now. He looked up to her 
window; it was dark. The thought that she might not be in 
her room, but out drinkmg with friends, made him angry. 
He went into the vestibule. A dim light glowed and his body 
was thankful for the meager warmth. He could finish reading 
the paper now. He unfolded it; then, for the first time, he 
saw his picture. It was down in the lower left-hand corner of 
page two. Above it he read: REDS TRIED TO SNARE 
HIM. It was a small picture and his name was tmder it; 
he looked solemn and black and his eyes gazed straight and 
the white cat sat perched upon his nght shoulder, its big 
round black eyes twm pools of secret guilt. And, ohl Here 
was a picture of Mr and Mrs. Dalton standing upon the 
basement steps. That the image of Mr. and Mrs. Dalton which 
he had seen but two hours ago should be seen again so soon 
made him feel that this whole vague white world which 
could do things this quickly was more than a match for him, 
that soon it would track him down and have it out with him. 
The white-haired old man and the white-haired old woman 
standing on the steps with their arms stretched forth plead- 
ingly were a powerful symbol of helpless suffering and vtfould 
stir up a lot of hate against him when it was found out that a 
Negro had killed Mary. 

Bigger’s lips tightened. There was no chance of his getting 
that money now They had found Mary and would stop at 
nothing to get the one who had killed her. There would be a 
thousand white policemen on the South Side searching for 
him or any black man who looked like him. 

He pressed the bell and waited for the buzzer to ring. 
Was she there? Again he pressed the bell, holding his finger 
hard upon it until the door buzzed. He bounded up the 
steps, sucking his breath in sharply at each lift of his knees. 
When he reached the second landmg he was breathmg so hard 
that he stopped, closed his eyes and let his chest heave itself 
to stillness. He glanced up and saw Bessie staring sleepily at 
him through the half-opened door. He went in and stood for 
a moment in the darkness. 

“Turn on the light,” he said. 



PLIGHT 


211 


“Bigger! What’s happened?” 

“Turn on the light!” 

She said nothing and did not move. He groped forward, 
sweeping the air with his open palm for the cord; he 
found It and jerked on the light. Then he whirled and looked 
about him, expecting to see someone lurking m the corners 
of the room. 

“What’s happened?” She came forward and touched his 
clothes. “You’re wet.” 

“It’s all off,” he said. 

“I don’t have to do it?” she asked eagerly. 

Yes; she was thinking only of herself now. He was alone. 

“Bigger, tell me what happened?” 

“They know all about it. They’ll be after me soon.” 

Her eyes were too filled with fear to cry. He walked about 
aimlessly and his shoes left rings of dirty water on the 
wooden floor. 

“Tell me, Bigger! Please!” 

She was wanting the word that would free her of this 
nightmare; but he would not give it to her. No; let her be 
with him; let somebody be with him now. She caught hold of 
his coat and he felt her body trembling. 

“Will they come for me, too. Bigger? I didn’t want to do 
it!” 

Yes; he would let her know, let her know everything; but 
let her know it in a way that would bind her to him, at least 
a little longer He did not want to be alone now, 

“They found the girl,” he said. 

“What we going to do. Bigger? Look what you done to 
me . . , 

She began to cry. 

“Aw, come on, kid.” 

“You really killed her?” 

“She’s dead,” he said. “They found her.” 

She ran to the bed, fell upon it and sobbed. With her mouth 
all twisted and her eyes wet, she asked in gasps: 

“Y-y-you d-didn’t send the 1-letter?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Bigger,” she whimpered. 

“There ain’t no help for it now.” 

“Oh, Lord! They’ll come for me. They’ll know you did it 



212 


NATIVE SON 


and they’ll go to your home and talk to your ma and brother 
and everybody. They’ll come for me now sure.” 

That was true. There was no way for her but to come with 
him. If she stayed here they would come to her and she 
would simply lie on the bed and sob out everything. She 
would not be able to help it. And what she would tell them 
about him, his habits, his life, would help them to track him 
down. 

“You got the money?” 

“It’s in my dress pocket.” 

"How much IS it?” 

“Ninety dollars.” 

“Well, what you planning to do?” he asked. 

“I wish I could kill myself ” 

"Ain’t no use talking that way ” 

“There ain’t no way else to talk.” 

It was a shot in the dark, but he decided to try it. 

“If you don’t act better’n this. I’ll just leave.” 

“Naw; naw. . . . Bigger!” she cried, rising and running to 
him. 

“Well, snap out of it,” he said, backing to a chair. He sat 
down and felt how tired he was. Some strength he did not 
know he possessed had enabled him to run away, to stand 
here and talk with her; but now he felt that he would not 
have strength enough to run even if the police should sud- 
denly burst into the room. 

“You h-hurt?” she asked, catching hold of his shoulder. 

He leaned forward in the chair and rested his face in the 
palms of his hands, 

“Bigger, what’s the matter?” 

“I’m tired and awful sleepy,” he sighed. 

“Let me fix you something to eat.” 

“I need a drink.” 

“Naw; no whiskey You need some hot milk.” 

He waited, hearing her move about. It seemed that his 
body had turned to a piece of lead that was cold and heavy 
and wet and aching. Bessie switched on her electnc stove, 
emptied a bottle of milk into a pan and set it upon the glow- 
ing red circle. She came back to him and placed her hands 
upon his shoulders, her eyes wet with fresh tears. 

“I’m scared, Bigger.” 

“You can’t be scared now.” 



FLIGHT 


213 


“You oughtn’t’ve killed her, honey.” 

“I didn’t mean to. 1 couldn’t help it. I swearl” 

“What happened? You never told me.” 

“Aw, hell. I was in her room. . . 

“Her room?” 

“Yeah. She was drunk. She passed out. I. ... I took 
her there ” 

“What she do?" 

"She. . . . Nothing. She didn’t do anything. Her ma came 
in. She’s blind. . . 

“The girl?” 

“Naw; her ma. I didn’t want her to find me there. Well, the 
girl was trying to say something and I was scared. I just put 
the edge of the pillow in her mouth and. ... I didn’t 
mean to kill her. I just pulled the pillow over her face and 
she died. Her ma came into the room and the girl was 
trying to say something and her ma had her hands stretched 
out, like this, see? I was scared she was going to touch me. 
I just sort of pushed the pillow hard over the girl’s face to 
keep her from yelling. Her ma didn’t touch me; 1 got out 
of the way. But when she left 1 went to the bed and the 
girl. . . . She. . . . She was dead. . . . That was all. She was 
dead. ... I didn’t mean. . . .” 

“You didn’t plan to kill her?” 

“Naw; I swear I didn’t. But what’s the use? Nobody’ll be- 
lieve me.” 

“Honey, don’t you see?” 

“Whatr’ 

“They’U say ” 

Bessie cried again. He caught her face in his hands. He 
was concerned; he wanted to see this thing through her eyes 
at that moment. 

“What?" 

“They’ll. . . . They’ll say you raped her.” 

Bigger stared. He had entirely forgotten the moment when 
he had carried Mary up the stairs. So deeply had he pushed it 
all back down into him thatrit was not until now that its 
real meaning came back. They would say he had raped her 
and there would be no way to prove that he had not. That 
fact had not assumed importance in his eyes until now. He 
stood up, his jaws hardening. Had he raped her? Yes, he had 
raped her. Every time he felt as he had felt that mght, he 



214 


NATIVE SON 


raped. But rape was not what one did to women. Rape was 
what one felt when one’s back was against a wall and one had 
to strike out, whether one wanted to or not, to keep the 
pack from killing one He committed rape every time he 
looked into a white face He was a long, taut piece of rubber 
which a thousand white hands had stretched to the snapping 
point, and when he snapped it was rape But it was rape when 
he cried out in hate deep in his heart as he felt the strain of 
living day by day. That, too, was rape. 

“They found her?’’ Bessie asked. 

“Hunh?” 

“They found her?” 

“Yeah. Her bones. . . 

“Bones?” 

“Aw, Bessie. I didn’t know what to do. I put her in the 
furnace." 

Bessie flung her face to his wet coat and wailed violently, 

“Biggerl” 

“Hunh?” 

“What we going to do?” 

“1 don’t know.” 

“They’ll be looking for us.” 

“They got my picture.” 

“Where can we hide?” 

“We can stay in some of them old houses for awhile.” 

“But they might find us there.” 

“There’s plenty of ’em. It’ll be like hiding in a jungle.” 

The milk on the stove boiled over Bessie rose, her lips still 
twisted with sobs, and turned off the electric switch. She 
poured out a glass of milk and brought it to him He sipped 
it, slowly, then set the glass aside and leaned over again. 
They were silent. Bessie gave him the glass once more and 
he drank it down, then another glass. He stood up, his legs 
and entire body feeling heavy and sleepy. 

“Get your clothes on. And get them blankets and quilts. 
We got to get out of here.” 

She went to the bed and rolled the covers back, rolling the 
pillows with them; as she worked Bigger went to her and 
put his hands on her shoulders. 

“Where’s the bottle?” 

She got it from her purse and gave it to him; he drank a 
long swallow and she put it back. 



FLIGHT 


215 


“Hurry up,” he said. 

She sobbed softly as she worked, pausing now and then to 
wipe tears from her eyes. Bigger stood m the middle of the 
floor, thinking, Maybe they searching at home now; maybe 
they talking to Ma and Vera and Buddy, He crossed the 
floor and twitched back the curtains and looked out. The 
streets were white and empty. He turned and saw Bessie bent 
motionless over the pile of bedclothing. 

“Come on; we got to get out of here.” 

“I don’t care what happens.” 

“Come on. You can’t act like that.” 

What could he do with her? She would be a dangerous 
burden. It would be impossible to take her if she were going 
to act like this, and yet he could not leave her here. Coldly, 
he knew that he had to take her with him, and then at some 
future time settle things with her, settle them in a way that 
would not leave him in any danger. He thought of it calmly, 
as if the decision were being handed down to him by some 
logic not his own, over which he had no control, but which 
he had to obey. 

“You want me to leave you here?” 

“Naw; naw. . . . Bigger!" 

“Well, come on Get your hat and coat ” 

She was facing him, then she sank to her knees. 

“Oh, Lord,” she moaned. “What’s the use of running? 
They’ll catch us anywhere. I should’ve known this would 
happen.” She clenched her hands in front of her and 
rocked to and fro with her eyes closed upon gushing tears. 
“All my life’s been full of hard trouble. If I wasn’t hungry, I 
was sick And if I wasn’t sick, I was in trouble. I ain’t never 
bothered nobody I just worked hard every day as long as I 
can remember, till I was tired enough to drop; then I had to 
get drunk to forget it. I had to get drunk to sleep. That’s all 
I ever did. And now I’m in this. TTiey looking for me and 
when they catch me they’ll kill me.” She bent her head to the 
floor, “God only knows why I ever let you treat me this 
way. I wish to God I never seen you. I wish one of us had 
died before we was bom. God knows I do! All you ever 
caused me was trouble, just plain black trouble. All you 
ever did since we been knowing each other was to get me 
drunk so’s you could have me. That was all! I see it now. I 
ain ’t drunk now. I see everything you ever did to me. I didn’t 



native son 


216 

want to see it before. I was too busy thinking about how good 
I felt when I was with you. 1 thought I was happy, but deep 
down in me I knew I wasn’t But you got me into this murder 
and I see it all now. I been a fool, just a blind dumb black 
drunk fool. Now I got to run away and I know deep down 
in your heart you really don’t care.” 

She stopped, choked. He had not listened to what she had 
said. Her words had made leap to consciousness in him a 
thousand details of her life which he had long known and 
they made him see that she was in no condition to be taken 
along and at the same time in no condition to be left behind. 
It was not with anger or regret that he thought this, but as a 
man seeing what he must do to save himself and feeling 
resolved to do it. 

“Come on, Bessie. We can’t stay here like this ” 

He stooped and with one hand caught hold of her arm and 
with the other he lifted the bundle of bedclothes. He dragged 
her across the threshold, and pulled the door after him. He 
went down the steps; she came stumbling behind, whimper- 
ing When he reached the vestibule, he got his gun from in- 
side his shirt and put it in the pocket of his coat. He might 
^ave to use it any minute now The moment he stepped out 
of that door he would have his life in his hands. Whatever 
happened now depended upon him; and when he felt it that 
way some of his fear left; it was simple again He opened 
the door and an icy blast of wind struck his face. He drew 
back and turned to Bessie. 

“Where’s the bottle?” 

She held out her purse; he got the bottle and took a deep 
drink. 

“Here,” he said. “You better take one.” 

She drank and put the bottle back into the purse. They 
went into the snow, over the frozen streets, through the 
sweeping wind. Once she stopped and began to cry. He 
grabbed her arm. 

“Shut up, now! Come on!” 

They stopped in front of a tall, snow-covered building 
whose many windows gaped blackly, like the eye-sockets of 
empty skulls. He took the purse from her and got the fl^h- 
light. He clutched her arm and pulled her up the steps to 
the front door. It was half-ajar. He put his shoulder to it 
and gave a stout shove; it yielded grudgingly. It was black 



flight 


217 


inside and the feeble glow of the flashlight did not help 
much. A sharp scent of rot floated to hun and he heard the 
scurrying of quick, dry feet over the wooden floor Bessie 
sucked in her breath deeply, about to scream; but Bigger 
gnpped her arm so hard that she bent halfway over and 
moaned. As he went up the steps there came frequently to 
his ears a slight creak, as of a tree bending in wind. With 
one hand he held her wnst, the bundle of bedclothes under 
his arm; with the other he beat off the clinging filmy spider 
webs that came thick onto his lips and eyes He walked to 
the third floor and into a room that had a window opemng 
to a narrow airshaft. It stank of old timber. He circled the 
spot of the flashlight; the floor was carpeted with black dirt 
and he saw two bricks lying in comers. He looked at Bessie; 
her hands covered her face and he could see the damp of 
tears on her black fingers. He dropped the bundle of bed- 
clothes. 

“Unroll ’em and spread ’em out.” 

She obeyed He placed the two pillows near the window, so 
that when he lay down the window would be just above his 
head. He was so cold that his teeth chattered. Bessie stood by 
a wall, leaning against it, crying. 

“ Take it easy,’’ he said 

He hoisted the window and looked up the air-shaft; snow 
flew above the roof of the house He looked downward and 
saw nothing but black darkness into which now and then a 
few flakes of white floated from the sky, falling slowly in the 
dim glow of the flashlight. He lowered the window and 
turned back to Bessie; she had not moved. He crossed the 
floor and took the purse from her and got the half-filled flask 
and drained it. It was good. It burned in his stomach and took 
his mind off the cold and the sound of the wind outside He 
~saf on the edge^f the pallet and lit' a "^cigarette. It was the 
flrsf'Otfe'hT'had srnoR^'Th a long time; he sucked the hot 
smoke deep intoTusTiings ihd hlew”lrbuf slowly. The whiskey 
heated him all over, making his head whirl, Bessie cried, 
softly, piteously. 

“Come on and lay down,” he said. 

^He took the gun from his coat pocket and put it where he 
could reach it. 

“Come on, Bessie You’ll freeze standing there like that,” 

He stood up and pulled off his overcoat and spread it 



NATIVE SON 


218 

upon the top of the blanket for additional cover; then 
switched off the flashlight. The whiskey lulled him, numbed 
his senses. Bessie’s soft whimpers came to him through the 
cold. He took a long last draw from the cigarette and crushed 
it. Bessie’s shoes creaked over the floor. He lay quietly, feeling 
the warmth of the alcohol spreading through him. He was 
tense inside; it was as though he had been compelled to 
hold himself in a certain awkward posture for a long time 
and then when he had the chance to relax he could not. He 
was tense with desire, but as long as he knew that Bessie was 
standing there in the room, he kept it from his mind. Bessie 
was worried and not to her should his mind turn now in that 
way. But that part of him which always made him at least 
outwardly adjusted to what was expected of him made him 
now keep what his body wanted out of full consciousness. 
He heard Bessie’s clothes rustling in the darkness and he 
knew that she was pulling off her coat. Soon she would be 
lying here beside him He waited for her. After a few mo- 
ments he felt her fingers pass lightly over his face; she was 
seeking for the pallet. He reached out, groping, and found 
her arm. 

"Here; lay down.” 

He held the cover for her; she slid down beside him and 
stretched out. Now that she was close to him the whiskey 
made him whirl faster and the tensity of his body mounted. 
A gust of wind rattled the windowpane and made the old 
building creak. He felt snug and warm, even though he knew 
he was in danger. The building might fall upon him as he 
slept, but the police might get him if he were anywhere else. 
He laid his fingers upon Bessie’s shoulders; slowly he felt 
the stiffness go out of her body and as it left the tensity in 
his own rose and his blood grew hot. 

"Cold?” he asked in a soft whisper. 

"Yeah," she breathed. 

"Get close to me.” 

“I never thought I’d be like this.” 

“It won’t be like this always.” 

"I’d just as soon die right now.” 

"Don’t say that.” 

"I'm cold all over. I feel like I’ll never get warm.” 

He drew her closer, till he felt her breath coming full in 
his face. The wind swept against the windowpane and the 



FLIGHT 


219 


building, whining, then whispered out into silence. He turned 
from his back and lay face to face with her, on his side. He 
kissed her, her lips were cold He kept kissing her until her 
lips grew warm and soft A huge warm pole of desire rose 
in him, insistent and demanding, he let his hand slide from 
her shoulder to her breasts, feeling one, then the other; he 
slipped his other arm beneath her head, kissing her again, 
hard and long. 

“Please, Bigger. . . .” 

She tried to turn from him, but his arm held her tightly; 
she lay still, whimpering He heard her sigh, a sigh he knew, 
for he had heard it many times before; but this time he heard 
in it a sigh deep down beneath the familiar one, a sigh of 
resignation, a giving up, a surrender of something more than 
her body. Her head lay limp in the crook of his arm and his 
hand reached for the hem of her dress, caught it in his fingers 
and gathered it up slowly. He was swept by a sudden gust 
of passion and his arms tightened about her. Bessie was still, 
mert, unresisting, without response He kissed her again and 
at once she spoke, not a word, but a resigned and prolonged 
sound that gave forth a meaning of horror accepted Her 
breath went in and out of her lungs in long soft gasps that 
turned finally into an urgent whisper of pleading. 

“Bigger. . . . Don't!" 

Her voice came to him now from out of a deep, far-away 
silence and he paid her no heed. The loud demand of the ten- 
sity of his own body was a voice that drowned out hers. In 
the cold darkness of the room it seemed that he was on some 
vast turning wheel that made him want to turn faster and 
faster; that in turning faster he would get warmth and sleep 
and be rid of his tense fatigue. He was conscious of nothing 
now but her and what he wanted. He flung the cover back, 
ignoring the cold, and not knowing that he did it. Bessie’s 
hands were on his chest, her fingers spreading protestingly 
open, pushing him away. He heard her give a soft moan that 
seemed not to end even when she breathed in or out; a 
moan which he heard, too, from far away and without heed- 
ing. He had to now. Imperiously driven, he rode roughshod 
over her whimpering protests, feeling acutely sorry for her as 
he galloped a frenzied horse down a steep hill in the face of 
a resisting wind don't don’t don’t Bigger. And then the wind 
became so strong that it lifted him high into the dark air, 



native son 


220 

turning him, twisting him, hurling him; faintly, over the 
wind’s howl, he heard: don’t Bigger don’t don’t At a moment 
he could not remember, he bad fallen; and now he lay, spent, 
his lips parted. 

He lay still, feeling rid of that hunger and tenseness and 
hearing the wail of the night wind over and above his and 
her breathing. He turned from her and lay on his back again, 
stretching his legs wide apart. He felt the tenseness flow 
gradually from him. ffis breathing grew less and less heavy 
and rapid until he could no longer hear it, then so slow and 
steady that the consciousness of breathing left him entirely. 
He was not at all sleepy and he lay, feeling Bessie lying there 
beside him. He turned his head in the darkness toward her. 
Her breath came to him slowly. He wondered if she were 
sleeping; somewhere deep in him he knew that he was lymg 
here wailing for her to go to sleep. Bessie did not figure in 
what was before him. He remembered that he had seen two 
bricks lying on the floor of the room as he had entered. He 
tried to recall just where they were, but could not. But he 
was sure they were there somewhere; he would have to find 
them, at least one of them. It would have been much better 
if he had not said any thing to Bessie about the murder. Well, 
it was her own fault She had bothered hmi so much that he 
had had to tell her. And how on earth could he have known 
that they would find Mary’s bones in the furnace so soon? He 
felt no regret as the image of the smoking furnace and the 
white pieces of bone came back to him. He had gazed straight 
at those bones for almost a full minute and had not been 
able to realize that they were the bones of Mary’s body. He 
had thought that they might find out some other way and 
then suddenly confront him with the evidence. Never ^d he 
think that he could stand and look at the evidence and not 
know it 

His thoughts came back to the room. What about Bessie? 
He listened to her breathing. He could not take her with him 
and he could not leave her behind. Yes. She was asleep. He 
reconstructed in his min d the details of the room as he had 
seen them by the glow of the flashlight when he had first 
come in. The window was directly behind him, above his 
head. The flashlight was at his side; the gun was lying beside 
the flashlight, the handle pointing toward him, so he could 
get it quickly and be in a position to use it. But he could 



FLIGHT 


221 


not use the gun; that would make too much noise He would 
have to use a bnck He remembered hoisting the window; it 
had not been hard. Yes, that was what he could do with it, 
throw It out of the window, down the narrow air-shaft where 
nobody would find it until, perhaps, it had begun to smell. 

He could not leave her here and he could not take her 
with him. If he took her along she would be crying all the 
time; she would be blaming him for aU that had happened; 
she would be wanting whiskey to help her to forget and there 
would be times when he could not get it for her. The room 
was black-dark and silent, the city did not exist He sat up 
slowly, holding his breath, listening. Bessie’s breath was deep, 
regular. He could not take her and he could not leave her. 
He stretched out his hand and caught the flashlight. He lis- 
tened again; her breath came like the sleep of the tired. He 
was holding the covers off her by sitting up this way and he 
did not want her to get cold and awaken He eased the covers 
back; she still slept. His finger pressed a button on the flash- 
light and a dim spot of yellow leaped to life on the opposite 
wall. Quickly, he lowered it to the floor, for fear that it 
might disturb her; and as he did so there passed before his 
eyes in a split second of time one of the bncks he had 
glimpsed when he had first come into the room 

He stiffened, Bessie stirred restlessly. Her deep, regular 
breathing had stopped He listened, but could not hear it. He 
saw her breath as a white thread stretching out over a vast 
black gulf and felt that he was clinging to it and was waiting 
to see if the ravel in the white thread which had started 
would continue and let him drop to the rocks far below. 
Then he heard her breathing again, in, out; in, out. He, too, 
breathed again, struggling now with his own breath to con- 
trol it, to keep it from sounding so loud in his throat that it 
would awaken her. The fear that had gripped him when she 
had stirred made him realize that it would have to be quick 
and sure Softly, he poked his legs from beneath the blanket, 
then waited Bessie breathed, slow, long, heavy, regular. He 
lifted his arm and the blanket fell away. He stood up and his 
muscles lifted his body in slow motion. Outside in the cold 
night the wind moaned and died down, like an idiot in an 
icy black pit. Turning, he centered the disc of light where 
he thought Bessie's face must be. Yes. She was asleep. Her 
black face, stained with tears, was calm. He switched oS the 



222 


native son 


light, turned toward the wall and his fingers felt over the cold 
floor for the brick. He found it, gripped it in his hand and 
tiptoed back to the pallet. Her breath guided him in the 
darkness; he stopped where he thought her head must be. He 
couldn’t take her and he couldn’t leave her; so he would have 
to kill her. It was his life against hers. Quickly, to make cer- 
tain where he must strike, he switched on the light, fearing as 
he did so that it might awaken her; then switched it off again, 
retaining as an image before his eyes her black face calm in 
deep sleep. 

He straightened and lifted the brick, but just at that mo- 
ment the reality of it all slipped from him. His heart beat 
wildly, trymg to force its way out of his chest. No! Not this’ 
His breath swelled deep in his lungs and he flexed his muscles, 
trymg to impose his will over his body. He had to do better 
than this. Then, as suddenly as the panic had come, it left. 
But he had to stand here until that picture came back, that 
motive, that drivmg desire to escape the law. Yes. It must be 
this way. A sense of the white blur hovenng near, of Mary 
burning, of Bntten, of the law tracking him down, came back. 
Again, he was ready. The bnck was m his hand. In his 
mind his hand traced a quick mvisible arc through the cold 
air of the room; high above his head his hand paused in 
fancy and imagmatively swooped down to where he thought 
her head must be. He was rigid; not moving This was the way 
it had to be. Then he took a deep breath and his hand 
gripped the brick and shot upward and paused a second and 
then plunged downward through the darkness to the accom- 
paniment of a deep short grunt from his chest and landed 
with a thud. Yes! There was a dull gasp of surprise, then a 
moan. No, that must not bel He lifted the bnck again and 
again, until m falling it struck a sodden mass that gave softly 
but stoutly to each landing blow. Soon seemed to be 
striking a wet wad of cotton, of some damp substance whose 
only life was the jarring of the brick’s impact He stopped, 
hearing his own breath heaving in and out of his chest. He 
was wet all over, and. cold How many times he had lifted the 
brick and brought it down he did not know All he knew was 
that the room was quiet and cold and that the job was done. 

In his left hand he still held the flashlight, grlppmg it 
for sheer life. He wanted to switch it on and see if he had 
really done it, but could not. His knees were shghtly bent, 



FLIGHT 


223 

like a runner’s poised for a race. Fear was in him again; he 
strained his ears. Didn’t he hear her breathing? He bent and 
listened It was his own breathing he heard; he had been 
breathing so loud that he had not been able to tell if Bessie 
was still breathing or not. 

His fingers on the brick began to ache; he had been gripping 
it for some minutes with all the strength of his body. He was 
conscious of something warm and sticky on his hand and his 
sense of it covered him, all over, it cast a warm glow that 
enveloped the surface of his skm He wanted to drop the 
brick, wanted to be free of this warm blood that crept and 
grew powerful with each passing moment. Then a dreadful 
thought rendered him incapable of action. Suppose Bessie 
was not as she had sounded when the brick hit her? Suppose, 
when he turned on the flashlight, he would see her lying there 
staring at him with those round large black eyes, her bloody 
mouth open in awe and wonder and pain and accusation? A 
cold chill, colder than the air of the room, closed about his 
shoulders hke a shawl whose strands were woven of ice. It 
became unbearable and something within him cried out in 
silent agony; he stooped until the brick touched the floor, 
then loosened his fingers, bringing his hand to his stomach 
where he wiped it dry upon his coat. Gradually his breath 
subsided until he could no longer hear it and then he knew 
for certain that Bessie was not breathing The room was filled 
with quiet and cold and death and blood and the deep moan 
of the night wind 

But he had to look. He lifted the flashlight to where he 
thought her head must be and pressed the button. The yellow 
spot sprang wide and dim on an empty stretch of floor; he 
moved it over a circle of crumpled bedclothes. There! Blood 
and lips and hair and face turned to one side and blood 
running slowly. She seemed limp; he could act now. He 
turned off the hght. Could he leave her here? No. Somebody 
might find her. 

Avoiding her, he stepped to the fai side of the pallet, then 
turned in the dark He centered the spot of light where he 
thought the window must be. He walked to the window and 
stopped, waiting to hear someone challenge his right to do 
what he was doing. Nothing happened. He caught hold of the 
wmdow, hoisted it slowly up and the wind blasted his face. 
He turned to Bessie again and threw the light upon the face 



224 


NATIVE SON 


of death and blood He put the flashhght in his pocket and 
stepped carefully in the dark to her side He would have to 
lift her in his arms; his arms hung loose and did not move; 
he just stood. But he had to move her. He had to get her 
to the window. He stooped and slid his hands beneath her 
body, expecting to touch blood, but not touching it. Then he 
lifted her, feeling the wind screaming a protest against him. 
He stepped to the window and lifted her into it; he was 
working fast now that he had started He pushed her as far 
out in his arms as possible, then let go. The body hit and 
bumped against the narrow sides of the air-shaft as it went 
down into blackness. He heard it strike the bottom. 

He turned the light upon the pallet, half-expecting her to 
still be there; but there was only a pool of warm blood, a 
faint veil of vapor hovering in the air above it. Blood was on 
the pillows too He took them and threw them out of the 
window, down the air-shaft. It was over. 

He eased the window down He would take the pallet into 
another room; he wished he could leave it here, but it was 
cold and he needed it. He rolled the quilts and blanket into 
a bundle and picked it up and went into the hall. Then be 
stopped abruptly, his mouth open. Good Godf Goddamn, 
yes, it was in her dress pocketl Now, he was in for it. He 
had thrown Bessie down the air-shaft and the money was m 
the pocket of her dressl What could he do about it? Should 
he go down and get it? Anguish gripped him. Naw' He did 
not want to see her again. He felt that if he should ever see 
her face again he would be overcome with a sense of guilt 
so deep as to be unbearable. That was a dumb thing to do, 
he thought. Throwing her away with aU that money in her 
pocket. He sighed and went through the hall and entered 
another room. Well, he would have to do without money; 
that was all. He spread the quilts upon the floor and rolled 
himself into them. He had seven cents between him and 
starvation and the law £uid the long days ahead. 

He closed his eyes, longing for a sleep that would not come. 
Dunng the last two days and raghts he had lived so fast and 
hard that it was an effort to keep it all real m his mind. So 
close had danger and death come that he could not feel that 
it was he who had undergone it all. And, yet, out of it aU, 
over and above all that had happened, impalpable but real, 
there remained to him a queer sense of power. He had done 



FLIGHT 


225 

this. He had brought all this about. In all of his life these 
two murders were the most meaningful things that had ever 
happened to him He was living, truly and deeply, no matter 
what others might think, looking at him with their blind 
eyes Never had he had the chance to live out the conse- 
quences of his actions, never had his will been so free as in 
this night and day of fear and murder and flight. 

He had killed twice, but in a true sense it was not the 
first time he had ever killed He had killed many times before, 
but only during the last two days had this impulse assumed 
the form of actual killing Blind anger had come often and he 
had either gone behind his curtain or wall, or had quarreled 
and fought And yet, whether in running away or in fighting, 
he had felt the need of the clean satisfaction of facing this 
thing in all its fulness, of fighting it out in the wind and sun- 
light, in front of those whose hate for him was so unfath- 
omably deep that, after they had shunted him off into a cor- 
ner of the city to rot and die, they could turn to him, as 
Mary had that night in the car, and say: "I’d hke to know 
how your people live ” 

But what was he after'^ What did he want? What did he 
love and what did he hate? He did not know. There was 
something he knew and something he felt, something the 
world gave him and something he himself had; something 
spread out in front of him and something spread out in back; 
and never in all his life, with this black skin of his, had the 
two worlds, thought and feeling, will and mind, aspiration 
and satisfaction, been together; never had he felt a sense of 
wholeness. Sometimes, in his room or on the sidewalk, the 
world seemed to him a strange labyrinth even when the streets 
were straight and the walls were square; a chaos which made 
him feel that something in him should be able to understand 
it, divide it, focus it. But only under the stress of hate was 
the conflict resolved. He had been so conditioned m a 
cramped environment that hard words or kicks alone knocked 
him upright and made him capable of action — action that 
was futile because the world was too much for hinr. It was 
then that he closed his eyes and struck out blindly, hitting 
what or whom he could, not looking or caring what or who 
hit back. 

And, under it all, and this made it hard for him, he did 
not want to make believe that it was solved, make beheve that 



NATIVE SON 


226 

he was happy when he was not. He hated his mother for that 
way of hers which was like Bessie’s. What his mother had was 
Bessie’s whiskey, and Bessie’s whiskey was his mother’s reli- 
gion. He did not want to sit on a bench and sing, or he in a 
■corner and sleep. It was when he read the newspapers or 
[magazines, went to the movies, or walked along the streets 
with crowds, that he felt what he wanted: to merge himself 
with others and be a part of this world, to lose himself in 
' it so he could find himself, to be allowed a chance to live 
hke others, even though he was black 

He turned restlessly on his hard pallet and groaned He had 
been caught up in a whirl of thought and feeling which had 
swept him onward and when he opened his eyes he saw that 
daylight stood outside of a dirty window just above his head. 
He jumped up and looked out. The snow had stopped falling 
and the city, white, stiU, was a vast stretch of roof-tops and 
sky. He had been thinking about it for hours here in the dark 
and now there it was, all white, still But what he had thought 
about It had made it real with a reality it did not have now 
in the daylight. When lying in the dark thinking of it, it 
seemed to have something which left it when it was looked 
at. 'Why should not this cold white world nse up as a beau- 
tiful dream in which he could walk and be at home, in 
which it would be easy to tell what to do and what not to do? 
If only someone had gone before and lived or suffered or 
died — made it so that it could be understood! It was too 
stark, not redeemed, not made real with the reality that was 
the warm blood of life. He felt that there was something 
missing, some road which, if he had once found it, would 
have led him to a sure and quiet knowledge. But why think 
of that now? A chance for that was gone forever. He had 
committed murder twice and had created a new world for 
himself. 

He left the room and went down to a window on the 
first floor and looked out The street was quiet and no cars 
were miming. The tracks were buned under snow. No doubt 
the blizzard had tied up traffic all over the city. 

He saw a little girl pick her way through the snow and 
stop at a comer newsstand; a man hurried out of a drug 
store and sold the gurl a paper. Could he snatch a paper 
while the man was inside? The snow was so soft and deep 



FLIGHT 


227 

he might get caught trying to get away. Could he find an 
empty building in which to hide after he had snatched the 
paper? Yes; that was just the thing. He looked carefully up 
and down the street; no one was in sight. He went through 
the door and the wind was like a branding-iron on his face. 
The sun came out, suddenly, so strong and fuU that it made 
him dodge as from a blow; a million bits of sparkle pained 
his eyes He went to the newsstand arid saw a tall black 
headline. HUNT BLACK IN GIRL’S DEATH. Yes; they 
had the story. He walked on and looked for a place to hide 
after he had snatched the paper. At the comer of an alley 
he saw an empty building with a gaping window on the 
first floor. Yes; this was a good place. He mapped out a 
careful plan of action; he did not want it said that he had 
done aU the things he had and then had got caught steahng 
a three-cent newspaper. 

He went to the drug store and looked inside at the man 
leaning against a wall, smoking Yes. Like thisl He reached 
out and grabbed a paper and in the act of grabbing it he 
turned and looked at the man who was looking at him, a 
cigarette slanting whitely across his black chin. Even before 
he moved from his tracks, he ran; he felt his legs turn, start, 
then slip in snow. Goddamn! The white world tilted at a 
sharp angle and the icy wind shot past his face. He fell flat 
and the crumbs of snow ate coldly at his fingers. He got up, 
on one knee, then on both; when he was on his feet he 
turned toward the drug store, still clutching the paper, amazed 
and angry with himself for having been so clumsy. The 
drug store door opened. He ran. 

“Hey!" 

As he ducked down the alley he saw the man standing in 
the snow lookmg at him and he knew that the man would 
not follow. 

“Hey, you!” 

He scrambled to the window, pitched the paper in before 
him, caught hold and heaved himself upward onto the ledge 
and then inside. He landed on his feet and stood peering 
through the window into the alley; all was white and quiet. 
He picked up the paper and walked down the hallway to the 
steps and up to the third floor, using the flashlight and hear- 
ing his footsteps echo faintly in the empty building. He 
stopped, clutch^ his pocket in pamc as his mouth flew open. 



NATIVE SON 


228 

Yes; he had it. He thought that he had dropped the gun 
when he had fallen in the snow, but it was still there. He 
sat on the top step of the stairs and opened out the paper, 
but for quite awhile he did not read. He listened to the 
creaking of the building caused by the wind sweeping over 
the city Yes; he was alone, he looked down and read, 
REPORTERS FIND DALTON GIRL’S BONES IN FUR- 
NACE NEGRO CHAUFFEUR DISAPPEARS FIVE 
THOUSAND POLICE SURROUND BLACK BELT. AU- 
THORITIES HINT SEX CRIME. COMMUNIST LEADER 
PROVES ALIBI. GIRL’S MOTHER IN COLLAPSE. He 
paused and reread the line, AUTHORITIES HINT SEX 
CRIME. Those words excluded him utterly from the world. 
To hint that he had committed a sex crime was to pronounce 
the death sentence; it meant a wiping out of his life even be- 
fore he was captured; it meant death before death came, for 
the white men who read those words would at once kill him 
in their hearts. 

The Mary Dalton kidnaping case was dramatically cracked 
wide open when a group of local newspaper reporters accidental- 
ly discovered several bones, later posiuvely established as those 
of the missing heiress, in the furnace of the Dalton home late 
today. , , . 


Search of the Negro’s home, 3721 Indiana Avenue, in the 
heart of the South Side, failed to reveal his whereabouts. Po- 
lice expressed belief that Miss Dalton met her death at the 
hands of the Negro, perhaps in a sex crime, and that the white 
girl’s body was burned to destroy evidence. 

Bigger looked up. His right hand twitched. He wanted a 
gun in that hand. He got his gun from his pocket and held 
it. He read again: 

Immediately a cordon of five thousand police, augmented by 
more than three thousand volunteers, was thrown about the 
Black Belt. Chief of Police Glenman said this morning that he 
believed that the Negro was still in the city, since all roads lead- 
ing in and out of Chicago were blocked by a record-breaking 
snowfall. 

Indignation rose to white heat last night as the news of the 
Negro’s rape and murder of the missing heiress spread through 
the city. 



flight 229 

Police reported that many windows in the Negro sections 
were smashed. 

Every street car, bus, el tram and auto leaving the South Side 
is bemg stopped and searched Police and vigilantes, armed with 
rifles, tear gas, flashlights, and photos of the killer, began at 18th 
Street this morning and are searching every Negro home under 
a blanket warrant from the mayor They are making a careful 
search of all abandoned buildings, which are said to be hide- 
outs for Negro crimmals. 

Mamtaining that they feared for the lives of their children, a 
delegation of white parents called upon Supermtendent of City 
Schools Horace Minton, and begged that all schools be closed 
until the Negro rapist and murderer was captured. 

Reports were current that several Negro men were beaten in 
various North and West Side neighborhoods. 

In the Hyde Park and Englewood districts, men organized 
vigilante groups and sent word to Chief of Police Glenman 
offering aid. 

Glenman said this morning that the aid of such groups would 
be accepted. He stated that a woefully undermanned police 
force together with recurring waves of Negro crime made such 
a procedure necessary. 

Several hundred Negroes resembling Bigger Thomas were 
rounded up from South Side “hot spots”; they are bemg held 
for mvestigation 

In a radio broadcast last night Mayor Ditz warned of possible 
mob violence and exhorted the public to maintain order. "Every 
effort is being made to apprehend this fiend,” he said. 

It was reported that several hundred Negro employees through- 
out the city had been dismissed from jobs. A well-known bank- 
er’s wife phoned this paper that she had dismissed her Negro 
cook, "for fear that she might poison the children.” 

Bigger’s eyes were wide and his lips were parted; he 
scanned the print quickly; “handwriting experts busy,” “Er- 
lone’s fingerpnnts not found in Dalton home,” “radical still 
in custody”; and then a sentence leaped at Bigger, like a 
blow; 

Police are not yet satisfied with the account Erlone has given 
of himself and are of the conviction that he may be linked to 
the Negro as an accomplice, they feel that the plan of the mur- 
der and kidnaping was too elaborate to be the work of a Negro 
mind. 

At that moment he wanted to walk out into the street and 
up to a policeman and say, “Nol Jan didn’t help mel He 



native son 


230 

didn’t have a damn thing to do with it! I — I did itl” His 
lips twisted in a smile that was half-leer and half-defiance. 

Holding the paper in taut fingers, he read phrases: “Negro 
ordered to clean out ashes, . . . reluctant to respond. . . . 
dreading discovery. . . . smoke-filled basement. . . . tragedy 
of communism and racial mixture possibility that kid- 

nap note was work of reds. . . .” 

Bigger looked up. The building was quiet save for the 
continual creaking caused by the wind. He could not stay 
here. There was no telling when they were coming into this 
neighborhood. He could not leave Chicago; all roads were 
blocked, and all trains, buses and autos were being stopped 
and searched It would have been much better if he had tried 
to leave town at once. He should have gone to some other 
place, perhaps Gary, Indiana, or Evanston. He looked at the 
paper and saw a black-and-white map of the South Side, 
around the borders of which was a shaded portion an inch 
deep. Under the map ran a Ime of small print: 

Shaded portion shows area already covered by police and vigi- 
lantes m search for Negro rapist and murderer. White portion 
shows area yet to be searched. 

He was trapped. He would have to get out of this build- 
ing But where could he go? Empty buildings would serve 
only as long as he stayed within the white portion of the 
map, and the white portion was shrinking rapidly. He re- 
membered that the paper had been printed last night. That 
meant that the white portion was now much smaller than 
was shown here. He closed his eyes, calculating- he was at 
Fifty-third Street and the hunt had started last night at 
Eighteenth Street. If they had gone from Eighteenth Street 
to Twenty-eighth Street last night, then they would have 
gone from Twenty-eighth Street to Thirty-eighth Street since 
then. And by midnight tonight they would be at Forty- 
eighth Street, or right here. 

He wondered about empty flats. The paper had not mei> 
tioned them. Suppose he found a small, empty kitchenette flat 
in a building where many people hved? That was by 
far the safest thing. 

He went to the end of the hall and flashed the light on a 
dirty ceiling and saw a wooden stairway leading to the roof. 



FLIGHT 


231 


He climbed and pulled himself up into a narrow passage at 
the end of which was a door. He kicked at the door several 
times, each kick making it give slightly until he saw snow 
sunshine, and an oblong strip of sky. The wind came sting- 
ing into his face and he remembered how weak and cold 
he was How long could he keep going this way? He 
squeezed through and stood in the snow on the roof. Before 
him was a maze of white, sun-drenched roof-tops. 

He crouched behind a chimney and looked down into the 
street. At the comer he saw the newsstand from which he 
had stolen the paper; the man who had shouted at him was 
standmg by it. Two black men stopped at the newsstand 
and bought a paper, then walked uito a doorway. One of 
them leaned eagerly over the other’s shoulder. Their bps 
moved and they pointed their black fingers at the paper and 
shook their heads as they talked. Two more men joined 
them and soon there was a small knot of them standing m the 
doorway, talkmg and pointing at the paper. They broke up 
abruptly and went away. Yes; they were talking about him . 
Maybe all of the black men and women were talking about 
him this morning: maybe they were hating him for having 
brought this attack upon them. 

He had crouched so long in the snow that when he tried 
to move he found that his legs had lost all feehng. A fear 
that he was freezing seized him. He kicked out his legs to 
restore circulation of his blood, then crawled to the other 
side of the roof. Directly below him, one floor away, through 
a window without shades, he saw a room in which were two 
small iron beds with sheets dirty and crumpled. In one bed 
sat three naked black children looking across the room to 
the other bed on which lay a man and woman, both naked 
and black in the sunlight. There were quick, jerky move- 
ments on the bed where the man and woman lay, and the 
three children were watching. It was familiar; he had seen 
things like that when he was a little boy sleeping five in a 
room. Many mornings he had awakened and watched his 
father and mother. He turned away, thinking. Five of ’em 
sleeping in one room and here’s a great big empty building 
with just me in it. He crawled back to the chimney, seeing 
before his eyes an image of the room of five people, all of 
them blackly naked in the strong sunlight, seen through a 



NATIVE SON 


232 

sweaty pane: the man and woman moving jerkily in tight em- 
brace, and the three children watching. 

Hunger came to his stomach; an icy hand reached down 
his throat and clutched his intestines and tied them into a 
cold, tight knot that ached The memory of the bottle of 
milk Bessie had heated for him last night came back so 
strongly that he could almost taste it. If he had that bottle 
of milk now he would make a fire out of a newspaper and 
hold the bottle over the flame until it was warm. He saw 
himself take the top off the white bottle, with some of the 
warm milk spilling over his black fingers, and then lift the 
bottle to his mouth and tilt his head and drink His stomach 
did a slow flip-flop and he heard it growl. He felt in his 
hunger a deep sense of duty, as powerful as the urge to 
breathe, as intimate as the beat of his heart. He felt like 
dropping to his knees and lifting his face to the sky and say- 
ing: ‘‘I’m hungry!” He wanted to pull off his clothes and roll 
in the snow until something nourishing seeped into his 
body through the pores of his skin. He wanted to grip some- 
thing m his hands so hard that it would turn to food. But 
soon his hunger left; soon he was taking it a little easier; 
soon his mind rose from the desperate call of his body 
and concerned itself with the danger that lurked about him. 
He felt something hard at the comers of his lips and touched 
it with his fingers; it was frozen saliva. 

