Part 3 (1/2)

'Sure, I know,' I said.

His face got a swollen look and his eyes filled up. 'I'm not going to have you or any other coloured boy in this department who can't maintain a courteous and respectful manner toward the white men and women you have to work with,' he said. His voice shook with anger. He unhooked his hands and shook his fist at me. 'I'm not going to have it, G.o.dd.a.m.nit, that's all!'

'I'm not going to have n.o.body call me a n.i.g.g.e.r either,” I said. I wasn't angry; I was just telling him.

He was through with it. 'You stay on through Sat.u.r.day. Monday you start in as a mechanic.' He jerked his head toward the fellow sitting at the end of the desk. 'This is Dan Tebbel. Danny's going to work with you this week and beginfling Monday he takes your place.'

I'd known Mac was going to give me h.e.l.l; but I didn't think he'd downgrade me and put a white boy in my place. I thought he'd be afraid of the coloured workers making trouble. It shocked me to find out he didn't give a G.o.dd.a.m.n about the coloured workers, one way or the other. I looked at Tebbel sort of vacantly. He was a thin, undernourished man with a beaked nose, pale blue eyes, and reddish hair.

But I didn't really begin to feel it until Mac said, 'You'll lose your job deferment too. You're a single boy and they'll put you in 1A.'

All of a sudden I got that crazy, scared feeling I'd waked up with that morning. It had happened in a second; my job was gone and I was facing the draft; like the j.a.panese getting pulled up by the roots. But I couldn't find a thing to say in my defence. I had to say something, so I said, 'What's Tebbel going to do? My gang's a Jim Crow gang. Maybe they won't work for Tebbel.'

Mac reddened. 'That's all, Bob,' he said, dismissing me.

'What about Ben for my job?' I kept on; I couldn't let it go like that. 'He's a college graduate--U.C.L.A. Just as smart as --'

The phone rang. Mac picked it up. He wasn't listening to me. I stood there for a moment, listening to him talk over the phone, not knowing what to do. When I should have challenged him was when he said, 'Monday you start in as a mechanic.' But I had let it pa.s.s. Now with the b.a.s.t.a.r.d not even listening it was too late to quit. I turned and walked off.

Outside, I stood for a time, feeling cheated, trapped. I couldn't decide whether I'd been a coward or a fool. I debated whether to go back and split him. I'd get a fine and some days, perhaps. Probably a sapping at police headquarters. I'd lose my car. I think that was what made me decide that my pride wasn't worth it. My car was proof of something to me, a symbol. But at the time I didn't a.n.a.lyse the feeling; I just knew I couldn't lose my car even if I lost my job.

The whistle blew for lunch but I couldn't eat. The taste of bile was in my mouth, tart, brackish, bitter as gall. I wanted something to do with my hands, action. I began looking for a c.r.a.p game. Finally I found one over between the plate racks. A dozen or so white fellows and two coloured were ringed on the concrete. There was money in the centre and two big green white-eyed dice were rolling.

I took out six ones and a ten and two of the white fellows made room for me. A big, seamed-faced, bald-headed welder with gnarled hands was shooting eight bucks. I tossed in a ten to fade him and a thin, sallow-faced man gave me a cursing look.

'He done hit me twice,' he snarled in an Okie voice. 'Think I'm gonna let you have him now?'

I took down my ten. He took his time, counted out eight ones, tossed them in the pot. He kept grumbling under his breath. 'Comin' in here tryna bull de game.' He gave me another hard, hostile look. 'One of these slick guys, think you gonna grab the gravy. G.o.dd.a.m.n smart--' He was working himself up to call me a n.i.g.g.e.r and I figured I'd better stop him.

'If you say another word I'll knock your eyes out,' I grated in a low voice.

He popped to his feet like a jumping jack, a stooped, undernourished, middle-aged man with the d.a.m.nedest expression of baffled indignation on his face. I didn't even look up at him. He puffed and he blew. The shooter had come out on a five and he kept working at it until he made it--four, one.

'Shoot it all,' the welder said.

I looked up at my Okie friend. He had turned beet-red. 'He's all yours,' I said.

He muttered some words in his mouth, dribbling saliva. I began feeling better.

