Part 9 (1/2)

Finally, when they got through kicking Little Tokyo around, Leighton turned his bright friendly smile to me. 'Did I understand Miss Harrison to say you were an attorney?'

'No, I'm a s.h.i.+pyard worker,' I said.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' he apologized.

I let him dangle. There was another embarra.s.sed silence.

Then Alice said, 'Bob's going into law after the war. He's fighting on our production front now.'

Leighton gave me another of his bright friendly smiles. 'I imagine it's a very interesting occupation,' he said.

'It's a killer,' I said. He blinked a little.

'Tom has just finished reading _Strange Fruit_,' Alice said. 'He thought it was fascinating.'

Something about the way she p.r.o.nounced his name made me throw a quick searching glance at her, started me to wondering what her relations were with Leighton. I began watching both of them under lowered lids, half ashamed for the crazy suspicion that had come into my mind, jealous of the guy against my will. I'd seen so many light-complexioned Negro women absolutely pure nuts about white men, it scared me to think that Alice might be like that herself. I started thinking again of some excuse to get away.

He was saying, '1 was particularly interested in the characterization of Nonnie.'

You would, I thought, since she was so G.o.dd.a.m.ned crazy about a white man.

'I didn't like Nonnie at all,' Polly said. 'I can't even imagine a Negro girl who's been to college doing any of the things Nonnie was supposed to do.'

'That was it,' Alice said. 'She didn't do anything.'

Watching her furtively, I began getting so tight inside I could hardly breathe. She might be having an affair with Leighton sure enough, I thought. She wouldn't count that, just like she wouldn't count that stuff at Stella's. She'd probably be proud of it, I thought; probably feel that I shouldn't resent it even if I found out. .

Arline was saying, 'Oh, I know a girl just like Nonnie. She's a good friend of mine--at least I went to school with her--and she's just like Nonnie.'

'Did you read the book, Mr. Jones?' Leighton asked.

'Yes, I did,' I said, and dropped it.

He waited for me, and when he saw I wasn't coming he said by way of appeas.e.m.e.nt, 'Of course I think that Richard Wright makes the point better in _Native Son_.'

'Oh, but what Lillian Smith does is condemn the white Southerner,' Arline said. 'All Wright did was write a vicious crime story.'

'Personally, I think the white Southerner doesn't mind being just like Lillian Smith portrays him,' I said.

'I think Richard Wright is naive,' Polly said.

'Aren't we all?' I said.

'_Native Son_ turned my stomach,' Arline said. 'It just proved what the white Southerner has always said about us; that our men are rapists and murderers.'

'Well, I will agree that the selection of Bigger Thomas to prove the point of Negro oppression was an unfortunate choice,' Leighton said.

'What do you think, Mr. Jones?' Cleo asked.

I said, 'Well, you couldn't pick a better person than Bigger Thomas to prove the point. But after you prove it, then what? Most white people I know are quite proud of having made Negroes into Bigger Thomases.'

There was another silence and everybody looked at me. 'Take me for instance,' I went on. 'I've got a job as leaderman at a s.h.i.+pyard. I'm supposed to have a certain amount of authority over the ordinary workers. But I'm scared to ask a white woman to do a job. All she's got to do is say I insulted her and I'm fired.'

Leighton looked concerned. 'Is that so?' he said. 'I didn't realize relations between white and coloured were that strained in our industries.'

'Of course Bob's problem is more or less individual,' Alice apologized. 'He's really temperamentally unsuited for industrial work. As soon as he enters into a profession his own problem will be solved.'

'Yes, I can understand that,' Leighton said. 'But as far as the problem of the Negro industrial worker is concerned, I feel that it is not so much racial as it is the problem of the ma.s.ses. As soon as the ma.s.ses, including all of our minority groups, have achieved economic security, racial problems will reach a solution of their own accord.' He turned to me. 'Won't you agree with me to that extent, Mr. Jones?'

'No,' I said. 'It's a state of mind. As long as the white folks hate me and I hate them we can earn the same amount of money, live side by side in the same kind of house, and fight every day.'

He got one of those condescending, indulgent smiles. 'Then how would you suggest effecting a solution to a minority group problem?'

'I don't know about any other minority group problem,' I said, 'but the only solution to the Negro problem is a revolution. We've got to make white people respect us and the only thing white people have ever respected is force.'

'But do you think a revolution by Negro people could be successful?' he asked in that gentle tone of voice used on an unruly child.

But I tried to keep my head. 'Not unless there were enough white people on our side,' I said.

'By the same token,' he argued, 'if there were enough white people on your side there wouldn't be any need for a revolution.'

'There's a lot of 'em who don't do anything but talk. If we had a revolution it'd force you to act, either for us or against us--personally, I wouldn't give a G.o.dd.a.m.n which way.'

'Suppose your revolution failed?' he asked.

'That'd be all right, too,' I said. 'At least we'd know where we stood.'

His smile became more indulgent, his voice more condescending. 'I think that you will discover that the best course for Negroes to take at this time is to partic.i.p.ate and co-operate in the general uprising of the ma.s.ses all over the world.'

'Are you a Communist?' I asked him.

Everybody else looked shocked, but he didn't even flinch. 'No, not that I have anything against the Communists, but I believe in the same, sensible way of doing things. And there's just one solution for the Negro--'

All of a sudden I burnt up. I'd been trying to get away from the white folks to begin with. And I wasn't going to have this p.e.c.k.e.rwood coming down here among my people, playing a great white G.o.d, sitting on his a.s.s, solving the Negro problem with a flow of diction and making me look like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned fool in front of my girl, when all I could do around his people was to be a flunkey and get kicked in the mouth. And what was more, his G.o.dd.a.m.ned condescending smile was getting under my skin.

I cut him off with a sudden violent gesture and jumped to my feet. That broke it up.

CHAPTER XI.

When the last of Alice's guests had gone she came upstairs and stood in the doorway looking at me with a wide-eyed condemning stare. I shook a cigarette loose and puffed at it and let her stand there and stare. She had a h.e.l.l of a lot of gall at that, I thought. When she saw that her silent scrutiny wasn't going to beat me down she came into the room and took a seat, crossed her legs, and looked up at me with a Bette Davis pose.

'Bob, are you trying intentionally to make me dislike you?' she asked.

I dropped into a chair facing her, gave her back some of her own scrutiny, said nothing.

'Or is it that you dislike me now?' she kept on.