He crawled back through the door into the narrow passage 
and lowered himself down the shallow wooden steps into the 
hallway. He went to the first floor and stood at the window 
through which he had first climbed. He had to find an empty 
apartment m some building where he could get warm; he felt 
that if he did not get warm soon he would simply lie down 
and close his eyes. Then he had an idea; he wondered why he 
had not thought of it before. He struck a match and lit 
the newspaper; as it blazed he held one hand over it awhile, 
and then the other The heat came to his skin from far off. 
When the paper had burned so close that he could no longer 
hold it, he dropped it to the floor and stamped it out with his 
shoes. At least he could feel his hands now; at least they 
ached and let him know that they were his. 

He climbed through the wmdow and walked to the street, 
turned northward, joining the people passing. No one recog- 
nized him. He looked for a building with a ‘‘For Rent” sign. 



FLIGHT 


233 

He walked two blocks and saw none. He knew that empty 
fiats were scarce in the Black Belt; whenever his mother 
wanted to move she had to put in requests long months in 
advance. He remembered that his mother had once made 
him tramp the streets for two whole months loobng for a 
place to live. The rental agenaes had told him that there were 
not enough houses for Negroes to live in, that the city was 
condemning houses in which Negroes hved as being too old 
and too dangerous for habitation. And he remembered the 
time when the police had come and driven him and his 
mother and his brother and sister out of a flat in a build- 
ing which had collapsed two days after they had moved. 
And he had heard it said that black people, even though they 
could not get good jobs, paid twice as much rent as whites 
for the same kind of flats. He walked five more blocks and 
saw no “For ‘Rent” sign Goddamnl Would he freeze trying to 
find a place in which to get warm? How easy it would be for 
him to hide if he had the whole city in which to move about! 
They keep us bottled up here like wild animals, he thought 
He knew that black people could not go outside of the Black 
Belt to rent a flat; they had to live on their side of the 
“line.” No white real estate man would rent a flat to a 
black man other than in the section; where it had been de- 
cided that black people might hve. 

His fists clenched. What was the use of running away? 
He ought to stop right here in the middle of the sidewalk 
and shout out what this was. It was so wrong that surely 
all the black people round him would do something about it; 
so wrong that all the white people would stop and listen. 
But he knew that they would simply grab him and say that he 
was crazy. He reeled through the streets, his bloodshot 
eyes looking for a place to hide He paused at a comer and 
saw a big black rat leaping over the snow. It shot past him 
into a doorway where it slid out of sight through a hole. He 
looked wistfully at that gaping black hole through which the 
rat had darted to safety. 

He passed a bakery and wanted to go in and buy some 
rolls with the seven cents he had. But the bakery was empty 
of customers and he was afraid that the white proprietor 
would recognize him He would wait until he came to a 
Negro business establishment, but he knew that there were 
not many of them. Almost all businesses in the Black Belt 



NATIVE SOI 


234 

were owned by Jews, Italians, and Greeks, Most Negro busi- 
nesses were funeral parlors; white undertakers refused to 
bother with dead black bodies. He came to a chain grocery 
store. Bread sold here for five cents a loaf, but across the 
“line” where white folks lived, it sold for four. And now, ol 
all times, he could not cross that “line ” He stood looking 
through the plate glass at the people inside. Ought he to go 
in? He had to. He was starving. They trick us every breath 
we drawl he thought. They gouge our eyes out! He opened 
the door and walked to the counter. The warm air made him 
dizzy; he caught hold of a counter in front of him and 
steadied himself. His eyes blurred and there swam before 
him a vast array of red and blue and green and yellow cans 
stacked high upon shelves. All about him he heard the soft 
voices of men and women. 

“You waited on, sir?” 

“A loaf of bread," he whispered. 

“Anythmg else, sir?” 

“Naw.” 

The man’s face went away and came again; he heard paper 
rustling. 

“Cold out, isn’t itr’ 

“Hunh? Oh, yessuh.” 

He laid the nickel on the counter; he saw the blurred loaf 
bemg handed to him. 

“Thank you. Call again.” 

He walked unsteadily to the door with the loaf under his 
arm. Oh, Lord! If only he could get into the street! In the 
doorway he met people coming in; he stood to one side to let 
them pass, then went into the cold wind, looking for an 
empty flat. At any moment he expected to hear his name 
shouted; expected to feel his arms being grabbed. He walked 
five blocks before he saw a two-story flat building with a 
“For Rent” sign in a window. Smoke bulged out of chimneys 
and he knew that it was warm inside. He went to the front 
door and read the little vacancy notice pasted on the glass 
and saw that the flat was a rear one. He went down the alley 
to the rear steps and mounted to the second floor. He tried 
a window and it slid up easily. He was in luck. He hoisted 
himself through and dropped into a warm room, a kitchen. 
He was suddenly tense, listening, He heard voices, they 
seemed to be coming from the room in front of him. Had he 



FLIGHT 


235 

made a mistake? No. The kitchen was not furnished; no one, 
it seemed, lived in here. He tiptoed to the next room and 
found it empty; but he heard the voices even more clearly 
now. He saw still another room leading farther; he tiptoed 
and looked. That room, too, was empty, but the sound of 
the voices was coming so loud that he could make out the 
words. An argument was going on in the front flat. He stood 
with the loaf of bread m his bands, his legs wide apart, 
hstening. 

“Jack, yuh mean t’ stan’ there ’n’ say yuh’d give tha’ 
nigger up t’ the white folks?” 

“Damn nght Ah would!” 

“But, Jack, s’pose he ain’ guilty?” 

“Whut in hell he run off fer then?” 

“Mabbe he thought they wuz gonna blame the murder on 
him\" 

“Lissen, Jim. Ef he wuzn’t guilty, then he oughta stayed 
'n' faced it, Ef Ah knowed where tha' nigger wuz Ah'd turn 
im up ’n’ git these white folks off me.” 

“But, Jack, ever' nigger looks guilty t’ white folks when 
somebody’s done a crime.” 

“Yeah; tha’s ’cause so many of us ack like Bigger Thomas; 
tha’s all. When yuh ack like Bigger Thomas yuh stir up 
trouble " 

“But, Jack, who’s stirring up trouble now? The papers say 
they heatin’ us up all over the city. They don’ care whut 
black man they git We’s all dogs m they sigfatl Yuh gotta 
Stan’ up ’n’ fight these folks.” 

“ 'N’ git killed? HeU, nawl Ah gotta family. Ah gotta wife 
’n’ baby. Ah ain’t startin’ no fool fight. Yuh can’t git no jus- 
tice pertectin’ men who kill. . . 

“We’s all murderers t’ them. Ah tell yuh!” 

“Lissen, Jim. Ah’m a hard-workin’ man. Ah fixes the streets 
wid a pick an’ shovel ever’ day, when Ah git a chance. But 
the boss tor me he didn’t wan’ me in them streets wid this 
mob feelin’ among the white folks. . . . He says Ah’U git 
killed. So he lays me off. Yuh see, tha’ goddamn nigger 
Bigger Thomas made me lose mah job. . , . He made the 
white folks think we’s all jus’ like himl” 

“But, Jack, Ah tell yuh they think it awready. Yuh’s a 
good man, but tha’ ain’ gonna keep ’em from cornin’ t’ yo’ 



NATIVE SON 


236 

home, is it? Hell, nawl We’s all black ’n’ we jus’ as waal 
ack black, don’ yuh see?” 

“Aw, Jim, it’s awright t’ ©t mad, but yuh gotta look at 
things straight Tha' guy made me lose mah job Tha’ am’ 
fair! How is Ah gonna eat? Ef Ah knowed where the black 
sonofabitch wuz Ah’d call the cops ’n’ let ’em come ’n’ git 
’imi” 

“Waal, Ah wouldn’t Ah’d die firs’!’ 

“Man, yuh crazy! Don’ yuh wan’ a home ’n’ wife ’n’ 
chillun? Whut’s fightin’ gonna gjt yuh? There’s mo' of them 
than us. They could kill us all. Yuh gotta learn t’ hve ’n’ git 
erlong wid people.” 

“When folks hate me, Ah don’ wanna git erlong.” 

“But we gotta eai\ We gotta live!” 

“Ah don’ care! Ah’d die firs’l” 

“Aw, hell! Yuh crazy!” 

“Ah don’ care whut yuh say. Ah’d die ’fo’ Ah’d let ’em 
scare me inter telhn’ on tha’ man. Ah tell yuh, Ah’d die 
firs’!” 

He tiptoed back into the kitchen and took out his gun. He 
would stay here and if his own people bothered him he 
would use it. He turned on the water faucet and put his 
mouth under the stream and the water exploded in his stom- 
ach. He sank to his knees and rolled in agony. Soon the 
pain ceased and he drank again. Then, slowly, so that the 
piaper would not rustle, he unwrapped the loaf of bread and 
chewed a piece. It tasted good, like cake, with a sweetish and 
smooth flavor he had never thought bread could have As 
he ate his hunger returned in full force and he sat on the 
floor and held a fistful of bread in each hand, his cheeks 
bulging and his jaws working and his Adam’s apple going up 
and down with each swallow. He could not stop until his 
mouth became so dry that the bread balled on his tongue; he 
held it there, savoring the taste. 

He stretched out on the floor and sighed. He was drowsy, 
but when he was on the verge of sleep he jerked abruptly to a 
dull wakefulness. Finally, he slept, then sat up, half-awake, 
following an unconscious prompting of fear. He groaned and 
his hands flayed the air to ward ofi an invisible danger. Once 
he got up completely and walked a few steps with out- 
stretched hands and then lay down in a spot almost ten 
feet from where he had originally slept Tliere were two 



FIIGHT 


237 


Biggera: one was determined to get rest and sleep at any 
cost, and the other shrank from images charged with terror. 
There came a long space of time m which he did not move; 
he lay on his back, his hands folded upon his chest, his 
mouth and eyes open. His chest rose and fell so slowly and 
gently that it seemed that during the intervals when it did 
not move he would never breathe again A wan sun came 
onto his face, making the black skin shine like dull metal; 
the sun left and the quiet room filled with deep shadows. 

As he slept there stole into his consciousness a disturbing, 
rhythmic throbbing which he tried to fight off to keep trom 
waking up. His mind, protecting him, wove the throb into 
patterns of innocent images He thought he was in the Paris 
Grill listening to the automatic phonograph playing; but that 
was not satisfying. Next, his mind told him that he was at 
home in bed and his mother was singing and shaking the 
mattress, wanting him to get up. But this image, like the 
others, failed to quiet him. The throb pulsed on, insistent, 
and he saw hundreds of black men and women beating 
drums with their fingers. But that, too, did not answer the 
question. He tossed restlessly on the floor, then sprang to his 
feet, his heart poundmg, his ears filled with the sound of 
singing and shouting. 

He went to the window and looked out; in front of him, 
down a few feet, through a window, was a dim-lit church. In 
it a crowd of black men and women stood between long 
rows of wooden benches, singing, clapping bands, and rolling 
their heads. Aw, them folks go to church every day in the 
week, he thought. He licked his lips and got another drink of 
water. How near were the police? What time was it? He 
looked at his watch and found that it had stopped running; 
he had forgotten to wind it. The singing from the church 
vibrated through him, suffusing him with a mood of sen- 
sitive sorrow. He tried not to listen, but it seeped into his 
feelings, whispering of another way of life and death, coax- 
ing him to lie down and sleep and let them come and get him, 
urging him to believe that all life was a sorrow that had to 
be accepted. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the 
music. How long had he slept? What were the papers saying 
now? He had two cents left; that would buy a Times. He 
picked up what remained of the loaf of bread and the music 
sang of surrender, resignation. Steal away, Steal away, Steal 



native son 


238 

away to Jesus. ... He stuffed the bread into his pockets; he 
would eat it some time later He made sure that his gun was 
still intact, hearing, Steal away. Steal away home. I ain’t got 
long to say here. ... It was dangerous to stay here, but it 
was also dangerous to go out. The singmg filled his ears; it 
was complete, self-contained, and it mocked his fear and 
loneliness, his deep yearning for a sense of wholeness. Its 
fulness contrasted so sharply with his htmger, its richness 
with his emptiness, that he recoUed from it while answermg 
it. Would it not have been better for him had he lived in 
that world the music sang of? It would have been easy to 
have hved in it, for it was his mother’s world, humble, 
contrite, believing. It had a center, a core, an axis, a heart 
which he needed but could never have unless he laid his 
head upon a pillow of humihty and gave up his hope of livmg 
in the world. And he would never do that. 

He heard a street car passing in the street; they were run- 
ning again. A wild thought surged through him. Suppose the 
police had already searched this neighborhood and had over- 
looked him? But sober judgment told him that that was im- 
possible. He patted his pocket to make sure the gun was 
there, then climbed through the window. Cold wind smote 
his face. It must be below zero, he thought. At both ends of 
the alley the street lamps glowed through the murky air, re- 
fracted into mammoth balls of light. The sky was dark blue 
and far away. He walked to the end of the alley and turned 
onto the sidewalk, joining the passing stream of people. He 
waited for someone to challenge his right to walk there, but 
no one did. 

At the end of the block he saw a crowd of people and fear 
Clutched hard at his stomach. What were they doing? He 
slowed and saw that they were gathered about a newsstand. 
They were black people and they were buymg papers to read 
about how the white folks were trying to track him to 
earth. He lowered his head and went forward and slipped 
into the crowd. The people were talking excitedly. Cautiously, 
he held out two cents in his cold fingers. When he was close 
enough, he saw the front page; his picture was in the center 
of it. He bent his head lower, hoping that no one would see 
him closdy enough to see that it was he who was pictured 
there. 

“Times,” he said. 



FLIGHT 


239 


He tucked the paper under his arm, edged out of the 
crowd and walked southward, looking for an empty flat. 
At the next comer he saw a “For Rent” sign in a building 
which he knew' was cut up into small kitchenette flats. Tliis 
was what he wanted. He went to the door and read the sign; 
there was an empty flat on the fourth floor. He walked to 
the alley and began to mount the outside rear stairs, his 
feet softly crunching in snow. He heard a door open; he 
stopped, got his gun and waited, kneeling in the snow. 

“Who’s that?” 

It was a woman’s voice. Then a man’s voice sounded. 

"What’s the matter, Ellen?” 

“I thought I heard someone out here on the porch.” 

“Ah, you're simply nervous You’re scared of all this stuff 
you’ve been reading in the papers ” 

"But I’m sure I heard somebody.” 

“Aw, empty the garbage and shut the door. It's cold.’’ 

Bigger flattened against the building, in the dark. He saw a 
woman came out of a door, pause, look round; she went to 
the far end of the porch and dumped something into a 
garbage pail and went back inside I would’ve had to kill ’em 
both if she saw me, he thought He tiptoed up to the fourth 
floor and found two windows, both of them dark. He tried 
to lift the screen in one of them and found it frozen. Gently, 
he shook it to and fro until it loosened; then he lifted it 
out and laid it on the porch in the snow. Inch by inch, he 
raised the window, breathmg so loud that he thought surely 
people must hear him even in the streets. He climbed 
through into a dark room and struck a match. An electric 
light was on the other side of the room and he went to it and 
pulled the chain He put his cap over the bulb so that no 
light would seep throu^ to the outside, then opened the paper. 
Yes; here was a large picture of him. At the top of the pic- 
ture ran a tall line of black type: 24-HOUR SEARCH FAILS 
TO UNEARTH RAPIST. In another colunm he saw: RAID 
1,000 NEGRO HOMES INCIPIENT RIOT QUELLED AT 
47TH AND HALSTED. There was another map of the South 
Side. This time the shaded area had deepened from both 
the north and south, leaving a small square of white in the 
middle of the oblong Black Belt. He stood looking at that 
tiny square of white as though gazing down into the barrel 
of a gun. He was there on that map, in that white spot. 



240 


NATIVE SON 


Standing in a room waiting for them to come. Dead-set, his 
eyes stared above the top of the paper. There was nothing 
left for him hut to shoot it out. He examined the map again; 
the police had come from the north as far south as Fortieth 
Street; and they had come from the south as far north as 
Fiftieth Street. That meant that he was somewhere in be- 
tween, and they were minutes away. He read: 

Today and last night eight thousand armed men combed cel- 
lars, old buildings and more than one thousand Negro homes 
in the Black Belt in a vain effort to apprehend Bigger Thomas, 
20-year-old Negro rapist and killer of Mary Dalton, whose bones 
were found last Sunday night m a furnace. 

Bigger’s eyes went down the page, snatching at what ho 
thought most important; “word spread that the slayer had 
been captured, but was immediately denied,” “before night 
police and vigilantes will have covered the entire Black Belt," 
“raiding numerous Communist headquarters throughout the 
city," “the arrest of hundreds of reds failed, however, to un- 
cover any clues," “public warned by mayor against ‘boring 
from wit^,’ , . . Then: 

A curious sidelight was revealed today when it became known 
that the apartment building m which the Negro killer hved is 
owned and managed by a sub-firm of the Dalton Real Estate 
Company. 

He lowered the paper; he could read no more. The one 
fact to remember was that eight thousand men, white 
men, with guns and gas, were out there in the night looking 
for him According to this paper, they were but a few blocks 
away. Could he get to the roof of this building? If so, maybe 
he Could crouch there until they passed. He thought of 
burying himself deep in the snow of the roof, but he knew 
that that was impossible He puUed the chain again and 
plunged the room in darkness. Using the flashlight, he went 
to the door and opened it and looked into the hall. It was 
empty and a dim light burned at the far end. He put out the 
flashlight and tiptoed, looking at the ceiling, searching for a 
trapdoor leading to the roof. Finally, he saw a pair of wooden 
steps leading upward. Suddenly, his muscles stiffened as 
though a wire strung through his body had jerked him. A 
siren shriek entered the hallway. And immediately he heard 



FLIGHT 


241 

voices, excited, low, tense. From somewhere down below a 
man called, 

“They’s comia’I” 

There was nothing to do now but go up; he clutched the 
wooden steps above him and climbed, wanting to get out of 
sight before anyone came into the hall. He reached the trap- 
door and pushed against it with his head; it opened. Ho 
grabbed something sohd in the darkness above him and 
hoisted himself upward, hoping as he did so that it would 
hold him and not let him go crashing down upon the hall 
floor. He rested on his knees, his chest heaving. Then he 
eased the door shut, peering just in time to see a door in the 
hall opening. That was close! The siren sounded agam; it was 
outside in the street, It seemed to sound a wammg that no one 
could hide from it; that action to escape was futile; that soon 
the men with guns and gas would come and penetrate where 
the siren sound had penetrated. 

He listened; there were throbs of motors; shouts rose 
from the streets; there were screams of women and curses of 
men. He heard footsteps on the stairs. The siren died and 
began again, on a high, shrill note this time. It made him 
want to clutch at his throat; as long as it sounded it seemed 
that he could not breathe. He had to get to the roofl He 
switched on the flashlight and crawled through a narrow loft 
till he came to an opening. He put his shoulder to it and 
heaved; it gave so suddenly and easily that he drew back in 
fear. He thought that someone had snatched it open from 
above and in the same instant of its opening he saw an 
expanse of gleaming white snow against the dark smudge of 
night and a stretch of luminous sky. A medley of crashing 
sounds came, louder than he had thought that sound could 
be: horns, sirens, screams. There was hunger in those sounds 
as they crashed over the roof-tops and chimneys; but under 
it, low and distinct, he heard voices of fear: curses of men 
and cries of children. 

Yes; they were looking for him in every building and on 
every floor and in every room. They wanted him. His eyes 
jerked upward as a huge, sharp beam of yellow light shot into 
the sky. Another came, crossing it like a knife. Then another. 
Soon the sky was full of them. They circled slowly, hem- 
ming him in; bars of light forming a prison, a wall between 
him and the rest of the world; bars weaving a shifting wall 



242 


NATIVE SON 


of light into which he dared not go. He was in the midst of 
it now; this was what he had been running from ever since 
that mght Mrs. Dalton had come mto the room and had 
charged him with such fear that his hands had gripped the 
pillow with fingers of steel and had cut off the air from Mary’s 
lungs. 

Below him was a loud, heavy pounding, lilce a far-away 
rumble of thunder. He had to get to the roof, he struggled 
upward, then fell flat, in deep soft snow, his eyes riveted 
upon a white man across the street upon another roof. Bigger 
watched the man whirl the beam of a flashlight. Would the 
man look in his direction? Could the beam of a flashlight 
make him visible from where the man was? He watched the 
man walk round awhile and then disappear. 

Quickly, he rose and shut the trapdoor. To leave it open 
would create suspicion. Then he fell flat again, listening. 
There was the sound of many running feet below him. It 
seemed that an army was thundering up the stairs There was 
nowhere he could run to now; either they caught him or 
they did not. The thundering grew louder and he knew that 
the men were nearing the top floor. He lifted his eyes and 
looked in all directions, watching roofs to the left and 
nght of him. He did not want to be surprised by someone 
creeping upon him from behind. He saw that the roof to his 
right was not joined to the one upon which he lay; that 
meant that no one could steal upon him from that direction. 
The one to his left was joined to the roof of the building 
upon which he lay, making it one long icy runway. He lifted 
his head and looked, there were other roofs joined, too He 
could run over those roofs, over the snow and round those 
chimneys until he came to the building that dropped to the 
ground. Then that 'Would be all. Would he jump off and 
kill himself? He did not know. He had an almost mystic feel- 
ing that if he were ever cornered something in him would 
prompt him to act the right way, the right way being the 
way that would enable him to die without shame. 

\ He heard a noise close by; he looked round just in time 
to see a white face, a head, then shoulders pull into view 
upon the roof to the right of him. A man stood up, cut 
sharply against the background of roving yellow lights. He 
watched the man twirl a pencil of light over the snow. Bigger 
raised his gun and trained it upon the man and waited; if 



FLIGHT 


243 

the light reached him, he would shoot. What would he do 
afterwards? He did not know. But the yellow spot never 
reached him. He watched the man go down, feet first, then 
shoulders and head; he was gone. 

He relaxed a bit; at least the roof to his right was safe 
now. He waited to hear sounds that would tell him that some- 
one was climbing up through the trapdoor. The rumbling 
below him rose in volume with the passing seconds, but he 
could not tell if the men were coming closer or receding. He 
waited and held his gun. Above his head the sky stretched in 
a cold, dark-blue oval, cupping the city like an iron palm 
covered with silk. The wind blew, hard, icy, without ceasmg. 
It seemed to him that he had already frozen, that pieces 
could be broken off him, as one chips bits from a cake of ice. 
In order to know that he still had the gun in his hand he 
'had to look at it, for his hand no longer had any feeling. 

Then he was stiff with fear There were pounding feet right 
below him. They were on the top floor now. Ought he to run 
to the roof to his left? But he had seen no one search that 
roof; if he ran he might come face to face with someone 
coming up out of another trapdoor. He looked round, think- 
ing that maybe someone was creeping upon hun; but there 
was nobody The sound of feet came louder. He put his ear 
to the naked ice and hstened. Yes; they were walking about 
in the hallway; there were several of them directly under 
him, near the trapdoor He looked again to the roof on his 
left, wanting to run to it and hide; but was afraid. Were 
they coming up? He listened; but there were so many voices 
he could not make out the words He did not want them to 
surprise him Whatever happened, he wanted to go down 
lookmg into the faces of those that would kill him. Finally, 
under the terror-song of the siren, the voices came so close 
that he could hear words clearly. 

“God, but I’m tiredl” 

“I’m coldl” 

“I believe we’re just wasting time.” 

“Say, Jerryl You going to the roof this time?” 

“Yeah; I’ll go.” 

“That nigger might be in New York by now." 

“Yeah. But we better look.” 

“Say, did you see that brown gal in there?” 

“The one that didn’t have much on?” 



244 


NATIVE SON 


"Yeah.” 

"Boy, she was a peach, wasn’t she?” 

“Yeah; 1 wonder what on earth a nigger wants to kill a 
white woman for when he has such good-looking women in 
his own race. . . .” 

“Boy, if she’d let me stay here I’d give up this goddamn 
hunt.” 

"Come on. Give a lift. You’d better hold this ladder. It 
seems rickety.” 

“O.K.” 

“Hurry up. Here comes the captain.” 

Bigger was set. Then he was not set. He clung to a chim- 
ney that stood a foot from the trapdoor. Ought he to stay 
flat or stand up? He stood up, pushing against the chimney, 
trying to merge with it. He held the gun and waited. Was 
the man coming up? He looked to the roof to his left; it was 
still empty But if he ran to it he might meet someone. He 
heard footsteps m the passage of the loft. Yes; the man was 
coming. He waited for the tr,apdoor to open. He held the gun 
tightly; he wondered if he was holding it too tightly, so 
tightly that it would go off before he wanted it to. His fingers 
were so cold that he could not tell how much pressure he 
was putting behind the trigger. Then, like a shooting star 
streaking across a black sky, the fearful thought came to 
him that maybe his fingers were frozen so stiff that he could 
not pull the trigger. Quickly, he felt his right hand with his 
left, but even that did not tell him anything. His right 
hand was so cold that all he felt was one cold piece of flesh 
touching another. He had to wait and see. He had to have 
faith. He had to trust himself, that was all. 

The trapdoor opened, slightly at first, then wide. He 
watched it, his mouth open, staring through the blur of tears 
which the cold wind had whipped into his eyes. The door 
came all the way open, cutting off his view for a moment, 
then it fell back softly upon the snow He saw the bare head 
of a white man — the back of the head — framed in the nar- 
row opening, stenciled against the yellow glare of the rest- 
less bars of light. Then the head turned slightly and Bigger 
saw the side of a white face. He watched the man, moving 
like a figure on the screen in close-up slow motion, come out 
of the hole and stand with his back to him, flashlight in hand. 
The idea took hold swiftly. Hit him. Hit himl In the head. 



FLIGHT 


245 

Whether it would help or not, he did not know and it did 
not matter He had to hit this man betore he turned that spot 
of yellow on him and then yelled for the others In the split 
second that he saw the man’s head, it seemed that an hour 
passed, an hour filled with pain and doubt and anguish and 
suspense, filled with the sharp throb of life lived upon a 
needle-point He lifted his left hand, caught the gun which he 
held in his right, took it into the fingers of his left hand, 
turned it round, caught it again in his right and held it by 
the barrel: all one motion, switt, silent; done in one breath 
with eyes staring unblmkingly Hit him! He bfted it, high, by 
the barrel. Yes. Hit him! His bps formed the words as he 
let It come down with a grunt which was a blending of a 
airse, a prayer and a groan. 

He felt the impact of the blow throughout the length of 
his arm, jarring his flesh slightly. His hand stopped in mid- 
air, at the point where the metal of the gun had met the 
bone of the skull; stopped, frozen, still, as though again 
about to lift and descend. In the instant, almost of the blow 
being struck, the white man emitted something like a soft 
cough; his flashlight fell into the snow, a fast flick of vanishing 
light. The man fell away from Bigger, on his face, full 
length in the cushion of snow, like a man falling soundless- 
ly in a deep dream. Bigger was aware of the clicking sound 
of the metal against the bone of the skull; it stayed on m 
his ears, faint but distinct, like a sharp bnght point lingenng 
on in front of the eyes when a light has gone out suddenly 
and darkness is everywhere — so the click of the gun handle 
against the man’s head stayed on in his ears. He had not 
moved from his tracks; his right hand was still extended, up- 
ward, in mid-air; he lowered it, looking at the man, the sound 
of the metal against bone fading m his ears like a dying 
whisper. 

The sound of the siren had stopped at some time which 
he did not remember, then it started again, and the interval 
in which he had not heard it seemed to hold for him some 
preciously hidden danger, as though for a dreadful mo- 
ment he had gone to sleep at his post with an enemy near. 
He looked through the whirling spokes of light and saw a 
trapdoor open upon the roof to his left. He stood rigid, 
holding the gun, watching, waiting If only the man did not 
see him when he came up! A head came into view; a white 



NATIVE SON 


246 

man climbed out of the trapdoor and stood in the snow. 

He flinched, someone was crawling in the loft below 
him. Would he be trapped? A voice, a little afraid, called 
from the open hole through which the man whom he had 
struck, had climbed. 

“Jerry'" 

The voice sounded clearly in spite of the siren and the 
clang of the fire wagons. 

“Jerry!” 

The voice was a little louder now It was the man’s part- 
ner. Bigger looked back to the roof to his left; the man was 
still standing there, flashing a light round. If he would only 
leave! He had to get away from this trapdoor here If that 
man came up to see about his partner and found him 
sprawled in the snow he would yell before he got a chance 
to hit him He squeezed against the chimney, looking at the 
man on the roof to his left, holding his breath. The man 
turned, walked toward the trapdoor and climbed through. He 
waited to hear the door shut; it did. Now, that roof was 
clear! He breathed a silent prayer. 

“Jeeerry!" 

With gun in hand, Bigger crept across the roof. He came 
to a small mound of brick, where the upjutting ridge of 
the building's flat top joined that of the other. He paused and 
looked back. The hole was still empty, If he tried to climb 
over, would the man come out of the hole just in time to 
see him? He had to take the chance He grabbed the ledge, 
hoisted himself upon it, and lay flat for a moment on the 
ice, then slid to the other side, rolling over. He felt snow 
in his face and eyes, his chest heaved. He crawled to an- 
other chimney and waited; it was so cold that he had a wild 
wish to merge into the icy bncks of the chimney and have 
it all over. He heard the voice again, this time loud, insist- 
ent; 

“Jerry!” 

He looked out from behind the chimney. The hole was still 
empty. But the next time the voice came he knew that the 
man was coming out, for he could feel the tremor of the 
voice, as though it were next to him. 

“Jerry!" 

Then he saw the man’s face come through, it was stuck 
like a piece of white pasteboard above the top of the hole 



FLIGHT 247 

and when the man’s voice sounded again Bigger knew that 
he had seen his partner m the snow. 

“Jerry! Say!” 

Bigger lifted his gun and waited, 

“Jerry. ...” , 

The man came out of the hole and stood over his part- 
ner, then scrambled in again, screaming: 

“Say! Say'” 

Yes; the man would spread the word Ought he to run? 
Suppose he went down into the trapdoor of another roof? 
Naw! There would be people standing in the hallways and 
they would be afraid; they would scream at the sight of hun 
and he would be caught They would be glad to give him 
up and put an end to this terror. It would be better to run 
farther over the roofs He rose; then, just as he was about 
to run, he saw a head bob up m the hole. Another man 
came through and stood over Jerry. He was tall and he 
stooped over Jerry’s form and seemed to be putting his hand 
upon his face. Then another came through. One of the men 
centered his flashlight on Jerry’s body and Bigger saw one 
bend and roll the body over. The spotlight lit Jerry’s face. 
One of the men ran to the sheer edge of the roof, over- 
looking the street; his hand went to his mouth and Bigger 
beard the sound of a whistle, sharp, thin. The roar in the 
street died; the siren stopped, but the circling columns of 
yellow continued to whirl. In the peace and q^uiet of the sud- 
den calm, the man yelled, 

“Surround the block'” 

Bigger heard an answering shout 
“You got a line on ’im?” 

“I think he’s round here!” 

A wild yell went up. Yes; they felt that they were near 
him now. He heard the man’s shnll whistle sounding again. 
It got quiet, but not so quiet as before. There were shouts 
of wild joy floating up. 

“Send up a stretcher and a detail of menl” 

“O.K.!” 

The man turned and went back to Jerry lying in the snow. 
Bigger heard snatches of talk 

“ . . . how do you suppose it happened?” 

“Looks like he was hit. . . 

“. . . . maybe he’s about. . . 



248 


NATIVE SON 


“Quick! Take a look over the roof” 

He saw one of the men rise and flash a light. The circling 
beams lit the roof to a daylight brightness and he could see 
that one man held a gun He would have to cross to other 
roofs before this man or others came upon him. They were 
suspicious and would comb every inch of space on top of 
these houses On all fours, he scrambled to the next ledge 
and then turned and looked back, the man was still standing, 
throwing the spot of yellow about over the snow. Bigger 
grabbed the icy ledge, hoisted himself flat upon it, and slid 
over He did not think now of how much strength was needed 
to climb and run, the fear of capture made him forget even 
the cold, forget even that he had no strength left From 
somewhere in him, out of the depths of flesh and blood and 
bone, he called up energy to run and dodge with but one 
impulse: he had to elude these men. He was crawling to the 
other ledge, over the snow, on his bands and knees, when 
he heard the man yell, 

“There he is!" 

The three words made him stop; he had been listening 
for them all night and when they came he seemed to feel 
the sky crashing soundlessly about him. V/hat was the use 
of running? Would it not be better to stop, stand up, and lift 
his hands high above his head in surrender? Hell, nawl He 
continued to crawl. 

“Stop, you!” 

A shot rang out, whining past his head. He rose and ran 
to the ledge, leaped over; ran to the next ledge, leaped over 
it He darted among the chimneys so that no one could see 
him long enough to shoot. He looked ahead and saw some- 
thing huge and round and white looming up in the dark, a 
bulk rising up sheer from the snow of the roof and swelling 
in the night, glittering in the glare of the searching knives 
of light. Soon he would not be able to go much farther, for 
he would reach that point where the roof ended and dropped 
to the street below. He wove among the chimneys, his feet 
slipping and sliding over snow, keeping in mind that white 
looming bulk which he had glimpsed ahead of him, Was it 
something that would help him? Could he get upon it, or 
behind it, and hold them off? He was listening and expect- 
ing more shots as he ran, but none came 

He stopped at a ledge and looked back; he saw in the 



FLIGHT 


249 

lurid glare of the slashing lances of light a man stumbling 
over the snow. Ought he to stop and shoot? Nawl More 
would be coming in a moment and he would only waste 
time. He had to find some place to hide, some ambush from 
which he could fight. He ran to another ledge, past the white 
looming bulk which now towered directly above him, then 
stopped, blinkmg: deep down below was a sea of white 
faces and he saw himself falling, spinning straight down 
into that ocean of boiling hate. He gnpped the icy ledge with 
his fingers, thinking that if he had been r unnin g any faster 
he would have gone right off the roof, hurtlmg four floors. 

Dizzily, he drew back. This was the end. There were no 
more roofs over which to run and dodge. He looked, the 
man was still coming. Bigger stood up. The siren was louder 
than before and there were more shouts and screams. Yes; 
those m the streets knew now that the police and vigilantes 
had trapped him upon the roofs. He remembered the quick 
glimpse he had had of the white looming bulk; he looked up. 
Directly above hun, white with snow, was a high water 
tank with a round flat top. There was a ladder made of 
iron whose slick rungs were coated with ice that gleamed like 
neon in the circling blades of yellow. He caught hold and 
climbed He did not know where he was going; he knew only 
that he had to hide. 

He reached the top of the tank and three shots sang past 
his head. He lay flat, on his stomach, in snow. He was high 
above the roof-tops and chimneys now and he had a wide 
view. A man was climbing over a near-by ledge, and beyond 
him was a small knot of men, their faces lit to a distinct 
whiteness by the swinging pencils of light. Men were coming 
up out of the trapdoor far m front of him and were moving 
toward him, dodging behmd chimneys. He raised the gun, 
leveled it, aimed, and shot; the men stopped but no one fell. 
He had missed He shot again No one fell. The knot of 
men broke up and disappeared behind ledges and chimneys. 
The noise in the street rose in a flood of strange joy, No 
doubt the sound of the pistol shots made them think that he 
was shot, captured, or dead 

He saw a man runmng toward the water tank in the 
open; he shot again. The man ducked behind a chimney. He 
had missed. Perhaps his hands were too cold to shoot 
straight? Maybe he ought to wait until they were closer? He 



250 


NATIVE SON 


turned his head just in time to see a man climbing over the 
edge of the roof, from the street side The man was mount- 
ing a ladder which had been hoisted up the side of the 
building from the ground He leveled the gun to shoot, but 
the man got over and left his line of vision, disappearing 
under the tank. 

Why could he not shoot straight and fast enough? He 
looked in front of him and saw two men running under 
the tank. There were three men beneath the tank now. They 
were surrounding him, but they could not come for him with- 
out exposing themselves. 

A small black object fell near his head in the snow, hiss- 
ing, shooting forth a white vapor, like a blowing plume, which 
was earned away from him by the wind. Tear gas! With a 
movement of his hand he knocked it off the tank. Another 
came and he knocked it off. Two more came and he shoved 
them off. The wind blew strong, from the lake. It earned the 
gas away from his eyes and nose He heard a man yell, 

“Stop it! The wind's blowing it awayl He’s throwing ’em 
back!’’ 

The bedlam in the street rose higher; more men climbed 
through trapdoors to the roof. He wanted to shoot, but re- 
membered that he had but three bullets left. He would shoot 
when they were closer and he would save one bullet for him- 
self They would not take him alive. 

“Come on down, boy!” 

He did not move; he lay with gun in hand, waiting. Then, 
directly under his eyes, four white fingers caught hold of the 
icy edge of the water tank. He gritted his teeth and struck 
the white fingers with the butt of the gun. Tliey vanished 
and he heard a thud as a body landed on the snow-covered 
roof. He lay waiting for more attempts to climb up, but 
none came. 

“It’s no use fighting, boy! You’re caught! Come on down!” 

He knew that they were afraid, and yet he knew that it 
would soon be over, one way or another: they would either 
capture or kill him. He was surprised that he was not afraid. 
Under it all some part of his mind was beginning to stand 
aside; he was going behind his curtain, his wall, looking 
out with sullen stares of contempt. He was outside of him- 
self now, looking on; he lay under a winter sky ht with tall 



FLIGHT 251 

gleams of whirling light, hearing thirsty screams and hungry 
shouts. He clutched his gun, defiant, unafraid. 

“Tell ’em to hurry with the hose! The nigger's armed!” 

What did that mean? His eyes roved, watching for a mov- 
ing object to shoot at, but none appeared. He was not con- 
scious of his body now; he could not feel himself at all. He 
knew only that he was lying here with a gun in his hand, sur- 
rounded by men who wanted to kill him. Then he heard a 
hammering noise near by; he looked. Behind the edge of a 
chimney he saw a trapdoor open. 

“All right, boyl” a hoarse voice called. “We’re giving you 
your last chance. Come on downl” 

He lay still. What was coming? He knew that they were 
not going to shoot, for they could not see him. Then what? 
And while wondering, he knew; a furious whispei of water, 
gleaming like silver in the bright lights, streaked above his 
head with vicious force, passing him high in the air and 
hitting the roof beyond with a thudding drone. They had 
turned on the water hose; the fire department had done 
that. They were trying to drive him into. the open. The stream 
of water was coming from behind the chimney where the 
trapdoor had opened, but as yet the water had not touched 
him. Above him the rushing stream jerked this way and that; 
they were trying to reach him with it. Then the water hit 
him, in the side; it was tike the blow of a pile driver His 
breath left and he felt a dull pain in his side that spread, 
engulfing him. The water was trying to push him off the 
tank; he gripped the edges hard, feelmg his strength ebbing. 
His chest heaved and he knew from the pain that throbbed 
in him that he would not be able to hold on much longer 
with water pounding at his body like this. He felt cold, 
freezing; his blood turned to ice, it seemed. He gasped, his 
mouth open. Then the gun loosened m his fingers; he 
tried to gnp it again and found that he could not. The water 
left him; he lay gasping, spent. 

“Throw that gun down, boyl” 

He gritted his teeth. The icy water clutched agam at his 
body like a giant hand; the chill of it squeezed him like the 
circling coils of a monstrous boa constrictor. His arms ached. 
He was behind his curtain now, looking down at himself 
freezing under the impact of water in sub-zero wmds. Then 
the stream of water veered from his body. 



NATIVE SON 


252 

“Throw that gun down, boy!” 

He began to shake all over; he let go of the gun com- 
pletely Well, this was all. Why didn’t they come for him? 
He gripped the edges of the tank again, digging his fingers 
into the snow and ice. His strength left He gave up He turned 
over on his back and looked weakly up into the sky through 
the high shifting lattices of light. This was all. They could 
shoot him now. Why didn’t they shoot? Why didn’t they 
come for him? 

“Throw that gun down, boy!” 

They wanted the gun. He did not have it He was not 
afraid any more. He did not have strength enough to be, 

“Throw that gun down, boy!” 

Yes; take the gun and shoot it at them, shoot it empty. 
Slowly, he stretched out his hand and tried to pick up the 
gun, but his fingers were too stiff Something laughed in him, 
cold and hard; he was laughing at himself. Why didn’t they 
come for him? They were afraid. He rolled his eyes, looking 
longingly at the gun. Then, while he was looking at it, the 
stream of hissing silver struck it and whirled it off the tank, 
out of sight. . . . 

“There it is!” 

“Come on down, boy! You’re through!” 

“Don’t go up there! He might have another gun!” 

“Come on down, boyl” 

He was outside of it all now. He was too weak and cold to 
hold onto the edges of the tank any longer; he simply lay 
atop the tank, his mouth and eyes open, listening to the stream 
of water whir above him Then the water hit him again, in the 
side; he felt his body sliding over the slick ice and snow. He 
wanted to hold on, but could not His body teetered on 
the edge, his legs dangled in air. Then he was falling. He 
landed on the roof, on his face, m snow, dazed. 

He opened his eyes and saw a circle of white faces; but he 
was outside of them, behind his curtain, his wall, looking on. 
He heard men talking and their voices came to him from 
far away. 

“That’s him, all rightl” 

“Get ’im down to the street!” 

“The water did it!” 

‘‘He seems half-frozen!” 

“All right, get ’im down to the streetl” 



FLIGHT 


253 


He felt his body being dragged across the snow of the 
roof. Then he was hfted and put, feet first, into a trapdoor. 

“You got ’im?” 

“Yeah! Let ’im drop on!” 

“O K.!” 

He dropped into rough hands inside of the dark loft. They 
were dragging him by his feet. He closed his eyes and his head 
slid along over rough planking. They struggled him through 
the last trapdoor and he knew that he was inside of a building, 
for warm air was on his face. They had him by his legs again 
and were dragging him down a hall, over smooth carpeL 

There was a short stop, then they started down the stairs 
with him, his head bumping along the steps He folded his 
wet arms about his head to save himself, but soon the steps 
had pounded his elbows and arms so hard that all of his 
Strength left. He relaxed, feeling his head bounding painfully 
down the steps. He shut his eyes and tried to lose consciousness. 
But he still felt it, drumming like a hammer in his bram. 
Then it stopped. He was near the street; he could hear shouts 
and screams coming to him like the roar of water. He was 
in the street now, being dragged over snow. His feet were 
up in the air, grasped by strong hands. 

“Kill ’im!” 

“Lynch ’im!” 

“That black sonofabitch!” 

They let go of his feet, he was in the snow, lying flat on 
his back Round him surged a sea ot noise He opened his eyes 
a little and saw an array of faces, white and loommg. 

“Kill that black ape!" 

Two men stretched his arms out, as though about to crucify 
him; they placed a foot on each of his wrists, making them 
sink deep down in the snow. His eyes closed, slowly, and he 
was swallowed m darkness. 



Book Three 

FATE 


Tthere was no day for him now, and there was no night; there 
was but a long stretch of time, a long stretch of time that 
was very short, and then — the end Toward no one in 
the world did he feel any fear now, for he knew that fear was 
useless; and toward no one in the world did he feel any 
hate now, for he knew that hate would not help him. 

Though they carried him from one police station to an- 
other, though they threatened him, persuaded him, bullied 
him, and stormed at him, he steadfastly refused to speak. 
Most of the time he sat with bowed head, staring at the 
floor; or he lay full length upon his stomach, his face 
buried in the crook of an elbow, just as he lay now upon a cot 
with the pale yellow sunshine of a February sky falling ob- 
liquely upon him through the cold steel bars of the Eleventh 
Street Police Station. 

Food was brought to him upon trays and an hour later 
the trays were taken away, untouched. They gave hun 
packages of cigarettes, but they lay on the floor, im- 
opened. He would not even drmk water. He simply lay or sat, 
saying nothing, not noticing when anyone entered or left 
his cell. When they wanted him to go from one place to 
another, they caught him by the wrist and led him; he 

254 



FATE 


255 

went without resistance, walking always with dragging feet, 
head down Even when they snatched him up by the collar, 
his weak body easily lending itself to be manhandled, he 
looked without hope or resentment, his eyes like two still 
pools of black ink m his flaccid face No one had seen him 
save the officials and he had asked to see no one. Not once 
during the three days following his capture had an image of 
what he had none come into his mind. He had thrust the 
whole thing back of him, and there it lay, monstrous and 
horrible. He was not so much in a stupor, as in the gnp of a 
deep physiological resolution not to react to anything. 

Having been thrown by an accidental murder into a posi- 
tion where he had sensed a possible order and meaning 
in his relations with the people about him; having accepted 
the moral guilt and responsibility for that murder because it 
had made him feel free for the first time in his life; havmg 
felt in his heart some obscure need to be at home with 
people and having demanded ransom money to enable him to 
do It — having done all this and failed, he chose not to 
struggle any more With a supreme act of will springing from 
the essence of his being, he turned away from his life and the 
long tram of disastrous consequences that had flowed from it 
and looked wistfully upon the dark face of ancient waters 
upon which some spint had breathed and created him, the 
dark face of the waters from which he had been first made 
in the image of a man with a man’s obscure need and urge; 
feeling that he wanted to sink back into those waters and 
rest eternally. 