'Take down some,' somebody said to the shooter. 'You're holding up the game.'

'I got it,' I said, and tossed my sixteen bucks in the centre.

The shooter nursed the dice, blew on them, said, 'Now do your stuff, babies. Come out on seven.' He c.o.c.ked his arm, turned them loose. They stopped trey. one.

'Liddle Joe from Kokomo,' one of the coloured fellows murmured, looking at me.

The big bald-headed welder picked them up and rubbed them on his leather pants leg. I looked at him.

'Come on,' a Texas drawl said impatiently. 'You're holding up the game.'

The shooter was getting ready to unlock 'em but now he rubbed them up some more. He gave the speaker a defiant look. Then he threw a beautiful seven.

'A lick too late,' I crowed. I picked up my thirty-two bucks, feeling good for the first time that day.

Then a little waspish, rat-mouthed cracker s.n.a.t.c.hed the dice and tossed six bits in the centre. 'I shoot a n.i.g.g.e.r lick,' he said.

I didn't move. I squatted there with my eyes on the ground and couldn't look up. When I looked up it was toward one of the coloured fellows. He was looking down too, unmoving; and when he looked up it was toward me. A ripple went through the ring for just an instant; n.o.body moved. Then the third coloured fellow tossed six bits in the centre and the game went on. I caught several white fellows giving me furtive looks; but I kept looking at the shooter.

When the dice got to me I blew the air out of my lungs, got another lungful, and said, 'I'm gonna shoot my hand.' I tossed the bills in the centre.

'How much is it?' somebody asked.

The little rat-mouthed cracker started to count it. I leaned forward and pushed his hand away. 'It's thirty-two bucks,' I said.

He gave me a hard look and said, 'I got six bits of it.'

I squatted back and waited. I knew they wanted to tell me to take some down and let the game go on. If I'd been white they'd have cursed me. But because I was coloured they didn't say anything; they kept it bottled up and began getting mean.

Finally one of the coloured fellows said, 'Let's gang him.'

Every player in the game took a piece, each pulling his bet in front of him. I picked up the dice with my right hand, pa.s.sed them to my left, rolled them softly on the concrete. One came to a stop six up; the other dropped in a deep crevice and c.o.c.ked with the five facing me, the six facing away.

'Throw in, good losers,' I said. 'I ain't going no farther.'

'Throw in what for?' the rat-mouthed fellow challenged.

'c.o.c.ked dice,' somebody said.

I began to choking up. 'Listen, I ain't giving away a G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing. I made my G.o.dd.a.m.ned eleven and now I'm gonna take my G.o.dd.a.m.ned money.'

'You'll take h.e.l.l, you n.i.g.g.e.r b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' the rat-mouthed guy said, feeling covered by the other twelve white guys.

Blood rushed to my head, stung me blind. I jack-knifed up and kicked at him with one motion. He rolled to one side and my boot heel went over his shoulder, throwing me off balance. I wheeled to my left, falling half forward, my right arm stuck out to catch my fall and my right foot flattened in a pigeon-toed stance.

'I'll cool the n.i.g.g.e.r!' I heard a voice grate, and I raised my chin, looking for the guy.

I just had time to see him: a tall young blond guy about my age and size. His mouth was twisted down in one corner so that the tips of his dogteeth showed like a gopher's mouth and his blue eyes were blistered with hate. I'll never forget that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's eyes. Then that sick, gone feeling came in the pit of my stomach--just a flash. And a blinding explosion went off just back of my eyes as if the nerve centres had been dynamited. I had the crazy sensation of my eyes popping out of my head and catching a telescopic photo of ringed figures, some half up, others squatting in a circle. Then I didn't know a thing.

When I came to the whistle was blowing. I lay flat on my back in the shade of a rack of plates. Two white fellows and a coloured fellow were bent over me, waiting for me to come to. When I opened my eyes they helped me to get to thy feet.

One of the white fellows gave me a sympathetic grin. 'You stuck your chin right straight into his fist.'

The other one said, 'I got some of your money for you-- twenty-five dollars and some change.' He stuck it in my hand.

The colouced fellow's eyes were muddy, opaque. His flat brown face was unsmiling. He didn't say anything.