And yet his desire to crush all faith in him was in itself 
built upon a sense of faith. The feelings of his body reasoned 
that if there could be no merging with the men and women 
about him, there should be a merging with some other part 
of the natural world m which he lived. Out of the mood of 
renunciation there sprang up in him_again the will to kffi. 
But this time it was not directed outward toward people, 
but inward, upon himself. Why not kill that wayward yearn- 
ing within him that had led him to this end? He had reached 
out and killed and had not solved anythmg, so why not 
reach inward and kill that which had duped him? This 
feeling sprang up of itself, organically, automaucally; like the 
rotted hull of a seed forming the soil m which it should 
grow again. 



NATIVE SON 


256 

And, under and above it all, there was the fear of death 
before which he was naked and without defense; he had to 
go forward and meet his end like any other living thing 
upon the earth. And regulating his attitude toward death 
was the fact that he was black, unequal, and despised. Pas- 
sively, he hungered for another orbit between two poles 
that would let him hve again; for a new mode of life that 
would catch him up with the tension of hate and love. 
There would have to hover above him, like the stars in a 
full sky, a vast configuration of images and symbols whose 
magic and power could lift him up and make him live so m- 
tensely that the dread of being black and unequal would be 
forgotten; that even death would not matter, that it would 
be a victory. This would have to happen before he could look 
them in the face again; a new pnde and a new humihty would 
have to be bom in him, a humility sprmging from a new iden- 
I tification with some part of the world m which he lived, and 
1 this identification forming the basis for a new hope that 
I would function in him as pride and digmty. 

But maybe it would never come; maybe there was no such 
thing for him; maybe he would have to go to his end just as 
he was, dumb, driven, with the shadow of empUness in his 
eyes. Maybe this was all. Maybe the confused promptings, the 
excitement, the tingling, the elation — maybe they were false 
lights tht-i led nowhere. Maybe they were nght when they said 
that a black skin was bad, the covenng of an apelike animal. 
Maybe he was just unlucky, a man bom for dark doom, 
an obscene joke happening amid a colossal din of siren screams 
and white faces and circling lances of light under a cold and 
silken sky. But he could not feel that for long; just as soon as 
his feelings reached such a conclusion, the conviction that 
there was some way out surged back into him, strong and 
powerful, and, in his present state, condemning and paralyz- 
ing. 

And then one morning a group of men came and caught 
him by the wrists and led him mto a large room m the 
Cook County Morgue, m which there were many people. He 
blinked from the bright lights and heard loud and excited 
talkmg. The compact array of white faces and the con- 
stant flashing of bulbs for pictures made him stare m moimt- 
ing amazement His defense of indifference could protect 
him no longer. At first he thought that it was the tnal that 



FATE 257 

had begun, and he was prepared to sink back into his dream 
of nothingness But it was not a court room It was too in- 
formal for that. He felt crossing his feelings a sensation 
akin to the same one he had had when the reporters had 
first come mto Mr Dalton’s basement with their hats on, smok- 
ing cigars and cigarettes, asking questions, only now it was 
much stronger. There was in the air a silent mockery that 
challenged him. It was not their hate he felt; it was some- 
thing deeper than that. He sensed that m their attitude to- 
ward him they had gone beyond hate. He heard in the sound of 
their voices a patient certainty; he saw their eyes gazing at 
him with calm conviction Though he could not have put it 
into words, he felt that not only had they resolved to put him 
to death, but that they were determined to make his death mean 
more than a mere punishment; that they regarded him as 
a figment of that black world which they feared and were 
anxious to keep under control The atmosphere of the crowd 
told him that they were going to use his death as a bloody 
symbol of fear to wave before the eyes of that black worli 
And as he felt it, rebellion rose in him. He had sunk to the 
lowest point this side of death, but when he felt his life again 
threatened in a way that meant that he was to go down 
the dark road a helpless spectacle of sport for others, he 
sprang back into action, alive, contending. 

He tried to move his hands and found that they were 
shackled by strong bands of cold steel to white wrists of 
policemen sitting to either side of him. He looked round; a 
pohceman stood in front of him and one in back. He heard 
a sharp, metallic click and bis hands were free There was a 
rising murmur of voices and he sensed that it was caused by 
bis movements. Then his eyes became riveted on a white face, 
tilted slightly upward. The skin had a quality of taut anx- 
iety and around the oval of white face was a framework of 
whiter hair. It was Mrs. Dalton, sitting quietly, her frail, 
waxen hands folded in her lap. Bigger remembered as he 
looked at her that moment of stark terror when he had stood 
at the side of the bed In the dark blue room hearing his 
heart pound against his nbs with his fingers upon the pillow 
pressing down upon Mary’s face to keep her from mumbling. 

Sitting beside Mrs. Dalton was Mr. Dalton, looking 
straight before him with wide-open, unblinking eyes. Mr. 



NATIVE SON 


258 

Dalton turned slowly and looked at Bigger and Bigger’s 
eyes fell. 

He saw Jan; blond hair; blue eyes; a sturdy, kind face look- 
ing squarely into his own. Hot shame flooded him as the 
scene in the car came back; he felt agam the pressure of 
Jan’s fingers upon his hand. And then shame was replaced by 
guilty anger as he recalled Jan’s confronting hum upon the 
sidewalk in the snow. 

He was getting tired; the more he came to himself, 
the more a sense of fatigue seeped mto him. He looked down 
at his clothes; they were damp and crumpled and the sleeves 
of his coat were drawn halfway up tus arms. His shirt was 
open and he could see the black skin of his chest. Suddenly, 
he felt the fingers of his right hand throb with pain. Two 
fingernails were tom off. He could not remember how it had 
happened. He tned to move his tongue and found it swollen. 
His bps were dry and cracked and he wanted water. He felt 
giddy. The lights and faces whirled slowly, hke a merry-go- 
round. He was falling swiftly through space. . . . 

When he opened his eyes he was stretched out upon a cot. 
A white face loomed above him. He tried to lift his body 
and was pushed back. 

“Take it easy Jioy. Here; drink this.” 

A glass touched his lips. Ought he to drink? But what 
difference did it make? He swallowed something warm; it 
was milk When the glass was empty he lay upon his back 
and stared at the white ceilmg; the memory of Bessie and 
the milk she had warmed for him came back strongly. Then 
the image of her death came and he closed his eyes, trying 
to forget His stomach growled; he was feehng better. He 
heard a low drone of voices. He gnpped the edge of the cot 
and sat up. 

“Hey! How're you feeling, boy?” 

“Hunh?" he grunted. It was the first time he had spoken 
since they had caught him. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

He closed his eyes and turned his head away, sensing that 
they were white and he was black, that they were the captors 
and he the captive. 

“He’s coming out of it.” 

“Yeah. That crowd must’ve got ’im.” 

“Say, boyl You want something to eat?” 



FATE 


259 


He did not answer. 

“Get ’im something. He doesn’t know what he wants,” 

“You better lie down, boy. You’ll have to go back to the 
inquest this afternoon.” 

He felt their hands pushing him back onto the cot. The 
door clos^; he looked round. He was alone. The room was 
quiet. He had come out mto the world again. He had not 
tried to; it had just happened. He was bemg turned here and 
there by a surge of strange forces he could not understand. 
It was not to save his life that he had come out; he did 
not care what they did to him. They could place him in the 
electric chair right now, for all he cared. It was to save his 
pnde that he had come. He did not want them to make sport 
of him. If they had killed him that night when they were 
dragging him down the steps, that would have been a deed 
bom of their strength over him. But he felt they had no nght 
to sit and watch him, to use him for whatever they wanted. 

The door opened and a policeman brought in a tray of 
food, set it on a chair next to him and left. There was steak 
,and fried potatoes and cofiee. Gingerly, he cut a piece of 
steak and put it into his mouth. It tasted so good that he 
tried to swallow it before he chewed it, He sat on the 
edge of the cot and drew the chair forward so that he could 
reach the food. He ate so fast that his jaws ached. He stopped 
and held the food in his mouth, feelmg the juices of his 
glands flowing round it. When he was through, he lit a 
cigarette, stretched out upon the cot and closed his eyes. 
He dozed oS to an uneasy sleep. 

Then suddenly he sat upright He had not seen a newspaper 
in a long time. What were they saying now? He got up; he 
swayed and the room lurched. He was still weak and giddy. 
He leaned against the wall and walked slowly to the door. 
Cautiously, he turned the knob. The door swung m and 
he looked mto the face of a pohceman. 

“What’s the matter, boy?” 

He saw a heavy gun sagging at the man’s hip. The police- 
man caught him by the wrist and led him back to the cot. 

“Here; take it easy.” 

“I want a paper,” he said. 

“Hunh? A paper?” 

“1 want to read the paper.” 

“Wait a minute. I’ll see." 



260 


NATIVE SON 


The policeman went out and presently returned with an 
armful of papers. 

“Here you are, boy. You’re in ’em all.” 

He did not turn to the papers until after the man had left 
the room. Then he spread out the Tribune and saw: NEGRO 
RAPIST FAINTS AT INQUEST. He understood now, it was 
the inquest he had been taken to. He had fainted and they 
had brought him here. He read: 

Overwhelmed by the sight of his accusers, Bigger Thomas, 
Negro sex-slayer, fainted dramatically this morning at the m- 
quest of Mary Dalton, millionaire Chicago heiress. 

Emerging from a stupor for the first time since his capture 
last Monday night, the black killer sat cowed and fearful as 
hundreds sought to get a glimpse of hun 

"He looks exactly like an apel” exclaimed a terrified young 
white girl who watched the black slayer being loaded onto a 
stretcher after he had fainted 

Though the Negro killer’s body does not seem compactly built, 
he gives the impression of possessing abnormal physical strength. 
He is about five feet, nine inches tall and his skin is exceedingly 
black. His lower jaw protrudes obnoxiously, reminding one of 
a jungle beast. 

His arms are long, hanging m a dangling fashion to his knees. 
It is easy to imagine how this man, in the grip of a brain-numb- 
ing sex passion, overpowered little Mary Dalton, raped her, mur- 
dered her, beheaded her, then stuffed her body into a roaring 
furnace to destroy the evidence of his crime. 

His shoulders are huge, muscular, and he keeps them 
hunched, as if about to spring upon you at any moment He 
looks at the world with a strange, sullen, fixed-from-under stare, 
as though defying all efforts of compassion. 

All in all, he seems a beast utterly untouched by the soften- 
ing influences of modem civilization In speech and manner he 
lacks the charm of the average, harmless, genial, grinning south- 
ern darky so beloved by the American people. 

The moment the killer made his appearance at the inquest, 
there were shouts of “Lynch ’im' Kill ’iml" 

But the brutish Negro seemed indifferent to his fate, as 
though inquests, trials, and even the looming certainty of the 
electric chair held no terror for him He acted hke an earlier 
missing link in the human species. He seemed out of place in a 
white man’s civilization, 

An Irish police captain remarked with deep conviction; *Tm 
convinced that death is the only cure for the likes of him.*’ 

For three days the Negro has refused all nourishment. Po- 
lice believe that he is either trying to starve himself to death 



FATE 261 

and cheat the chair, or that he is trying to excite sympathy for 
himself. 

From Jackson, Mississippi, came a report yesterday from Ed- 
ward Robertson, editor of the Jackson Daily Star, regarding 
Bigger Thomas’ boyhood there. The editor wired. 

“Thomas comes of a poor darky family of a shiftless and 
immoral variety. He was raised here and is known to local resi- 
dents as an irreformable sneak thief and liar. We were unable 
to send him to the cham gang because of his extreme youth. 

“Our experience here m Daie with such depraved types of 
Negroes has shown that only the death penalty, inflicted in a 
pubhc and dramatic manner, has any influence upon their pe- 
culiar mentality. Had that nigger Thomas lived in Mississippi 
and committed such a crime, no power under Heaven could 
have saved him from death at the hands of indignant citizens. 

“I think it but proper to mform you that in many quarters 
it is believed that Thomas, despite his dead-black complexion, 
may have a mmor porhon of white blood m his veins, a mixture 
which generally makes for a criminal and mtractable nature. 

“Down here in Dixie we keep Negroes firmly in their places 
and we make them know that if they so much as touch a white 
woman, good or bad, they cannot live. 

“When Negroes become resentful over imagined wrongs, 
Dothmg brings them to their senses so quickly as when citizens 
take the law into their bands and make an example out of a 
trouble-making mgger. 

“Crunes such as the Bigger Thomas murders could be less- 
ened by segregating all Negroes in parks, playgrounds, caf6s, the- 
atres, and street cars. Residential segregation is imperative. Such 
measures tend to keep them as much as possible out of direct 
contact with white women and lessen their attacks against them- 

“We of the South believe that the North encourages Negroes 
to get more education than they are organically capable of ab- 
sorbing, with the result that northern Negroes are generally more 
unhappy and restless than those of the South. If separate schools 
were maintained, it would be fairly easy to limit the Negroes’ 
education by regulating the appropriation of moneys through 
city, county, and state legislative bodies. 

“Still another psychological deterrent can be attained by con- 
ditiomng Negroes so that they have to pay deference to the 
white person with whom they come m contact. This is done by 
regulating their speech and actions. We have found that the 
injection of an element of constant fear has aided us greatly in 
handling the problem.” 

He lowered the paper; he could not read any more. Yes, 
of course, they were going to kill him; but they were having 
this sport with him before they did it. He held very still; he 



262 


NATIVE SON 


was trying to make a decision; not thinking, but feeling 
it out Ought he to go back behind his wall? Could he go 
back now? He felt that he could not But would not any 
effort he made not turn out like the others? Why go forward 
and meet more hate? He lay on the cot, feeling as he had 
felt that night when his fingers had gripped the icy edges 
of the water tank under the roving flares of light, knowing 
that men crouched below him with guns and tear gas, hear- 
ing the screams of sirens and shouts rismg thirstily from ten 
thousand throats. . . . 

Overcome with drowsiness, he closed his eyes; then opened 
them abruptly The door swung in and he saw a black face. 
Who was this? A tall, well-dressed black man came forward 
and paused Bigger pulled up and leaned on his elbow. The 
man came all the way to the cot and stretched forth a dingy 
palm, touching Bigger’s hand, 

“Mah po’ boy) May the good Lawd have mercy on yuh.” 

He stared at the man’s jet-black suit and remembered who 
he was: Reverend Hammond, the pastor of his mother’s 
church And at once he was on guard agarnst the man. He 
shut his heart and tried to stifle all feeling in him He feared 
that the preacher would make him feel remorseful. He wanted 
to tell him to go; but so closely associated in his mind was 
the man with his mother and what she stood for that he could 
not speak In his feelings he could not tell the difference 
between what this man evoked in him and what he had read 
in the papers; the love of his own kind and the hate of 
others made him feel equally guilty now. 

“How yuh feel, son?” the man asked, he did not answer 
and the man’s voice hurried on; “Yo’ ma ast me t’ come ’n’ 
see yuh. She wants t’ come too.” 

The preacher knelt upon the concrete floor and closed 
his eyes. Bigger clamped his teeth and flexed his muscles; he 
knew what was coming. 

“Lawd Jesus, turn Yo’ eyes ’n’ look inter the heart of this 
po’ sinner! Yuh said mercy wuz awways Yo’s ’n’ ef we ast 
fer it on bended knee Yuh’d po’ it out inter our hearts ’n’ 
make our cups run over! We’s astm’ Yuh t’ po’ out Yo’ 
mercy now, Lawdl Po’ it out fer this po’ sinner boy who 
Stan’s in deep need of itl Ef his sins be as scarlet, Lawd, 
wash ’em white as snow! Fergive ’im fer whutever he’s done, 
Lawd! Let the light of Yo’ love guide ’im th’u these dark 



FATE 


263 


days! ’N’ he’p them who’s a-tryin’ to he’p ’im, Lawd! Enter 
inter they hearts ’n’ breathe compassion on they sperits! We 
ast this in the nama Vo’ Son Jesus who died on the cross ’n’ 
gave us the mercy of Yo’ love! Ahmcn. . . 

Bigger stared imblinkingly at the white wall before him as 
the preacher’s words registered themselves in his conscious- 
ness. He knew without listening what they meant; it was the 
old voice of his mother telling of suffering, of hope, of love 
beyond this world. And he loathed it because it made him 
feel as condemned and guilty as the voice of those who 
hated him, 

“Son ” 

Bigger glanced at the preacher, and then away. 

“Fergjt ever’thing but yo’ soul, son. Take yo’ mind off ever’- 
thing but eternal life. Fergit whut the newspaper say. Fergit 
yuh’s black. Gawd looks past yo’ skin ’n’ inter yo’ soul, son. 
He’s lookin’ at the only parta yuh that’s His. He wants yuh 
V He loves yuh. Give yo’se’f t’ ’Im, son. Lissen, Icmme 
tell yuh why yuh’s here; lemme tell yuh a story tha’ll make 
yo’ heart glad. . . 

Bigger sat very still, listening and not listening. If someone 
had afterwards asked him to repeat the preacher’s words, 
he would not have been able to do so. But he felt and sensed 
their meaning. As the preacher talked there appeared before 
him a vast black silent void and the images of the preacher 
swam in that void, grew large and powerful; familiar images 
which his mother had given him when he was a child at her 
knee; images which in turn aroused impulses long dormant, 
impulses that he had suppressed and sought to shunt from 
his life. They were images which had once given him a reason 
for living, had explained the world. Now they sprawled before 
his eyes and seized his emotions in a spell of awe and wonder. 

... an endless reach of deq) murmuring waters upon whose 
face was darkness and there was no form no shape no sun 
no stars and no land and a voice came out of the darkness 
and the waters moved to obey and there emerged slowly a 
huge spinning ball and the voice said let there be light and 
there was light and it was good light and the voice said let 
there be a firmament and the waters parted and there was a 
vast space over the waters which formed into clouds stretch- 
ing above the waters and like an echo the voice came from 
far away saying let dry land appear and with thundering 



264 


NATIVE SON 


rustling the waters drained off and mountain peaks reared 
into view and there were valleys and rivers and the voice 
called the dry land earth and the waters seas and the earth 
grew grass and trees and flowers that gave off seed that fell 
to the earth to grow again and the earth was lit by the light 
of a million stars and for the day there was a sun and for 
the night there was a moon and there were days and weeks 
and months and years and the voice called out of the twi- 
light and moving creatures came forth out of the great waters 
whales and all kinds of living creeping things and on the land 
there were beasts and cattle and the voice said let us make 
man in our own image and from the dusty earth a man rose 
Up and loomed against the day and the sun and after him a 
woman rose up and loomed against the night and the moon 
and they lived as one flesh and there was no Pain no Long- 
ing no Time no Death and Life was like the flowers that 
bloomed round them in the garden of earth and out of the 
clouds came a voice saying eat not of the fruit of the tree 
in the midst of the garden, neither touch it, lest ye die. . . . 

The preacher's words ceased droning. Bigger looked at 
him out of the comers of his eyes. The preacher’s face was 
black and sad and earnest and made him feel a sense of guilt 
deeper than that which even his murder of Mary had made 
him feel. He had killed within himself the preacher’s haunting 
picture of Lfe even before lie had killed Mary; that had been 
his first murder. And now the preacher made it walk before 
his eyes like a ghost in the night, creating within him a sense 
> of exclusion that was as cold as a block of ice. Why should 
this thing nse now to plague him after he had pressed a 
pillow of fear and hate over its face to smother it to death? 
To those who wanted to kill him he was not human, not 

( included in that picture of Creation; and that was why he had 
killed it. To live, he had created a new world for himself, 
and for that he was to die. 

Again the preacher’s words seeped into his feelings: i 

“Son, yuh know whut tha’ tree wuz? It wuz the tree of 
knowledge. It wuzn’t enuff fer man t’ be like Gawd, he wanted 
t' know why. ’N’ all Gawd wanted ’im t’ do wuz bloom like 
the flowers in the fiel’s, live as chillun. Man wanted t’ know 
why ’n’ he fell from light t’ darkness, from love t’ damnation, 
from blessedness t' shame, "N’ Gawd cast ’em outa the garden 
’n’ tor the man he had t’ git his bread by the sweat of his 



FATE 


265 


brow ’n’ tol' the woman she had t’ bring fo’th her chillun 
in pain ’n’ sonow. The worl’ turned ergin ’em ’n’ they had 
t’ fight the worl’ fer life. . . 

. . . the man and the woman walked fearfully among trees 
their hands covering their nakedness and back of them high 
in the twilight against the clouds an angel waved a flaming 
sword dnving them out of the garden into the wild night of 
cold wind and tears and pain and death and the man and 
woman took their food and burnt it to send smoke to the sky 
begging forgiveness. . . . 

“Son, fer thousan’s of years we been prayin’ for Gawd t’ 
take th’ cuss off us. Gawd heard our prayers ’n’ said He’d 
show us a way back t’ ’Im. His Son Jesus came down t’ earth 
’n’ put on human flesh ’n’ lived ’n’ died t’ show us the way. 
Jesus let men crucify ’Im; but His death wuz a victory. He 
showed us tha' t’ live in this worl’ wuz t’ be crucified by it. 
This worl’ am’ our home. Life ever’ day is a crucifixion. 
There ain’ but one way out, son, ’n’ tha’s Jesus’ way, the 
way of love ’n’ fergiveness. Be like Jesus. Don’t resist. Thank 
Gawd tha’ He done chose this way fer yuh t’ come t’ ’Im. It’s 
love tha’s gotta save yuh, son. Yuh gotta b’lieve tha’ Gawd 
gives eternal life th’u the love of Jesus. Son, look at me. . . 

Bigger’s black face rested in his hands and he did not move, 

“Son, promise me yuh’ll stop halin’ long enuff fer Gawd’s 
love t’ come inter yo’ heart.” 

Bigger said nothing. 

“Won’t yuh proinise, son?” 

Bigger covered his eyes with his hands. 

“Jus’ say yuh’ll fry, son.” 

Bigger felt that if the preacher kept asking he would leap 
up and strike him. How could he believe in that which he 
had killed? He was guilty. The preacher rose, sighed, and 
drew from his pocket a small wooden cross with a chain 
upon it. 

"Look, son. Ah’m holdm’ in mah hands a wooden cross 
taken from a tree. A tree is the worl’, son ’N’ nailed t’ this 
tree is a sufferin’ man. Tha’s whut life is, son. Sufferin’. How 
km yuh keep from b’lievin’ the word of Gawd when Ah’m 
holdin’ befo’ yo’ eyes the only thing tha’ gives a meanin’ t’ 
yo’ life? Here, lemme put it roim’ yo’ neck. When yuh git 
alone, look at this cross, son, ’n’ b’heve. , . 

They were silent. The wooden cross hung next to the skm 



NATtVE SON 


266 

of Bigger’s chest. He was feeling the words of the preacher, 
feeling that life was flesh nailed to the world, a longing spirit 
imprisoned in the days of the earth. 

He glanced up, hearing the doorknob turn. The door 
opened and Jan stood framed in it, hesitating. Bigger sprang 
to his feet, galvanized by fear. The preacher also stood, tocdt 
a step backward, bowed, and said, 

“Good mavmin’, suh.” 

Bigger wondered what Jan could want of him now. Was he 
not caught and ready for trial? Would not Jan get his 
revenge? Bigger stiffened as Jan walked to the middle of the 
floor and stood facing him. Then it suddenly occurred to 
Bigger that he need not be standing, that he had no reason 
to fear bodily harm from Jan here in jail. He sat and bowed 
his head; the room was quiet, so quiet that Bigger heard the 
preacher and Jan breathing. The white man upon whom he 
had tried to blame his crime stood before him and he sat 
waiung to hear angry words. WeU, why didn’t he speak? 
He lifted his eyes; Jan was lookmg straight at him and he 
looked away. But Jan’s face was not angry. If he were not 
angry, then what did he want? He looked again and saw 
Jan’s lips move to speak, but no words came. And when Jan 
did speak his voice was low and there were long pauses 
between the words; it seemed to Bigger that he was listening 
to a man talk to himself. 

"Bigger, maybe I haven’t the words to say what I want to 
say, but I’m going to try. . . . This thing hit me like a bomb. 
It t-t-took me all week to get myself together. They had 
me in jail and I couldn’t for the hfe of me figure out what 
was happening. , . . I — I don’t want to worry you. Bigger, 
I know you’re in trouble. But there’s something I just got to 
say. ... You needn’t talk to me unless you want to. Bigger. 
I think I know something of what you’re feeling now. I’m 
not dumb. Bigger; I can understand, even if I didn’t seem 
to understand that night. . . Jan paused, swallowed, and 
lit a cigareue. “Well, you jarred me. ... I see now. I was 
kind of Wind. I— I just wanted to come here and tell you 
that I’m not angry. , . . I’m not angry and I want you to let 
me help you. I don’t hate you for trying to blame this thing 
on me. . . , Maybe you had good reasons. ... I don’t know. 
And maybe in a certain sense, I’m the one who’s really 
guilty. . . Jan paused again and sucked long and hard at 



FATE 


267 

his cigarette, blew the smoke out slowly and nervously bit 
his lips. “Bigger, I’ve never done anything against you and 
your people in my life. But I'm a white man and it would be 
asking too much to ask you not to hate me, when every white 
man you see hates you. I — I know my. . . . my face looks 
like theirs to you, even though I don’t feel like they do. But 
I didn’t know we were so far apart until that night. ... I 
can understand now why you pulled that gun on me when 
I waited outside that house to talk to you. It was the only 
thing you could have done; but I didn’t know my White face 
was making you feel guilty, condemning you. . . Jan’s lips 
hung open, but no words came from them; his eyes searched 
the comers of the room. 

Bigger sat silently, bewildered, feeling that he was on a vast 
blind wheel being turned by stray gusts of wmd. The preacher 
came forward. 

“Is yuh Mistah Erlone?” 

“Yes,” said Jan, turning. 

“Tha’ wuz a mighty fine thing you jus’ said, suh. Ef any- 
body needs he’p, this po’ boy sho does. Ah’m Reveren’ Ham- 
mon’.” 

Bigger saw Jan and the preacher shake hands. 

“Though this thing hurt me, I got somethmg out of it,” 
Jan said, sitting down and turning to Bigger. “It made me 
see deeper into men It made me see things I knew, but had 
forgotten. I — I lost something, but I got something, too. , . 
Jan tugged at his tie and the room was silent, waiting for 
him to speak. “It taught me that it’s your right to hate me. 
Bigger. I see now that you couldn’t do anything else but 
that; it was all you had. But, Bigger, if I say you got the 
right to hate me, then that ought to make things a little 
different, oughtn’t it? Ever since I got out of jail I’ve been 
thinking this thing over and I felt that I’m the one who ought 
to be in jail for murder instead of you. But that can’t be, 
Bigger. I can’t take upon myself the blame for what one 
hundred million people have done.” Jan leaned forward and 
stared at the floor. “I’m not trying to make up to you, 
Bigger. I didn’t come here to feel sorry for you. I don’t sup- 
pose you’re so much worse off than the rest of us who get 
tangled up in this world. I’m here because I’m trying to live 
up to this thing as I see it. And it isn’t easy, Bigger. I — I 
loved that girl you killed. I — ^I loved . . .” His voice broke 



NATIVE SON 


268 


and Bigger saw his lips tremble. “1 was in jail grieving for 
Mary and then I thought of all the black men who’ve been 
killed, the black men who had to grieve when their people 
were snatched from them in slavery and since slavery. I 
thought that if they could stand it, then I ought to.” Jan 
crushed the cigarette with his shoe. “At first, I thought old 
man Dalton was trying to frame me, and I wanted to kill 
him. And when 1 heard that you’d done it, I wanted to kill 
you. And then 1 got to thinking. I saw if I killed, this thing 
would go on and on and never stop. I said, ‘I’m going to 
help that guy, if he lets me.’ ” 

"May Gawd in heaven bless yuh, son,” the preacher said. 

Jan bt another cigarette and offered one to Bigger; but 
Bigger refused by keeping his hands folded in front of him 
and staring stonily at the floor Jan’s words were strange; 
he had never heard such talk before. The meaning of what 
Jan had said was so new that he could not react to it; he 
simply sat, staring, wondering, afraid even to look at Jan. 

‘'I..et me be on your side. Bigger,” Jan said. “I can fight 
this thing with you, just like you’ve started it. I can come 
from all of those white people and stand here with you. 
Listen, I got a friend, a lawyer. His name is Max. He under- 
stands this thmg and wants to help you. Won’t you talk to 
him?” 


Bigger understood that Jan was not holding him guilty 
for what he had done. Was this a trap? He looked at Jan 
and saw a white face, but an honest face. This white man 
believed in him, and the moment he felt that belief he felt 
guilty again; but in a different sense now. Suddenly, this white 
man had come up to him, flung aside the curtain and walked 
into the room of bis life Jan had spoken a declaration of 
l&iendship that would make other white men hate him|[* a 
particle of white rock had detached itself from that looming 
(mountain of white hate and had rolled down the slope, 
jstoppmg still at his feetT\The word had become flesh. Tpor 
[the first time in his hfe ar white man became a human b^g 
to him^and the reality of Jan’s humaiuty came in a stab of 
piemorse; he had killed what this man loved and had hurt him. 
He saw Jan as though someone had performed an operation 
'upon his eyes, or as though someone had snatched a deform- 
ing mask from Jan’s face,'^ 



PATE 269 

Bigger started nervously; the preacher’s hand came to Ms 
shoulder. 

“Ah don’t wanna break in ’n’ meddle where Ah am’ got 
no bisness, suh," the preacher said in a tone that was militant, 
but deferring. “But there ain’ no usa draggin’ no communism 
in this thing, Mistah. Ah respecks yo’ feelm's powerfully, 
suh, but whut yuh’s astin’ jus’ stirs up mo’ hate. Whut this 
po’ boy needs is understandin’ . . 

“But he’s got to fight for it,” Jan said. 

“Ah’m wid yuh when yuh wanna change men’s hearts,” 
the preacher said "But Ah can't go wid yuh when yuh 
wanna stir up mo’ hate. . . .” 

Bigger sat looking from one to the other, bewildered. 

“How on earth are you going to change men’s hearts when 
the newspapers are fanmng hate mto them every day?" Jan 
asked. 

“Gawd kin change ’eml" the preacher said fervently, 

Jan turned to Bigger. 

“Won’t you let my friend help you, Bigger?” 

Bigger’s eyes looked round the room, as if seeking a means 
of escape. What could he say? He was guilty, 

"Forget me,’’ he mumbled. 

“I can’t,” Jan said 

“It’s over for me,” Bigger said. 

“Don't you believe in yourself?” 

“Naw,” Bigger whispered tensely. 

“You believed enough to kill. You thought you were set- 
tling something, or you wouldn’t’ve killed,” Jan said. 

Bigger stared and did not answer. Did tMs man believe in 
him that much? 

“I want you to talk to Max,” Jan said. 

Jan went to the door. A policeman opened it from the out- 
side. Bigger sat, open-mouthed, trying to feel where all this 
was bearing him. He saw a man's head come into the door, 
a head strange and white, with silver hair and a lean white 
face that he had never seen before, 

“Come on in,’’ Jan said. 

“Thanks.” 

The voice was quiet, firm, but kind; there was about the 
man’s thin lips a faint smile that seemed to have always been 
there. The man stepped inside; be was tall. 

“How are you, Bigger?” 



NATIVE SON 


270 

Bigger did not answer. He was doubtful again. Was this 
a trap of some kind? 

“This IS Reverend Hammond, Max," Jan said. 

Max shook hands with the preacher, then turned to Bigger, 

“I want to talk with you,” Max said. “I’m from the Labor 
Defenders. I want to help you ” 

“1 ain’t got no money,” Bigger said. 

“I know that. Listen, Bigger, don’t be afraid of me And 
don’t be afraid of Jan. We’re not angry with you. I want to 
represent you in coart. Have you spoken to any other lawyer?” 

Bigger looked at Jan and Max again. TTiey seemed all 
right. But how on earth could they help him? He wanted 
help, but dared not think that anybody would want to do 
anything for him now. 

“Nawsuh,” he whispered, 

“How have they treated you? Did they beat you?” 

“I been sick,” Bigger said, knowing that he had to explain 
why he had not spoken or eaten in three days. “I been sick 
and I don’t know.” 

“Are you willing to let us handle your case?” 

“1 ain’t got no money.” 

“Forget about that. Listen, they’re taking you back to the 
inquest this afternoon But you don’t have to answer any 
quesUons, see? Just sit and say nothing. I’ll be there and you 
won’t have to be scared. After the inquest they’ll take you to 
the Cook County Jail and I’U be over to talk with you.” 

"Yessuh.” 

“Here; take these cigarettes.” 

“Thank you, suh ” 

The door swung in and a tall, big-faced man with gray 
eyes came forward hurriedly Max and Jan and the preacher 
stood to one side. Bigger stared at the man’s face, it teased 
him. Then he remembered; it was Buckley, the man whose 
face he had seen the workmen pasting upon a billboard a few 
mornings ago Bigger listened to the men talk, feeling in the 
tones of their voices a deep hostility toward one another. 

“So, you’re homing in again, hunh, Max?” 

“This boy’s my cheat and he's signing no confessions,” 
Max said. 

“What the hell do I want with his confession?” Buckley 
asked. “We’ve got enough evidence on him to put him m a 
dozen electric chairs.” 



PATE 


271 


“I’ll see that his rights are protected,” Max said. 

“Hell, man! You can’t do him any good.” 

Max turned to Bigger. 

“Don’t let these people scare you, Bigger.” 

Bigger heard, but did not answer. 

"What in hell you reds can get out of bothenng with a 
black thing like that, God only knows,” Buckley said, rubbing 
his hands across his eyes. 

“You’re afraid that you won’t be able to kill this boy before 
the April elections, if we handle his case, aren’t you, Buck- 
ley?” Jan asked. 

Buckley whirled. 

“Why in God’s name can’t you pick out somebody decent 
to defend sometimes? Somebody who’ll appreciate it. Why do 
you reds take up with scum like this . . ?” 

“You and your tactics have forced us to defend this boy,” 
Max said. 

"What do you mean?" Buckley asked. 

“If you had not dragged the name of the Communist 
Party into this murder, I’d not be here,” Max said. 

"Hell, this boy signed the name of the Communist Party 
to the kidnap note. . . .” 

"I realize that,” Max said. “The boy got the idea from the 
newspapers. I’m defending this boy because I’m convinced 
that men like you made him what he is. His trying to blame 
the Communists for his crime was a natural reaction for him , 
He had heard men like you lie about the Communists so 
much that he believed them. If I can make the people of this 
country understand why this boy acted like he did. I’ll be 
doing more than defending^l^ ” 

Buckley laughed, bit offtH^ip of a fresh cigar, lit it and 
stood puffing. He advanced to the center of the room, cocked 
his head to one side, took the cigar out of his mouth and 
squinted at Bigger. 

“Boy, did you ever think you’d be as important a man as 
you are right now?” 

Bigger had been on the verge of accepting the friendship 
of Jan and Max, and now this man stood before him. What 
did the puny fnendship of Jan and Max mean in the face of 
a million men like Buckley? 

“I’m the State’s Attorney,” Buckley said, walking from one 
end of the room to the other. His hat was on the back of 



272 


native son 


his head. A white silk handkerchief peeped from the breast 
pocket of his black coat He paused by the cot, towering 
over Bigger How soon were they going to kill him, Bigger 
wondered. The breath of warm hope which Jan and Max 
had blown so softly upon faun turned to frost under Buck- 
ley’s cold gaze 

“Boy, I’d like to give you a piece of good advice I’m going 
to be honest with you and tell you that you don’t have to 
talk to me unless you want to, and I’ll tell you that what- 
ever you say to me might be used against you in court, see? 
But, boy, you’re caughtl That’s the first thing you want to 
understand We know what you’ve done. We got the evidence. 
So you might as well talk.” 

“He’ll decide that with me,’’ Max said. 

Buckley and Max faced each other 

“Listen, Max You’re wasting your time You’ll never get 
this boy off in a ^million years Nobody can commit a crime 
against a family like the Daltons and sneak out of it. Those 
poor old parents are going to be in that court room to see 
that this boy burnsl This boy killed the only thing they had. 
If you want to save your face, you and your buddy can leave 
now and the papers won’t know you were in here. . . 

“I reserve the right to determine whether 1 should defend 
him or not,” Max said. 

“Listen, Max. You think I’m trying to hoodwink you, 
don’t you?” Buckley asked, turning and gomg to the door. 
"Let me show you something,” 

A policeman opened the door and Buckley said, 

‘Tell ’em to come in.” 

"O.K.” 

The room was silent. Bigger sat on the cot, looking at the 
floor. He hated this, if anything couid be done in his behalf, 
he himself wanted to do it; not others. The more he saw 
others exerting themselves, the emptier he felt. He saw the 
policeman fling the door wide open. Mr. and Mrs. Dalton 
walked in slowly and stood; Mr Dalton was looking at him, 
his face white. Bigger half-rose in dread, then sat agam, his 
eyes lifted, but unseeing. He sank back to the cot. 

Swiftly, Buckley crossed the room and shook hands with 
Mr. Dalton, and, turning to Mrs Dalton, said: 

"I’m dreadfully sorry, madam." 

Bigger saw Mr. Dalton look at him, then at Buckley. 



FATE 273 

“Did he say who was Ln this thing with hun?” Mr. Dalton 
asked. 

“He’s just come out of it,” Buckley said. “And he’s got a 
lawyer now.” 

“I have charge of his defense,’’ Max said. 

Bigger saw Mr. Dalton look briefly at Jan 

“Bigger, you’re a foolish boy if you don’t tell who was in 
this thing with you,” Mr Dalton said. 

Bigger tightened and did not answer. Max walked over to 
Bigger and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I will talk to him, Mr. Dalton,” Max said. 

“I’m not here to bully this boy,” Mr Dalton said. “But 
it’ll go easier with him if he tells all he knows.” 

There was silence. The preacher came forward slowly, hat 
in hand, and stood in front of Mr Dalton 

“Ah’m a preacher of the gospel, suh,” he said. “ ’N' Ah’m 
mighty sorry erbout whut’s done happened t’ yo’ (daughter 
Ah knows of yo’ good work, suh. ’N’ the likes of this 
should’na come t’ yuh ” 

Mr. Dalton sighed and said wearily, 

“Thank you.” 

“The best thing you can do is help us,” Buckley said, 
turning to Max. “A grave wrong has been done to two people 
who’ve helped Negroes more than anybody I know.” 

"I sympathize with you, Mr. Dalton,” Max said. “But 
killing this boy isn’t going to help you or any of us.” 

“I tried to help him,” Mr Dalton said 

“We wanted to send him to school,” said Mrs. Dalton 
faintly. 

“I know,” Max said. “But those things don’t touch the 
fundamental problem involved here. This boy comes from 
an oppressed people. Even if he’s done wrong, we must take 
that into consideration.” 

“I want you to know that my heart is not bitter,” Mr. 
Dalton said. “What this boy has done will not influence my 
relations with the Negro people. Why, only today I sent a 
dozen ping-pong tables to the South Side Boys’ Club. . , .” 

“Mr Dalton'” Max exclaimed, coming forward suddenly. 
“My God, man! Will ping-pong keep men from murdering? 
Can’t you see'> Even after losing your daughter, you’re going 
to keep going in the same direction? Don’t you grant as much 
life-feehng to other men as you have? Could ping-pong have 



274 


NATIVE SON 


kept you from making your millions? This boy and millions 
like him want a meaningful life, not ping-pong . . 

“What do you want me to do?” Mr. Dalton asked coldly. 
“Do you want me to die and atone for a suffering I never 
caused? I’m not responsible for the state of this world. I’m 
doing all one man can. 1 suppose you want me to take my 
money and fling it out to the millions who have nothing?” 

“No; no; no. ... Not that,” Max said “If you felt that 
millions of others experienced life as deeply as you, but 
differently, you’d see that what you’re doing doesn’t help. 
Something of a more fundamental nature. . . 

“Communism!” Buckley boomed, pulling down the comers 
of his lips. "Gentlemen, let’s don’t be childish! This boy's 
going on trial for his life. My job is to enforce the laws of 
this state . . .” 

Buckley’s voice stopped as the door opened and the 
policeman looked inside. 

“What IS it?” Buckley asked. 

“The boy’s folks are here.” 

Bigger cringed. Not thisl Not here; not now\ He did not 
want his mother to come in here now, with these people 
standing round He looked about with a wild, pleading ex- 
pression, Buckley watched him, then turned back to the 
policeman. 

“They have a right to see ’im,” Buckley said. “Let ’em 
come in ” 

Though he sat, Bigger felt his legs trembling He was so 
tense in body and mind that when the door swung in he 
bounded up and stood m the middle of the room. He saw his 
mother’s face, he wanted to run to her and push her back 
through the door. She was standing still, one hand upon the 
doorknob; the other band clutched a frayed pocketbook, 
which she droppec! and ran to him, throwing her arms around 
him, crying, 

“My baby. . . 

Bigger’s body was stiff with dread and indecision He felt 
his mother’s arms tight about him and he looked over her 
shoulder and saw Vera and Buddy come slowly inside and 
stand, looking about timidly. Beyond them he saw Gus 
and G.H and Jack, their mouths open in awe and fear. Vera’s 
lips were trembling and Buddy’s hands were clenched. Buck- 
ley, the preacher, Jan, Max, Mr. and Mrs. D^ton stood along 



FATE 


275 

the wall, behind him, looking on silently. Bigger wanted to 
whirl and blot them from sight. The kind words of Jan and 
Max were forgotten now. He felt that all of the white people 
in the room were measuring every inch of his weakness. He 
identified himself with his family and felt their naked sh arne 
under the eyes of white folks While looking at his brother 
and sister and feelmg his mother’s arms about him; while 
knowing that Jack and G.H. and Gus were standing awk- 
wardly in the doorway staring at him in curious disbelief — 
while being conscious of all this. Bigger felt a wild and out- 
landish conviction surge in him: They ought to be gladi It 
was a strange but strong feeling, springing from the very 
depths of his life. Had he not taken fully upon himself the 
crime of being black? Had he not done the thing which they 
dreaded above all others? Then they ought not stand here 
and pity him, cry over him; but look at him and go home, 
contented, feeling that their shame was washed away. 

“Oh, Bigger, son!” his mother wailed. “We been so wor- 
ried. . . . We ain’t slept a single nighti The police is there all 
the time. . . . They stand outside our door. , , , 'They watch 
and follow us everywhere! Son, son. . . .” 

Bigger heard her sobs; but what could he do? She ought 
not to have come here. Buddy came over to him, fumbling 
with his cap. 

“Listen, Bigger, if you didn’t do it, just tell me and I’ll 
fix ’em. m get a gun and kill four or five of ’em. . . .’’ 

The room gasped. Bigger turned his head quickly and saw 
that the white faces along the wall were shocked and startled. 

‘^on’t talk that way, Buddy,” the mother sobbed. “You 
want me to die right now? I can’t stand no more of this. 
You mustn’t talk that way. . . . We in enough trouble 
now ” 

“Don’t let ’em treat you bad. Bigger,” Buddy said stoutly. 

Bigger wanted to comfort them in the presence of the 
white folks, but did not know how. Desperately, he cast 
about for something to say. Hate and shame boiled in him 
against the people b ehin d his back; he tried to think of 
words that would defy them, words that would let them 
know that he had a world and life of his own in spite of 
them. And at the same time he wanted those words to stop 
the tears of his mother and sister, to quiet and soothe the 
anger of his brother; he longed to stop those tears and that 



276 


NATIVE SON 


anger because he knew that they were futile, that the people 
who stood along the wall back of him had the destiny of 
him and his family in their hands 

“Aw, Ma, don’t you-all worry none,” he said, amazed at 
his own words; he was possessed by a queer, imperious 
nervous energy. “I’ll be out of this in no time.” 

His mother gave him an incredulous stare. Bigger turned 
his head again and looked feverishly and defiantly at the 
white faces along the wall. They were starmg at him in 
surprise Buckley’s lips were twisted in a faint smile. Jan 
and Max looked dismayed. Mrs. Dalton, white as the wall 
behind her, listened, open-mouthed. The preacher and Mr, 
Dalton were shaking their heads sadly. Bigger knew that no 
one in the room, except Buddy, believed him. His mother 
turned her face away and cried. Vera knelt upon the floor and 
covered her face with her hands. 

“Bigger,” his mother’s voice came low and quiet; she caught 
his face between the palms of her trembling hands. “Bigger,” 
she said, “tell me. Is there anything, anything we can do?" 

He knew that his mother’s question had been prompted 
by his telling her that he would get out of all this. He knew 
that they had nothing; they were so poor that they were 
depending upon public charity to eat. He was ashamed of 
what he had done; he should have been honest with them. 
It had been a wild and foolish impulse that had made him 
try to appear strong and innocent before them. Maybe they 
would remember him only by those foolish words after they 
had killed him. His mother’s eyes were sad, skeptical; but 
kind, patient, waiting for his answer. Yes; he had to wipe out 
that lie, not only so that they might know the truth, but to 
redeem himself m the eyes of those white faces behind his 
back along the white wall. He was lost; but he would not 
cringe; he would not lie, not in the presence of that white 
mountain loontung behind him. 

“There ain’t nothing, Ma. But I’m all right,” he mumbled. 

There was silence Buddy lowered his eyes. Vera sobbed 
louder. She seemed so little and helpless. She should not 
have come here. Her sorrow accused him. If he could only 
make her go home It was precisely to keep from feeling this 
hate and shame and despair that he had always acted hard 
and tough toward them; and now he was without defense. 



FATE 277 

His eyes roved the room, seeing Gus and G.H. and JacL 
They saw him looking at them and came forward. 

“I’m sorry, Bigger,” Jack said, his eyes on the floor. 

“They picked us up, too,” G.H. said, as though trying to 
comfort Bigger with the fact. “But Mr. Erlone and Mr. Max 
got us out. They tried to make us tell about a lot of thin gs 
we didn’t do, but we wouldn’t tell.” 

“Anything we can do. Bigger?” Gus asked. 

“I’m all right,” Bigger said. “Say, when you go, take Ma 
home, will you?” 

“Sure; sure,” they said. 

Again there was silence and Bigger’s taut nerves ached to 
fill it up. 

“How you 1-1-like them sewing classes at the Y, Vera?” 
he asked. 

Vera tightened her hands over her face, 

“Bigger,” his mother sobbed, trying to talk through her 
tears. “Bigger, honey, she won’t go to school no more. She 
^ys the other girls look at and make her ’shamed, . . ." 
r He had lived and acted on the assumption that he was 
Mone, and now he saw that he had not been. What he had 
done made others suffer. No matter how much he would long 
for them to forget him, they would not be able to. His family 
was a part of him, not only in blood, but in spiritjHe sat 
on the cot and his mother knelt at his feet. Heir^ce was 
lifted to his; her eyes were empty, eyes that looked upward 
when the last hope of earth had faUed. 

“I’m praying for you, son. That’s all I can do now,” she 
said. “The Lord knows I did all I could for you and your 
sister and brother. I scrubbed and washed and ironed from 
mnming till night, day in and day out, as long as I had 
strength in my old body. I did all I Iknow how, son, and if I 
left anything undone, it’s just ’cause I didn’t know. It’s just 
'cause your poor old ma couldn’t see, son. When I heard the 
news of what happened, I got on my knees and turned my 
eyes to God and asked Him if I had raised you wrong. I 
asked Him to let me bear your burden if I did wrong by 
you. Honey, your poor old ma can’t do nothing now. I’m old 
and this is too much for me. I’m at the end of my rope. 
Listen, son, your poor old ma wants you to promise her one 
thmg. . . . Honey, when ain’t nobody round you, when you 
alone, get on your knees and tell God everything. Ask Him 



NATIVE SON 


278 

to guide you. Tliat’s all you can do now. Son, promise me 
you'll go to Him." 

“Ahmen!" the preacher intoned fervently, 

"Forget me, Ma,” Bigger said. 

"Son, I can’t forget you. You’re my boy. I brought you 
into this world.” 

"Forget me, Ma." 

“Son, I’m worried about you. I can’t help it. You got your 
soul to save. I won’t be able to rest easy as long as I’m on 
this earth if I thought you had gone away from us without 
asking God for help. Bigger, we had a hard time in this 
world, but through it all, we been together, ain’t we?” 

“Yessum," he whispered. 

“Son, there’s a place where we can be together again in the 
great bye and bye. God’s done fixed it so we can. He’s fixed a 
meeting place for us, a place where we can live without 
fear. No matter what happens to us here, we can be together 
in God’s heaven. Bigger, your old ma’s a-begging you to 
promise her you’ll pray." 

“She’s tellin’ yuh nght, son,” the preacher said. 

“Forget me, Ma,” Bigger said, 

“Don’t you want to see your old ma again, son?” 

Slowly, he stood up and lifted his hands and tried to touch 
his mother’s face and tell her yes; and as he did so some- 
thing screamed deep down in him that it was a lie, that 
seeing her after they killed him would never be. But his 
mother believed; it was her last hope; it was what had kept 
her going through the long years. And she was now believing 
it all the harder because of the trouble he had brought upon 
her His hands finally touched her face and he said with a 
sigh (knowing that it would never be, knowing that his heart 
did not believe, knowmg that when he died, it would be over, 
forever) : 

“I’U pray, Ma.” 

Vera ran to him and embraced him. Buddy looked grateful. 
His mother was so happy that all she could do was cry. Jack 
and G.H. and Gus smiled. Then his mother stood up and 
encircled him with her arms. 

“Come here, Vera,” she whimpered. 

Vera came. 

“Come here, Buddy.” 

Buddy came. 



FATE 


279 


“Now, put your arms around your brother,’’ she said. 

They stood in the middle of the floor, crying, with theu’ 
arms locked about Bigger. Bigger held his face stiff, hatmg 
them and himseK, feeling the white people along the wall 
watching. His mother mumbled a prayer, to which the 
preacher chanted. 

“Lord, here we is, maybe for the last time. You gave me 
these children, Lord, and told me to raise ’em. If I failed. 
Lord, I did the best I could (Ahmen!) These poor children’s 
been with me a long time and they’s all I got. Lord, please 
let me see ’em again after the sorrow and suffenng of this 
world! (Hear her, Lawd!) Lord, please let me see ’em where I 
can love ’em in peace. Let me see ’em again beyond the 
gravel (Have mercy, Jesus!) You said You’d heed prayer. 
Lord, and I’m asking this in the name of Your son ’’ 

“Ahmen 'n’ Gawd bless yuh, Sistah Thomas,” the preacher 
said. 

They took their arms from round Bigger, silently, slowly, 
then turned their faces away, as though their weakness made 
them ashamed in the presence of powers greater than them- 
selves. 

“We leaving you now with God, Bigger,” his mother said. 
“Be sure and pray, son.” 

They kissed him. 

Buckley came forward. 

“You’ll have to go now, Mrs Thomas,” he said. He turned 
to Mr. and Mrs. Dalton. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dalton. I didn’t 
mean to keep you standing there so long. But you see how 
things are . . ." 

Bigger saw his mother straighten suddenly and stare at 
the blind white woman. 

“Is you Mrs. Dalton?” she asked. 

Mrs Dalton moved nervously, lifted her thin, white hands 
and tilted her head. Her mouth came open and Mr. Dalton 
placed an arm about her. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Dalton whispered. 

“Oh, Mrs. Dalton, come right this way,” Buckley said hur- 
riedly. 

“No; please,” Mrs. Dalton said “What is it, Mrs. Thomas?” 

Digger’s mother ran and knelt on the floor at Mrs. Dalton’s 
feet. 

“Please, mami” she wailed. “Please, don’t let ’em kill my 



280 


NATIVE SON 


boy! You know how a mother feels! Please, mam. . . . We 
live in your house. . . . They done asked us to move. . . . 
We ain’t got nothing. . . 

Bigger was paralyzed with shame; he felt violated. 

“Ma!" he shouted, more in shame than anger 

Max and Jan ran to the black woman and tried to lift her 
up. 

“That’s all right, Mrs. Thomas,” Max said. “Come with me.” 

“Wait,” Mrs Dalton said. 

“Please, mam! Don’t let ’em kill my boy! He ain’t never 
had a chance' He’s just a poor boy! Don’t let 'em kill 'inil 
I’ll work for you for the rest of my life! I’ll do anything you 
say, mam!” the mother sobbed. 

Mrs. Dalton stooped slowly, her hands trembling in the air. 
She touched the mother’s head. 

“TTiere's nothing I can do now,” Mrs. Dalton said calmly. 
“It’s out of my hands. I did all I could, when 1 wanted to 
give your boy a chance at life You’re not to blame for this. 
You must be brave. Maybe it’s better. . . 

“If you speak to ’em, they’ll listen to you, mam,” the 
mother sobbed. "Tell ’em to have mercy on my boy, . . 

"Mrs Thomas, it’s too late for me to do anything now,” 
Mrs Dalton said. “You must not feel like this. You have your 
other children to think of. . . 

“I know you hate us, mam! You lost your daughter. . . 

“No; no. ... I don’t hate you,” Mrs. Dalton said. 

The mother crawled from Mrs. Dalton to Mr. Dalton. 

“You’s nch and powerful,” she sobbed. “Sparc me my 
boy . . 

Max struggled with the black woman and got her to her 
feet. Bigger’s shame for his mother amounted to hate. He 
stood with clenched fists, his eyes burning. He felt that in 
another moment he would have leaped at her. 

“That’s all right, Mrs. Thomas,” Max said. 

Mr. Dalton came forward. 

“Mrs. Thomas, there’s nothing we can do,” he said. “This 
thing IS out of our hands. Up to a certain point wc can help 
you, but beyond that. . . . People must protect themselves. But 
you won’t have to move. I’ll tell them not to make you move.” 

The black woman sobbed. Finally, she quieted enough to 
speak. 

“Thank you, sir. God knows I thank you. . . .” 



FATE 


281 


She turned again toward Bigger, but Max led her from 
the room, Jan caught hold of Vera’s arm and led her for- 
ward, then stopped in the doorway, looking at Jack and 
G.H. and Gus. 

“You boys going to the South Side?” 

“Yessuh,” they said, 

“Come on. I got a car downstairs. I’ll take you." 

“Yessuh.” 

Buddy lingered, looking wistfully at Bigger. 

“Good-bye, Bigger,” he said. 

“Good-bye, Buddy,” Bigger mumbled. 

The preached passed Bigger and pressed his arm. 

“Gawd bless you, son.” 

They all left except Buckley. Bigger sat again upon the 
cot, weak and exhausted. BucMey stood over him. 

“Now, Bigger, you see all the trouble you’ve caused? Now, 
I’d like to get this case out of the way as soon as possible. 
The longer you stay in jail, the more agitation there’ll be for 
and against you. And that doesn’t help you any, no matter 
who tells you it does. Boy, there's not but one thing for you 
to do, and that’s to come clean, I know those reds, Max and 
Erlone, have told you a lot of things about what they’re going 
to do for you. But, don’t beheve 'em. They’re just after pub- 
licity, boy; just after building themselves up at your expense, 
see? They can't do a damn thing for you! You’re dealing 
with the law now! And if you let those reds put a lot of fool 
ideas into your head, then you’re gambling with your own 
life.” 

Buckley stopped and relit his cigar. He cocked his head to 
one side, listening. 

“You hear that?” he asked softly. 

Bigger looked at him, puzzled. He listened, hearing a faint 
din. 

“CcMne here, boy, I want to show you something,” he said, 
rising and catching hold of Bigger’s arm. 

Bigger was reluctant to follow him. 

“Come on Nobody’s going to hurt you." 

Bigger followed him out of the door; there were several 
policemen standing On guard in the hallway. Buckley led 
Bigger to a winddw through which ‘he looked and saw the 
streets below crowdfed with masses of people in all directions. 

“See that, boy? Those people would like to lynch you. 



282 


NATIVE SON 


That’s why I’m asking you to trust me and talk to me. The 
quicker we get this thing over, the better for you. We’re 
going to try to keep ’em from bothering you. But can’t you 
see the longer they stay around here, the harder it’ll be for us 
to handle them?" 

Buckley let go of Bigger’s arm and hoisted the window; a 
cold wind swept in and Bigger beard a roar of voices. Invol- 
untarily, he stepped backward. Would they break into the 
jail? Buckley shut the window and led him back to the room. 
He sat upon the cot and Buckley sat opposite him. 

“You look like an intelligent boy. You see what you’re in. 
Tell me about this thing. Don’t let those reds fool you into 
saying you’re not guilty I’m talking to you as straight as I’d 
talk to a son of mme. Sign a confession and get this over 
with." 

Bigger said nothing; he sat looking at the floor. 

“Was Jan mixed up in this?” 

Bigger heard the faint excited sound of mob voices coming 
through the concrete walls of the building. 

“He proved an alibi and he’s free. Tell me, did he leave 
you holding the bag?” 

Bigger heard the far-away clang of a street car. 

“If he made you do it, then sign a complaint against him." 

Bigger saw the shining tip of the man’s black shoes; the 
sharp creases in his striped trousers; the clear, icy glinting 
of the eyeglasses upon his high, long nose. 

“Boy,” said Buckley in a voice so loud that Bigger flinched, 
“where’s Bessie?” 

Bigger’s eyes widened. He had not thought of Bessie but 
once since his capture. Her death was unimportant beside 
that of Mary’s; he knew that when they killed him it would be 
for Mary’s death, not Bessie’s. 

“Well, boy, we found her. You hit her with a brick, but 
she didn’t die right away. . . .’’ 

Bigger's muscles jerked him to his feet. Bessie alive. But 
the voice droned on and he sat down. 

“She tried to get out of that air-shaft, but she couldn’t. 
She froze to death. We got the brick you hit her with. We 
got the blanket and the quilt and the pillows you took from 
her room. We got a letter from her purse she had written 
to you and hadn’t mailed, a letter telling you she didn’t want 
to go through with trying to collect the ransom money. You 



FATB 


283 


see, boy, we got you. Come on. now, tell me all about it.” 

Bigger said nothing He buried his face in his hands. 

“You raped her, didn’t you? Well, if you won't tell about 
Bessie, then tell me about that woman you raped and 
choked to death over on University Avenue last fall.” 

Was the man trying to scare him, or did he really think 
he had done other killings? 

“Boy, you might just as well tell me. We’ve got a line on all 
you ever did And how about the girl you attacked in Jackson 
Park last summer? Listen, boy, when you were in your cell 
sleeping and wouldn’t talk, we brought women in to identify 
you. Two women swore complaints against you. One was 
the sister ot the woman you killed last fall, Mrs. Clinton. 
The other woman. Miss Ashton, says you attacked her last 
summer by climbing through the window ot her bedroom.” 

“I ain't bothered no woman last summer or last fall either,” 
Bigger said. 

“Miss Ashton identified you. She swears you’re the one." 

“1 don't know nothing about it.’* 

“But Mrs. Clinton, the sister of the woman you killed last 
fall, came to your cell and pointed you out Who’ll believe 
you when you say you didn't do it? You killed and raped 
two women in two days, who’ll believe you when you say 
you didn't rape and kill the others? Come on, boy. You 
haven't a chance holding out." 

“I don't know nothing about other women," Bigger re- 
peated stubbornly. 

Bigger wondered how much did the man really know. Was 
he lying about the other women in order to get him to teU 
about Mary and Bessie? Or were they really trying to pm 
other crimes upon him? 

"Boy, when the newspapers get hold of what we’ve got on 
you, you’re cooked. I’m not the one who’s doing this. The 
Police Department is digging up the dirt and bringing it to 
me. Why don’t you talk? Did you kill the other women? Or 
did somebody make you do it? Was Jan in this business? 
Were the reds helping you? You’re a fool Lf Jan was niixed 
up in this and you won’t tell.” 

Bigger shitted his feet and listened to the faint clang of 
another street car passing. The man leaned forward, caught 
hold of Bigger's arm and spoke while shaking him. 

“You’re hurting nobody but yourself holdmg out like this, 



NATIVE SON 


284 

boyl Tell me, were Mary, Bessie, Mrs. Clinton’s sister, and 
Miss Ashton the only women you raped or killed?” 

The words burst out of Bigger: 

“I never heard of no Miss Clinton or Miss Ashton before!” 

'‘Didn’t you attack a girl in Jackson Park last summer?” 

“Nawl” 

‘‘Didn’t you choke and rape a woman on University Avenue 
last fall?” 

“Naw!” 

‘‘Didn’t you climb through a window out in Englewood 
last fall and rape a woman?” 

“Naw; nawl I tell you I didn’t!” 

‘‘You’re not telling the truth, boy. Lying won’t get you 
anywhere.” 

“I am telling the truth!” 

“Whose idea was the kidnap note? Jan’s?” 

“He didn’t have nothing to do with it,” said Bigger, feeling 
a keen desire on the man’s part to have him imphcate Jan. 

“What’s the use of your holding out, boy? Make it easy for 
yourself.” 

Why not talk and get it over with? They knew he was 
guilty. They could prove it. If he did not talk, then they 
would say he had committed every crime they could think 
of. 

“Boy, why didn’t you and your pals rob Blum’s store like 
you’d planned to last Saturday?” 

Bigger looked at him in surprise. They had found that out, 
too! 

“You didn’t think I knew about that, did you? I know a lot 
more, boy. I know about that dirty trick you and your friend 
Jack pulled off in the Regal Theatre, too. You wonder how I 
know it? The manager told us when we were checking up. I 
know what boys like you do. Bigger. Now, come on. You 
wrote that kidnap note, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I wrote it." 

“Who helped you?” 

“Nobody.” 

“Who was going to help you to collect the ransom money?” 

“Bessie.” 

“Come on. Was it Jan?” 

“Naw.” 

“Bessie?” 



PATE 


285 


“Yeah." 

“Then why did you kill her?" 

Nervously, Bigger's fingers fumbled with a pack of ciga- 
rettes and got one out The man struck a match and held a 
light for him, but he struck his own match and ignored the of- 
fered flame. 

“When I saw I couldn’t get the money, I killed her to keep 
her from talking,” he said. 

“And you killed Mary, too?" 

“I didn’t mean to kill her, but it don’t matter now,” he 
said 

“Did you lay her?” 

“Naw." 

“You laid Bessie before you killed her. The doctors said so. 
And now you expect me to beheve you didn't lay Mary." 

“I didn’tV' 

“Did Jan?" 

“Naw.” 

“Didn’t Jan lay her first and then you? . . 

“Naw; naw . . 

“But Jan wrote the kidnap note, didn’t he?" 

“I never saw Jan before that night.” 

“But didn’t he write the note?” 

“Naw, I tell you he didn’t.” 

“You wrote the note?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Didn’t Jan tell you to write it?” 

“Naw.” 

“Why did you kill Mary?" 

He did not answer 

“See here, boy. What you say doesn’t make sense. You 
were never in the Dalton home until Saturday night Yet, in 
one night a girl is raped, killed, burnt, and the next night a 
kidnap note is sent. Come on Tell me everythmg that hap- 
pened and about everybody who helped you,” 

“There wasn’t nobody but me. I don’t care what happens 
to me, but you can t make me say things about other people.” 

“But you told Mr Dalton that Jan was in this thing, too." 

“I was trying to blame it on him.” 

“Well, come on Tell me everything that happened." 

Bigger rose and went to the window. His hands caught the 
cold steel bars m a hard grip. He knew as he stood there 



286 


NATIVE SON 


that he could never tell why he had killed. It was not that he 
did not really want to tell, but the telhng of it would have in- 
volved an eicplanation of his entire life, The actual killing of 
Mary and Bessie was not what concerned him most; it was 
knowing and feeling that he could never make anybody 
know what had driven him to it. His crimes were known, 
but what he had felt before he committed them would never 
be known. He would have gladly admitted his guilt if he 
had thought that in doing so he could have also given in the 
same breath a sense of the deep, choking hate that had been 
his life, a hate that he had not wanted to have, but could not 
help having. How could he do that? The impulsion to try to 
tell was as deep as had been the urge to kill. 

He felt a hand touch his shoulder; he did not turn roimd; 
his eyes looked downward and saw the man’s gleaming black 
shoes. 

“I know how you feel, boy. You’re colored and you feel 
that you haven’t had a square deal, don’t you?” the man’s 
voice came low and soft; and Bigger, listening, hated him for 
telling him what he knew was true. He rested his tued head 
against the steel bars and wondered how was it possible for 
this man to know so much about him and yet be so bitterly 
against him. “Maybe you’ve been brooding about this color 
question a long time, hunh, boy?” the man’s voice continued 
low and soft. “Maybe you ttiink I don’t understand? But I do. 
I know how it feels to walk along the streets like other peo- 
ple, dressed like them, talkmg like them, and yet excluded for 
no reason except that you’re black. I know your people. Why, 
they give me votes out there on the South Side every election. 
I .once talked to a colored boy who raped and killed a 
woman, just like you raped and killed Mrs. Clinton’s sis- 
ter ” 

*T didn’t do it!” Bigger screamed. 

■, - “Why keep saying that? If you talk, maybe the judge’ll 
help you. Confess it all and get it over with. You’ll feel 
better. Say, listen, if you tell me everything, I’ll see that 
you’re sent to the hospital for an exammation, see? If they 
say you’re not responsible, then maybe you won’t have to 
die ” 

Bigger’s anger rose. He was not crazy and he did not want 
to be called crazy. 

“I don’t want to go to no hospital.” 



FATE 


287 


“It’s a way out for you, boy." 

"I don’t want no way out.” 

"Listen, start at the beginning. Who was the first woman 
you ever killed?” 

He said nothing. He wanted to talk, but he did not like the 
note of intense eagerness in the man’s voice He heard the 
door behind him open; he turned his head just m time to see 
another white man look in qucstioningly. 

"I thought you wanted me,” the man said. 

“Yes; come on in,” Buckley said. 

The man came in and took a seat, holding a pencil and 
paper on his knee. 

“Here, Bigger,” Buckley said, taking Bigger by the arm. 
“Sit down here and tell me all about it Get it over with.” 

Bigger wanted to tell how he had felt when Jan had held 
his hand; how Mary had made him feel when she asked him 
about how Negroes lived, the tremendous excitement that had 
hold of him during the day and night he had been in the Dal- 
ton home — but there were no words for him. 

"You went to Mr. Dalton’s home at five-thirty that Satur- 
day, didn’t you?” 

“Yessuh,” he mumbled. 

Listlessly, he talked. He traced his every action. He 
paused at each question Buckley asked and wondered how 
he could link up his bare actions with what he had felt; but 
his words came out Hat and dull. White men were looking at 
him, waiting tor his words, and all the feelings of his body 
vanished, just as they had when he was in the car between 
Jan and Mary. When he was through, he felt more lost and 
undone than when he was captured. Buckley stood up; the 
other white man rose and held out the papers for him to 
sign. He took the pen in hand. Well, why shouldn't he sign? 
He was guilty. He was lost. They were going to kill him. No- 
body could help him. They were standing in front of him, 
bending over him, looking at him, waiting. His hand shoolu 
He signed. / i 

Buckley slowly folded the papers and put them into hU 
pocket. Bigger looked up at the two men, helplessly, wondeo 
ingly. Buckley looked at the other white man and smiled. 

“That was not as hard as I thought it would be,” Buckley 
said. 

“He came through like a clock,” the other man said. 



288 


NATIVE SON 


Buckley looked down at Bigger and said, 

“Just a scared colored boy from Mississippi ” 

There was a short silence. Bigger felt that they had forgot- 
ten him already Then he heard them speaking. 

“Anything else, chief?” 

“Naw, rU be at my club. Let me know how the inquest 
turns out.” 

“O.K , chief.” 

“So long.” 

“I’ll be seeing you, chief.” 

Bigger felt so empty and beaten that he slid to the floor. 
He heard the feet of the men walking away softly. The door 
opened and shut He was alone, profoundly, inescapably. He 
rolled on the floor and sobbed, wondering what it was that 
had hold of him, why he was here. 


He lay on the cold floor sobbing; but really he was stand- 
ing up strongly with contrite heart, holding his life in his 
hands, staring at it with a wondering question, He lay on the 
cold floor sobbing; but really he was pushing forward with 
his puny strength against a world, too big and too strong for 
him. He lay on the cold floor sobbing; but really he was grop- 
ing forward with fierce zeal into a welter of circumstances 
which he felt contained a water of mercy for the thirst of his 
heart and brain. 

He wept because he had once again trusted his feelings 
and they had betrayed him. Why should he have felt the need 
to try to make his feelings known? And why did not he hear 
resounding echoes of his feelmgs in the hearts of others? 
There were times when he did hear echoes, but always they 
were couched in tones which, living as a Negro, he could not 
answer or accept without losing face with the world which 
had first evoked in him the song of manhood. He feared and 
hated the preacher because the preacher had told him to bow 
down and ask for a mercy he knew he needed; but his pnde 
would never let him do that, not this side of the grave, not 
while the sun shone. And Jan? And Max? They were telling 
him to believe in himself. Once before he had accepted com- 
pletely what his life had made him feel, even unto murder. 
He had emptied the vessel which life had filled for him and 
found the emptying meaningless. Yet the vessel was full 



FATE 


289 

again, waiting to be poured out. But not Not blindly this 
time! He telt that he could not move again unless he swung 
out from the base of his own feelings, he felt that he would 
have to have light in order to act now. 

Gradually, more from a lessening of strength than from 
peace of soul, his sobs ceased and he lay on his back, staring 
at the celling He had confessed and death loomed now for 
certain in a public future. How could he go to his death with 
white faces looking on and saying that only death would 
cure him for having flung into their faces his feeling of 
being black? How could death be victory now? 

He sighed, pulled up off the floor and lay on the cot, half- 
awake, half-asleep. The door opened and four policemen came 
and stood above him; one touched his shoulder. 

“Come on, boy.” 

He rose and looked at them questioningly. 

“You’re going back to the inquest ’’ 

They clicked the handcuffs upon his wrists and led him 
into the hall, to a waiting elevator. The doors closed and he 
dropped downward through space, standing between four tall, 
silent men in blue. The elevator stopped; the doors opened 
and he saw a restless crowd of people and heard a babble of 
voices. They led him through a narrow aisle. 

“That sonolafutc/il” 

“Gee, isn’t he blackl” 

“Kill ’im!” 

A hard blow came to his temple and he slumped to the 
floor. The faces and voices left him. Pain throbbed in his 
head and the right side of his face numbed. He held up an 
elbow to protect himself; they yanked him back upon his feet. 
When his sight cleared he saw policemen struggling with a 
slender white man. Shouts rose in a mighty roar. To the front 
of him a white man pounded with a hammerlike piece of 
wood upon a table. 

“Quiet! Or the room’ll be cleared of everybody except wit- 
nesses!” 

The clamor ceased. The policemen pushed Bigger into a 
chair. Stretching to the four walls of the room was a solid 
sheet of white fabes. Standing with squared shoulders all 
around were policemen with clubs in hand, silver metal on 
their chests, faces red and stern, gray and blue eyes alert. To 
the right of the man at the table, in rows of three each, six 



290 


NATIVE SON 


men sat still and silent, their hats and overcoats on their 
knees. Bigger looked about and saw the pile of white bones 
lying atop a table; beside them lay the kidnap note, held in 
place by a bottle of ink. In the center of the table were 
white sheets of paper fastened together by a metal clasp; it 
was his signed confession. And there was Mr. Dalton, white- 
faced, white-haired; and beside him was Mrs, Dalton, still 
and straight, her face, as always, tilted trustingly upward, to 
one side. Then he saw the trunk into which he had stuffed 
Mary’s body, the trunk which he had lugged down the stairs 
and had carried to the station. And, yes, there was the black- 
ened hatchet blade and a tiny round piece of metal. Bigger 
felt a tap on his shoulder and looked around; Max was s miling 
at him. 

'Take it easy. Bigger. You won’t have to say anything here. 
It won’t be long.” 

The man at the front table rapped again. 

“Is there a member of the deceased’s family here, one who 
can give us the family history?” 

A murmur swept the room. A woman rose hurriedly and 
went to the blind Mrs. Dalton, caught hold of her arm, led 
her forward to a seat to the extreme right of the man at the 
table, facing the six men in the rows of chairs That must be 
Mrs Patterson, Bigger thought, remembering the woman 
Peggy had mentioned as Mrs. Dalton’s maid. 

“Will you please raise your right hand?” 

Mrs, Dalton’s frail, waxen hand went up timidly. The man 
asked Mrs. Dalton if the testimony she was about to give 
was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so 
help you God, and Mrs. Dalton answered, 

“Yes, sir; I do.” 

Bigger sat stolidly, trying not to let the crowd detect any 
fear in him. His nerves were painfully taut as he hung onto 
the old woman’s words. Under the man’s questioning, Mrs. 
Dalton said that her age was fifty-three, that she lived at 
4605 Drexel Boulevard, that she was a retired school teacher, 
that she was the mother of Mary Dalton and the wife of Henry 
Dalton. When the man began asking questions relating to 
Mary, the crowd leaned forward in their seats. Mrs. Dalton 
said that Mary was twenty-three years of age, single; that she 
carried about thirty thotisand dollars’ worth of insurance, that 
she owned real estate amounting to approximately a quarter 



PATE 


291 


of a million dollars, and that she was active right up to the 
date of her death. Mrs. Dalton’s voice came tense and famt 
and Bigger wondered how much more of this he could stand. 
Would it not have been much better to have stood up in the 
full glare of those roving knives of light and let them shoot 
him down? He could have cheated them out of this show, this 
hunt, this eager sport. 

“Mrs Dalton,” the man said, “I’m the Deputy Coroner and 
it is with considerable anxiety that I ask you these questions. 
But it IS necessary for me to trouble you in order to establish 
the identity of the deceased. . . .” 

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Dalton whispered. 

Carefully, the coroner lifted from the table at his side a 
tiny piece of blackened metal; he turned, fronted Mrs. Dal- 
ton, then paused. The room was so quiet that Bigger could 
hear the coroner’s footsteps on the wooden floor as he walked 
to Mrs. Dalton’s chair. Tenderly, he caught her hand in his 
and said, 

“I’m placing in your hand a metal object which the police 
retrieved from the ashes of the furnace in the basement of 
your home. Mrs. Dalton, I want you to feel this metal care- 
fully and tell me if you remember ever having felt it before ” 

Bigger wanted to turn his eyes away, but he could not. He 
watched Mrs. Dalton’s face; he saw the hand tremble that held 
the blackened bit of metal. Bigger jerked his head round. A 
woman began to sob without restraint. A wave of murmurs 
rose through the room. The coroner took a quick step back 
to the table and rapped sharply with his knuckles. The room 
was instantly quiet, save for the sobbing woman. Bigger 
looked back to Mrs Dalton. Both of her hands were now 
fumbling nervously with the piece of mefal; then her shoul- 
ders shook. She was crying. 

“Do you recognize it?” 

“Y-y-yes ” 

“What is it?” 

“A-a-an earring. . . 

“When did you first come in contact with it?” 

Mrs. Dalton composed her face, and, with tears on her 
cheeks, answered, 

“When I was a girl, years ago. . . ." 

“Do you remember precisely when?” 

“Thirty-five years ago.” 



292 


NATIVE SON 


“You once owned it?" 

“Yes, it was one of a pair.’* 

“Yes, Mrs Dalton, No doubt the other earring was de- 
stroyed in the fire. This one dropped through the grates into 
the bin under the furnace Now, Mrs. Dalton, how long did 
you own this pair ot earrings?” 

“For thirty-three years.” 

“How did they come into your possession?" 

“Well, my mother gave them to me when 1 was of age My 
grandmother gave them to my mother when she was of age, 
and I in turn gave them to my daughter when she was of 
age. ...” 

“What do you mean, of age?” 

“At eighteen.” 

“And when did you give them to your daughter?" 

“About five years ago.” 

“She wore them all the time?” 

“Yes,” 

“Are you positive that this is one of the same earrings?” 

“Yes. There can be no mistake. They were a family heir- 
loom There are no two others like them. My grandmother 
had them designed and made to order.” 

“Mrs. Dalton, when were you last in the company of the 
deceased?” 

“Last Saturday night, or I should say, early Sunday morn- 
ing.” 

“At what time?” 

“It was nearly two o’clock, I think." 

“Where was she?” 

“In her room, in bed." 

“Were you in the habit of seeing, I mean, in the habit of 
meeting your daughter at such an hour?” 

“No. I knew that shed planned to go to Detroit Sunday 
morning. When I heard her come m I wanted to find out 
why she’d stayed out so late. . i 

“Did you speak with her?" 

“No. 1 called her several times, but she did not answer.” 

“Did you touch her?" • 

“Yes; slightly.” 

“But she did not speak to youT’ 

“Well, I heard some mumbling. . , 

“Do you know who it was?” 



FATE 


293 


“No.” 

“Mrs. Dalton, could your daughter by any means, in your 
judgment, have been dead then, and you not have known or 
suspected it?” 

“I don’t know." 

“Do you know if your daughter was alive when you spoke 
to her?” 

“I don’t know. I assumed she was.” 

“Was there anyone else in the room at the tune?” 

“I don’t know. But I felt strange there.” 

“Strange? What do you mean, strange?” 

"I — don’t know. I wasn’t satisfied, for some reason. It 
seemed to me that there was something I should have done, 
or said. But I kept saying to myself, ‘She’s asleep; that’s all.’ ” 

“If you felt so dissatisfied, why did you leave the room 
without trying to awaken her?” 

Mrs. Dalton paused before answering; her thin mouth was 
wide open and her face tilted far to one side. 

“I smelt alcohol in the room,” she whispered. 

“Yes?” 

“I thought Mary was intoxicated.” 

“Had you ever encountered your daughter intoxicated be- 
fore?” 

“Yes; and that was why 1 thought she was intoxicated 
then. It was the same odor.” 

"Mrs. Dalton, if someone had possessed your daughter sex- 
ually while she lay on that bed, could you in any way have 
detected it?” 

The room buzzed. The coroner rapped for order. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered. 

“Just a few more questions, please, Mrs. Dalton. What 
aroused your suspicions that something bad befallen your 
daughter?” 

"When I went to her room the next morning I felt her bed 
and found that she had not slept in it. Next I felt in her 
clothes rack and found that she had not taken the new 
clothes she had bought.” 

“Mrs. Dalton, you and your husband have given large 
sums of money to Negro educational institutions, haven’t 
you?" 

“Yes.” 

“Could you tell us roughly how much?” 



294 


NATIVE SON 


“Over five million dollars." 

“You bear no ill will toward the Negro people?” 

“No; none whatever." 

“Mrs Dalton, please, tell us what was the last thing you 
did when you stood above your daughter’s bed that Sunday 
morning?" 

“1 — I. . . She paused, lowered her head and dabbed at 
her eyes. “I knelt at the bedside and prayed she said, her 

words corning in a sharp breath ot despair. 

“That IS all. Thank you, Mrs. Dalton.” 

The room heaved a sigh. Bigger saw the woman lead Mrs. 
Dalion back to her seat. Many eyes in the room were tastened 
upon Bigger now, cold gray and blue eyes, eyes whose tense 
hate was worse than a shout or a curse To get rid of that 
concentrated gaze, he stopped lookmg, even though his eyes 
remained open. 

The coroner turned to the men sitting in rows to his right 
and said, 

"You gentlemen, the jurors, are any of you acquainted 
with the deceased or are any of you members of the family?” 

One ot the men rose and said, 

“No, sir.” 

“Would there be any reason why you could not render a 
fair and impartial verdict in this?” 

“No. sir.” 

“Is there any objection to these men serving as jurors in 
this case?” the coroner asked of the entire room. 

There was no answer. 

“In the name ot the coroner, I will ask the juro'rs to rise, 
pass by this table, and view the remains of the deceased, one 
Mary Dalton.” 

In silence the six men rose and filed past the table, 
each lookmg at the pile of white bones. When they were 
seated again, the coroner called, 

“We will now hear Mr. Jan Erlone!” 

Jan rose, came forward briskly, and was asked to swear to 
tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so 
help him God. Bigger wondered if Jan would turn on him 
now. He wondered if he could really trust any white man, 
even this white man who had come and offered him his 
friendship. He leaned forward to hear. Jan was asked several 
times if he was a foreigner and Jan said no. The coroner 



FATE 295 

walked close to Jan’s chair and leaned the upper part of ius 
body forward and asked Ln a loud voice, 

“Do you believe m social equahty for Negroes?’’ 

The room stirred. 

“I believe all races are equal. ...” Jan began. 

“Answer yes or no, Mr. Erlonel You’re not on a soap box. 
Do you believe in social equality for Negroes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you a member of the Communist Party?’ 

“Yes.” 

“In what condition was Miss Dalton when you left her last 
Sunday morning?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Was she drunk?” 

“I would not say she was drunk. She had had a few drinks.” 

“What time did you leave her?” 

“It was about one-thirty, I think.” 

“Was she in the front seat of the car?” 

“Yes; she was m the front seat.” 

“Had she beep in the front seat all along?” 

"No." 

“Was she in the front seat when you left the cafd?” 

“No.” 

“Did you put her in the front seat when you left the car?” 

“No; she said she wanted to sit up front” 

“You didn’t ask her to?” 

“No.” 

“When you left her, was she able to get oat of the car 
alone?” 

“I think so.” 

“Had you had any relations with her while in the back 
seat that would have tended to make her, let us say, stunned, 
too weak to have gotten out alone?” 

“Nol” 

“Is it not true, Mr. Erlone, that Miss Dalton was in no 
condition to protect herself and you lifted her into that 
front seat?” 

“Nol I didn’t lift her into the front seat!” 

Jan’s voice sounded throughout the room. There was a 
quick buzzing of conversation. 

“Why did you leave an unprotected white gjrl alone in a 
car with a drunken Negro?” 



296 


NATIVE SON 


“I was not aware that Bigger was drunk and I did not 
consitler Mary as being unprotected.” 

“Had you at anv time in the past left Miss Dalton alone 
in the company of Negroes?” 

“No ” 

“You had never used Miss Dalton as bait before, had you?" 

Bigger was startled by a noise behind him. He turned his 
head, Max was on his feet. 

“Mr Coroner, I realize that this is not a trial But the 
questions being asked now have no earthly relation to the 
cause and manner of the death of the deceased.” 

“Mr. Max, we are allowing plenty of latitude here. The 
grand jury will determine whether the testimony offered here 
has any relation or not." 

“But questions of this sort inflame the public mind. . . 

“Now, listen, Mr Max. No question asked in this room 
will inflame the public mind any more than has the death 
of Mary Dalton, and you know it You have the right to 
question any of these witnesses, but I will not tolerate any 
publicity-seeking by your kind here!” 

“But Mr Erlone is not on trial here, Mr Coroner!” 

“He is suspected of being implicated in this murder! And 
weTe after the one who killed this girl and the reasons 
for itl If you think these questions have the wrong construc- 
tion, you may question the witness when were through. But 
you cannot regulate the questions asked here!” 

Max sat down. The room was quiet The coroner paced to 
and fro a few seconds before he spoke again; his face was 
red and his lips were pressed tight. 

“Mr. Erlone, didn't you give that Negro material relating 
to the Communist Party?" 

“Yes.” 

“What was the nature of that material?” 

“1 gave him some pamphlets on the Negro question.” 

“Material advocating the equality of whites and blacks?” 

“It was material which explained . . 

“Did that material contain a plea for hmity of whites and 
blacks’?” 

“Why, yes." 

"Did you, in ypur agitation of that drunken Negro, tell 
him that it was all right for him to have sexual relations 
with white women?” 



FATE 


297 


“No!” 

"Did you advise Miss Dalton to have sexual relations 
with him?” 

“Nol” 

“Did you shake hands with that Negro?" 

“Yes.” 

“Did you offer to shake hands with him?” 

“Yes. It is what any decent person . . 

“Confine yourself to answering the questions, please, Mr. 
Erlone. We want none of your Communist explanations 
here. Tell me, did you eat with that Negro?” 

“Why, yes.” 

“You invited him to eat?” 

“Yes.” 

“Miss Dalton was at the table when you invited him to 
sit down?” 

“Yes.” 

“How many times have you eaten with Negroes before?” 

“I don’t know. Many times.” 

"You like Negroes?” 

“I make no distinctions. . . 

“Do you like Negroes, Mr. Erlone?” 

“I objecti” Max shouted. “How on earth is that related to 
this easel” 

“You cannot regulate these questions!” the coroner shouted. 
“I’ve told you that before! A woman has been foully mur- 
dered. This witness brought the deceased into contact with 
the last person who saw her alive. We have the right to deter- 
mine what this witness’ attitude was toward that girl and that 
Negro!” The coroner turned back to Jan. “Now, Mr. Erlone, 
didn’t you ask that Negro to sit in the front seat of the car, 
between you and Miss Dalton?" 

“No; he was already in the front seat.” 

“But you didn’t ask him to get into the back seat, did you?” 

“No.” 

‘"Why didn’t you?” 

“My God! The man is human! Why don’t you ask me . . . ?” 

“I’m asking these questions and you’re answering them. 
Now, tell me, Mr, Erlone, would you have invited that 
Negro to sleep with you?” 

“I refuse to answer that question!” 



298 


NATIVE SON 


"But you didn't refuse that drunken Negro the right to 
sleep with that girl, did you?” 

“His right to associate with her or anybody else was not 
in question. . . 

“Did you try to keep that Negro from Miss Dalton?" 

“1 didn’t . . 

“Answer yes or no!” 

“No!" 

“Have you a sister?” 

“Why, yes ” 

“Where is she?” 

“In New York.” 

“Is she married?” 

“No.” 

“Would you consent for her to marry a Negro?” 

“1 have nothing to do with whom she marries.” 

“Didn’t you tell that drunken Negro to call you Jan instead 
of Mr. Erlone?” 

“Yes: but . . ." 

“Confine yourself to answering the questions!” 

“But, Mr Coroner, you imply . . .” 

“I m trying to establish a motive for the murder of that 
innocent girl!” 

“No; you're not! You’re trying to indict a race of people 
and a poliiica! party!” 

“We want no statements! Tell me, was Miss Dalton in a 
condition to say good-bye to you when you left her in that 
car with the drunken Negro?” 

“Yes. She said good-bye " 

“Tell me, how much liquor did you give Miss Dalton that 
night?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“What kind of liquor was it?” 

“Rum.” 

“Why did you prefer rum?” 

“I don't know. ! just bought rum ” 

“Was it to stimulate the body to a great extent?” 

"No,” 

“How much was bought?" 

"A filth ol a gallon.” 

“Who paid for it?” 

“1 did.” 



FATE 299 

"Did that money come from the treasury of the Com- 
munist Party?” 

“Nol" 

“Don’t they allow you a budget for recruiting expenses?” 
“No!” 

“How much was drunk before you bought the fiUlth of 
rum?” 

“We had a few beers.” 

“How many?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t remember much about what happened that 
night, do you?” 

“I’m telling you all I remember.” 

‘"All you remember?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is It possible that you don’t remember some things?” 

“I’m telling you all I remember.” 

“Were you too drunk to remember everything that hap- 
pened?” 

“No ’’ 

“You knew what you were doing?” 

“Yes.” 

“You deliberately left the girl in, that condition?” 

“She was in no conditionl” 

“Just how drunk was she after the beers and rum?” 

"She seemed to know what she was doing.” 

“Did you have any fears about her being able to defend 
herself?” 

“No.” 

“Did you care?” 

“Of course, 1 did.” 

“You thought that whatever would happen would be aU 
right?” 

“I thought she was all right.” 

“Just tell me, Mr Erlone, how drunk was Miss Dalton?" 
“Well, she was a little high, if you know what I mean.” 
“Feeling good?” 

“Yes, you could say that.” 

“Receptive?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Were you satisfied when you left her?” 

“What do you mean?” 



NATIVE SON 


300 

“You had enjoyed her company?” 

"Why, yes.” 

“And after enjoying a woman hke that, isn’t there a let- 
down?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“It was late, wasn’t it, Mr. Erlone? You wanted to go 
home?” 

“Yes.” 

“You did not want to remain with her any longer?” 

“No; I was tired.” 

“So you left her to the Negro?” 

“I left her in the car. I didn’t leave her to anybody.” 

“But the Negro was in the car?” 

“Yes.” 

“And she got in the front seat with him?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you did not try to stop her?” 

“No,” 

“And all three of you had been drinking?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you were satisfied to leave her like that, with a 
drunken Negro?” 

“What do you meanl” 

“You had no fear for her?” 

“Why, no.” 

“You felt that she, being drunk, would be as satisfied with 
anyone else as she had been with you?” 

“No; no. . . . Not that way. You’re leading . . 

“Just answer the questions. Had Miss Dalton, to your 
knowledge, ever had sex relations with a Negro before?” 
“No.” 

“Did you think that that would be as good a time as any 
for her to learn?” 

“No; no ” 

“Didn’t you promise to contact the Negro to see if he was 
grateful enough to join the Communist Party?” 

“I didn’t say I’d contact him. ” 

“Didn’t you tell him you’d contact him within two or three 
days?” 

“No.” 

“Mr. Erlone, are you sure you didn’t say that?” 



FATB 301 

“Oh, yesl But it was not wiJi the construction you are 
putting upon it. . . 

“Mr Erlone, were you surprised when you heard of the 
death of Miss Dalton?" 

“Yes At first I was too stunned to believe it. I thought 
surely there was some mistake." 

“You hadn’t expected that drunken Negro to go that far, 
had you?" 

“I hadn’t expected anything." 

“But you told that Negro to read those Commumst pam- 
phlets, didn’t you?” 

“I gave them to him." 

“You told him to read them?" 

“Yes." 

“But you didn’t expect him to go so far as to rape and 
kill the girl?” 

“1 didn’t expect anything in that direction at all.” 

“That’s all, Mr. Erlone.” 

Bigger watched Jan go back to his seat. He knew how Jan 
felt. He knew what the man had been trying to do in asking 
the que.stions. He was not the only object of hate here. What 
did the reds want that made the coroner hate Jan so? 

“Will Mr. Henry Dalton please come forward?” the coroner 
asked. 

Bigger listened as Mr. Dalton told how the Dalton family 
always hired Negro boys as chauffeurs, especially when those 
Negro boys were handicapped by poverty, lack of education, 
misfortune, or bodily injury, Mr. Dalton said that this was 
to give them a chance to support their families and go to 
school. He told how Bigger had come to the house, how timid 
and frightened he had acted, and how moved and touched 
the family had been for him. He told how he had not thought 
that Bigger had had anything to do with the disappearance 
of Mary, and how he had told Britten not to question him. 
He then told of receiving the kidnap note, and of how 
shocked he had been when he was informed that Bigger had 
fled his home, thereby indicating his guilt. 

When the coroner’s questioning was over, Bigger heard 
Max ask, 

“May I direct a few questions?" 

“Certainly. Go right ahead," the coroner said. 



NATIVE SON 


302 

Max went forward and stood directly in front of Mr. 
Dalton. 

“You are the president of the Dalton Real Estate Company, 
are you not?” 

“Yes.” 

“Your company owns the building in which the Thomas 
family has lived for the past three years, does it not?” 

“Well, no. My company owns the stock m a company that 
owns the house ” 

"I see. What is the name of that company?” 

“The South Side Real Estate Company.” 

“Now, Mr. Dalton, the Thomas family paid you . , .” 

“Not to me! They pay rent to the South Side Real Estate 
Company.” 

“You own the controlling stock in the Dalton Real Estate 
Company, don’t you?” 

“Why, yes.” 

“And that company in turn owns the stock that controls 
the South Side Real Estate Company, doesn’t it?” 

“Why, yes.” 

“I think I can say that the Thomas family pays rent to 
you?’ 

“Indirectly, yes.” 

“Who formulates the policies of these two companies?” 

“Why, I do.” 

“Why is it that you charge the Thomas family and other 
Negro families more rent for the same kind of houses than 
you charge whites?” 

“I don’t fix the rent scales,” Mr. Dalton said. 

“Who does?” 

“Why, the law of supply and demand regulates the price 
of houses.” 

“Now, Mr. Dalton, it has been said that you donate 
millions of dollars to educate Negroes. Why is it that you 
exact an exorbitant rent of eight dollars per week from the 
'Thomas family for one unventilated, rat-infested room in 
Which four people eat and sleep?” 

The coroner leaped to his feet. 

“I’ll not tolerate your brow-beating this witnessl Have 
you no sense of decency? This man is one of the most 
respected men in this city! And your questions have no 
hewing . . 



FATE 


303 

“They do have a beanng!” Max shouted. “You said we 
could question with latitude herel I’m trying to find the 
guilty person, tool Jan Erlone ts not the only man who’s 
influenced Bigger Thomasl There were many others before 
him. I have as much right to determine what effect their 
attitude has had upon his conduct as you had to determine 
what Jan Erlone’s had!” 

“I’m willing to answer his questions if it will clear things 
up,’’ Mr Dalton said quietly. 

“Thank you, Mr Dalton. Now, tel! me, why is it that you 
charged the Thomas family eight dollars per week for one 
room in a tenement?” 

“Well, there’s a housing shortage.” 

“All over Chicago?” 

“No Just here on the South Side.” 

“You own houses in other sections of the city?" 

“Yes.” 

“Then why don’t you rent those houses to Negroes?” 

“Well . . . Er . , . I — 1 — don't think they’d like to hve 
any other place.” 

“Who told you that?" 

“Nobody." 

“You came to that conclusion yourself?” 

“Why, yes.” 

“Isn't it true you refuse to rent houses to Negroes if those 
houses are in other sections of the city?” 

“Why, yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, it’s an old custom.” 

“Do you think that custom is right?" 

“I didn't make the custom,” Mr Dalton said. 

“Do you think that custom is right'?” Max asked again. 

“Well, I think Negroes are happier when they’re together.” 

“Who told you /hat?” 

“Why, nobody.” 

“Aren’t they more profitable when they’re together?” 

“1 don’t know what you mean.” 

“Mr. Dalton, doesn't this policy of your company tend to 
keep Negroes on the South Side, in one area?” 

“Well, it works that way. But I didn’t originate . . ." 

“Mr. Dalton, you give millions to help Negroes. May I 



NATIVE SON 


304 

ask why you don’t charge them less rent for fire-traps and 
check that against your charity budget?” 

“Well, to charge them less rent would be unethical.” 

“Vnethicair 

“Why, yes. I would be underselling my competitors.” 

“Is there an agreement among realtors as to what Negroes 
should be charged for rent?” 

“No. But there's a code of ethics in business.” 

“So, the profits you take from the Thomas family in rents, 
you give back to them to ease the pain of their gouged lives 
and to salve the ache of your own conscience?” 

“That’s a distortion of fact, sirl” 

“Mr. Dalton, why do you contribute money to Negro edu- 
cation?” 

“I want to see them have a chance.” 

“Have you ever employed any of the Negroes you helped 
to educate?” 

“Why, no." 

“Mr. Dalton, do you think that the temble conditions un- 
der which the Thomas family lived in one of your houses may 
in some way be related to the death of your daughter?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“That’s all,” said Max. 

After Mr. Dalton left the stand, Peggy came, then Britten, 
a host of doctors, reporters, and many policemen. 

“We will now hear from Bigger Thomasl” the coroner 
called. 

A wave of excited voices swept over the room. Bigger’s 
fingers gripped the arms of the chair. Max’s hand touched 
his shoulder. Bigger turned and Max whispered, 

“Sit stiU." 

Max rose. 

“Mr. Coroner?” 

“Yes?” 

“In the capacity of Bigger Thomas’ lawyer, I’d like to state 
that he does not wish to testify here.” 

"His testimony would help to clear up any doubt as to 
the cause of the death of the deceased,” the coroner said. 

“My client is already in police custody and it is his right 
to refuse. . . 

“All right. All right," the coroner said. 

Max sat down. 



FATE 


305 

“Stay in your seat. It’s ail right,” Max whispered to Bigger. 

Bigger relaxed and felt his heart pounding. He longed for 
something to happen so that the white faces would stop star- 
ing at him. Finally, the faces turned away. The coroner strode 
to the table and lifted the kidnap note with a slow, long, deli- 
cate, and deliberate gesture. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, facing the six men in the rows of 
chairs, “you have heard the testimony of the witnesses. I 
think, however, that you should have the opportunity to 
examine the evidence gathered by the Police Department.” 

The coroner gave the kidnap note to one of the jurors who 
read it and passed it on to the others. All of the jurors exam- 
ined the purse, the blood-stained knife, the blackened 
hatchet blade, the Communist pamphlets, the rum bottle, the 
trunk, and the signed confession. 

“Owing to the peculiar nature of this crime, and owing to 
the fact that the deceased’s body was all but destroyed, I 
deem it imperative that you examine one additional piece of 
evidence. It will help shed light upon the actual manner of 
the death of the deceased,” the coroner said. 

He turned and nodded in the direction of two white-coated 
attendants who stood at the rear door. The room was quiet. 
Bigger wondered how much longer it would last; he felt 
that he could not stand much more. Now and then the room 
blurred and a slight giddiness came over him, but his muscles 
would flex taut and it would pass. The hum of voices grew 
suddenly loud and the coroner rapped for order. Then a 
commotion broke out. Bigger heard a man’s voice saying, 

“Move aside, please'” 

He looked and saw the two white-coated attendants pushing 
an oblong, sheet-covered table through the crowd and down 
the aisle. What’s this? Bigger wondered. He felt Max’s hand 
come onto his shoulder. 

“Take it easy. Bigger. This’ll soon be over.” 

“What they doing?” Bigger asked in a tense whisper. 

For a long moment Max did not answer. Then he said 
uncertainly, 

“I don’t know.” 

The oblong table was pushed to the front of the room. The 
coroner spoke in a deep, slow voice that was charged with 
passionate meaning: 

“As Deputy Coroner, I have decided, in the interests of 



306 


NATIVE SON 


justice, to offer in evidence the raped and mutilated body of 
one Bessie Mears, and the testimony of police officers and 
doctors relating to the cause and manner of her death. . , 

The coroner’s voice was drowned out. The room was in an 
uproar. For two minutes the police had to pound their clubs 
against the walls to restore quiet. Bigger sat still as stone as 
Max rushed past him and stopped a few feet from the sheet- 
covered table. 

“Mr. Coroner,” Max said. “This is outrageousl Your inde- 
cent exhibition of that girl’s dead body serves no purpose but 
that of an mcitement to mob violence. . . .” 

“It will enable the jury to determine the exact manner of 
the death of Mary Dalton, who was slain by the man who 
slew Bessie Mearal” the coroner said in a scream that was 
compounded of rage and vindictiveness. 

“The confession of Bigger Thomas covers all the evidence 
necessary for this juryl” Max said. “You are criminally ap- 
peahng to mob emotion. . . 

“That’s for the grand jury to determinel” the coroner 
said. “And you cannot interrupt these proceedings any longerl 
If you persist in this attitude, you’ll be removed from this 
rooral I have the legal right to determme what evidence is 
necessary. ..." 

Slowly, Max turned and walked back to his seat, his lips a 
thin line, his face white, his head down. 

Bigger was crushed, helpless. His lips dropped wide apart. 
He felt frozen, numb. He had completely forgotten Bessie 
during the inquest of Mary. He understood what was being 
done. To offer the dead body of Bessie as evidence and proof 
that he had murdered Mary would make him appear a 
monster; it would stir up more hate against him. Bessie’s 
death had not been mentioned during the inquest and all of 
the white faces in the room were utterly surprised. It was not 
because he had thought any the less of Bessie that he had 
forgotten her, but Mary’s death had caused him the most 
fear; not her death in itself, but what it meant to him as a 
Negro, They were bringing Bessie’s body in now to make the 
white men and women feel that nothing short of a quick 
blotting out of his life would make the city safe again. They 
were using his having kUled Bessie to kill him for his having 
killed Mary, to cast him in a light that would sanction any 
action taken to destroy him. Though he had killed a black 



PATH 


307 

girl and a white girl, he knew that it would be for the death 
of the white girl that he would be punished. The black girl 
was merely “evidence.” And under it all he knew that the 
white people did not really care about Bessie’s being killed. 
White people never searched for Negroes who killed other 
Negroes. He had even heard it said that white people felt it 
was good when one Negro IdlJed another; it meant that they 
had one Negro less to contend with. Crime for a Negro was 
only when he harmed whites, took white lives, or injured 
white property. As tune passed he could not help looking and 
listening to what was going on in the room. His eyes rested 
wistfully on the still oblong white draped form under the 
sheet on the table and he felt a deeper sympathy for Bessie 
than at any time when she was alive. He knew that Bessie, 
too, though dead, though killed by him, would resent her 
dead body bemg used in this way. Anger quickened in him: 
an old feeling that Bessie had often described to him when 
she had come from long hours of hot toil in the white 
folks’ kitchens, a feeling of being forever commanded by 
others so much that thinking and feelmg for one’s self 
was impossible. Not only bad be lived where they told him 
to live, not only had he done what they told him to do, not 
only had he done these thmgs until he had killed to be quit 
of them; but even after obeying, after killing, they still ruled 
him. He was their property, heart and soul, body and blood; 
what they did claimed every atom of him, sleeping and wak- 
ing; It colored life and dictated the terms of death. 

The coroner rapped for order, then rose and stepped to the 
table and with one sweep of his arm flung the sheet back from 
Bessie’s body. The sight, bloody and black, made Bigger 
flinch involuntarily and lift his hands to his eyes and at the 
same instant he saw blinding flashes of the silver bulbs 
flicking through the air. His eyes looked with painful effort 
to the back of the room, for he felt that if he saw Bessie 
again he would nse from his chair and sweep his arm in an 
attempt to blot out this room and the people in it. Every 
nerve of his body helped him to stare without seeing and to 
sit amid the noise without hearing. 

A pain came to the front of his head, right above the 
eyes. As the slow minutes dragged, his body was drenched 
in cold sweat. His blood throbbed in his ears; his lips were 
parched and dry; he wanted to wet them with his tongue, 



308 


NATIVE SON 


but could not. The tense effort to keep out of his conscious- 
ness the terrible sight of Bessie and the drone of the voices 
would not allow him to move a single muscle. He sat still, 
surrounded by an invisible cast of concrete. Then he could 
hold out no longer. He bent forward and buried his face in 
his hands. He heard a far-away voice speaking from a great 
height. . , . 

“The jury will retire to the next room.” 

Bigger lifted his head and saw the six men rise and file out 
through a rear door. The sheet had been pulled over Bessie’s 
body and he could not see her. The voices in the room grew 
loud and the coroner rapped for order. The six men filed 
slowly back to their chairs. One of them gave the coroner a 
slip of paper. The coroner rose, lifted his hand for silence 
and read a long string of words that Bigger could not under- 
stand. But he caught phrases: 

. . the said Mary Dalton came to her death in the 
bedroom of her home, located at 4605 Drexel Boulevard, 
from suffocation and strangulation due to external violence, 
said violence received when the deceased was choked by the 
hands of one, Bigger Thomas, during the course of criminal 
rape. . . . 

“. . . we, the jury, believe that the said occurrence was 
murder and recommend that the said Bigger Thomas be held 
to the grand jury on a charge of murder, until released by due 
process of law. . . .” 

The voice droned on, but Bigger did not listen. This meant 
that he was going to jail to stay there until tried and exe- 
cuted. Finally, the coroner's voice stopped. The room was 
full of noise. Bigger heard men and women walking past 
him He looked about like a man waking from a deep sleep. 
Max had hold of his arm. 

“Bigger?” 

He turned his head slightly. 

“I’ll see you tonight. They’re taking you to the Cook County 
Jail. I’ll come there and talk things over with you. We’ll see 
what can be done. Meanwhile, take it easy. As soon as you 
can, He down and get some sleep, hear?” 

Max left him. He saw two policemen wheeling Bessie’s 
body back through the door. The two policemen who sat to 
either side of him took his arms and locked bis wrists to 



FATE 


309 

theirs. Two more policemen stood in front of him and two 
more stood in back, 

“Come on, boy.” 

Two policemen walked ahead, making a path for him in 
the dense crowd. As he passed white men and women they 
were silent, but as soon as he was some few feet away, he 
heard their voices nse. They took him out of the front door, 
into the hall. He thought that they were going to take him 
back upstairs and he made a motion to go in the direction of 
the elevator, but they jerked him back roughly. 

“This way!” 

They led him out of the front door of the building, to 
the street. Yellow sunshine splashed the sidewdks and 
buildings. A huge throng of people covered the pavement. The 
wind blew hard. Out of the shrill pitch of shouts and screams 
he caught a few distinct words; 

. . turn ’im loose. . , 

. . give 'im what he gave that girL , . 

, . let us take care of 'im. . . 

. . bum that black ape. , . 

A narrow aisle was cleared for him across the width of 
the pavement to a waiting car. As far as he could see there 
were blue-coated white men with bright silver stars shining 
on their chests. They wedged him tightly into the back seat of 
the car, between the two policemen to whom he was hand- 
cuffed. The motor throbbed. Ahead, he saw a car swing out 
from the curb and roll with screaming siren down the street 
through the sunshme. Another followed it. Then four more. 
At last the car in which he sat fell in line behind them. Back 
of him he heard other cars pullmg out from the curb, with 
throbbing motors and shrieking sirens. He looked at the 
passing buildings out of the side window, but could not recog- 
nize any familiar landmarks. To each side of him were peer- 
ing white faces with open mouths. Soon, however, he knew 
that he was heading southward. The sirens screamed so loud 
that he seemed to be riding a wave of sound. The cars swerved 
onto State Street. At Thirty-fifth Street the neighborhood 
became familiar. At Thirty-seventh Street he knew that two 
blocks to his left Was his home. What were his mother and 
brother and sister doing now? And where were Jack and G.H, 
and Gus? The rubber tires sang over the flat asphalt. There 
was a policeman at every comer, waving the cars on. Where 



NATIVE SON 


310 

were they taking him? Maybe they were going to keep him in 
a jail on the South Side? Maybe they were taking him to the 
Hyde Park Police Station? They reached Forty-seventh Street 
and rolled eastward, toward Cottage Grove Avenue. They 
came to Drexel Boulevard and swung north again. He stiffened 
and leaned forward. Mr. Dalton lived on this street. What 
were they going to do with him? The cars slowed and stopped 
directly in front of the Dalton gate. What were they bringing 
him here for? He looked at the big brick house, drenched 
in sunshine, stdi, quiet. He looked into the faces of the two 
policemen who sat to either side of him; they were staring 
silently ahead. Upon the sidewalks, to the front and rear of 
him, were long lines of policemen with drawn guns. White 
faces filled the apartment windows all round him. People 
were pouring out of doors, running toward the Dalton 
home. A policeman with a golden star upon his chest came 
to the door of the car, opened it, glanced at him briefly, then 
turned to the driver. 

“0 K., boys, take 'im out." 

They led him to the curb. Already a solidly packed crowd 
stood all over the sidewalks, the streets, on lawns, and be- 
hind the lines of the policemen. He heard a white boy yell, 

“There’s the nigger that killed Miss Maryl" 

They led him through the gate, down the walk, up the 
steps; he stood a second facing the front door of the Dalton 
home, the same door before which he had stood so humbly 
with his cap in his hand a little less than a week ago. The 
door opened and he was led down the hall to the rear stairs 
and up to the second floor, to the door of Mary’s room. It 
seemed that he could not breathe. What did they bring him 
here for? His body was once more wet with sweat. How long 
could he stand this without collapsing again? They led him 
into the room. It was crowded with armed policemen and 
newspapermen ready with their bulbs. He looked round; the 
room was just as he had seen it that night. There was the bed 
upon which he had smothered Maiy. The clock with the 
glowmg dial stood on the small dresser. The same curtains 
were at the windows and the shades were still far up, as far 
up as they had been that night when he had stood near 
them and had seen Mrs. Dalton in flowing white grope her 
way slowly into the dark blue room with her hands lifted 
before her. He felt the eyes of the men upon him and his 



FATE 


311 

body stiffened, flushing hot with shame and anger. The man 
with the golden star on his chest came to him and spoke in 
a soft low tone. 

“Now, Bigger, be a good boy. Just relax and take it easy. 
We want you to take your time and show us just what hap- 
pened that mght, see? And don’t mind the boys’ tabng pic- 
tures. Just go through the motions you went through that 
night. . . .” 

Bigger glared; his whole body tightened and he felt that 
he was going to rise another foot in height. 

“Come on,’’ the man said, “Nobody’s going to hurt you. 
Don’t be afraid.” 

Outrage burned in Bigger. 

“Come on. Show us what you did.” 

He stood without moving. The man caught his arm and 
tried to lead him to the bed. He jerked back violently, his 
muscles flexed taut. A hot band of fire encircled his throat. 
His teeth clamped so hard that he could not have spoken 
had he tried. He backed against a wall, his eyes lowered in a 
baleful glare. 

“What’s the matter, boy?” 

Bigger’s lips pulled back, showing his white teeth. Then he 
blinked his eyes, the flashlights went off and he knew in the 
instant of their flashing that they had taken his picture show- 
ing him with his back against a wall, his teeth bared in a 
snarl. 

“Scared, boy? You weren’t scared that night you were in 
here with that girl, were you?” 

Bigger wanted to take enough air into his lungs to scream, 
“Yes I I was scared!” But who would believe him? He would 
go to his death without ever trying to tell men like these what 
he had felt that mght. When the man spoke again, his tone 
had changed. 

“Come on, now, boy. We’ve treated you pretty nice, but 
we can get tough if we have to, see? It’s up to youl Get over 
there by that bed and show us how you raped and murdered 
that girll” 

“I didn’t rape her,” Bigger said through stiff lips. 

“Aw, come on. What you got to lose now? Show us what 
you did.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“You have tol” 



312 


NATIVE SON 


“I don’t have to.” 

“Well, we'll make you!" 

“You can’t make me do nothing but die!” 

And as he said it, he wished that they would shoot him 
so that he could be free of them forever. Another white man 
with a golden star upon his chest walked over, 

“Drop it. We got our case.” 

“You think we ought to?” 

"Sure. What’s the use?” 

“O.K . boys. Take ’im back to the car.” 

They clamped the steel handcuffs on his wrists and led 
him down the hall. Even before the front door was opened, 
he heard the faint roar of voices. As far as he could see 
through the glass panels, up and down the street, were white 
people standing in the cold wmd and sunshine. They took 
him through the door and the roar grew louder; as soon as 
he was visible the roar reached a deafening pitch and con- 
tinued to rise each second. Surrounded by policemen, he 
was half-dragged and half-lifted along the narrow lane of. 
people, through the gate, toward the waiting car. 

“You black ape/” 

"Shoot that bastardl" 

He felt hot spittle splashing against his face. Somebody 
tried to leap at him, but was caught by the policemen and 
held back. As he stumbled along a high bright object caught 
his eyes; he looked up. Atop a building across the street, 
above the heads of the people, loomed a flaming cross. At 
once he knew that it had something to do with him. But why 
should they bum a cross? As he gazed at it he remembered 
the sweating face of the black preacher in his cell that morn- 
ing talking intensely and solemnly of Jesus, of there being a 
cross for him, a cross for everyone, and of how the lowly 
Jesus had carried the cross, paving the way, showing how 
to die, how to love and live the life eternal. But he had never 
seen a cross burning like that one upon the roof. Were white 
people wanting him to love Jesus, too? He heard the wind 
whipping the flames. No! That was not right; they ought not 
burn a cross. He stood in front of the car, waiting for them 
to push him in, his eyes wide with astonishment, his im- 
pulses deadlocked, trying to remember something. 

"He’s looking at itl” 

“He sees itl" 



PATB 


313 


The eyes and faces about him were not at all the way the 
black preacher’s had been when he had prayed about Jesus 
and His love, about His dying upon the cross. The cross the 
preacher had told him about was bloody, not flaming; meek, 
not militant. It had made him feel awe and wonder, not fear 
and panic. It had made him want to kneel and cry, but this 
cross n^ade him want to curse and kill. Then he became 
conscious of the cross that the preacher had hung round his 
throat; he felt it nesthng against the skin of his chest, an 
image of the same cross that blazed in front of his eyes high 
upon the roof against the cold blue sky, its darting tongues 
of fire lashed to a hissing fury by the icy wind. 

“Bum ’uni” 

“Kill ’imi” 

It gripped him; that cross was not the cross of Christ, but 
the cross of the Ku Kiux Klan. He had a cross of salvation 
round his throat and they were burning one to tell him that 
they hated himl Nol He did not want thatl Had the preacher 
trapped him? He felt betrayed. He wanted to tear the cross 
from his throat and throw it away. They lifted him into the 
waiting car and he sat between two policemen, still looking 
fearfully at the fiery cross. The sirens screamed and the cars 
rolled slowly through the crowded streets and he was feeling 
the cross that touched his chest, like a knife pointed at his 
heart. His fingers ached to rip it off; it was an evil and black 
charm which would surely bring him death now. The cars 
screamed up State Street, then westward on Twenty-sixth 
Street, one behind the other People paused on the side- 
walks to look. Ten minutes later they stopped in front of 
a huge white building; he was led up steps, down hallways and 
then halted in front of a cell door. He was pushed inside; 
the handcuffs were imlocked and the door clanged shut The 
men lingered, looking at him cunously. 

With bated breath he tore his shirt open, not caring who 
saw him He gnpped the cross and snatched it from his 
throat. He threw it away, cursing a curse that was almost a 
scream, 

“I don’t want itl” 

The men gasped and looked at him, amazed. 

“Don’t throw that away, boy. That’s your crossl” 

“1 can die without a crossl” 



314 


NATIVE SON 


"Only God can help you now, boy. You’d better get your 
soul right'" 

“I ain’t got no soul!” 

One of the men picked up the cross and brought it back. 

“Here, boy; keep this. This is God's cross!” 

"I don’t care!" 

"Aw, leave ’im alone!” one of the men said. 

They left, dropping the cross just inside the cell door. He 
picked it up and threw it away again. He leaned weakly 
against the bars, spent. What were they trying to do to him? 
He lifted his head, hearing footsteps. He saw a white man 
coming toward him, then a black man. He straightened and 
stiffened. It was the old preacher who had prayed over 
him that morning. The white man began to unlock the door. 

“I don’t want you!” Bigger shouted. 

“Son!” the preacher admomshed. 

“I don’t want you'” 

“What’s the matter, son?” 

“Take your Jesus and go!” 

“But, son! Yuh don’t know whut yuh’s sayin’! Lemme pray 
fer yuh!” 

“Pray for yourself!” 

The white guard caught the preacher by the arm and, 
pointing to the cross on the floor, said, 

“Look, Reverend, he threw his cross away." 

The preacher looked and said: 

“Son, don’t spit in Gawd’s face!” 

“I’ll spit in your face if you don’t leave me alone!” Bigger 
said. 

“The reds’ve been talking to ’im,” the guard said, piously 
touching his fingers to his forehead, his chest, his left 
shoulder, and then his right, making the sign of the cross. 

“That's a goddamn lie!” Bigger shouted. His body seemed 
a flaming cross as words boiled hysterically out of him. “I 
told you I don’t want youl If you come in here, I’ll kill 
you! Leave me alone!” 

Quietly, the old black preacher stooped and picked up the 
cross. The guard inserted the key in the lock and the door 
swung in Bigger ran to it and caught the steel bars in his 
hands and swept the door forward, slamming it shut. It 
smashed the old black preacher squarely in ihe face, sending 
him reelmg backwards upon the concrete. The echo of steel 



FATE 


315 

crashing against steel resounded throughout the long quiet 
corridor, wave upon wave, dying somewhere far away. 

"You’d better leave ’un alone now,” the guard said. “He 
seems pretty wild.” 

The preacher rose slowly and gathered his hat, Bible, and 
the cross from the floor. He stood a moment with his hand 
nursing his bruised face. 

“Waal, son. Ah’ll leave yuh t* yo’ Gawd,” he sighed, drop- 
ping the cross back inside the cell. 

"nie preacher walked away. The guard followed. Bigger 
was alone. His emotions were so intense that he really saw 
and heard nothing. Finally, his hot and taut body relaxed. 
He saw the cross, snatched it up and held it for a long 
moment in fingers of steel. Then he flung it again through the 
bars of the cell. It hit the wall beyond with a lonely clatter. 


Never again did he want to feel anything like hope. That 
was what was wrong; he had let that preacher talk to him 
until somewhere in him he had begun to feel that maybe 
something could happen. Well, something had happened; the 
cross the preacher had hung round his throat had bwn burned 
in front of his eyes. 

When his hysteria had passed, he got up from the floor. 
Through blurred eyes he saw men peering at him from the 
bars of other cells. He heard a low murmur of voices and in 
the same instant his consciousness recorded without bit- 
terness — ^like a man stepping out of his house to go to work 
and noticing that the sun is shming — the fact that even here 
in the Cook County Jail Negj’O and white were segregated into 
different cell-blocks. He lay on the cot with closed eyes and 
the darkness soothed him some. Occasionally his muscles 
twitched from the hard storm of passion that had swept him. 
A small hard core in him resolved never again to trust any- 
body or anything. Not even Jan. Or Max. They were all 
right, maybe; but whatever he thought or did from now on 
would have to come from him and him alone, or not at all. 
He wanted no more crosses that nught turn to fire while still 
on his chest. 

His inflamed senses cooled slowly. He opened his eyes. He 
heard a soft tappmg on a near-by wall. Then a sharp whis- 
per: 



316 NATIVE SON 

“Say, you new guyl” 

He sat up, wondering what they wanted. 

“Ain’t you the guy they got for that Dalton job?” 

His hands clenched. He lay down again. He did not want 
to talk to them. They were not his kind. He felt that they were 
not here for crimes such as his. He- did not want to talk to the 
whites because they were white and he did not want to talk 
to Negroes because he felt ashamed. His own kind would be 
too curious about him. He lay a long while, empty of mind, 
and then he heard the steel door open. He looked and saw a 
white man with a tray of food. He sat up and the man 
brought the tray to the cot and placed it beside him. 

“Your lawyer sent this, kid. You got a good lawyer,” the 
man said. 

“Say, can I see a paper?” Bigger asked. 

“Well, now,” the man said, scratching his head. “Oh, what 
the hell. Yeah; sure. Here, take mine. I’m through with it. 
And say, your lawyer’s bringing some clothes for you. He told 
me to teU you.” 

Bigger did not hear him; he ignored the tray of food and 
opened out the paper. He paused, waiting to hear the door 
shut. When it clanged, he bent forward to read, then paused 
again, wondering about the man who had just left, amazed at 
how friendly he had acted. For a fleeting moment, while the 
man had been in his ceD he had not felt apprehensive, cor- 
nered. The man had acted straight, matter-of-fact. It was 
something he could not understand. He lifted the paper close 
and read: NEGRO KILLER SIGNS CONFESSIONS FOR 
TWO MURDERS. SHRINKS AT INQUEST WHEN CON- 
FRONTED WITH BODY OF SLAIN GIRL. ARRAIGNED 
TOMORROW. REDS TAKE CHARGE OF KILLER’S DE- 
FENSE. NOT GUILTY PLEA LIKELY. His eyes ran over 
the paper, lookmg for some clue that would tell him some- 
thmg of his fate. 

. . . slayer will undoubtedly pay supreme penalty for his 
crimes .... there is no doubt of his guilt .... what is doubt- 
ful IS how many other crimes be has committed .... killer at- 
tacked at inquest .... 


Then: 



FATE 


317 

Expressing opinions about Communists’ defending the Ne- 
gro rapist and killer, Mr. David A Buckley, State’s Attorney, 
said- “What else can you expect from a gang like that? I’m m 
favor of cleaning them out lock, stock, and barrel I’m of the 
conviction that if you got to the bottom of red activity in this 
country, you’d find the root of many an unsolved crime,” 

When questioned as to what effect the Thomas trial would 
have upon the forthcoming April elections, in which he is a 
candidate to succeed himself, Mr, Buckley took his pink carna- 
tion from the lapel of his mommg coat and waved the report- 
ers away with a laugh. 

A long scream sounded and Bigger dropped the paper, 
jumped to his feet, and ran to the barred door to see what 
was happening. Down the corridor he saw six white men 
struggling with a brown-skinned Negro. They dragged him 
over the floor by his feet and stopped directly in front of Big- 
ger's ceil door. As the door swung in, Bigger backed to his 
cot, his mouth open in astonishment. The man was turning 
and twisting in the white men’s hands, trying desperately to 
free himself. 

“Ttlrn me loose! Turn me loose!” the man screamed over 
and over. 

The men lifted him and threw him inside, locked the door, 
and left. The man lay on the floor for a moment, then scram- 
bled to his feet and ran to the door. 

“Give me my papers!” he screamed. 

Bigger saw that the man’s eyes were blood-red; the comers 
of his lips were white with foam. Sweat glistened on his 
brown face He clutched the bars with such frenzy that 
when he yelled his entire body vibrated. He seemed so ago- 
nized that Bigger wondered why the men did not give him his 
belongings. Emotionally, Bigger sided with the man. 

“You can’t get away with it!" the man yelled 

Bigger went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Say, what they got of yours?” he asked. 

The man ignored him, shouting, 

"Til report you to the President, you hear? Bring me my 
papers or let me out of here, you white bastards! You want 
to destroy all my evidence! You can’t cover up your crimes! 
I’ll publish them to the whole world! I know why you’re 
putting me in jail! The Professor told you to! But he’s not 
going to get away with it. . . 



318 


NATIVE SON 


Bigger watched, fascinated, fearful. He had the sensation 
that the man was too emotionally wrought up over whatever it 
was that he had lost Yet the man’s emotions seemed real; 
they affected him, compelling sympathy. 

"Come bacJc here!" the man screamed. "Bring me my 
papers or I’ll tell the President and have you dismissed from 
ofiSce. ...” 

What papers did they have of his? Bigger wondered. Who 
was the president the man yelled about? And who was the 
professor? Over the man’s screams Bigger heard a voice calhng 
from another cell, 

“Say, you new guy!” 

Bigger avoided the frenzied man and went to the door. 

“He’s balmy!” a white man said. “Make ’em take ’im outta 
your cell. He’ll kill you. He went off his nut from studymg too 
much at the university He was writing a book on how colored 
people live and he says somebody stole all the facts he’d 
found. He says he’s got to the bottom of why colored 
folks are treated bad and he’s going to tell the President and 
have things changed, see? He’s nutsl He swears that his uni- 
versity professor had him locked up The cops picked him up 
this morning in his underwear; he was in the lobby of the 
Post Office building, waiting to speak to the President . . 

Bigger ran from the door to the cot. All of his fear of 
death, all his hate and shame vanished m face of his dread 
of this insane man tummg suddenly upon him. The man still 
clutched the bars, screaming. He was about Bigger’? size. 
Bigger had the queer feeling that his own exhaustion formed 
a hairline upon which his feelmgs were poised, and that the 
man’s driving frenzy would suck him into its hot whirlpool. 
He lay on the cot and wrapped his arms about his head, 
tom with a nameless anxiety, hearmg the man’s screams m 
spite of his need to escape them. 

"You’re afraid of me!” the man shouted. “That’s why you 
put me in here! But I’ll tell the President anyhow! I’ll tell 
’im you make us live in such crowded conditions on the 
South Side that one out of every ten of us is insanel I’U tell 
’im that you dump all the stale foods mto the Black Belt 
and sen them for more than you can get anywhere elsel I’ll 
teE ’im you tax us, but you won’t build hospitals! TU teU ’im 
the schools are so crowded that they breed perverts! I’U tell 



FATE 319 

’im you hire us last and fire us firstl I’ll tell the President and 
the League of Nations. . . 

Then men m other cells began to holler. 

“Pipe down, you nutl" 

“Take 'im awayl” 

“Throw ’im out!” 

"The hell with you!” 

“You can’t scare me!” the man yelled. “I know you! They 
put you in here to watch me!” 

The men set up a clamor. But soon a group of men 
dressed in white came running with a stretcher. They un- 
locked the cell and grabbed the yelling man, laced him in a 
strait-jacket, flung him onto the stretcher and carted him 
away. Bigger sat up and stared before him, hopelessly. He 
heard voices calhng from cell to cell. 

“Say, what they got of his?” 

“Nothing! He's nuts!” 

Finally, things quieted. For the first time since his capture. 
Bigger felt that he wanted someone near him, something 
physical to cling to. He was glad when he heard the lock in 
bis door click. He sat up; si guard loomed over him, 

“Come on, boy. Your lawyer’s here.” 

He was handcuffed and led down the hall to a small room 
where Max stood. He was freed of the steel links on his wrists 
and pushed mside; he heard the door shut behmd him. 

“Sit down, Bigger. Say, how do you feel?” 

Bigger sat down on the edge of the chair and did not an- 
swer. The room was small A single yellow electric globe 
dropped from the ceiling. There was one barred window. All 
about them was profound silence. Max sat opposite Bigger, 
and Bigger’s eyes met his and fell Bigger felt that he was sit- 
ting and holding his life helplessly in his hands, waiting for 
Max to tell him what to do with it; and it made him hate 
himself. An organic wish to cease to be, to stop living, seized 
him. Either he was too weak, or the world was too strong; he 
did not know which. Over and over he had tried to create a 
world to live in, and over and over he had failed. Now, once 
again, he was waiting for someone to tell him something; 
once more he was poised on the verge of action and com- 
mitment. Was he letting himself in for more hate and fear? 
What could Max do for him now? Even if Max tried hard 
and honestly, were there not thousands of white hands to 



320 


NATIVE SON 


stop Max? Why not tell him to go home? His lips trembled to 
speak, to tell Max to leave; but no words came. He felt that 
even in speaking in that way he would be indicating how 
hopeless he felt, thereby disrobmg his soul to more shame. 

“I bought some clothes for you,” Max said. “When they 
give ’em to you m the morning, put ’em on. You want to look 
your best when you come up for arraignment.” 

Bigger was silent; he glanced at Max again, and then away. 

“What’s on your mind, Bigger?" 

“Nothing,” he mumbled. 

“Now, listen, Bigger. I want you to tell me aU about your- 
self. ...” 

“Mr. Max, it ain’t no use in you doing nothiugl” Bigger 
blurted. 

Max eyed him sharply. 

“Do you really feel that way, Bigger?” 

“There am’t no way else to feel.” 

“I want to talk to you honestly, Bigger. I see no way out 
of this but a plea of ^ty. We can ask for mercy, for life in 
prison. . . 

“I’d rather dief” 

“Nonsense. You want to live.” 

“For what?” 

“Don’t you want to fight this thing?” 

“What can I do? They got rae.” 

“You don’t want to die that way, Bigger.” 

"It don’t matter which way I die,” he said; but his voice 
choked. 

“Listen, Bigger, you’re facing a sea of hate now that’s no 
different from what you’ve faced all your life. And because 
it’s that way, you’ve got to fight If they can wipe you out, 
then they can wipe others out, too.” 

“Yeah,” Bigger mumbled, restmg his hands upon his knees 
and staring at the black floor. “But I can’t win.” 

“First of all, Bigger. Do you trust me?” 

Bigger grew angry. 

“You can't help me, Mr. Max,” he said, looking straight into 
Max’s eyes. 

“But do you trust me. Bigger?" Max asked again. 

Bigger looked away. He felt that Max was making it very 
difificult for him to tell him to leave. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Max." 



FATE 


321 


“Bigger, I know my face is white,” Max said. “And I know 
that almost every white face you’ve met in your life had it 
in for you, even when that white face didn’t know it. Every 
white man considers it his duty to make a black man keep his 
distance. He doesn’t know why most of the time, but he acts 
that way. It’s the way things are. Bigger. But I want you to 
know that you can trust me ” 

“It ain’t no use, Mr. Max.” 

“You want me to handle your case?” 

“You can’t help me none They got me.” 

Bigger knew that Max was trying to make him feel that he 
accepted the way he looked at things and it made him as self- 
conscious as when Jan had taken his hand and shaken it that 
night in the car. It made him live again in that hard and 
sharp consciousness of his color and feel the shame and 
fear that went with it, and at the same time it made him hate 
himself for feeling it He trusted Max. Was Max not taking 
upon himself a thing that would make other whites hate him? 
But he doubted if Max could make him see things in a way 
that would enable him to go to his death. He doubted that 
God Himself could give him a picture for that now. As he 
felt at present, they would have to drag him to the chair, as 
they had dragged him down the steps the night they captured 
him. He did not want his feelings tampered with; he feared 
that he might walk into another trap. If he expressed belief 
in Max, if he acted on that belief, would it not end just as all 
other commitments of faith had ended? He wanted to be- 
lieve; but was afraid He felt that he should have been able to 
meet Max halfway; but, as always, when a white man talked 
to him, he was caught out in No Man’s Land. He sat slumped 
in his chair with his head down and he looked at Max only 
when Max’s eyes were not watching him. 

"Here; take a cigarette. Bigger.” Max lit Bigger’s and then 
lit his own; they smoked awhile. “Bigger, I’m your lawyer. I 
want to talk to you honestly. What you say is in strictest con- 
fidence. . . .” 

Bigger stared at Max. He felt sorry for the white man. He 
saw that Max was afraid that he would not talk at all. And he 
had no desire to hurt Max. Max leaned forward determinedly. 
Well, tell him. Talk. Get it over with and let Max go. 

“Aw, I don’t care what I say or do now. . . 

“Oh, yes, you dol" Max said qmckly. 



322 


NATIVE SON 


In a fleeting second an impulse to laugh rose up in Bigger, 
and left Max was anxious to help him and he had to die. 

“Maybe I do care,” Bigger drawled. 

“If you don’t care about what you say or do, then why 
didn’t you re-enact that crime out at the Dalton home today?” 

“I wouldn’t do nothing for them." 

“Why?” 

“They hate black folks,” he said. 

"Why, Bigger?” 

“I don’t know, Mr. Max.” 

“Bigger, don’t you know they hate others, too?” 

“Who they hate?” 

“They hate trade unions. They hate folks who try to or- 
ganize. They hate Jan.” 

“But they hate black folks more than they hate unions,” 
Bigger said. “They don’t treat union folks hke they do me.” 

“Oh, yes, they do. You think that because your color makes 
it easy for them to point you out, segregate you, exploit you. 
But they do that to others, too. They hate me because I’m 
trying to help you. They’re writing me letters, caUmg me a 
‘dirty Jew.’ ” 

“All I know is that they hate me,” Bigger said grimly. 

“Bigger, the State’s Attorney gave me a copy of your con- 
fession Now, tell me, did you tell him the truth?” 

“Yeah There wasn’t nothing else to do.” 

“Now, tell me this, Bigger. Why did you do it?” 

Bigger sighed, shrugged Ws shoulders and sucked his lungs 
full of smoke. 

“I don’t know,” he said; smoke eddied slowly from his nos- 
trils. 

“Did you plan it?” 

“Naw.” 

“Did anybody help you?” 

“Naw.” 

“Had you been thinking about doing something like that 
for a long time?” 

“Naw.” 

“How did it happen?” 

“It just happened, Mr. Max.” 

“Are you sorry?” 

“What’s the use of being sorry? That won’t help me none.” 

“You can’t think of any reason why you did it?” 



FATE 


323 

Bigger was staring straight before him, his eyes wide and 
shining. His talking to Max had evoked again in him that 
urge to talk, to tell, to try to make his feelings known. A wave 
of excitement flooded him. He felt that he ought to be able 
to reach out with his bare hands and carve from naked 
space the concrete, solid reasons why he had murdered. He 
felt them that strongly. If he could do that, he would relax; 
he would sit and wait until they told him to walk to the 
chair; and he would walk. 

“Mr. Max, I don’t know. I was all mixed up. I was feeling 
so many things at once.” 

“Did you rape her, Bigger?” 

“Naw, Mr. Max. I didn’t. But nobody’ll believe me.” 

“Had you planned to before Mrs. Dalton came into the 
room?” 

Bigger shook his head and rubbed his hands nervously 
across his eyes. In a sense he had forgotten Max was in the 
room. He was trymg to feel the texture of his own feelings, 
trying to tell 'what they meant. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I was feeling a little that way. Yeah, I 
reckon 1 was. I was drunk and she was drunk and 1 was feel- 
ing that way.” 

“But, did you rape her?” 

“Naw. But everybody’ll say I did. What’s the use? I’m 
black. They say black men do that. So it don’t matter if 1 did 
or if I didn’t.” 

“How long had you known her?” 

“A few hours.” 

“Did you like her?” 

“Like her?” 

Bigger’s voice boomed so suddenly from his throat that 
Max started. Bigger leaped to his feet; his eyes widened and 
his hands lifted midway to his face, trembUng. 

“No! No! Bigger. . . .” Max said. 

"Like her? I hated herl So help me God, I hated herl” he 
shouted. 

“Sit down, Biggerl” 

“I hate her now, even though she’s deadl God knows, I 
hate her right now. . . .” 

Max grabbed him and pushed him back into the chair. 

“Don’t get excited. Bigger. Here; take it easy!” 

Bigger quieted, but his eyes roved the room. Finally, he 



324 


NATIVE SON 


lowered his head and knotted his fingers. His lips were 
slightly parted. 

“You say you hated her?" 

“Yeah; and I ain’t sorry she’s dead.” 

“But what had she done to you? You say you had just met 
her.” 

“I don’t know. She didn’t do nothing to me.” He paused 
and ran his hand nervously across his forehead. “She ... It 
was . . . Hell, I don’t know. She asked me a lot of questions. 
She acted and talked in a way that made me hate her. She 
made me feel like a dog. I was so mad I wanted to cry. . . .” 
His voice trailed off m a plaintive whimper. He licked his 
lips. He was caught in a net of vague, associative memory: 
he saw an image of his little sister, Vera, sitting on the edge 
of a chair crying because be had shamed her by “looking” 
at her; he saw her rise and fling her shoe at him. He shook 
his head, confused. “Aw, Mr. Max, she wanted me to tell her 
how Negroes live. She got into the front seat of the car where 
I was. . - 

“But, Bigger, you don’t hate people for that. She was being 
kind to you. . . 

“Kind, hell! She wasn’t kind to me!” 

“What do you mean? She accepted you as another human 
being.” 

“Mr. Max, we’re all split up. What you say is kind ain’t 
kind at all, I didn’t know nothmg about that woman. All I 
knew was that they kill us for women like her. We live 
apart. And then she comes and acts like that to me.” 

“Bigger, you should have tried to understand. She was act- 
ing toward you only as she knew how.” 

Bigger glared about the small room, searching for an an- 
swer. He knew that his actions did not seem logical and he 
gave up trying to explain them logically. He reverted to his 
feelings as a guide in answering Max. 

“Well, I acted toward her only as I know how. She was 
rich. She and her kind own the earth. She and her kind; say 
black folks are dogs. They don’t let you do nothing but what 
they want. ...” 

“But, Bigger, this woman was trying to help you]" 

“She didn’t act like it.” 

“How should she have acted?” 

“Aw, 1 don’t know, Mr. Max. White folks and black folks is 



FATE 


325 

strangers. We don’t know what each other is thinking Maybe 
she was trying to be kind; but she didn’t act like it. To me 
she looked and acted like all other white folks. . . 

“But she’s not to be blamed for that, Bigger." 

“She’s the same color as the rest of ’em,” he said defen- 
sively. 

“I don’t understand, Bigger. You say you hated her and 
yet you say you felt like having her when you were in the 
room and she was drunk and you were drunk. . . 

“Yeah,” Bigger said, wagging his head and wiping his 
mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah; that’s funny, ain’t 
it?” He sucked at his cigarette. “Yeah; I reckon it was be- 
cause I knew I oughtn’t’ve wanted to. I reckon it was because 
they say we black men do that anyhow. Mr. Max, you know 
what some white men say we black men do? They say we rape 
white women when we got the dap and they say we do that 
because we believe that if we rape white women then we’U 
get rid of the clap. That’s what some white men say. They 
believe that. Jesus, Mr. Max, when folks says thmgs like that 
about you, you whipped before you bom. What’s the 
use? Yeah; I reckon I was feeling that way when 1 was in the 
room with her. They say we do things like that and they say 
it to kill us. They draw a line and say for you to stay on your 
side of the line. They don’t care if there’s no bread over on 
your side. They don’t care if you die. And then they say things 
like that about you and when you try to come from behind 
your line they kill you. They feel they ought to kill you then. 
Everybody wants to kill you then. Yeah; I reckon I was feel- 
ing that way and maybe the reason was because they say it. 
Maybe that was the reason.” 

‘You mean you wanted to defy them? You wanted to show 
them that you dared, that you didn’t care?” 

“I don’t know, Mr. Max. But what I got to care about? I 
knew that some time or other they was going to get me for 
something I’m black. I don’t have to do nothing for ’em to get 
me. The first white finger they point at me, I’m a goner, see?” 

“But, Bigger, when Mrs. Dalton came into that room, why 
didn't you stop right there and tell her what was wrong? You 
wouldn’t've been in all this trouble then, . , 

“Mr. Max, so help me God, I couldn’t do nothing when I 
turned around and saw that woman coming to that bed. Hon- 
est to God, I didn’t know what I was doing. , , 



326 


NATIVE SON 


“You mean you went blank?’* 

“Naw, naw ... I knew what I was doing, all nght. But I 
couldn’t help it. That’s what I mean. It was like another man 
stepped inside of my skin and started acting for me. . . 

“Bigger, tell me, did you feel more attraction for Mary than 
for the women of your own race?” 

“Naw. But they say that. It ain't true. I hated her then and 
I hate her now." 

“But why did you kill Bessie?” 

"To keep her from talking Mr. Max, after killing that white 
woman, it wasn’t hard to kill somebody else. I didn’t have 
to think much about killing Bessie. I knew I had to kill her 
and I did I had to get away. . . 

“Did you hate Bessie?” 

“Naw.” 

“Did you love her?” 

“Naw. I was just scared. I wasn’t in love with Bessie. She 
was just my girl. I don’t reckon I was ever in love with no- 
body I killed Bessie to save myself. You have to have a girl, 
so I had Bessie. And I killed her.” 

“Bigger, tell me, when did you start hating Mary?” 

“I hated her as soon as she spoke to me, as soon as I saw 
her. I reckon I hated her before I saw her. . . 

“But, why?" 

"I told you. What her kind ever let us do?” 

“What, exactly, Bigger, did you want to do?” 

Bigger sighed and sucked at his cigarette. 

“Nothing, I reckon. Nothing. But I reckon I wanted to do 
what other people do.” 

“And because you couldn’t, you hated her?” 

Again Bigger felt that his actions were not logical, and 
again he fell back upon his feelings for a guide in answering 
Max’s questions. 

“Mr. Max, a guy gets tired of being told what he can do 
and can’t do. You get a little job here and a little job there. 
You shine shoes, sweep streets; anything. . , . You don’t make 
enough to live on. You don’t know when you going to get 
fired. Pretty soon you get so you can’t hope for nothing. You 
just keep moving all the time, ooing what other folks say. 
You ain’t a man no more. You just work day in and day 
out so the world can roll on and other people can live. You 
know, Mr. Max, I always think of white folks . . .” 



FA.TE 


327 


He paused Max leaned forward and touched him. 

“Go on, Bigger.’’ 

“Well, they own everything. They choke you off the face 
of the earth. They hke God. . . He swallowed, closed his 
eyes and sighed. “They don’t even let you feel what you 1 
want to feel. They after you so hot and hard you can only 
feel what they domg to you. They kill you before you die.” I 

“But, Bigger, I asked you what it was that you wanted to 
do so badly that you had to hate them?” 

“Nothing. I reckon 1 didn’t want to do nothing.” 

“But you said that people like Mary and her kind never let 
you do anything.” 

“Why should I want to do anything? I ain’t got a chance. 

I don’t know nothing. I’m just black and they make the laws.” 

“What would you hke to have been?” 

Bigger was silent for a long time. Then he laughed with- 
out sound, without movmg his lips, it was three short ex- 
pulsions of breath forced upward through his nostrils by the 
heaving of his chest. 

“I wanted to be an aviator once. But they wouldn’t let me 
go to the school where I was suppose’ to learn it. They built a 
big school and then drew a line around it and said that 
nobody could go to it but those who lived within the hne. 
That kept all the colored boys out.” 

“And what else?” 

“Well, I wanted to be in the army once.” 

“Why didn’t you join?” 

“Hell, it’s a Jim Crow army. All they want a black man for 
is to dig ditches. And in the navy, all I can do is wash 
dishes and scrub floors,” 

“And was there anything else you wanted to do?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. What’s the use now? I’m through, 
washed up They got me I’ll die.” 

‘Tell me the things you thought you’d have liked to do?” 

“I’d like to be in business. But what chance has a black 
guy got in business? We ain’t got no money. We don’t own 
no mines, no railroads, no nothing. They don’t want us to. 
They make us stay in one Uttle spot. . . 

“And you didn’t want to stay there’^” 

Bigger glanced up; his lips tightened. There was a feverish 
pride in his bloodshot eyes. 

“I didn’t," he said. 



328 


NATIVE SON 


Max Stared and sighed. 

“Look, Bigger. You’ve told me the things you could not do. 
But you did something. You committed these crimes. You 
killed two women. What on earth did you think you could get 
out of it?” 

Bigger rose and rammed his hands into his pockets. He 
leaned against the wall, looking vacantly. Again he forgot 
that Max was in the room. 

“I don't know. Maybe this sounds crazy. Maybe they going 
to bum me in the electnc chair for feeling this way. But I 
ain’t worried none about them women I killed. For a little 
while I was free. I was doing something. It was wrong, but 
I was feeling all right. Maybe God’ll get me for it. If He do, 
all right. But I ain’t worried I killed ’em ’cause I was scared 
and mad. But I been scared and mad all my life and after 
I killed that first woman, 1 wasn’t scared no more for a little 
while.” 

“What were you afraid of?” 

“Everything,” he breathed and buried his face in his 
hands. 

“Did you ever hope for anything, Bigger?” 

“What for? I couldn't get it. I’m black,” he mumbled. 

“Didn’t you ever want to be happy?” 

“Yeah; I guess so,” he said, straightening. 

“How did you think you could be happy?” 

“I don’t know, I wanted to do things. But everything I 
wanted to do I couldn’t. I wanted to do what the white boys 
in school did. Some of ’em went to college. Some of ’em 
went to the army. But I couldn’t go.” 

“But still, you wanted to be happy?” 

“Yeah; sure. Everybody wants to be happy, I reckon.” 

“Did you think you ever would be?” 

“I don’t know. I Just went to bed at night and got up in the 
morning. I just lived from day to day. 1 thought maybe I 
would be.” 

“How?" 

“1 don’t know,” he said in a voice that was almost a 
moan. 

“What did you think happiness would be like?” 

"I don’t know. It wouldn’t be like this.” 

“You ought to have some idea of what you wanted, Bigger.” 



FATE 


329 

“Well, Mr. Max, if 1 was happy I wouldn’t always be 
wanting to do something I know I couldn’t do.” 

“And why did you always want to?” 

“I couldn’t help it. Everybody feels that way, I reckon. 
And I did, too. Maybe I would’ve been all right if I 
could’ve done something I wanted to do. I wouldn’t be scared 
then. Or mad, maybe. I wouldn’t be always hating folks; and 
maybe I’d feel at home, sort of." 

“Did you ever go to the South Side Boys’ Club, the place 
where Mr. Dalton sent those ping-pong tables?” 

“Yeah; but what the hell can a guy do with ping-pong?” 

“Do you feel that that club kept you out of trouble?” 

Bigger cocked his head. 

“Kept me out of trouble?” he repeated Max’s words. 
“Naw, that’s where we planned most of our jobs.” 

“Did you ever go to church. Bigger?” 

“Yeah; when I was httle. But that was a long time ago." 

“Your folks were religious?” 

“Yeah; they went to church all the time.” 

“Why did you stop going?” 

“I didn’t like it. There was nothing in it. Aw, aU they did 
was sing and shout and pray all the time. And it didn’t get 
’em nothing. All the colored folks do that, but it don’t get 
’em nothing. The white folks got everything.” 

“Did you ever feel happy in church?” 

“Naw. I didn’t want to. Nobody but poor folks get happy 
in church.” 

“But you are poor. Bigger.” 

Again Bigger’s eyes lit with a bitter and feverish pride. 

"I ain’t that poor,” he said, 

“But Bigger, you said that if you were where people did 
not hate you and you did not hate them, you could be 
happy. Nobody hated you in church. Couldn’t you feel at 
home there?" 

“I wanted to be happy in this world, not out of it. I didn’t 
want that kmd of happiness. The white folks like for us to be 
rehgious, then they can do what they want to with us.” 

“A little while ago you spoke of God ‘getting yop’ for 
killing those women. Does that mean you believe in Him?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of what’ll happen to you after you die?” 

“Naw. But I don’t want to die.” 



330 


native son 


“Didn’t you know that the penalty for killing that white 
woman would be death?” 

"Yeah; 1 knew it. But I felt like she was killing me, so I 
didn’t care.” 

“If you could be happy in religion now, would you want to 
be?” 

“Naw. I’ll be dead soon enough. If I was religious, I’d be 
dead now.” 

“But the church promises eternal life?” 

“That’s for whipped folks.” 

“You don’t feel like you’ve had a chance, do you?” 

“Naw; but I ain’t asking nobody to be sorry for me. Naw; 
I ain’t asking that at all. I’m black. They don’t give black 
people a chance, so I took a chance and lost. But I don’t 
care none now. They got me and it’s all over.” 

“Do you feel. Bigger, that somehow, somewhere, or some- 
time or other you’ll have a chance to make up for what you 
didn’t get here on earth?” 

“Hell, naw! When they strap me in that chair and turn on 
the heat, I’m through, for always.” 

“Bigger, I want to ask you something about your race. 
Do you love your people?” 

“I don’t know, Mr. Max. We all black and the white folks 
treat us the same.” 

“But Bigger, your race is doing things for you. There are 
Negroes leading your people.” 

"Yeah; 1 know. 1 heard about ’em. They all right, I guess.” 

“Don’t you know any of ’em?” 

“Naw,” 

“Bigger, are there many Negro boys like you?” 

“I reckon so. All of ’em I know am’t got nothing and ain’t 
going nowhere.” 

“Why didn’t you go to some of the leaders of your race 
and tell them how you and other boys felt?” 

“Aw, hell, Mr. Max. They wouldn’t listen to me. They 
rich, even though the white folks treat them almost like they 
do me. They almost like white people, when it comes to 
guys like me. They say guys like me make it hard for them 
to get along with white folks.” 

"Did you ever hear any of your leaders make speeches?” 

“Yeah, sure. At election time.” 

“What did you think of them?” 



FATE 


331 

“Aw, I don’t know. They all the same. They wanted to 
get elected to office They wanted money, like everybody 
else. Mr. Max, it’s a game and they play it.” 

“Why didn’t you play it?” 

“Hell, what do I know? I ain't got nothing. Nobody’ll pay 
any attention to me. I’m just a black guy with nothing. I just 
went to grammar school. And politics is full of big shots, 
guys from colleges.” 

“Didn’t you trust them?” 

“I don’t reckon they wanted anybody to tmst ’em. They 
wanted to get elected to office. They paid you to vote.” 

“Did you ever vote?” 

“Yeah; I voted twice. I wasn’t old enough, so I put my age 
up so I could vote and get the five dollars.” 

“You didn’t mind selling your vote?” 

“Naw; why should I?” 

“You didn’t think politics could get you anything?” 

“It got me five dollars on election day.” 

“Bigger, did any white people ever talk to you about labor 
unions?” 

“Naw; nobody but Jan and Mary. But she oughtn’t done 
it. . . . But 1 couldn’t help what I did. And Jan. I reckon I 
did him wrong by signing ‘Red’ to that ransom note.” 

“Do you believe he’s your friend now?” 

“Well, he ain’t against me. He didn’t turn against me today 
when they was questioning him. I don’t think he hates me 
like the others. 1 suppose he’s kind of hurt about Miss Daltoa, 
though.” 

“Bigger, did you think you’d ever come to this?” 

“Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Max, it seems sort of natural- 
like, me being here facing that death chair. Now I come to 
think of it, it seems like something like this just had to be.” 

They were silent, Max stood up and sighed. Bigger watched 
to see what Max was thinkin g, but Max’s face was white and 
blank. 

“Well, Bigger,” Max said. “We’ll enter a plea of not guilty 
at the arraignment tomorrow. But when the trial comes up 
we’ll change it to a plea of guilty and ask for mercy. 
They’re rushing the trial; it may be held in two or three days. 
I’ll tell the judge all I can of how you feel and why. I’ll try 
to get him to make it life in prison. 'That’s all I can see under 
the circumstances. I don’t have to teU you how they feel 



332 


NATIVE SON 


toward you, Bigger. You’re a Negro; you know. Don’t hope 
for too much. There’s an ocean of hot hate out there against 
you and I’m going to try to sweep some of it back. They 
want your life; they want revenge. They felt they had you 
fenced oflE so that you could not do what you did. Now 
they’re mad because deep down in them they believe that 
they made you do it. When people feel that way, you can’t 
reason with ’em. Then, too, a lot depends upon what judge we 
have. Any twelve white men in this state will have already 
condemned you; we can’t trust a jury. Well, Bigger, I’ll do 
the best I can.” 

They were silent. Max gave him another cigarette and took 
one for himself. Bigger watched Max’s head of white hair, 
his long face, the deep-gray, soft, sad eyes. He felt that Max 
was kind, and he felt sorry for him. 

“Mr. Max, if I was you I wouldn’t worry none. If all folks 
was like you, then maybe I wouldn’t be here But you can’t 
help that now. They going to hate you for trying to help me. 
I'm gone. They got me.” 

“Oh, they’ll hate me, yes,” said Max. “But I can take it. 
That’s the difference. I’m a Jew and they hate me, but I 
know why and I can fight. But sometunes you can’t win no 
matter how you fight; that is, you can’t win if you haven’t 
got time. And they’re pressing us now. But you need not 
worry about their hatmg me for defending you. The fear of 
hate keeps many whites from trying to help you and your 
kind. Before I can fight your battle. I’ve got to fight a battle 
with them.” Max snuffed out his cigarette. “I got to go now,” 
Max said. He turned and faced Bigger. “Bigger, how do you 
feel?” 

“I don’t know, I’m just setting here waiting for ’em to 
come and tell me to walk to that chair. And I don’t know if I’ll 
be able to walk or not.” 

Max averted his face and opened the door. A guard came 
and caught Bigger by the wrist. 

“I’ll see you in the morm’ng. Bigger,” Max called. 

Back m his cell. Bigger stood in the middle of the floor, not 
moving. He was not stoop-shouldered now, nor were his 
muscles taut. He breathed softly, wondering about the cool 
breath of peace that hovered in his body It was as though he 
were trying to listen to the beat of his own heart. All 
round him was darkness and there were no sounds. He 



FATE 


333 

could not remember when he had felt as relaxed as this 
before He had not thought of it or felt it while Max was 
speaking to him; it was not until after Max had gone that be 
discovered that he had spoken to Max as he had never 
spoken to anyone in his life; not even to himself. And his 
talking had eased from his shoulders a heavy burden. Then 
he was suddenly and violently angry. Max had tricked himi 
But no. Max had not compelled him to talk; he had talked of 
his own accord, prodded by excitement, by a curiosity 
about his own feelings Max had only sat and listened, had 
only asked questions. His anger passed and fear took its 
place. If he Wert as confused as this when his time came, 
they really would have to drag him to the chair. He had to 

make a, decision; in order to walk to that chair he had to J 

weave his feelings into a hard shield of either hope or hate, i 
To fall between them would mean living and dying in a fog | 
of tear. 

was balanced on a hairline now, but there was no one 
to push him forward or backward, no one to make him.Jeel 
that he had any value or worth — no one but himseJj^He 
brushed his hands across bis eyes, hoping to untangle the 
sensations fluttering in his body. He lived in a thin, hard . 
core of consciousness; he felt time slipping by; the darkness j 
round him lived, breathed. And he was in the midst of it, 

wanting again to let his body taste of that short respite of 

rest he had felt after talking with Max. He sat down on the 
cot, he had to grasp this thing. 

Why had Max asked him all those questions? He knew that 
Max was seeking facts to tell the judge; but in Max’s asking 
of those questions he had felt a recognition of his life, of his 
feelings, of his person that he had never encountered before. 
What was this? Had he done wrong? Had he let himself in 
for another betrayal? He felt as though he had been caught 
off his guard. But this, this — confidence? He had no right 
to be proud; yet he had spoken to Max as a man who had 
something. He had told Max that he did not want religion, 
that he had not stayed m his place. He had no right to feel 
that, no right to forget that he was to die, that he was black, 
a murderer; he had no right to forget that, not even for a 
second. Yet he had. 

He wondered if it were possible that after all everybody 
in the world felt alike? Did those who hated turn have in 



334 


NATIVE SON 


them the same thing Max had seen in him, the thing that 
had made Max ask him those questions? And what mo ive 
could Max have in helping? Why would Max risk that white 
tide of hate to help him? For the first time in his life he had 
gained a pinnacle of feeling upon which he could stand and 
I see vague relations that he had never dreamed of If that 

1 white looming mountain of hate were not a mountain at all, 
but people, people like himself, and like Jan — then he was 
faced with a high hope the like of which he had never thought 
could be, and a despiair the full depths of which he knew he 
could not stand to feel. A strong counter-emotion waxed in 
him, urging him, warmng him to leave this newly seen and 
newly felt thmg alone, that it would lead him to but another 
blind alley, to deeper hate and shame. 

Yet he saw and felt but one life, and that one life was 
more than a sleep, a dream; life was all life had. He knew 
that he would not wake up some time later, alter death, and 
sigh at how simple and foolish his dream had been The life 
he saw was short and his sense of it goaded him. He was 
seized with a nervous eagerness. He stood up in the middle 
of the cell floor and tried to see himself in relation to other 
men, a thmg he had always feared to try to do, so deeply 
stained was his own mind with the hate of others for him 
With this new sense of the value of himself gained from 
Max’s talk, a sense fleeting and obscure, he tried to feel that 
if Max had been able to see the man in him beneath those 
wild and cruel acts of his, acts of fear and hate and murder 
and flight and despair, then he too would hate, if he were 
they, just as now he was hating them and they were hating 
him. For the first time in his life he felt ground beneath his 
feet, and he wanted it to stay there. 

He was tired, sleepy, and feverish; but he did not want to 
lie down with this war raging in him. Blind impulses welled 
up in his body, and his intelligence sought to make them 
plain to his understanding by supplying images that would 
explain them. Why was all this hate and fear? Standing 
tremblmg in his cell, he saw a dark vast fluid image rise and 
float; he saw a black sprawling prison full of tiny black cells 
in which people lived; each cell had its stone jar of water 
and a crust of bread and no one could go from cell to cell 
and there were screams and curses and yells of suffering 
and nobody heard them, for the walls were thick and dark- 



FATE 


335 

ness was everywhere. Why were there so many cells in the 
world? But was this true? He wanted to believe, but was 
afraid Dare he flatter himself that much? Would he be struck 
dead if he made himself the equal of others, even in fancy? 

He was too weak to stand any longer. He sat again on the 
edge of the cot How could he find out if this feeling of his 
was true, if others had it? How could one find out about life 
when one was about to die? Slowly he lifted his hands in 
the darkness and held them in mid-air, the fingers spread 
weakly open. If he reached out with his hands, and if his 
hands were electric wires, and if his heart were a battery giv- 
ing life and fire to those hands, and if he reached out with 
his hands and touched other people, reached out through 
these stone walls and felt other hands connected with other 
hearts — if he did that, would there be a reply, a shock? 
Not that he wanted those hearts to turn their warmth to 
him; he was not wanting that much. But just to know that 
they were there and warm! Just that, and no more; and it 
would have been enough, more than enough. And in that 
touch, response of recognition, there would be union, iden- 
tity, there would be a supporting oneness, a wholeness which 
had been ilenied him all his life. 

Another impulse rose in him, bom of desperate need, and 
his mind clothed it in an image of a strong blinding sun 
sending hot rays down anc/he was standing in the midst of a 
vast crowd of men, white men and black men and all men, 
and the sun's rays melted away the many differences, the 
colors, the clothes, and drew what was common and good 
upward toward the sun. \ . 

He stretched out ftfll length upon the cot and groaned. 
Was he foolish in feeling this? Was it fear and weakness 
that made this desire come to him now that death was near? 
How could a notion that went so deep and caught up so 
much of him in one swoop of emotion be wrong? Could he 
trust bare, naked feeling this way.' But he had; all his life 
he had hated on the basis of bare sensation. Why should he 
not accept this? Had he killed Mary and Bessie and brought 
sorrow to his mother and brother and sister and put himself 
in the shadow of the electric chair only to find out this? Had 
he been blind all along? But there was no way to tell now. It 
was too late. ... ^ 

He would not mind dying now if he could only find out 



NATIVE SON 


336 

what this meant, what he was in relation to all the others 
that lived, and the earth upon which he stood. Was there 
some battle everybody was fighting, and he had missed it? 
And if he had missed it, were not the whites to blame for 
it? Were they not the ones to hate even now? Maybe. But he 
was not interested in hating them now. He had to die. It 
was more important to him to find out what this new tmgling, 
this new elation, this new excitement meant. 

He felt he wanted to live now — not escape paying for his 
crime — but live in order to find out, to see if it were true, 
and to feel it more deeply; and, if he had to die, to die within 
it. He felt that he would have lost all if he had to die without 
fully feeling it, without knowing for certain. But there was no 
way now. It was too late. . . . 

He hfted his hands to his face and touched his trembling 
lips. Naw. . . . Naw. ... He ran to the door and caught the 
cold steel bars in his hot hands and gripped them tightly, 
holding himself erect. His face rested against the bars and he 
felt tears roU down his cheeks. His wet lips tasted salt. He 
sank to his knees and sobbed: “I don’t want to die, ... I 
don!t want to cUe. . . 


Having been bound over to the grand jury and indicted 
by it, having been arraigned and hailing pled not guilty to 
the charge of murder and been ordei^d' to trial — all in less 
than a week. Bigger lay one sunless grSy morning on his cot, 
staring vacantly at the black steel bars of the Cook County 
Jail. 

Within an hour he would be taken to court where they 
would tell him if he was to live or die, and when. And with 
but a few minutes between him and the beginning of judg- 
ment, the obscure longing to possess the thing which Max 
had dimly evoked in him was still a motive. He felt he had 
to have it now. How could he face that court of white 
men without something to sustain him? Since that mght when 
he had stood alone in his cell, feeling the high magic which 
Max’s talk had given him, he was more than ever naked to 
the hot blasts of hate. 

There were moments when he wished bitterly that he had 
not felt those possibilities, when he wished Aat he could 
go again behind his curtain. But that was impossible. He had 



FATE 


337 

been lured into the open, and trapped, twice trapped; trapped 
by being in jail for murder, and again trapped by being 
stripped of emotional resources to go to his death. 

In an effort to recapture that high moment, he had tried to 
talk with Max, but Max was preoccupied, busy preparing 
his plea to the court to save his life. But Bigger wanted to 
save his own life. Vet he knew that the moment he tried to 
put his feelings into words, his tongue would not move. 
Many times, when alone after Max had left him.(he won- 
dered wistfully if there was not a set of words whicfi he had 
in commor^ '''ith_ others^ words which would evoke in 
others a ^ense of the same fire that smoldered in him ^ 

~ He looked out upon the world and the people about him 
with a double vision: one vision pictured death, an image 
of him, alone, sitting strapped in the electric chair and 
waiting for the hot current to leap through his body; and 
the other vision pictured life, an image of himself standing 
amid throngs of men, lost in the welter ol their lives with 
the hope of emerging again, different, pnatraid But so far 
only the certainty of death was his; only the unabating hate 
of the white faces could be seen; only the same dark cell, 
the long lonely hours, only the cold bars remained. 

Had his will to believe in a new picture of the world made 
him act a fool and thoughtlessly pile horror upon horror? 
Was not his old hate a better delense than this agonized 
uncertainty? Was not an impo.ssible hope betraying him to 
this end? On how many fronts could a man fight at once? 
Could he fight a battle within as well as without’ Yet he felt 
that he could not fight the battle tor his life without first 
winning the one raging within him. 

His mother and Vera and Buddy had come to visit him 
and again he had lied to them, telling them that be was 
praying, that he was at peace with the world and men But 
that lie had only made him feel more shame for himself 
and more hate for them, it had hurt because he really 
yearned for that certainty ot which his mother spoke and 
prayed, but he could not get n on the terms on which he 
felt he had to have it. After they had left, he told Max not 
to let them come again. 

A few moments before the trial, a guard came to his cell 
and left a paper. 

“Your lawyer sent this,” be said and left. 



338 


NATIVE SON 


He unfolded the Tribune and his eyes caught a headline; 
TROOPS GUARD NEGRO KILLER’S TRIAL. Troops? He 
bent forward and read; PROTECT RAPIST FROM MOB 
ACTION. He went down the column: 

Fearing outbreaks of mob violence. Gov. H. M. O’Dorsey 
ordered out two regiments of the Illinois National Guard to keep 
public peace during the trial of Bigger Thomas, Negro rapist 
and killer, it was announced from Springfield, the capital, this 
morning. 

His eyes caught phrases: “sentiment against killer still 
rising,” “public opinion demands death penalty,” “fear up- 
rising in Negro sector," and “city tense.” 

Bigger sighed and stared into space. His lips hung open 
and he shook his head slowly. Was he not foolish in even 
listening when Max talked of saving his life? Was he not 
heightening the horror of his own end by strainipg after a 
flickering hope? Had not this voice of hatej been sounding 
long before he was bom; and would it not still sound long 
after he was dead? 

He read again, catching phrases: "the black killer b fully 
aware that he b in danger of going to the electric chair,” 
“spends most of hb time reading newspaper accounte of his 
Clime and eating luxurious meab sent to him by Communbt 
friends,” “killer not sociable or talkative,” “Mayor lauds police 
for bravery,” and “a vast mass of evidence assembled agamst 
kdler.” 

Then: 

In relation to the Negro’s mental condition, Dr. Calvin H. 
Robinson, a psychiatric attach6 of the pohce department, de- 
clared; “There b no question but that Thomas b more alert 
mentally and more cagy than we suspect Hb attempt to blame 
the Communists for the murder and kidnap note and his staunch 
denial of having raped the white girl in^cate that he may be 
hiding many other crimes.” 

Professional jisychologists at the University of Chicago point- 
ed out this morning that white women have an unusual fascina- 
tion for Negro men. “They think,” said one of the professors 
who requested that his name not be mentioned in connecUon 
with the case, “that white women are more attractive than the 
women of their own race. They just can’t help themselves.” 

It was said that Boris A. Max, the Negro’s commumstic law- 



FATE 339 

yer, will enter a plea of not guilty and try to free his client 
through a long drawn-out jury trid. 

Bigger dropped the paper, stretched out upon the cot and 
closed his eyes. It was the same thing over and over agam. 
What was the use of readmg it? 

“Bigger!” 

Max was standing outside of the cell. The guard opened 
the door and Max walked in. 

“Well, Bigger, how do you feel?" 

“All right, I reckon,” he mumbled. 

“We’re on our way to court.” 

Bigger rose and looked vacantly round the celL 

“Are you ready?” 

“Yeah,” Bigger sighed. “I reckon I am.” 

“Listen, son. Don’t be nervous. Just take it easy.” 

“Will I be setting near you?” 

“Sure Right at the same table. I’ll be there throughout the 
entire trial. So don’t be scared ” 

A guard led him outside the door. The corridor was lined 
with policemen. It was silent. He was placed between two 
policemen and his wrists were shackled to theirs Black and 
white faces peered at him from behind steel bars He walked 
stiffly between the two policemen; ahead of him walked six 
more, and he heard many more walking in back. They led him 
to an elevator that took him to an underground passage. They 
walked through a long stretch of narrow tunnel; the sound 
of their feet echoed loudly m the stillness. They reached 
another elevator and rode up and walked along a hallway 
crowded with excited people and policemen. They passed a 
window and Bigger caught a quick glimpse of a vast crowd 
of people standing behind closely formed lines of khaki-clad 
troops. Yes, those were the troops and the mob the paper had 
spoken of. 

He was taken into a room. Max led the way to a table. 
After the handcuffs were unlocked, Bigger sat, flanked by 
policemen Softly, Max laid his right hand upon Bigger's knee. 

“We’ve got just a few minutes,” Max said. 

“Yeah,” Bigger mumbled. His eyes were half-closed; his 
head leaned slightly to one side and his eyes looked beyond 
Max at some point in space. 

"Here,” Max said. “Straighten your tie.” 



native son 


Bigger tugged listlessly at the knot. 

“Now, maybe you’ll have to say something just once, 
ec. . . 

“You mean in the courtroom?” 

“Yes; but I’U . . 

Bigger’s eyes widened with fear. 

“Naw!" 

“Now, listen, son. . . 

“But I don’t want to say nothing.” 

“I’m trying to save your life. . . 

Bigger’s nerves gave way and he spoke hysterically: 

“They going to kill nael You know they going to kill 
me. . . .” 

“But you’ll have to, Bigger. Now, listen. . . .” 

“Can’t you fix it so 1 won’t have to say nothing?” 

“It’s only a word or two. When the judge asks how you 
want to plead, say guilty.” 

“Will I have to stand up?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Don’t you realize I’m trying to save your life? Help me 
just this little bit. , . 

“I reckon I don’t care. I reckon you can’t save it.” 

“You mustn’t feel that way. . . .” 

“I can’t help it.’’ 

“Here’s another thing. The court’ll be full, see? Just go in 
and sit down. You’ll be right by me. And let the judge see that 
you notice what’s going on.” 

“I hope Ma won’t be there." 

“I asked her to come. I want the judge to see her,” Max 
said. 

"She’ll feel bad.” 

“All of this is for you, Bigger.” 

“I reckon I ain’t worth it.” 

“Well, this thing’s bigger than you, son. In a certain sense, 
every Negro in America’s on trial out there today.” 

“They going to kill me anyhow." 

“Not if we fight. Not if I tell them how you’ve had to 
live.” 

A policeman walked over to Max, tapped him lightly on the 
shoulder, and said, 

‘The judge’s waiting.” 



FATE 341 

“AH right,” Max said. “Come on, Bigger. Let’s go. Keep 
your chin up.” 

They stood and were surrounded by policemen. Bigger 
walked beside Max down a hallway and then through a door. 
He saw a huge room crowded with men and women. Then 
he saw a small knot of black faces, over to one side of the 
room, behind a railing. A deep buzzing of voices came to him. 
Two policemen pushed the people to one side, makmg a 
path for Max and Bigger. Bigger moved forward slowly, 
feeling Max’s hand tugging at the sleeve of his coat. They 
reached the front of the room. 

“Sit down,” Max whispered. 

As Bigger sat the hghtning of silver bulbs flashed in his 
eyes; they were takmg more pictures of him He was so tense 
in mind and body that his lips trembled. He did not know 
what to do with his hands; he wanted to put them into his coat 
pockets; but that would take too much effort and would 
attract attention. He kept them lying on his knees, palms up. 
There was a long and painful wait The voices behind him 
still buzzed Pale yeUow sunshine feU through high windows 
and slashed the air, 

He looked about. Yes; there were his mother and brother 
and sister; they were staring at him. There were many of his 
old school mates. There was his teacher, two of them. And 
there were G.H. and Jack and Gus and Doc. Bigger lowered 
his eyes. These were the people to whom he had once boasted, 
acted tough; people whom he had once defied. Now they 
were watching him as he sat here. They would feel that they 
were nght and he was wrong. The old, hot choking sensation 
came back to his stomach and throat. Why could they not 
just shoot him and get it over with? They were going to kill 
him anyhow, so why make him go through with this? He was 
startled by the sound of a deep, hollow voice booming and a 
banging on a wooden table. 

“Everybody nse, please. . . 

Everybody stood up. Bigger felt Max’s hand touching his 
arm and he rose and stood with Max. A man, draped in 
long black robes and with a dead-white face, came through a 
rear door and sat behmd a high pulpit-like railing. That’s the 
judge, Bigger thought, easing back into his seat. 

“Hear ye, heai' ye. . . Bigger heard the hollow voice 



342 


NATIVE SON 


booming again. He caught snatches of phrases: “ . . . this 
Honorable Branch of the Cook County Criminal Court . , . 
now in session . . . pursuant to adjournment ... the Hon- 
orable Chief Justice Alvin C. Hanley, presiding . . 

Bigger saw the judge look toward Buckley and then to- 
ward him and Max. Buckley rose and went to the foot of the 
railing; Max also rose and went forward. They talked a mo- 
ment to the judge in low voices and then each went back to 
his seat. A man sitting just below the judge rose and began 
reading a long paper in a voice so thick and low that Bigger 
could only hear some of the words. 

“. . . indictment number 666-983 . , . the People of the 
State of Illinois vs. Bigger Thomas . . . The Grand Jurors 
chosen, selected and sworn in and for the said County of 
Cook, present that Bigger Thomas did rape and inflict sexual 
mjury upon the body . . . strangulation by hand . . . smother 
to death and dispose of body by burning same in furnace . , . 
did with knife and hatchet sever head from body . . . said acts 
committed upon one Mary Dalton, and contrary to the form 
of the statute in such case made and provided, against the 
peace and dignity of the People of the State of Illinots. . . 

The man pronounced Bigger’s name over and over again, 
and Bigger felt that he was caught up in a vast but delicate 
machine whose wheels would whir no matter what was pitted 
against them. Over and over the man said that he had 
killed Mary and Bessie; that he had beheaded Mary; that he 
had battered Bessie with a brick; that he had raped both Mary 
and Bessie; that he had shoved Mary in the furnace; that he 
had thrown Bessie down the air-shaft and left her to freeze to 
death; and that he had stayed on in the Dalton home when 
Mary’s body was burning and had sent a kidnap note. When 
the man finished, a gasp of astonishment came from the court- 
room and Bigger saw faces turning and looking in his di- 
rection. The judge rapped for order and asked. 

“Is the defendant ready to enter a plea to this indict- 
ment?” 

Max rose. 

“Yes, Your Honor. The defendant. Bigger Thomas, pleads 
guilty.” 

Immediately Bigger heard a loud commotion. He turned 
his head and saw several men pushing through the crowd 
toward the door. He knew that they were newspapermen. 



FATE 343 

The judge rapped again for order. Max tried to continue 
speaking, but the judge stopped him. 

“Just a minute, Mr. Max. We must have orderl” 

The room grew quiet. 

"Your Honor,” Max said, “after long and honest delibera- 
tion, I have detemrined to make a motion m this court to 
withdraw our plea of not guilty and enter a plea of guilty. 

“The laws of this state allow the offering of evidence in 
mitigation of punishment, and I shall request, at such time 
as the Court deems best, that 1 be given the opportunity 
to offer evidence as to the mental and emotional attitude of 
this hoy, to show the degree of responsibility he had in these 
crimes. Also, I want to offer evidence as to the youth of 
this boy. Further, I want to prevail upon this Court to con- 
sider this boy’s plea of guilty as evidence mitigating his 
punishment . . .” 

“Your Honorl” Buckley shouted. 

“Allow me to fimsh,” Max said. 

Buckley came to the front of the room, his face red 

“You cannot plead that boy both guilty and insane,” Buck- 
ley said. “If you claim Bigger Thomas is insane, the State wiU 
demand a jury trial. . . .” 

“Your Honor,” Max said, “I do not claim that this boy 
is legally msane. I shall endeavor to show, through the dis- 
cussion of evidence, the mental and emotional attitude of 
this boy and the degree of responsibihty he had m these 
crimes.” 

“That’s a defense of insanity!” Buckley shouted. 

“I’m making no such defense,” Max said. 

“A man is either sane or msane,” Buckley said. 

“There are degrees of insamty,” Max said. “The laws of 
this state permit the hearing of evidence to ascertain the 
degree of responsibihty. And, also, the law permits the offer- 
ing of evidence toward the mitigation of punishment.” 

“The State will submit witnesses and evidence to establish 
the legal sanity of the defendant,” Buckley said. 

There was a long argument which Bigger did not under- 
stand. The judge called both lawyers forward to the railing 
and they talked for over an hour. Finally, they went back 
to their seats and the judge looked toward Bigger and said, 

“Bigger Thomas, will you nse?” 

His body flushed hot. As he had felt when he stood over the 



NATIVE SON 


344 

bed with the white blur floating toward him; as he had felt 
when he had sat in the car between Jan and Mary, as he had 
felt when he had seen Gus coming through the door of Doc’s 
poolroom — so he felt now constricted, taut, in the grip of a 
powerful, impelling fear. At that moment it seemed that any 
action undei heaven would have been preferable to standing. 
He wanted to leap from his chair and swing some heavy 
weapon and end this unequal fight. Max caught his arm. 

“Stand up. Bigger.’’ 

He rose, holding on to the edge of the table, his knees 
trembling so that he thought that they would buckle under 
him. The judge looked at him a long time before speaking. Be- 
hind him Bigger heard the room buzzing with the sound of 
voices. The judge rapped for order. 

“How far did you get in school?” the judge asked. 

“Eighth grade,” Bigger whispered, surprised at the question. 

“If your plea is guilty, and the plea is entered in this 
case,” the judge said and paused, “the Court may sentence 
you to death,” the judge said and paused again, “or the Court 
may sentence you to the pemtentiary for the term of your 
natural life,” the judge said and paused yet again, “or the 
Court may sentence you to the pemtentiary for a term of not 
less than fourteen years. 

"Now, do you understand what I have said?” 

Bigger looked at Max; Max nodded to him. 

“Speak up,” the judge said. “If you do not understand 
what I have said, then say so.” 

“Y-y-yessuh; I understand,” he whispered. 

“Then, realizing the consequences of your plea, do you 
still plead guilty?” 

“Y-y-yessuh,” he whispered again; feeling that it was all a 
wild and intense dream that must end soon, somehow. 

“That's all. You may at down,” the judge said. 

He sat. 

“Is the State prepared to present its evidence and wit- 
nesses?” the judge asked. 

“We are. Your Honor,” said Buckley, rising and half- 
facing the judge and the crowd. 

“Your Honor, my statement at this time will be very brief, 
There is no need for me to picture to this Court the horrible 
details of these dastardly crimes. The array of witnesses foi 
the State, the confession made and signed by the defendant 



FATE 


345 

himself, and the concrete evidence will reveal the unnatural 
aspect of this vile offense agamst God and man more elo- 
quently than I could ever dare. In more than one respect, I 
am thankful that this is the case, for some of the facts of 
this evil crime are so fantastic and unbelievable, so utterly 
beast-like and foreign to our whole concept of life, that I feel 
mcapable of communicating them to this Court. 

“Never in my long career as an officer of the people have I 
been placed in a position where I’ve felt more unalterably 
certain of my duty. There is no room here for evasive, the- 
oretical, or fanciful interpretations of the law.” Buckley 
paused, surveyed the courtroom, then stepped to the table and 
lifted from it the knife with which Bigger had severed Mary’s 
head from her body. “This case is as clean-cut as this mur- 
derer’s knife, the knife that dismembered an innocent girlt” 
Buckley shouted. He paused again and lifted from the table 
the brick with which Bigger had battered Bessie m the 
abandoned building. “Your Honor, this case is as sohd as 
this brick, the brick that battered a poor girl’s brains out!” 
Buckley again looked at the crowd m the court room. “It is 
not often,” Buckley continued, “that a representative of the 
people finds the masses of the citizens who elected him to 
office standing literally at his back, waiting for him to enforce 
the law. , . .” The room was quiet as a tomb. Buckley strode to 
the window and with one motion of his hand hoisted it up. 
The rumbling mutter of the vast mob swept m. The courtroom 
stirred 

“Kill ’im now!” 

“Lynch ’iml” 

The judge rapped for order 

“If this is not stopped. I’ll order the room cleared!” the 
judge said. 

Max was on his feet. 

“I object!” Max said. “This is highly irregular In effect, 
it is an attempt to intimidate this Court.” 

“Objection sustained,” the judge said “Proceed in a fashion 
more in keeping with the dignity of your office and this 
Court, Mr. State’s Attorney.” 

“I’m very sorry. Your Honor,” Buckley said, going toward 
the railing and wiping his face with a handkerchief. “I was 
laboring under too much emotion. I merely wanted to impress 
the Court with the urgency of this situation. . . .” 



346 


NATIVE SON 


“The Court is waiting to hear you plea,” the judge said. 

“Yes; of course. Your Honor," Buckley said. “Now, what 
are the issues here? The indictment fully states the crime to 
which the defendant has entered a plea of guilty. The counsel 
for the defense claims, and would have this Court believe, 
that the mere act oi entering a plea of guilty to this indictment 
should be accepted as evidence mitigating punishment 

“Speaking for the grief-stricken families of Mary Dalton and 
Bessie Mears, and for the People of the State of Illinois, 
thousands of whom are massed out beyond that window 
waiting for the law to take its course, I say that no such quib- 
bling, no such trickery shall pervert this Court and cheat the 
law! 

“A man commits two of the most horrible murders in the 
history of American civilization; he confesses; and his counsel 
would have us believe that because he pleads guilty after 
dodging the law, after attempting to murder the officers of the 
law, that his plea should be looked upon as evidence mitigating 
his punishmenti 

“I say. Your Honor, this is an insult to the Court and to 
the intelligent people of this statel If such crimes admit of 
such defense, if this fiend’s life is spared because of such a 
defense, I shall resign my office and tell those people out 
there in the streets that I can no longer protect their lives 
and property] I shall tell them that our courts, swamped with 
mawkish sentimentality, are no longer fit instruments to safe- 
guard the public peacel I shall tell them that we have aban- 
doned the fight for civilizationl 

“After entering such a plea, the counsel for the defense 
indicates that he shall ask this Court to believe that the 
mental and emotional life of the defendant are such that 
he does not bear full responsibility for these cowardly rapes 
and murders. He asks this Court to imagine a legendary No 
Man’s Land of human thought and feeling. He tells us that 
a man is sane enough to c ommit a crime, but is not sane 
enough to be tried for itl Nev« in my life have I heard 
such sheer legal cynicism, such a cold-blooded and calculated 
attempt to bedevil and evade the law in my lifcl I say that this 
shall nat bet 

“The State shall insist that this man be tried by jury, if the 
defense continues to say that be is insane. If his plea is 



FATE 347 

simply guilty, then the State demands the death penalty for 
these black crimes. 

“At such time as the Court may indicate, I shall offer 
evidence and put witnesses upon the stand to testify that this 
defendant is sane and is responsible for these bloody 
crimes. ...” 

“Your Honor!” Max called. 

"You shall have time to plead for your clienti” Buckley 
shouted. “Let me finish!” 

“Do you have an objection?” the judge asked, turning to 
Max. 

“I do!” Max said. “I hesitate to interrupt the State’s At- 
torney, but the impression he is trying to make is that I 
claim that this boy is insane. That is not true. Your Honor, 
let me state once again that this poor boy. Bigger, enters a 
plea of guilty ...” 

“I object!” Buckley shouted. “I object to the counsel for the 
defendant speaking of this defendant before this Court by any 
name other than that written in the indictment. Such names as 
‘Bigger’ and ‘this poor boy’ are used to arouse sympathy. . . 

“Sustained,” the judge said. “In the future, the defendant 
should be designated by the name under which the indictment 
was drawn Mr. Max, I think you should allow the State’s 
Attorney to continue.” 

“There’s nothing further I have to say, Your Honor,” Buck- 
ley said. “If It pleases the Court, I am ready to call my 
witnesses.” 

“How many witnesses have you?” Max asked. 

“Sixty,” Buckley said. 

“Your Honor,” Max said. “Bigger Thomas has entered 
a plea of guilty. It seems to me that sixty witnesses are not 
needed.” 

“I intend to prove that this defendant is sane, that he was 
and is responsible for these fnghtful crimes,” Buckley said. 

“The Court will hear them,” the judge said. 

“Your Honor,” Max said. “Let me clear this thing up. As 
you know, the time granted me to prepare a defense for 
Bigger Thomas is pitifully brief, so brief as to be without 
example. This hearing was rushed to the top of the calendar 
so that this boy might be tried while the temper of the people 
is white-hot. 

“A change of venue is of no value now. The same condition 



NATIVE SON 


348 

of hysteria exists all over this state. These circumstances have 
placed me in a position of not doing what I think wisest, 
but of doing what I must. If anybody but a Negro boy were 
charged with murder, the State’s Attorney would not have 
rushed this case to trial and demanded the death penalty. 

“The State has sought to create the impression that I am 
going to say that this boy is insane. That is not true I shall 
put no witnesses upon the stand. / shall witness for Bigger 
Thomas. I shall present argument to show that his extreme 
youth, his mental and emotional life, and the reason why he 
has pleaded guilty, should and must mitigate his punishment. 

“The State’s Attorney has sought to create the belief that 
I’m trying to spnng some surprise upon this Court by having 
my client enter a plea of guilty; he has sought to foster the 
notion that some legal trick is involved m the offering of 
evidence to mitigate this boy’s punishment. But we have had 
many, many such cases to come before the courts of Illinois. 
The Loeb and Leopold case, for example. This is a regular 
procedure provided for by the enlightened and progressive 
laws of our state. Shall we deny this boy, because he is poor 
and black, the same protection, the same chance to be heard 
and understood that we have so readily granted to others? 

“Your Honor, I am not a coward, but I could not ask that 
this boy be freed and given a chance at life while that mob 
howls beyond that window. I ask what I must. I ask, over the 
shrill cries of the mob, that you spare his lifel 

“The law of Illinois, regarding a plea of guilty to mtirder 
before a court, is as follows: the Court may impose the death 
penalty, imprison the defendant for life, or for a term of not 
less than fourteen years. Under this law the Court is able to 
hear evidence as to the aggravation or mitigation of the of- 
fense. The object of this law is to caution the Court to seek 
to find out why a man killed and to allow that why to be' the 
measure of the mitigation of the punishment. 

“I noticed that the State’s Attorney did not dwell upon why 
Bigger Thomas killed those two women. There is a mob wait-; 
ing, he says, so let us kill. His only plea is that if we do not 
kill, then the mob will kill. 

“He did not discuss the motive for Bigger Thomas’ crime 
because he could not. It is to his advantage to act quickly, 
before men have had time to think, before the full facts are 
known. For he knows that if the full facts were known, if 



FATE 349 

men had time to reflect, he could not stand there and shout 
for death! 

“What motive actuated Bigger Thomas? There was no 
motive as motive is Understood under our laws today, Your 
Honor. I shall go deeper into this when I sum up It is because 
of the almost instinctive nature of these crimes that I say 
that the mental and emotional life of this boy is important 
in deciding his punishment. But, as the State whets the ap- 
petite of the mob by needlessly parading witness after witness 
before this Court, as the State inflames the public mind 
further with the ghastly details of this boy’s crimes, I shall 
listen for the State’s Attorney to tell the Court why Bigger 
Thomas killed. 

“This boy is young, not only in years, but in his attitude 
toward life. He is not old enough to vote Living in a Black 
Belt district, he is younger than most boys of his age, for he 
has not come in contact with the wide variety and depths 
of life. He has had but two outlets for his emotions: work 
and sex — and he knew these in. their most vicious and de- 
grading forms. 

“I shall ask this Court to spare this boy’s life and I have 
faith enough in this Court to believe that it will consent.” 

Max sat down. The courtroom was filled with murmurs. 

“The Court will adjourn for one hour and reconvene at 
one o’clock,” the judge said 

Flanked by policemen, Bigger was led back into the 
crowded hall. Again he passed a window and he saw a 
sprawling mob held at bay by troops. He was taken to a 
room where a tray of food rested on a table. Max was there, 
waiting for him. 

“Come on and sit down. Bigger. Eat something.” 

“I don’t want nothing.” 

“Come on. You’ve got to hold up.” 

“I ain’t hungry.” 

"Here; take a smoke.” 

“Naw ” 

“You want a drink of water?” 

"Naw ” 

Bigger sat in a chair, leaned forward, rested his arms on 
the table and buried his face in the crooks of his elbows. He 
was tired. Now that he was out of the courtroom, he felt 
the awful strain under which he had been while the men had 



NATIVE SON 


350 

argued about his life. All of the vague thoughts and ex- 
citement about finding a way to live and die were far from 
him now Fear and dread were the only possible feelings he 
could have in that courtroom. When the hour was up, he 
was led back into court. He rose with the rest when the judge 
came, and then sat again. 

“The State may call its witnesses,” the judge said. 

“Yes, Your Honor,” Buckley said. 

The first witness was an old woman whom Bigger had not 
seen before. During the questioning, he heard Buckley call 
her Mrs. Rawlson. Then he heard the old woman say that 
she was the mother of Mrs. Dalton, Bigger saw Buckley give 
her the earring he had seen at the mquest, and the old 
woman told of how the pair of eamngs had been handed 
down through the years from mother to daughter. When 
Mrs. Rawlson was through. Max said that he had no desire to 
examine her or any of the State’s witnesses. Mrs. Dalton was 
led to the stand and she told the same story she had told at 
the inquest. Mr. Dalton told again why he had hired Bigger 
and pointed him out as “the Negro boy who came to my 
home to work.” Peggy also pointed him out, saying through 
her sobs, “Yes; he’s the boy.” All of them said that he 
had acted like a very quiet and sane boy. 

Britten told how he had suspected that Bigger knew some- 
thing of the disappearance of Mary; and said that “that 
black boy is as sane as I am.” A newspaperman told of how 
the smoke in the furnace had caused the discovery of Mary’s 
bones. Bigger heard Max rise when the newspaperman had 
finished. 

“Your Honor,” Max said. “I’d like to know how many 
more newspapermen are to testify?” 

“I have just fourteen more,” Buckley said. 

“Your Honor,” Max said. “This is totally unnecessary. 
There is a plea of guilty here. . . .” 

“I’m going to prove that that killer is sanel” Buckley 
shouted. 

“The Court will hear them,” the judge said. “Proceed, Mr. 
Buckley.” 

Fourteen more newspapermen told about the smoke and 
the bones and said that Bigger acted “just like all other 
colored boys.” At five o’clock the court recessed and a tray 
of food was placed before Bigger in a small room, with six 



FATE 


351 


policemen standing guard. The nerves of his stomach were 
so taut that he could only drink the coffee Six o’clock found 
him back in court The room grew dark and the lights were 
turned on. The parade of witnesses ceased to be real to 
Bigger. Five white men came to the stand and said that 
the handwnting on the kidnap note was his; that it was the 
same writing which they had found on his "homework papers 
taken from the files of the school he used to attend ” Another 
white man said that the fingerprints of Bigger Thomas were 
found on the door of “Miss Dalton’s room.’’ Then six doc- 
tors said Bessie had been raped Four colored waitresses 
from Ernie’s Kitchen Shack pointed him out as the “colored 
boy who was at the table that night with the white man and 
the white woman.” And they said he had acted “quiet and 
sane.” Next came two white women, school teachers, who 
said that Bigger was “a dull boy, but thoroughly sane." One 
witness melted into another Bigger ceased to care He stared 
listlessly At times he could hear the faint sound of the 
winter wind blowing outdoors. He was too tired to be glad 
when the session ended. Before they took him back to his 
cell, he asked Max, 

“How long will it last?” 

“I don’t know. Bigger. You’ll have to be brave and hold 
up." 

“I wish it was over." 

“This IS your life, Bigger. You got to fight.” 

“I don’t care what they do to me. I wish it was over.” 

The next morning they woke him, fed him, and took 
him back to court Jan came to the stand and said what he 
had said at the inquest. Buckley made no attempt to link 
Jan with the murder of Mary. G.H. and Gus and Jack told 
of how they used to steal from stores and newsstands, of 
the fight they had had the morning they planned to rob 
Blum's. Doc told of how Bigger had cut the cloth of his pool 
table and said that Bigger was "mean and bad, but sane.” 
Sixteen policemen pointed him out as “the man we captured, 
Bigger Thomas.” They said that a man who could elude the 
law as skillfully as Bigger had was "sane and responsible ” 
A man from the juvenile court said that Bigger had served 
three months in a reform school for stealing auto tires. 

There was a recess and in the afternoon five doctors said 
that they thought Bigger was “sane, but sullen and contrary.” 



352 


NATIVE SON 


Buckley brought forth the knife and purse Bigger had hidden 
in the garbage pail and informed the Court that the city’s 
dump had been combed for four days to find them. The bnck 
he had used to strike Bessie with was shown; then came the 
flashlight, the Communist pamphlets, the gun, the blackened 
earring, the hatchet blade, the signed confession, the kidnap 
note, Bessie’s bloody clothes, the stained pillows and quilts, 
the trunk, and the empty rum bottle which had been found 
in the snow near a curb. Mary’s bones were brought in and 
women in the courtroom began to sob. Then a group of 
twelve workmen brought in the furnace, piece by piece, from 
the Dalton basement and mounted it upon a giant wooden 
platform. People in the room stood to look and the judge 
ordered them to sit down. 

Buckley had a white girl, the size of Mary, crawl inside 
of the furnace “to prove beyond doubt that it could and did 
hold and bum the ravished body of innocent Mary Dalton; 
and to show that the poor girl’s head could not go in and 
the sadistic Negro cut it off.” Using an iron shovel from the 
Dalton basement, Buckley showed how the bones had been 
raked out; explained how Bigger had “craftily crept up the 
stairs during the excitement and taken flight.” Mopping sweat 
from his face, Buckley said, 

“The State rests. Your honorl” 

“Mr. Max,” the judge said. “You may proceed to call your 
witnesses.” 

“The defense does not contest the evidence introduced 
here,” Max said, “I therefore waive the right to call witnesses. 
As I stated before, at the proper time I shall present a plea in 
Bigger Thomas’ behalf.” 

The judge informed Buckley that he could sum up. For an 
hour Buckley commented upon the testimony of the State’s 
witnesses and interpreted the evidence, concluding with the 
words, 

“The intellectual and moral faculties of mankind may as 
well be declared impotent, if the evidence and testimony sub- 
mitted by the State are not enough to compel this Court to 
impose the death sentence upon Bigger Thomas, this despoiler 
of women!” 

“Mr. Max, will you be prepared to present your plea to- 
morrow?” the judge asked. 

“I will, Your Honor.” 



FATE 


353 

Back in his cell, Bigger tumbled lifelessly onto his cot. Soon 
it’ll all be over, he thought. Tomorrow might be the last 
day; he hoped so. His sense of time was gone; mght and day 
were merged now. 

The next morning he was awake in his cell when Max 
came. On his way to court he wondered what Max would say 
about him. Could Max really save his life? In the act of 
thinking the thought, he thrust it from him If he kept hope 
from his mind, then whatever happened would seem natural. 
As he was led down the hall, past windows, he saw that the 
mob and the troops still surrounded the court house. The 
buildmg was still jammed with muttering people. Policemen 
had to make an aisle for him in the crowd. 

A pang of fear shot through him when he saw that he had 
been the first to get to the table. Max was somewhere behind 
him, lost m the crowd. It was then that he felt more 
deeply than ever what Max had grown to mean to him. He was 
defenseless now. What was there to prevent those people 
from coming across those railings and dragging him into the 
street, now that Max was not here? He sat, not daring to look 
round, conscious that every eye was upon him. Max’s presence 
during the trial had made him feel that somewhere in that 
crowd that stared at him so steadily and resentfully was 
something he could cling to, if only he could get at it. 
There smoldered in him the hope that Max had made him 
feel in the first long talk they had had. But he did not want 
to risk trying, to make it flare mto flame now, not with this 
trial and the words of hate from Buckley. But neither did 
he snuff it out; he nursed it, kept it as his last refuge. 

When Max came Bigger saw that his face was pale and 
drawn. There were dark rings beneath the eyes. Max laid a 
hand on Bigger’s knee and whispered, 

“I’m going to do all I can, son.” 

Court opened and the judge said, 

“Are you ready to proceed, Mr. Max?” 

“Yes, Your Honor.” 

Max rose, ran his hand through his white hair and went to 
the front of the room. He turned and half-faced the judge 
and Buckley, looking out over Bigger’s head to the crowd. He 
cleared his throat. 

“Your Honor, never in my life have I nsen in court to 
make a plea with a firmer conviction in my heart. I know 



354 


NATIVE SON 


that what I have to say here today touches the destiny of an 
entire nation My plea is for more than one man and one 
people Perhaps it is in a manner fortunate that the defend- 
ant has committed one of the darkest crimes m our memory; 
for if we can encompass the life of this man and find out 
what has happened to him, if we can understand how subtly 
and yet strongly his life and fate are linked to ours — if we 
can do this, perhaps we shall find the key to our future, that 
rare vantage point upon which every man and woman in this 
nation can stand and view how inextncably our hopes and 
fears of today create the exultation and doom of tomorrow. 

“Your Honor, I have no desire to be disrespectful to this 
Court, but I must be honest. A man’s life is at stake. And not 
only IS this man a cnminal, but he is a black criminal And 
as such, he comes into this court under a handicap, notwith- 
standing our pretensions that all are equal before the law. 

“This man is different, even though his crime differs from 
similar crimes only in degree. The complex forces of society 
have isolated here for us a symbol, a test symbol. The prej- 
udices of men have stained this symbol, like a germ stamed 
for examination under the microscope. The unremitting hate 
of men has given us a psychological distance that will enable 
us to see this tiny social symbol in relation to our whole sick 
social organism. 

“I say, Your Honor, that the mere act of understanding 
Bigger Thomas will be a thawing out of icebound impulses, a 
dragging of the. sprawling forms of dread out of the night of 
fear into the light of reason, an unveiling of the uncon- 
scious ritual of death in which we, like sleep-walkers, have 
participated so dreamlike and thoughtlessly. 

“But I make no excessive claims, Your Honor. I do not 
deal in magic. I do not say that if we understand this man’s 
life we shall solve all our problems, or that when we have all 
the facts at our disposal we shall automatically know how to 
act Life is not that simple. But I do say ^at, if, after I 
have finished, you feel that death is necessary, then you are 
makmg an open choice. What 1 want to do is inject into 
the consciousness of this Court, through the discussion of 
evidence, the two possible courses of action open to us and 
the inevitable consequences flowing from each. And then, if 
we say death, let us mean it;- and if we say life, let us mean 
that too; but whatever we say, let us know upon what ground 



PATE 355 

we are putting our feet, what the consequences are for us and 
those whom we judge. 

“Your Honor, I would have you believe that I am not in- 
sensible to the deep burden of responsibility I am throwing 
upon your shoulders by the manner in which I have insisted 
upon conducting the defease of this boy’s life, and in my 
resolve to place before you the entire degree of his guilt 
for judgment. But, under the circumstances, what else could 
I have done? Night after night, I have lam without sleep, 
trying to think ot a way to picture to you and to the world 
the causes and reasons why this Negro boy sits here a self- 
confessed murderer. How can I, I asked myself, make the 
picture of what has happened to this boy show plain and 
powerful upon a screen of sober reason, when a thousand 
newspaper and magazine artists have aheady drawn it in 
lurid ink upon a million sheets of public prmt? Dare I, 
deeply mindful of this boy’s background and race, put his fate 
in the hands of a jury (not of his peers, but of an alien 
and hostile racel) whose minds are already conditioned by 
the press of the nation; a press which has already reached 
a decision as to his guilt, and m countless editorials suggested 
the measure of his punishment? 

“Nol I could notl So today I come to face this Court, re- 
jectmg a trial by jury, willingly entering a plea of guilty, 
asking in the light of the laws of this state that this boy’s 
life be spared for reasons which I believe afiect the founda- 
tions of our civilization. 

“The most habitual thing for this Court to do is to take the 
line of least resistance and follow the suggestion of the State’s 
Attorney and say, ‘Death I’ And that would be the end of this 
case. But that would not be the end of this cnmel That is 
why this Court must do otherwise. 

“There are times. Your Honor, when reality bears features 
of such an impellmgly moral complexion that it is impossible 
to follow the hewn path of expediency There are times 
when hfe’s ends are so raveled that reason and sense cry 
out that we stop and gather them together again before we 
can proceed. 

“What atmosphere surrounds this trial? Are the citizens 
soberly mtent upon seeing that the law is executed? That re- 
tribution IS dealt out in measure with the offense? That the 
guilty and only the guilty is caught and punished? 



NATIVE SON 


356 

“Nol Every conceivable prejudice has been dragged into 
this case. The authorities of the city and state deliberately in- 
flamed the public mind to the point where they could not keep 
the peace without martial law. Responsible to nothing but 
their own corrupt conscience, the newspapers and the prose- 
cution launched the ridiculous claim that the Communist 
Party was in some way linked to these two murders. Only 
here in court yesterday morning did the State’s Attorney 
cease implying that Bigger Thomas was guilty of other 
crimes, crimes which he could not prove. 

“The hunt for Bigger Thomas served as an excuse to ter- 
rorize the entire Negro population, to arrest hundreds of 
Communists, to raid labor union headquarters and workers’ 
organizations Indeed, the tone of the press, the silence of the 
church, the attitude of the prosecution and the stimulated 
temper of the people are of such a nature as to indicate that 
more than revenge is being sought upon a man who has 
committed a crime. 

"What IS the cause of all this high feeling and excitement? 
Is It the crime of Bigger Thomas? Were Negroes liked yes- 
terday and hated today because of what he has done? Were 
labor unions and workers’ halls raided solely because a 
Negro committed a crime? Did those white bones lying on 
that table evoke the gasp of horror that went up from the na- 
tion? 

“Your Honor, you know that that is not the case! All of 
the factors in the present hysteria existed before Bigger 
Thomas was ever heard of. Negroes, workers, and labor 
unions were hated as much yesterday as they are today. 

“Crimes of even greater brutality and horror have been 
committed in this city. Gangsters have killed and have gone 
free to kill again. But none of that brought forth an indigna- 
tion to equal this. 

“Your Honor, that mob did not come here of its own ac- 
cord! It was incitedl Until a week ago those people lived 
their lives as\quietly as always. 

“Who, then, fanned this latent hate into fury? Whose in- 
terest is that thoughtless and misguided mob serving? 

“The State’s Attorney knows, for he promised the Loop 
bankers that if he were re-elected demonstrations for relief 
would be stopped! The Governor of the state knows, for he 
has pledged the Manufacturers’ Association that he would 



FATE 


357 

use troops against workers who went out on strike! The Mayor 
knows, for he told the merchants of the city that the budget 
would be cut down, that no new taxes would be unposed to 
satisfy the clamor of the masses of the needy! 

“There is guilt in the rage that demands that this man’s 
life be snuffed out quickly! There is fear in the hate and 
impatience which impels the action of the mob congregated 
upon the streets beyond that window! All of them — the 
mob and the mob-masters; the wire-pullers and the fright- 
ened; the leaders and their pet vassals — know and feel that 
their lives are built upon a historical deed of wrong against 
many people, people from whose lives they have bled their 
leisure and their luxury! Their feeling of guiit is as deep as 
that of the boy who sits here on trial today. Fear and hate 
and guilt are the keynotes of this drama! 

“Your Honor, for the sake of this boy and myself, I wish I 
could bring to this Court evidence of a morally worthier na- 
ture. I wish I could say that love, ambition, jealousy, the 
quest for adventure, or any of the more romantic feehngs 
were back of these two murders If I could honestly mvest 
the hapless actor in this fateful drama with feelings of a 
loftier cast, my task would be easier and I would feel con- 
fident of the outcome The odds would be with me, for I 
would be appealing to men bound by common ideals to judge 
with pity and understanding one of their brothers who erred 
and feh in struggle. But I have no choice m this matter. Life 
has cut this cloth; not I, 

“We must deal here with the raw stuff of life, emotions and 
impulses and attitudes as yet unconditioned by the strivings 
of science and civilization. We must deal here with a first 
wrong which, when committed by us, was understandable and 
inevitable; and then we must deal with the long trailing black 
sense of guilt stemming from that wrong, a sense of guUt 
which self-interest and fear would not let us atone. And we 
must deal here with the hot blasts of hate engendered in 
others by that first wrong, and then the monstrous and hor- 
rible crimes flowing from that hate, a hate which has seeped 
down into the hearts and molded the deepest and most deli- 
cate sensibilities of multitudes. 

“We must deal here with a dislocation of life involving 
millions of people, a dislocation so vast as to stagger the 
imagination; so fraught with tragic consequences as to make 



NATIVE SON 


358 

us rather not want to look at it or think of it; so old that 
we would rather try to view it as an order of nature and 
strive with uneasy conscience and false moral fervor to keep 
it so. 

"We must deal here, on both sides of the fence, among 
whites as well as blacks, among workers as well as employ- 
ers, with men and women in whose minds there loom good 
and bad of such height and weight that they assume propor- 
tions of abnormal aspect and construction. When situations 
like this arise, instead of men feeling that they are facing 
other men, they feel that they are facing mountains, floods, 
seas, forces of nature whose size and strength focus the minds 
and emotions to a degree of tension unusual in the quiet rou- 
tine of urban life Yet this tension exists within the hmits 
of urban life, undermining it and supporting it in the same 
gesture of being 

“Allow me, Your Honor, before I proceed to cast blame 
and ask for mercy, to state emphatically that I do not claim 
that this boy is a victim of injustice, nor do I ask that this 
Court be sympathetic with him. That is not my object in 
embracing his character and his cause. It is not to tell you 
only of suffering that I stand here today, even though there 
are frequent lynchings and floggings of Negroes throughout 
the country. If you react only to that part of what I say, 
then you, too, are caught as much as he in the mire of blind 
emotion, and this vicious game will roll on, like a bloody river 
to a bloodier sea. Let us banish from our minds the thought 
that this IS an unfortunate victim of injustice The very con- 
cept of injustice rests upon a premise of equal claims, and 
this boy here today makes no claim upon you If you think or 
feel that he does, then you, too, are blinded by a feeling as 
temble as that which you condemn in him, and without as 
much justification. The feeling of guilt which has caused all 
of the mob-fear and mob-hysteria is the counterpart of his 
own hate. 

“Rather, I plead with you to see a mode of life in our 
midst, a mode of life stunted and distorted, but possessing its 
own laws and claims, an existence of men growing out 
of the soil prepared by the collective but blind will of a hun- 
dred million people. I beg you to recognize human life draped 
in a form and guise alien to ours, but springing from a soil 
plowed and sown by all our .hands. I a^ you to recognize 



FATE 


359 


the laws and processes flowing from such a condition, under- 
stand them, seek to change them. If we do none of these, 
then we should not pretend horror or surprise when thwarted 
life expresses itself in fear and hate and crime. 

“This is life, new and strange, strange, because we fear it; 
new, because we have kept our eyes turned from it. This is 
life lived in cramped limits and expressmg itself not in terms 
of our good and bad, but in terms ot its own fulfillment Men 
are men and life is life, and we must deal with them as they 
are; and if we want to change them, we must deal with them 
in the form in which they exist and have their bemg. 

“Your Honor, I must still speak in general terms, for the 
background of this boy must be shown, a background which 
has acted powerfully and importantly upon his conduct. Our 
forefathers came to these shores and faced a harsh and wild 
country. They came here with a stifled dream in their hearts, 
from lands where their personalities had been denied, as even 
we have' denied the personality of this boy They came from 
cities of the old world where the means to sustain life were 
hard to get or own. They were colonists and they were faced 
with a difficult choice; they had either to subdue this wild 
land or be subdued by it. We need but turn our eyes upon 
the imposing sweep of streets and factories and buildings to 
see how completely they have conquered. But in conquering 
they used others, used their lives. Like a miner using a pick 
or a carpenter using a saw, they bent the will of others to 
their own. Lives to them were tools and weapons to be 
wielded against a hostile land and climate. 

“I do not say this in terms of moral condemnation. I do 
not say it to rouse pity in you for the black men who were 
slaves for two and one-half centuries. It would be foolish 
now to look back upon that in the light of injustice. Let us 
not be naive, men do what they must, even when they feel 
that they are being driven by God, even when they feel they 
are fulfilling the wdl of God Those men were engaged in a 
struggle for hfe and their choice in the matter was small in- 
deed. It was the imperial dream of a feudal age that made 
men enslave others. Exalted by the will to rule, they could 
not have built nations on so vast a scale had they not shut 
their eyes to the humanity of other men, men whose lives 
were necessary for their building. But the mvention and wide- 



NATIVE SON 


360 

Spread use of machines made the further direct enslavement 
of men economically impossible, and so slavery ended. 

“Let me, Your Honor, dwell a moment longer upon the 
danger of looking upon this boy in the light of injustice. If 
1 should say that he is a victim of injustice, then I would 
be asking by implication for sympathy; and if one insists 
upon looking at this boy in the light of sympathy, he will 
be swamped by a feelmg of guilt so strong as to be indistin- 
guishable from hate. 

“Of all things, men do not like to feel that they are guilty of 
wrong, and if you make them feel guilt, they will try des- 
perately to justify it on any grounds; but, failing that, and 
seeing no immediate solution that will set things right 
without too much cost to their lives and property, tjiey will 
kill that which evoked in them the condemning sense of guilt. 
And this is true of all men, whether they be white or black; 
it is a peculiar and powerful, but common, need, 

"This guilt-fear is the basic tone of the prosecution and of 
the people m this case. In their hearts they feel that a wrong 
has been done and when a Negro commits a crime against 
them, they fancy they see the ghastly evidence of that wrong. 
So the men of wealth and property, the victims of attack 
who are eager to protect their profits, say to their guilty hire- 
lings, ‘Stamp out this ghost!' Or, like Mr, Dalton, they say, 
‘Let’s do something for this man so he won’t feel that way.* 
But then it is too late. 

“If only ten or twenty Negroes had been put, into slavery, 
we could call it injustice, but there were hundreds of thou- 
sands of them throughout the country. If this state of af- 
fairs had lasted for two or three years, we coaid say that it 
was unjust; but it lasted for more than two hundred years. 
Injustice which lasts for three long centuries and which exists 
among millions of people over thousands of square miles of 
territory, is injustice no longer; it is an accomplished fact of 
life. Men adjust themselves to their land; they create their 
own laws of being; their notions of right and wrong. A com- 
mon way of earning a living gives them a common attitude 
toward life. Even their speech is colored and shaped by what 
they must undergo. Your Honor, injustice blots out one fonn 
of life, but another grows up in its place with its own rights, 
needs, and aspirations. What is happening here today is not 
injustice, but oppression, an attempt to throttle or stamp out 



PATE 


361 

a new form of life. And it is this new form of life that has 
grown up here in our midst that puzzles us, that expresses it- 
self, like a weed growing from under a stone, in terms we call 
crime. Unless we grasp this problem in the light of this new 
reality, we cannot do more than salve our feelmgs of guilt 
and rage with more murder when a man, living under such 
conditions, commits an act which we call a crime. 

“This boy represents but a tiny aspect of a problem whose 
reality sprawls over a third of this nation. Kill him! Bum 
the life out of him! And still when the delicate and uncon- 
scious machinery of race relations slips, there will be murder 
again. How can law contradict the lives of millions of people 
and hope to be administered successfully? Do we believe m 
magic? Do you believe that by burning a cross you can fright- 
en a multitude, paralyze their will and impulses? Do you 
think that the white daughters in the homes of America will 
be any safer if you kill this boy? Nol I tell you in all solem- 
nity that they won’t! The surest way to make certain that 
there will be more such murders is to kill this boy. In your 
rage and guilt, make thousands of other black men and wom- 
en feel that the barriers are tighter and higher! Kill him and 
swell the tide of pent-up lava that will some day break loose, 
not in a single, blundering, accidental, mdividual crime, but 
in a wild cataract of emotion that will brook no control. 
The all-important thing for this Court to remember in decid- 
ing this boy's fate is that, though his crime was accidental, 
the emotions that broke loose were already there; the thing to 
remember is that this boy’s way of life was a way of guilt; 
that his crime existed long before the murder of Mary Dal- 
ton; that the accidental nature of his crime took the guise of 
a sudden and violent rent in the veil behind which he lived, 
a rent which allowed his feelings of resentment and estrange- 
ment to leap forth and find objective and concrete form. 

“Obsessed with guilt, we have sought to thrust a corpse 
from before our eyes. We have marked oft a little plot of 
ground and buried it. We tell our souls in the deep of the 
black night that it is dead and that we have no reason for 
fear or uneasmess. 

“But the corpse returns and raids our homesi We find our 
daughters murdered and burnt! And we say, ‘Kill! Kill!’ 

“But, Your Honor, I say: ‘Stop! Let us look at what we 
are doingl’ For the corpse is not dead! It still hves! It has 



NATIVE SON 


362 

made itself a home in the wild forest of our great cities, 
amid the rank and choking vegetation of slums! It has 
forgotten our language! In order to live it has sharpened its 
claws! It has grown hard and calloused! It has developed 
a capacity for hate and fury which we cannot understand! 
Its movements are unpredictable! By night it creeps from its 
lair and steals toward the settlements of civilization! And at 
the sight of a kind face it does not he down upon its back 
and kick up its heels playfully to be tickled and stroked. No; 
it leaps to kill! 

“Yes, Mary Dalton, a well-intentioned white girl with a 
smile upon her face, came to Bigger Thomas to help him. Mr. 
Dalton, feeling vaguely that a social wrong existed, wanted 
to give him a job so that his family could eat and his sister 
and brother could go to school. Mrs. Dalton, trying to grope 
her way toward a sense of decency, wanted him to go to 
school and learn a trade. But when they stretched forth their 
helping hands, death struck! Today they mourn and wait for 
revenge. The wheel of blood continues to turn! 

"I have only sympathy for those kind-hearted, white-haired 
parents. But to Mr. Dalton, who is a real estate operator, I say 
now. ‘You rent houses to Negroes in the Black Belt and you 
refuse to rent to them elsewhere. You kept Bigger Thomas 
in that forest You kept the man who murdered your daughter 
a stranger to her and you kept your daughter a stranger to 
him.’ 

“The relationship between the Thomas family and the 
Dalton family was that of renter to landlord, customer to 
merchant, employee to employer The Thomas family got poor 
and the Dalton family got rich. And Mr. Dalton, a decent 
man, tried to salve his feelings by giving money. But, my 
friend, gold was not enough! Corpses cannot be bribed! Say 
to yourself, Mr, Dalton, ‘I offered my daughter as a biunt 
sacrifice and it was not enough to push back into its grave 
this thing that haunts me.’ 

“And to Mrs Dalton, I say. ‘Your philanthropy was as 
tragically blind as your sightless eyesl’ 

“And to Mary Dalton, if she can hear me, I say; ‘I 
stand here today trying to make your death mean somethingl’ 

“Let me, Your Honor, explain further the meaning of 
Bigger Thomas’ life. In him and men like him is what was in 
our forefathers when they first came to these strange shores 



FATE 


363 

hundreds of years ago We were lucky. They are not. We 
found a land whose tasks called forth the deepest and best 
we had; and we built a nation, mighty and feared. We poured 
and are still pouring our soul into it. But we have told them.: 
This is a white man’s country!’ ‘They are yet looking for a 
land whose tasks can call forth their deepest and best. 

“Your Honor, consider the mere physical aspect of our 
civilization. How alluring, how dazzling it is! How it excites 
the senses! How it seems to dangle within easy reach of 
everyone the fulfillment of happiness! How constantly and 
overwhelmingly the advertisements, radios, newspapers and 
movies play upon us! But m thinking of them remember that 
to many they are tokens of mockery, These bright colors 
may fill our hearts with elation, but to many they are daily 
taunts. Imagine a man walking amid such a scene, a part of 
it, and yet knowing that it is not for him! 

“We planned the murder of Mary Dalton, and today we 
come to court and say; ‘We had nothing to do with it I’ But 
every school teacher knows that this is not so, for every 
school teacher knows the restnctions which have been placed 
upon Negro education. The authorities know that it is not so, 
for they have made it plain in their every act that they mean 
to keep Bigger Thomas and his kind within ngid limits. All 
real estate operators know that it is not so, for they have 
agreed among themselves to keep Negroes within the 
ghetto-areas of cities. Your Honor, we who sit here today in 
this courtroom are witnesses. We know this evidence, for we 
helped to create it. 

“But the question may be asked, ‘If this boy thought that 
he was somehow wronged, why did he not go into a court 
of law and seek a redress of his grievances? Why should he 
take the law into his own hands?’ Your Honor, this boy had 
no notion before he murdered, and he has none now, of 
having been wronged by any specific individuals. And, to be 
honest with you, the very life he has led has created in hun 
a frame of mind which makes him expect much less of this 
Court than you will ever know. 

“This boy’s crime was not an act of retaliation by an 
injured man against a person who he thought had injured 
him. If it were, then this case would be simple indeed This 
is the case of a man’s mistaking a whole race of men as a part 
of the natural structure of the umverse and of his acting 



NATIVE SON 


364 

toward them accordingly. He murdered Mary Dalton acci- 
dentally, without thinking, without plan, without conscious 
motive. But, after he murdered, he accepted the cnme. And 
that’s the important thing. It was the first full act of his life; 
it was the most meaningful, exciting and stirring thing that 
had ever happened to him. He accepted it because it made 
him free, gave him the possibility of choice, of action, the 
opportumty to act and to feel that his actions carried weight. 

“We are dealing here with an impulse stemming from deep 
down. We are dealing here not with how man acts toward 
man, but with how a man acts when he feels that he must 
defend himself against, or adapt himself to, the total natural 
world in which he lives. The central fact to be understood 
here is not who wronged this boy, but what kind of a vision 
of the world did he have before his eyes, and where did he 
get such a vision as to make him, without premeditation, 
snatch the life of another person so quickly and instinctively 
that even though there was an element of accident in it, he 
was willmg after the crime to say: ‘Yes, I did it. I had to.’ 

“I know that it is the fashion these days for a defendant 
to say. ‘Everything went blank to me.’ But this boy does not 
say that. He says the opposite. He says he knew what he was 
doing but felt he had to do it. And he says he feels no sorrow 
for having done it. 

“Do men regret when they kill in war? Does the personality 
of a soldier coming at you over the top of a trench matter? 

“No! You kill to keep from being killed! And after a vic- 
torious war you return to a free country, just as this boy, 
with his hands stained with the blood of Mary Dalton, felt 
that he was free for the first time in his life. 

“Multiply Bigger Thomas twelve million times, allowing 
for environmental and temperamental variations, and for 
those Negroes who are completely under the influence of the 
church, and you have the psychology of the Negro people. 
But once you see them as a whole, once your eyes leave the 
individual and encompass the mass, a new quality comes into 
the picture. Taken collectively, they are not simply twelve 
million people; m reality they constitute a separate nation, 
stunted, stripped, and held captive within this nation, devoid 
of political, social, economic, and property rights. 

“Do you think that you can kiU one of them — even if you 
killed one every day in the year — and make the others so full 



FATE 


365 

of fear that they would not kill? Nol Such a foolish policy 
has never worked and never will. The more you kill, the 
more you deny and separate, the more will they seek another 
form and way of life, however blindly and unconsciously. 
And out of what can they weave a different life, out of what 
can they mold a new existence, living organically in the same 
towns and cities, the same neighborhoods wiffi us? I ask, 
out of what — but what we are and own? 

“Your honor, there are four times as many Negroes in 
America today as there were people in the original Thirteen 
Colonies when they struck for their freedom. These twelve 
million Negroes, conditioned broadly by our own notions as 
we were by European ones when we first came here, are 
struggling within unbelievably narrow limits to achieve that 
feeling of at-home-ness for which we once strove so ardently. 
And, compared with our own struggle, they are striving under 
conditions far more difificult. If anybody can, surely we ought 
to be able to understand what these people are after. This 
vast stream of life, damned and muddied, is trying to sweep 
toward the fulfillment which all of us seek so fondly, but 
find so impossible to put into words. When we said that men 
are ‘endowed with certain inalienable rights, among these 
are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,’ we did not 
pause to define ‘happiness.’ That is the unexpressed quality 
in our quest, and we have never tried to put it into words. 
That is why we say, ‘Let each man serve God in his own 
fashion.’ 

“But there are some broad features of the kind of happiness 
we are seeking which are known. We know that happiness 
comes to men when they are caught up, absorbed in a mean- 
ingful task or duty to be done, a task or duty which in turn 
sheds justification and sanction back down upon their humble 
labors. We know that this may take many forms: in religion 
it is the story of the creation of man, of his fall, and of his 
redemption; compelling men to order their lives in certain 
ways, all cast in terms of cosmic images and symbols which 
swallow the soul in fulness and wholeness. In art, science, 
industry, politics, and social action it may take other forms. 
But these twdve million Negroes have access to none of these 
highly crystallized modes of expression, save that of relipon. 
And many of them know religion only in its more primitive 
form. The environment of tense urban centers has all but 



NATIVE SON 


366 

paralyzed the impulse for religion as a way of life for them 
today, just as it has for us. 

‘‘Feeling the capacity to be, to live, to act, to pour out the 
spirit of their souls into concrete and objective form with 
a high fervor bom of their racial characteristics, they glide 
through our complex civilization like wailing ghosts; they 
spin like fiery planets lost from their orbits; they wither 
and die like trees ripped from native soil. 

“Your Honor, remember that men can starve from a lack 
of self-realization as much as they can from a lack of bread! 
And they can murder for it, tool Did we not build a nation, 
did we not wage war and conquer in the name of a dream 
to realize our personalities and to make those realized per- 
sonahties secure! 

“But did Bigger Thomas really murder? At the risk of 
offending the sensibilities of this Court, I ask the question in 
the light of the ideals by which ^ve live! Looked at from the 
outside, maybe it was murder, yes But to him it was not 
murder. If it was murder, then what was the motive? The 
prosecution has shouted, stormed and threatened, but he has 
not said why Bigger Thomas killed! He has not said why be- 
cause he does not know. The truth is. Your Honor, there 
was no motive as you and I understand motives within the 
scope of our laws today. The truth is, this boy did not kiUl 
Oh, yes; Mary Dalton is dead. Bigger Thomas smothered her 
to death. Bessie Mears is dead. Bigger Thomas battered her 
with a brick in an abandoned building. But did he murder? 
Did he kill? Listen; what Bigger Thomas did early that Sun- 
day monung m the Dalton home and what he did that Sun- 
day mght in that empty building was but a tiny aspect of 
what he had been doing all his hfe long! He was living, only 
as he knew how, and as we have forced him to live. The ac- 
tions that resulted in the death of those two women were as 
instmctive and inevitable as breathmg or blinking one’s 
eyes. It was an act of creaiion\ 

“Let me tell you more. Before this trial the newspapers and 
the prosecution said that this boy had committed other 
crimes. It is true. He is guilty of numerous crimes. But search 
until the day of judgment, and you will find not one shred of 
evidence of them. He has murdered many times, but there are 
no corpses. Let me explain. This Negro boy’s entire attitude 
toward fife is a crime] The hate and fear which we have in- 



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161 

spired in him, woven by our civilization into the very struc- 
ture of his consciousness, into his blood and bones, into the 
hourly functioning of his personality, have become the justi- 
fication of his existence. 

“Every time he comes in contact with us, he kills! It is a 
physiological and psychological reaction, embedded in his 
being. Every thought he thinks is potential murder. Excluded 
from, and unassimilated in our society, yet longing to gratify 
impulses akin to our own but denied the objects and chan- 
nels evolved through long centuries for their socialized ex- 
pression, every sunrise and sunset make him guilty of subver- 
sive actions. Every movement of his body is an unconscious 
protest. Every desire, every dream, no matter how intimate or 
personal, is a plot or a conspiracy. Every hope is a plan for 
insurrection. Every glance of the eye is a threat. His very 
existence is a crime against the stated 

“It so happened that that night a white girl was present in 
a bed and a Negro boy was standing over her, fascinated 
with fear, hating her; a blind woman walked into the room 
and that Negro boy killed that girl to keep from being dis- 
co^iexed in a position which he knew we claimed warrants the 
death penalty. But that is only one side of itl He was im- 
pelled toward murder as much through the thirst for excite- 
ment, exultation, and elation as he was through fearl It was 
his way of living! 

"Your Honor, in our blindness we have so contrived and 
ordered the lives of men that the moths in their hearts flutter 
toward ghoulish and incomprehensible flames! 

“I have not explained the relationship of Bessie Mears to 
this boy. I have not forgotten her. I omitted to mention her 
until now because she was largely omitted from the con- 
sciousness of Bigger Thomas. His relationship to this poor 
black girl also reveals his relationship to the world But Big- 
ger Thomas is not here on trial for having murdered Bessie 
Mears. And he knows that. What does this mean? Does not 
the life of a Negro girl mean as much in the eyes of the law 
as the life of a white girl? Yes, perhaps, in the abstract. But 
under the stress of fear and flight, Bigger Thomas did not 
think of Bessie. He could not. The attitude of America to- 
ward this boy regulated his most intimate dealings with his 
own kind. After he had killed Mary Dalton he killed Bessie 
Mears to silence her, to save himself. After he had killed 



NATIVE SON 


368 

Mary Dalton the fear of having killed a white woman filled 
him to the exclusion of everything else. He could not react 
to Bessie’s death, his consciousness was determined by the 
fear that hung above him. 

“But, one might ask, did he not love Bessie? Was she not 
his girl? Yes; she was his girl He had to have a girl, so he 
had Bessie But he did not love her Is love possible to the life 
of a man I’ve described to this Court? Let us see. Love is not 
based upon sex alone, and that is all he had with Bessie. He 
wanted more, but the circumstances of his life and her life 
would not allow it. And the temperament of both Bigger and 
Bessie kept it out. Love grows from stable relationships, 
shared experience, loyalty, devotion, trust. Neither Bigger 
nor Bessie had any of these. What was there they could 
hope for? There was no common vision binding their hearts 
together; there was no common hope steering their feet in a 
common path. Even though they were intimately together, 
they were confoundingly alone. They were physically de- 
pendent upon each other and they hated that dependence. 
Their brief moments together were for purposes of sex. They 
loved each other as much as they hated each other; perhaps 
they hated each other more than they loved Sex warms the 
deep roots of life; it is the soil out of which the tree of love 
grows. But these were trees without roots, trees that lived by 
the light of the sun and what chance rain that fell upon stony 
ground. Can disembodied spirits love? There existed between 
them fitful splurges of physical elation; that’s all. 

“Your Honor, is this boy alone m feeling deprived and baf- 
fled? Is he an exception? Or are there others? There are 
others. Your Honor, millions of others, Negro and white, and 
that is what makes our future seem a looming image of vio- 
lence. The feelmg of resentment and the balked longing for 
some kind of fulfilment and exultation — in degrees more or 
less intense and in actions more or less conscious — stalk day 
by day through this land. The consciousness of Bigger 
Thomas, and millions of others more or less like him, white 
and black, according to the weight of the pressure we have 
put upon them, forms the quicksands upon which the foun- 
dations of our civilization rest. Who knows when some slight 
shock, disturbmg the delicate balance between social order 
and thirsty aspiration, shall send the skyscrapers in our cities 
toppling? Does that sound fantastic? 1 assure you that it is 



FATE 


369 

no more fantastic than those troops and that waiting mob 
whose presence and guilty anger portend something which 
we dare not even think! 

“Your Honor, Bigger Thomas was willing to vote for and 
follow any man who would have led him out of his morass of 
pain and hate and fear. If that mob outdoors is afraid of one 
man, what will it feel if millions rise? How soon will some- 
one speak the word that resentful millions will understand; 
the word to be, to act, to live? Is this Court so naive as to 
think that they will not take a chance that is even less risky 
than that Bigger Thomas took? Let us not concern ourselves 
with that part of Bigger Thomas’ confession that says he 
murdered accidentally, that he did not rape the girl It really 
does not matter. What does matter is that he was guilty before 
he killed! That was why his whole life became so quickly and 
naturally organized, pointed, charged with a new meaning 
when this thing occurred. Who knows when another ‘accident’ 
involving millions of men will happen, an ‘accident’ that will 
be the dreadful day of our doom? 

“Lodged in the heart of this moment is the question of 
power which time will unfold! 

“Your Honor, another civil war in these states is not im- 
possible; and if the misunderstanding of what this boy’s life 
means is an indication of how men of wealth and property 
are misreading the consciousness of the submerged millions 
today, one may truly come. 

“I do not propose that we try to solve this entire prob- 
lem here in this court room today. That is not within the 
province of our duty, nor even, I think, within the scope of 
our ability. But our decision as to whether this black boy is 
to live or die can be made in accordance with what actually 
exists. It will at least indicate that we see and know] And our 
seemg and knowing will comprise a consciousness of how 
inescapably this one man’s life will confront us ten million 
fold in the days to come. 

“I ask that you spare this boy, send him to prison for life. 
What would prison mean to Bigger Thomas? It holds ad- 
vantages for him that a life of freedom never had. To send 
him to prison would be more than an act of mercy. You 
would be for the first time conferring life upon him. He 
would be brought for the first time within the orbit of our 
civilization. He would have an identity, even though it be 



NATIVE SON 


370 

but a number He would have for the first time an openly des- 
ignated relationship with the world. The very building in 
which he would spend the rest of his natural life would be the 
best he has ever known Sending him to prison would be 
the first recognition of his personality he has ever had. The 
long black empty years ahead would constitute for his mind 
and feelings the only certain and durable object around 
which he could build a meaning for his life. The other in- 
mates would be the first men with whom he could associate 
on a basis of equality. Steel bars between him and the so- 
ciety he offended would provide a refuge from bate and 
fear. 

“I say. Your Honor, give this boy his life. And in making 
this concession we uphold those two fundamental concepts of 
our civilization, those two basic concepts upon which we have 
built the mightiest nation in history — personality and secur- 
ity — the conviction that the person is inviolate and that wh|ch 
sustains him is equally so. 

“Let us not forget that the magnitude of our modem life, 
our railroads, power plants, ocean liners, airplanes, and steel 
mills flowered from these two concepts, grew from our dream 
of creating an invulnerable base upon which man and bis soul 
can stand secure. 

“Your Honor, this Court and those troops are not the real 
agencies that keep the public peace Their mere presence is 
proof that we are letting peace slip through our fingers. Pub- 
lic peace is the act of public trust; it is the faith that al( are 
secure and will remain secure 

“When men of wealth urge the pse and show of force, 
quick death, swift revenge, then it is to protect a little spot 
of private security against the resentful millions from 
whom they have filched it, the resentful millions in whose 
militant hearts the dream and hope of security still lives. 

“Your Honor, I ask in the name of all we are and beheve, 
that you spare this boy’s life! With every atom of my being, 
I beg this in order that not only may this black boy live, 
but that we ourselves may not diel” 

Bigger heard Max’s last words nng out in the courtroom. 
When Max sat down he saw that his eyes were tired and 
sunken. He could hear his breath coming and going heavily. 
He had not understood the speech, but he had felt the mean- 
ing of some of it from the tone of Max’s voice. Suddenly he 



FATE 


371 

felt that his life was not worth the effort that Max had made 
to save it. The judge rapped with the gavel, calling a recess. 
The court was full of noise as Bigger rose The policemen 
marched him to a small room and stood waiting, on guard. 
Max came and sat beside him, silent, his head bowed A po- 
liceman brought a tray of food and set it on the table. 

“Eat, son,” Max said. 

“I ain’t hungry.” 

“I did the best I could,” Max said. 

“I’m all right,” Bigger said. 

Bigger was not at that moment really bothered about 
whether Max’s speech had saved his life or not. He was hug- 
ging the proud thought that Max had made the speech all for 
him, to save his life. It was not the meaning of the speech 
that gave him pride, but the mere act of it. That in itself was 
something. The food on the tray grew cold. Through a partly 
opened window Bigger heard the rumbling voice of the mob. 
Soon he would go back and hear what Buckley would say. 
Then it would all be over, save for what the judge would 
say. And when the judge spoke he would know if he was to 
live or die He leaned his head on his hands and closed his 
eyes. He heard Max stand up, strike a match and light a cig- 
arette. 

“Here; take a smoke, Bigger.” 

He took one and Ma^ held the flame; he sucked the smoke 
deep into his lungs and discovered that he did not want it He 
held the cigarette m his fingers and the smoke curled up past 
his bloodshot eyes. He jerked his head when the door opened; 
a policeman looked in. 

“Court’s opening in two miautesi” 

“All right,” Max said. 

Flanked again by policemen, Bigger went back to court 
He rose when the )udge came and then sat again. 

“The Court will hear the State,” the judge said. 

Bigger turned his head and saw Buckley nse. He was 
dressed in a black suit and there was a tiny pink flower m 
the lapel of his coat. The man’s very look and bearing, so 
grimly assured, made Bigger feel that he was already lost 
What chance had he against a man like that? Buckley licked 
his lips and looked out over the crowd; then he turned to the 
judge. 

“Your Honor, we aU dwell in a land of living law. Law em- 



372 


NATIVE SON 


bodies the will of the people. As an agent and servant of the 
law, as a representative of the organized will of the people, I 
am here to see that the will of the people is executed firmly 
and Without delay. I intend to stand here and see that that 
is done, and if it is not done, then it will be only over my 
most solemn and emphatic protest 

“As a prosecuting officer of the State of Illinois, I come be- 
fore this honorable Court to urge that the full extent of the 
law, the death penalty — the only penalty of the law that is 
feared by murderers! — be allowed to take its course m this 
most important case. 

“I urge this for the protection of our society, our homes 
and our loved ones. I urge this in the performance of my 
sworn duty to see, in so far as I am humanly capable, that 
the administration of law is just, that the safety and sacred- 
ness of human life are maintained, that the social order is 
kept intact, and that crime is prevented and punished. I 
have no interest or feeling in this case beyond the perform- 
ance of this sworn duty. 

“I represent the families of Mary Dalton and Bessie Meats 
and a hundred million law-abiding men and women of this 
nation who are laboring in duty or industry. I represent the 
forces which allow the arts and sciences to flourish in free- 
dom and peace, thereby enriching the lives of us all. 

“I shall not lower the dignity of this Court, nor the right- 
eousness of the people's cause, by attempting to answer the 
silly, alien, communistic and dangerous ideas advanced by 
the defense. And I know of no better way to discourage 
such thinking than the imposition of the death penalty upon 
this miserable human fiend. Bigger Thomas! 

“My voice may sound harsh when I say: Impose the death 
penalty and let the law take its course in spite of the specious 
call for sympathy! But I am really merciful and sympathetic, 
because the enforcement of this law in its most drastic form 
will enable millions bf honest men and women to sleep in 
peace tonight, to know that tomorrow will not bring the black 
shadow of death over their homes and lives! 

“My voice may sound vindictive when I say: Make the 
defendant pay the highest penalty for his crimesl But what I 
am really saying is that the law is sweet when it is enforced 
and protects a million worthy careers, when it shields the 
infant, the aged, the helpless, the blind and the sensitive 



FATE 373 

from the ravishing of men who know no law, no self-control, 
and no sense of reason. 

“My voice may sound cruel when I say: The defendant 
merits the death penalty for his self-confessed crimes! But 
what I am really saying is that the law is strong and gracious 
enough to allow all of us to sit here in this court room today 
and try this case with dispassionate interest, and not tremble 
with fear that at this very moment some half-human black 
ape may bp climbing through the windows of our homes to 
rape, murder, and burn our daughters! 

“Your Honor, I say that the law is holy; that it is the 
foundation of all our cherished values. It permits us to take 
for granted the sense of the worth of our persons and turn 
our energies to higher and nobler ends 

“Man stepped forward from the kingdom of the beast the 
moment he felt that he could think and feel in security, 
knowmg that sacred law had taken the place of his gun and 
knife. 

“I say that the law is holy because it makes us humani 
And woe to the men — and the civilization of those men' — 
who, in misguided sympathy or fear, weaken the stout struc- 
ture of the law which insures the harmonious working of 
our lives on this earth. 

“Your Honor, I regret that the defense has raised the 
viperous issue of race and class hate in this trial. I sympa- 
thize with those whose hearts were pained, as mine was 
pained, when Mr. Max so cynically assailed our sacred cus- 
toms. I pity this man’s deluded and diseased mind. It is a 
sad day for American civilization when a white man will 
try to stay the hand of justice from a bestial monstrosity 
who has ravished and struck down one of the finest and most 
delicate flowers of our womanhood 

“Every decent white man in America ought to swoon with 
joy for the opportunity to crush with his heel the woolly 
head of this black lizard, to keep him from scuttling on his 
belly farther over the earth and spitting forth his venom of 
deathl 

“Your Honor, literally I shrink from the mere recital of 
this dastardly crime. I cannot speak of it without feeling 
somehow contaminated by the mere telling of it. A bloody 
crime has that powerl It is that steeped and dyed with re- 
pellent contagion 1 



374 


NATIVE SON 


“A wealthy, kindly disposed white man, a resident of 
Chicago for more than forty years, sends to the relief agency 
for a Negro boy to act as chauffeur to his family. The man 
specifies in his request that he wants a boy who is handi- 
capped either by race, poverty, or family responsibility. The 
relief authorities search through their records and select the 
Negro family which they think merits such aid; that family 
was the Thomas family, living then as now at 3721 Indiana 
Avenue. A social worker visits the family and informs the 
mother that the family is to be taken off the relief rolls and 
her son placed in private employment. The mother, a hard- 
working Christian woman, consents In due time the relief 
authorities send a notification to the oldest son of the family, 
Bigger Thomas, this black mad dog who sits here today, 
telling him that he must report for work 

“What was the reaction of this sly thug when he learned 
that he had an opportumty to support himself, his mother, 
his little sister and his little brother? Was he grateful? Was he 
glad that he was having something offered to him that ten 
million men in America would have fallen on their knees and 
thanked God for? 

“No! He cursed his mother! He said that he did not want 
to work! He wanted to loaf about the streets, steal from news- 
stands, rob stores, meddle with women, frequent dives, at- 
tend cheap movies, and chase prostitutes! That was the re- 
action of this sub-human killer when he was confronted with 
the Christian kindness of a man he had never seen! 

“His mother prevailed upon him, pled with him; but the 
plight of his mother, worn out from a life of toil, had no 
effect upon this hardened black thing. The future of his sister, 
an adolescent school girl, meant nothing to him. The fact 
that the job would have enabled his brother to return to 
school was not enticing to Bigger Thomas. 

“But, suddenly, after three days of persuasion by his 
mother, he consented. Had any of her arguments reached him 
at long last? Had he begun to feel his duty toward himself 
and his family? No! Those were not the considerations that 
drove this rapacious beast from his den into the openl He 
consented only when his mother informed him that the relief 
would cut off their supply of food if he did not accept. He 
agreed to go to work, but forbade his mother to speak to 
him within the confines of the home, so outraged was he 



FATE 


375 

that he had to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. It 
was hunger that drove him out, sullen, angry, still longing 
to stay upon the streets and steal as he had done before, 
and for which he had once landed m a reform school 

“After seeing a movie that Saturday morning, he went to 
the Dalton home. He was welcomed there with lavish kind- 
ness. He was given a room; he was told that he would receive 
extra money for himself, over and above his weekly wages. 
He was fed. He was asked if he wanted to go back to school 
and learn a trade. But he refused. His mind and heart — if 
this beast can be said to have a mind and a heartl — were 
not set upon any such goals. 

“Less than an hour after he had been in that house, he 
met Mary Dalton, who asked him if he wanted to join a 
union. Mr. Max, whose heart bleeds for labor, did not tell 
us why his client should have resented that. 

“What black thoughts passed through that Negro’s schem- 
ing brain the first few moments after he saw that trusting 
white girl standing before him? We have no way of knowing, 
and perhaps this piece of human scum, who sits here today 
begging for mercy, is wise in not telling us. But we can use 
our imagination; we can look upon what he subsequently 
did and surmise. 

“Two hours later he was driving Miss Dalton to the Loop. 
Here occurs the first misunderstanding in this case. The general 
notion is that Miss Dalton, by having this Negro drive her to 
the Loop instead of to school, was committing an act of 
disobedience against her family. But that is not for us to 
judge. That is for Mary Dalton and her God to settle. It was 
admitted by her family that she went contrary to a wish of 
theirs; but Mary Dalton was of age and went where she 
pleased. 

“This Negro drove Miss Dalton to the Loop where she was 
joined by a young white man, a friend of hers. From there 
they went to a South Side cafe and ate and drank. Being in 
a Negro neighborhood, they invited this Negro to eat with 
them. When they talked, they included him in their conver- 
sation. When liquor was ordered, enough was bought so 
that he, too, could drink. 

“Afterwards he drove the couple through Washington Park 
for some two hours. Around two o’clock in the morning this 
friend of Miss Dalton’s left the car and went to visit some 



376 


NATIVE SON 


friends of his. Mary Dalton was left alone in that car with 
this Negro, who had received nothing from her but kind- 
ness. From that point onward, we have no exact knowledge 
of what really happened, for we have only this black cur’s 
bare word for it, and f am convinced that he is not telling 
us all. 

“We don’t know just when Mary Dalton was killed. But we 
do know this: her head was completely severed from her 
body! We know that both the head and the body were stuffed 
into the furnace and burnedl 

“My God, what bloody scenes must have taken place! How 
swift and unexpected must have been that lustful and mur- 
derous attack! How that poor child must have struggled to 
escape that maddened ape! How she must have pled on 
bended knee, with tears in her eyes, to be spared the vile 
touch of his horrible person! Your Honor, must not this 
infernal monster have burned her body to destroy evidence 
of offenses worse than rape? That treacherous beast must have 
known that if the marks of his teeth were ever seen on the in- 
nocent white flesh of her breasts, he would not have been 
accorded the high honor of sitting here in this court of law! 
O suffering Christ, there are no words to tell of a deed so 
black and awful! 

“And the defense would have us believe that this was an 
act of creationl It is a wonder that God in heaven did 
not drown out his lying voice with a thunderous ‘NO!’ It is 
enough to make the blood stop flowing in one’s veins to hear 
a man excuse this cowardly and beastly crime on the ground 
that it was ‘instinctive’! 

“The next morning Bigger Thomas took Miss Dalton’s 
trunk, half-packed, to the La Salle Street Station and prepared 
to send it off as though nothing had happened, as though 
Miss Dalton were still alive. But the bones of Miss Dalton’s 
body were found m the furnace that evening. 

“The burning of the body and the taking of the half-packed 
trunk to the station mean just one thing, Your Honor. It 
shows that the rape and murder were planned, that an at- 
tempt was made to destroy evidence so that the crime could 
be carried on to the point of ransom. If Miss Dalton were ac- 
cidentally killed, as this Negro so pathetically tried to make 
us believe when he first ‘confessed,’ then why did he bum her 



FATE 377 

body? Why did he take her trunk to the station when he 
knew that she was dead? 

“There is but one answer! He planned to rape, to kill, to 
collect! He burned the body to get nd of evidences of rapei 
He took the trunk to the station to gam time in which to 
burn the body and prepare the kidnap note. He killed her 
because he raped her! Mind you, Your Honor, the central 
crime here is rapel Every action points toward that! 

“Knowing that the family had called in private investi- 
gators, the Negro tried to throw the suspicion elsewhere. In 
other words, he was not above seeing an innocent man die 
for his crime. When he could not kill any more, he did the 
next best thing He lied' He sought to blame the crime upon 
one of Miss Dalton’s friends, whose political beliefs, he 
thought, would damn him He told wild lies of taking the two 
of them, Miss Dalton and her friend, to her room. He said 
that he had been told to go home and leave the car out in 
the snow in the driveway all night Knowing that his lies 
were being found out, he tried yet another scheme. He tried 
to collect money! 

“Did he flee the scene when the investigators were at 
work? No! Coldly, without feeling, he stayed on m the Dal- 
ton home, ate, slept, basking in the misguided kindness of 
Mr. Dalton, who refused to allow him to be questioned upon 
the theory that he was a poor boy who needed protection] 

“He needed as much protection as you would give a coiled 
rattler! 

“While the family was searching heaven and earth for their 
daughter, this ghoul writes a kidnap note demanding ten 
thousand dollars for the safe return of Miss Dalton! But the 
discovery of the bones in the furnace put that foul dream to 
an end! 

“And the defense would have us believe that this man 
acted in fear! Has fear, since the beginning of tune, driven 
men to such lengths of calculation? 

“Again, we have but the bare word of this worthless ape 
to go on. He fled the scene and went to the home of a girl, 
Bessie Mears, with whom he had long been intimate. There 
something occurred that only a cunning beast could have 
done. This girl had been frightened into helping him collect 
the ransom money, and he had placed m her keeping the 
money he had stolen from the corpse of Mary Dalton. He 



NATIVE SON 


378 

killed that poor girl, and even yet it staggers my mind to 
think that such a plan for murder could have been hatched 
in a human brain. He persuaded this girl, who loved him 
deeply — despite the assertions of Mr. Max, that godless 
Communist who tried to make you believe otherwise I — as I 
said, he persuaded this girl who loved him deeply to run 
away with him. They hid in an abandoned building. And 
there, with a blizzard raging outside, in the sub-zero cold 
and darkness, he committed rape and murder again, twice 
in twenty-four hours! 

‘‘I repeat. Your Honor, I cannot understand it! I have 
dealt with many a murderer in my long service to the state, 
but never have I encountered the equal of this. So eager 
was this demented savage to rape and kill that he forgot 
the only thing that might have helped him to escape; that is, 
the money he had stolen from the dead body of Mary Dalton, 
which was in the pocket of Bessie Mears’ dress. He took 
the ravished body of that poor working girl — the money was 
in her dress, 1 say — and dumped it four floors down an 
air-shaft. The doctors told us that that girl was not dead 
when she hit the bottom of that shaft, she froze to death 
later, trying to climb out! 

“Your Honor, I spare you the ghastly details of these 
murders. The witnesses have told all. 

“But I demand, in the name of the people of this state, 
that this man die for these crimes! 

"I demand this so that others may be deterred from 
similar crimes, so that peaceful and industrious people may 
be safe. Your Honor, millions are waiting for your word! 
They are waidng for you to tell them that jungle law does 
not prevail m this city! They want you to tell them that they 
need not sharpen their knives and load their guns to protect 
themselves. They are waiting, Your Honor, beyond that 
windowl Give them your word so that they can, with calm 
hearts, plan for the future 1 Slay the dragon of doubt that 
causes a million hearts to pause tonight, a million hands to 
tremble as they lock their doors! 

“When men are pursuing their normal rounds of duty and 
a crime as black and bloody as this is committed, they be- 
come paralyzed. The more horrible the crime, the more 
stunned, shocked, and dismayed is the tranquil city in which 
it happens; the more helpless are the citizens before it. 



FATE 


379 

“Restore confidence to those of us who stiU survive, so 
that we may go on and reap the rich harvests of life. Your 
Honor, in the name of Almighty God, I plead with you to be 
merciful to us!” 

Buckley’s voice boomed in Bigger’s ears and he knew what 
the loud commotion meant when the speech had ended. In 
the back of the room several newspapermen were scrambling 
for the door. Buckley wiped his red face and sat down. The 
judge rapped for order, and said; 

“Court will adjourn for one hour.” 

Max was on his feet. 

“Your Honor, you cannot do this. ... Is it your inten- 
tion . . . More time is needed. . . . You . . .” 

“The Court will give its decision then,” the judge said. 

There were shouts. Bigger saw Max’s lips moving, but he 
could not make out what he was saying Slowly, the room 
quieted. Bigger saw that the expressions on the faces of the 
men and women were different now. He felt that the thing 
had been decided. He knew that he was to die. 

“Your Honor,” Max said, his voice breaking from an in- 
tensity of emotion “It seems that for careful consideration 
of the evidence and discussion submitted, more time is . . 

“The Court reserves the right to determme how much tune 
is needed, Mr. Max,” the judge said. 

Bigger knew that he was lost. It was but a matter of time, 
of formality. 

He did not know how he got back into the little room; 
but when he was brought in he saw the tray of food still there, 
uneaten. He sat down and looked at the six policemen who 
stood silently by. Guns hung from their hips. Ought he to 
try to snatch one and shoot himself? But he did not have 
enough spirit to respond positively to the idea of self- 
destruction. He was paralyzed with dread. 

Max came in, sat, and lit a cigarette. 

“Well, son. We’ll have to wait. We’ve got an hour.” 

There was a banging on the door. 

“Don’t let any of those reporters in here,” Max told a 
policeman. 

“O.K.” 

Minutes passed. Bigger’s head began to ache with the sus- 
pense of it. He knew that Max had nothing to say to him and 
he had nothing to say to Max. He had to wait, that was all; 



NATIVE SON 


380 

wait for something he knew was coming. His throat tightened. 
He felt cheated. Why did they have to have a trial if it had 
to end this way? 

“Well, I reckon it’s all over for me now,” Bigger sighed, 
Speaking as much for himself as for Max. 

“I don’t know,” Max said. 

“I know,” Bigger said. 

“Well, let’s wait ” 

“He’s makmg up his mind too quick. I know I’m going to 
die.” 

“I’m sorry. Bigger. Listen, why don’t you eat?” 

"I ain’t hungry.” 

“This thing isn’t over yet I can ask the Governor . . 

“It ain’t no use They got me.” 

“You don’t know.” 

“I know.” 

Max said nothing. Bigger leaned his head upon the table 
and closed his eyes. He wished Max would leave him now. 
Max had done all he could. He should go home and forget 
him. 

The door opened. 

“The judge’ll be ready in five minutes!” 

Max stood up. Bigger looked at his tired face. 

“All right, son. Come on ” 

Walking between policemen. Bigger followed Max back 
into the court room. He did not have time to sit down before 
the judge came. He remained standing until the judge was 
seated, then he slid weakly into his chair. Max rose to speak, 
but the judge lifted his hand for silence. 

“Will Bigger Thomas rise and face the Court?” 

The room was full of noise and the judge rapped for quiet. 
With tremblmg legs, Bigger rose, feeling m the grip of a 
nightmare. 

“Is there any statement you wish to make before sentence 
is passed upon you?” 

He tried to open his mouth to answer, but could not. Even 
if he had had the power of speech, he did not know what he 
could have said. He shook his head, his eyes blurring The 
court room was profoundly quiet now The judge wet his 
bps with his tongue and lifted a piece of paper that crackled 
loudly in the silence. 

“In view of the unprecedented disturbance of the public 



fate 381 

mind, the duty of this Court is clear," the judge said and 
paused 

Bigger groped for the edge of the table with his hand and 
clung to It. 

"In Number 666-983, indictment for murder, the sentence 
of the Court is that you. Bigger Thomas, shall die on or be- 
fore midnight of Friday, March third, in a manner prescribed 
by the laws of this State. 

"This Court finds your age to be twenty. 

“The Sheriff may retire with the prisoner.” 

Bigger understood every word; and he seemed not to react 
to the words, but to the judge’s face. He did not move; he 
stood looking up into the judge’s white face, his eyes not 
blinking. Then he felt a hand upon his sleeve; Max was pulling 
him back into his seat The room was in an uproar. The 
judge rapped with his gavel. Max was on his feet, trying to 
say something, there was too much noise and Bigger could 
not tell what it was. The handcuffs were clicked upon him and 
he was led through the underground passage back to his cell. 
He lay on the cot and something deep down m him said, It’s 
over now. . . , It’s all over. . . . 

Later on the door opened and Max came in and sat softly 
beside him on the cot. Bigger turned his face to the wall. 

"I’ll see the Governor, Bigger. It’s not over yet. . .” 

"Go ’way,” Bigger whispered. 

“You’ve got to . . 

“Naw. Go ’way. . . .’’ 

He felt Max’s hand on his arm; then it left. He heard the 
steel door clang shut and he knew that he was alone. He did 
not stir; he lay still, feehng that by being still he would stave 
off feeling and thinking, and that was what he wanted above 
all right now Slowly, his body relaxed. In the darkness and 
silence he turned over on his back and crossed his hands upon 
his chest. His lips moved in a whimper of despair. 


In self-defense he shut out the night and day from his 
mind, for if he had thought of the sun’s rising and setting, of 
the moon or the stars, of clouds or rain, he would have died 
a thousand deaths before they took him to the chair. To ac- 
custom his mind to death as much as possible, he made all 
the world 'beyond his cell a vast gray land where neither 



NATIVE SON 


382 

night nor day was, peopled by strange men and women whom 
he could not understand, but with those lives he longed to 
mingle once before he went. 

He did not eat now, he simply forced food down his 
throat without tasting it, to keep the gnawing pain of hunger 
away, to keep from feeling dizzy. And he did not sleep; at 
intervals he closed his eyes for awhile, no matter what the 
hour, then opened them at some later time to resume his 
brooding. He wanted to be free of everything that stood be- 
tween him and his end, him and the full and terrible realiza- 
tion that life was over without meaning, without anything 
being settled, without conflicting impulses being resolved. 

His mother and brother and sister had come to see him 
and he had told them to stay home, not to come again, to 
forget him. The Negro preacher who had given him the cross 
had come and he had driven him away. A white priest had 
tried to persuade him to pray and he had thrown a cup of hot 
coffee into his face The priest had come to see other pris- 
oners since then, but had not stopped to talk with him. That 
had evoked in Bigger a sense of his worth almost as keen as 
that which Max had roused in him during the long talk that 
night. He felt that his making the priest stand away from him 
and wonder about his motives for refusing to accept the 
consolations of religion was a sort of recognition of his per- 
sonahty on a plane other than that which the priest was 
ordinarily willing to make. 

Max had told him that he was going to see the Governor, 
but he had heard no more from him He did not hope that 
anything would come of it; he referred to it in his thoughts 
and feelings as something happening outside of his life, 
which could not in any way alter or influence the course 
of it. 

But he did want to see Max and talk with him again. He 
recalled the speech Max had made in court and remembered 
with gratitude the kind, impassioned tone. But the meaning 
of the words escaped him. He believed that Max knew how 
he felt, and once more before he died he wanted to talk with 
him and feel with as much keenness as possible what his 
living and dying meant. That was all the hope he had now. 
If there were any sure and firm knowledge for him, it would 
have to come from himself. 

He was allowed to write three letters a week, but he had 



FATE 


383 


written to no one. There was no one to whom he had any- 
thing to say, for he had never given himself whole-heartedly 
to anyone or anything, except murder. What could he say to 
his mother and brother and sister? Of the old gang, only 
Jack had been his friend, and he had never been so close to 
Jack as he would have liked. And Bessie was dead; he had 
killed her. 

When tired of mulling over his feelings, he would say to 
himself that it was he who was wrong, that he was no good. 
If he could have really made himself believe that, it would 
have been a solution. But he could not convince himself. 
His feelings clamored for an answer his mind could not give. 

All his life he had been most alive, most himself when he 
had felt things hard enough to fight for them; and now here 
in this cell he felt more than ever the hard central core of 
what he had lived. As the white mountain had once loomed 
over him, so now the black wall of death loomed closer with 
each fleeting hour. But he could not strike out blmdly now; 
death was a different and bigger adversary. 

Though he lay on his cot, his hands were groping fumbling- 
ly through the city of men for something to match the feelings 
smoldering in him; his groping was a yearning to know. 
Frantically, his mind sought to fuse his feelings with the 
world about him, but he was no nearer to knowing than 
ever. Only his black body lay here on the cot, wet with the 
sweat of agony. 

If he were nothing, if this were all, then why could not 
he die without hesitancy? Who and what was he to feel the 
agony of a wonder so intensely that it amounted to fear? Why 
was this strange impulse always throbbing in him when there 
was nothing outside of him to meet it and explain it? Who 
or what had traced this restless design in him? Why was this 
eternal reaching for something that was not there? Why 
this black gulf between him and the world; warm red blood 
here and cold blue sky there, and never a wholeness, a 
oneness, a meeting of the two? 

Was that it? Was it simply fever, feeling without knowmg, 
seeking without finding? Was this the all, the meaning, the 
end? With these feelings and questions the minutes passed. 
He grew thin and his eyes held the red blood of his body. 

The eve of his last day came. He longed to talk to Max 
more than ever. But what could he say to him? Yes; that was 



NATIVE SON 


384 

the joke of it He could not talk about this thing, so elusive 
it was, and yet he acted upon it every living second. 

The next day at noon a guard came to his cell and poKed 
a telegram through the bars. He sat up and opened it. 

BE BRAVE GOVERNOR FAILED DONE ALL POS- 
SIBLE SEE YOU SOON 

MAX 

He balled the telegram into a tight knot and threw it into 
a comer. 

He had from now until midnight. He had heard that six 
hours before his time came they would give him some more 
clothes, take him to the barber shop, and then take him to 
the death cell. He had been told by one of the guards not 
to worry, that “eight seconds after they take you out of your 
cell and put that black cap over your eyes, you’ll be dead, 
boy.” Well, he could stand that He had in his mind a plan: 
he would flex his muscles and shut his eyes and hold his 
breath and think of absolutely nothing while they were han- 
dling him. And when the current struck him, it would all be 
over. 

He lay down again on the cot, on his back, and stared at 
the tiny bnght-yellow electric bulb glowing on the ceiling 
above his head. It contained the fire of death If only those 
tiny spirals of heat inside that glass globe would wrap round 
him now — if only someone would attach the wires to his 
iron cot while he dozed off — if only when he was m a 
deep dream they would kill him. . . . 

He was m an uneasy sleep when he heard the voice of a 
guard. 

“Thomas! Here’s your lawyer!” 

He swung his feet to the floor and sat up Max was stand- 
ing at the bars The guard unlocked the door and Max 
walked in. Bigger had an impulse to rise, but he remained 
seated. Max came to the center of the floor and stopped. 
They looked at each other for a moment. 

“HeUo, Bigger." 

Silently, Bigger shook hands with him. Max was before 
him, quiet, white, solid, real. His tangible presence seemed to 
belie all the vague thoughts and hopes that Bigger had 



PATE 


385 

woven round him in his broodings. He was glad that Max 
had come, but he was bewildered. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

For an answer, Bigger sighed heavily. 

“You get my wire?” Max asked, sitting on the cot. 

Bigger nodded 

“I’m sorry, son ” 

There was silence Max was at his side. The man who 
had lured him on a quest toward a dim hope was there Well, 
why didn’t he speak now? Here was his chance, his last 
chance He lifted his eyes shyly to Max’s; Max was looking 
at him Bigger looked off. What he wanted to say was stronger 
in him when he was alone; and though he imputed to Max 
the feelings he wanted to grasp, he could not talk of them to 
Max until he had forgotten Max’s presence Then fear that 
he would not be able to talk about this consuming fever 
made him panicky He struggled for self-control, he did not 
want to lose this driving impulse; it was all he had. And in 
the next second he felt that it was all foolish, useless, vain. 
He stopped trying, and in the very moment he stopped, he 
heard himself talking with tight throat, in tense, involuntary 
whispers: he was trusting the sound of his voice rather than 
the sense of his words to carry his meaning, 

“I’m all right, Mr. Max. You ain't to blame for what’s hap- 
pening to me. ... I know you did all you could. . . .” Under 
the pressure of a feeling of futility his voice trailed off. After 
a short silence he blurted, “I just r-r-reckon I h-had it 
coming . . He stood up, full now, wanting to talk. His 
lips moved, but no words came. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, Bigger?” Max asked 
softly. 

Bigger looked at Max’s gray eyes. How could he get into 
that man a sense of what he wanted? If he could only tell 
him! Before he was aware of what he was doing, he ran to 
the door and clutched the cold steel bars in his hands. 

“I— I ” 

“Yes, Bigger?” 

Slowly, Bigger turned and came back to the cot. He stood 
before Max again, about to speak, his right hand raised. Then 
he sat down and bowed his head. 

“What IS It, Bigger? Is there anything you want me to do 
on the outside? Any message you want to send?” 



386 


NATIVE SON 


“Naw,” he breathed. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“1 don’t know.” 

He could not talk. Max reached over and placed a hand on 
his shoulder, and Bigger could tell by its touch that Max did 
not know, had no suspicion of what he wanted, of what he 
was trying to say. Max was upon another planet, far off in 
spacei^as there any way to break down this wall of isola- 
tionwfc>istractedly, he gazed about the cell, trying to re- 
m,eaiDer where he had heard words that would help himl^e 
could recall none. He had lived outside of the lives of men. 
Their modes of communication, their symbols and images, 
had been denied him. Yet Max had given him the faith that 
at bottom all men lived as he lived and felt as he felt. And 
of all the men he had met, surely Max knew what he was 
trying to say. Had Max left him? Had Max, knowing that he 
was to die, thrust him from his thoughts and feelings, as- 
signed him to the grave? Was he already numbered among 
the dead? His lips quivered and his eyes grew misty. Yes; 
Max had left him. Max was not a friend. Anger welled in him. 
But he knew that anger was useless. 

Max rose and went to a small window; a pale bar of sun- 
shine fell across his white head. And Bigger, looking at 
him, saw that sunshine for the first time in many days; and 
as he saw it, the entire cell, with its four close walls, became 
crushingly real. He glanced down at himself; the shaft of 
yellow sun cut across his chest with as much weight as a 
beam forged of lead. With a convulsive gasp, he bent forward 
and shut his eyes. It was not a white mountain looming 
over him now; Gus was not whistling “The Merry-Go-Round 
Broke Down” as be came into Doc’s poolroom to make him 
go and rob Blum’s; he was not standing over Mary’s bed 
with the white blur hovering near; — this new adversary did 
not make him taut; it sapped strength and left him weak. He 
summoned his energies and lifted his head and struck out 
desperately, determined to rise from the grave, resolved to 
force upon Max the reality of his living. 

“I’m glad I got to know you before I gol” he said with 
almost a shout; then was silent, for that was not what he had 
wanted to say. 

Max turned and looked at him; it was a casual look, de- 
void of the deeper awareness that Bigger sought so hungrily. 

“I’m glad I got to know you, too. Bigger. I’m sorry we have 



FATE 


387 

to part this way. But I’m old, son. I’ll be going soon 
myself. ...” 

“I remembered all them questions you asked me. . . .” 

“What questions?” Max asked, coming and sittmg again on 
the cot. 

“That night. . . .” 

“What night, son?” 

Max did not even knowl Bigger felt that he had been 
slapped. Oh, what a fool he had been to build hope upon 
such shifting sand! But he had to make him know! 

“That mght you asked me to tell aU about myself,” he whim- 
pered despairingly. 

“Oh.” 

He saw Max look at the floor and frown. He knew that 
Max was puzzled. 

“You asked me questions nobody ever asked me before. 
You knew that I was a murderer two times over, but you 
treated me like a man. . . .” 

Max looked at him sharply and rose from his cot. He stood 
in front of Bigger for a moment and Bigger was on the 
verge of believing that Max knew, understood; but Max’s 
next words showed him that the white man was stdl trying 
to comfort him in the face of death. 

“You’re human. Bigger,” Max said wearily. “It’s hell to 
talk about things like this to one about to die. . . .” Max 
paused; Bigger knew that he was searching for words that 
would soothe him, and he did not want them. “Bigger,” Max 
said, “in the work I’m doing, I look at the world in a way 
that shows no whites and no blacks, no civilized and no 
savages. . . . When men are trying to change human life on 
earth, those little things don't matter. You don’t notice ’em. 
They’re just not there. You forget them. The reason I spoke 
to you as I did. Bigger, is because you made me feel how 
badly men want to hve. . . .” 

“But sometimes I wish you hadn’t asked me them ques- 
tions,” Bigger said in a voice that had as much reproach in 
it for Max as it had for himself. 

“What do you mean. Bigger?” 

“They made me think and thinking’s made me scared a 
little. ...” 

Max caught Bigger’s shoulders in a tight grip; then his 
fingers loosened and he sank back to the cot; but his eyes 
were still fastened upon Bigger’s face. Yes; Max knew now. 



388 


NATIVE SON 


Under the shadow of death, he wanted Max to tell him about 
life. 

“Mr. Max, how can I die!” Bigger asked; knowing as the 
words boomed from his lips that a knowledge of how to live 
was a knowledge of how to die. 

Max turned his face from him, and mumbled, 

“Men die alone, Bigger.” 

But Bigger had not heard him. In him again, imperiously, 
was the desire to talk, to tell; his hands were lifted in mid- 
air and when he spoke he tried to charge into the tone of his 
words what he himself wanted to hear, what he needed. 

“Mr. Max, I sort of saw myself after that night. And I sort 
of saw other people, too.” Bigger’s voice died; he was listen- 
ing to the echoes of his words in his own mind. He saw 
amazement and horror on Max’s face. Bigger knew that Max 
would rather not have him talk like this; but he could not 
help it. He had to die and he had to talk. “Well, it’s sort of 
funny, Mr. Max. I ain’t trying to dodge what’s coming to me.” 
Bigger was growing hysterical. “I know I’m going to get it. 
I’m going to die. Well, that’s all right now. But really 1 
never wanted to hurt nobody. That’s the truth, Mr. Max. I 
hurt folks ’cause I felt I had to; that’s all. They was crowd- 
ing me too close; they wouldn’t give me no room. Lots of 
times I tried to forget ’em, but I couldn’t. They wouldn’t let 
me. . . .” Bigger’s eyes were wide and unseeing; his voice 
rushed on: “Mr. Max, I didn’t mean to do what I did. I was 
trying to do something else. But it seems like I never could. 
I was always wanting something and I was feeling that no- 
body would let me have it. So I fought ’em. I thought they was 
hard and I acted hard.” He paused, then whimpered in con- 
fession, “But I ain’t hard, Mr. Max. I ain’t hard even a little 
bit. . . .” He rose to his feet. “But . . , I — I won’t be crying 
none when they take me to that chair. But I’ll b-b-be feeling 
inside of me like I was crying. ... I’ll be feeling and thinking 
that they didn’t see me and I didn’t see them. . . He ran 
to the steel door and caught the bars in his hands and shook 
them, as though trying to tear the steel from its concrete 
moorings. Max went to him and grabbed his shoulders. 

“Bigger," Max said helplessly. 

Bigger grew still and leaned weakly against the door. 

“Mr. Max, I know the folks who sent me here to die hated 
me; I know that. B-b-but you reckon th-they was like m-me, 
trying to g-get something like I was, and when I’m dead and 



FATE 


389 

gone they’ll be saying like I’m saying now that they didn’t 
mean to hurt nobody . . . th-that they was t-trying to get 
something, too, . . . ?” 

Max did not answer. Bigger saw a look of indecision and 
wonder come into the old man’s eyes. 

“Tell me, Mr. Max. You think they was?" 

“Bigger," Max pleaded. 

“Tell me, Mr. Max!" 

Max shook his head and mumbled, 

“You’re askmg me to say things I don’t want to say. . . 

“But I want to knowl" 

“You’re going to die. Bigger. . . .” 

Max’s voice faded. Bigger knew that the old man had not 
wanted to say that; he had said it because he had pushed 
him, had made him say it. They were silent for a moment 
longer, th^n Bigger whispered, 

“That’s why I want to know. ... I reckon it’s ’cause I 
know I’m going to die that makes me want to know. . . 

Max’s face was ashy, Bigger feared that he was going to 
leave. Across a gulf of silence, they looked at each other. Max 
sighed. 

“Come here, Bigger," he said. 

He followed Max to the window and saw in the distance 
the tips of sun-drenched buildings in the Loop. 

"See all those buildings, Bigger?” Max asked, placing an 
arm about Bigger’s shoulders. He spoke hurriedly, as though 
trying to mold a substance which was warm and pliable, but 
which might soon cool. 

“Yeah. I see ’em. . . 

“You lived in one of them once, Bigger. They’re made out 
of steel and stone. But the steel and stone don’t hold ’em 
together. You know what holds those buildings up. Bigger? 
You know what keeps them in their place, keeps them from 
tumbling down?” 

Bigger looked at him, bewildered. 

“It’s the belief of men. If men stopped believing, stopped 
having faith, they’d come tumbling down. Those buildings 
sprang up out of the hearts of men, Bigger, Men hke you. 
Men kept hungry, kept needing, and those buildings kept 
growing and unfolding. You once told me you wanted to 
do a lot of things. Well, that’s the feeling that keeps those 
buildings in their places. ...” 

“You mean . , . You talking about what I said that night, 



390 


NATIVE SON 


when I said I wanted to do a lot of things?” Bigger’s voice 
came quiet, childlike in its tone of hungry wonder. 

“Yes. What you felt, what you wanted, is what keeps 
those buildings standing there. When millions of men are 
desiring and longing, those buildings grow and unfold. But, 
Bigger, those buildings aren’t growing any more. A few men 
are squeezing those buildings tightly in their hands. The build- 
ings can’t unfold, can’t feed the dreams men have, men like 
you. , . . The men on the inside of those buildings have 
begun to doubt, just as you did. They don’t believe any 
more. They don’t feel it’s their world. They’re restless, like 
you. Bigger. They have nothing. There’s nothing through 
which they can grow and unfold. They go in the streets and 
they stand outside of those buildings and look and won- 
der. . . .” 

“B-b-but what they hate me for?” Bigger asked. 

“The men who own those buildings are afraid. They want 
to keep what they own, even if it makes others suffer. In 
order to keep it, they push men down in the mud and tell 
them that they are beasts. But men, men like you, get angry 
and fight to re-enter those buildings, to live again. Bigger, 
you killed. That was wrong. That was not the way to do it 
It’s too late now for you to . . . work with . . . others who 
are t-trying to . . . believe and make the world live again. 

. . . But it’s not too late to believe what you felt, to under- 
stand what you felt. . . 

Bigger was gazing in the direction of the buildings; but 
he did not see them. He was trying to react to the picture 
Max was drawing, trying to compare that picture with what 
he had felt all his life. 

“I always wanted to do something,” he mumbled. 

They were silent and Max did not speak again until Bigger 
looked at him. Max closed his eyes. 

“Bigger, you’re going to die. And if you die, die free. 
You’re trying to believe in yourself. And every time you try 
to find a way to live, your own mind stands in the way. You 
know why that is? It’s because others have said you were 
bad and they made you live in bad conditions. When a man 
hears that over and over and looks about him and sees that 
his life is bad, he begins to doubt his own mind. His feelings 
drag him forward and his mind, full of what others say 
about him, tells him to go back. The job in getting people 
to fight and have faith is in making ^em believe in what 



FATE 391 

life has made them feel, making them feel that their feelings 
are as good as those of others. 

“Bigger, the people who bate you feel just as you feel, 
only they’re on the other side of the fence You’re black, but 
that’s only a part of it. Your being black, as I told you before, 
makes it easy for them to single you out. Why do they do 
that? They want the things of life, just as you did, and 
they’re not particular about how they get them. They hire 
people and they don’t pay them enough; they take what 
people own and build up power. They rule and regulate life. 
They have things arranged so that they can do those things 
and the people can’t fight back. They do that to black people 
more than others because they say that black people are 
inferior. But, Bigger, they say that all people who work arc 
inferior. And the rich people don’t want to change things; 
they’ll lose too much. But deep down in them they feel like 
you feel, Bigger, and in order to keep what they’ve got, they 
make themselves believe that men who work arc not quite 
human. They do like you did, Bigger, when you refused to 
feel sorry for Mary. But on both sides men want to live; men 
arc fighting for life. Who will win? Well, the side that feels 
life most, the side with the most humanity and the most men. 
That’s why . . , y-you’ve got to b-believe in yourself. Big- 
ger. . . .” 

Max's head jerked up in surprise when Bigger laughed. 

“Ah, I reckon I believe in myself. ... 1 ain’t got nothing 
else. ... I got to die. . . .’’ 

He stepped over to Max. Max was leaning against the 
window. 

“Mr. Max, you go home. I’m all right. . . . Sounds 
funny, Mr. Max, but when I think about what you say I kind 
of feel what 1 wanted. It makes me feel 1 was kind of right, 
. . .” Max opened his mouth to say something and Bigger 
drowned out his voice. “I ain’t trying to forgive nobody and 
I ain’t asking for nobody to forgive me. I ain’t going to cry. 
They wouldn’t let me live and I killed. Maybe it ain’t fair 
to kill, and I reckon I really didn’t want to kill. But when 
I think of why all the killing was, I begin to feel what I 
wanted, what I am. . . .” 

Bigger saw Max back away from him with compressed 
lips. But he felt he had to make Max understand how he 
saw things now. 

“I didn’t want to kill!” Bigger shouted. “But what I killed 



392 


NATIVE SON 


for, I ami It must’ve been pretty deep in me to make me kiUl 
I must have felt it awful hard to murder. . . 

Max lifted his hand to touch Bigger, but did not. 

“No; no; no. . . . Bigger, not that . . Max pleaded de- 
spairingly. 

“What I killed for must’ve been good!’’ Digger’s voice was 
full of frenzied anguish. “It must have been good! When a 
man kills, it’s for something. ... I didn’t know I was really 
alive in this world Until I felt things hard enough to kill for 
’em. . . . It’s the truth, Mr. Max. I can say it now, ’cause 
I’m going to die. I know what I’m saying real good and I kfiow 
how It sounds. But I’m all right. 1 feel all right when I look 
at it that way. . . .” 

Max^s eyes were full of terror. Several tim.es his body 
moved nervously, as though he were about to go to Bigger; 
but he stood still. 

“I’m all right, Mr. Max. Just go and tell Ma I was all 
right and not to worry none, see? Tell her I was all right 
and wasn’t crying none. . . .” 

Max’s eyes were wet. Slowly, he extended his hand. Big- 
ger shook it. 

“Good-bye, Bigger,’’ he said quietly. 

“Good-bye, Mr. Max.” 

Max groped for his hat like a blind man; he found it and 
jammed it on his head. He felt for the door, keeping his 
face averted. He poked his arm through and signaled for the 
guard. When he was let out he stood for a moment, his back 
to the steel door. Bigger grasped the bars with both hands. 

“Mr. Max. . . .” 

“Yes, Bigger,” He did not turn around. 

“I'm all right. For real, I am.” 

“Good-bye, Bigger.” 

“Good-bye, Mr. Max.” 

Max walked down the corridor. 

“Mr. Max!” 

Max paused, but did not look. 

“TeU . . . TeU Mister . . . Tell Jan hello. . . .” 

“All right. Bigger.” 

“Good-bye!” 

"Good-bye!” 

He still held on to the bars. Then he smiled a faint, wry, 
bitter smile. He heard the ring of steel agtynst steel as a far 
door clanged shut