'I wouldn't say that exactly,' Polly injected. 'I know of Negro men married to decent white women-as decent as you and I.' She was taking up for herself-her father was a Negro married to a white woman.
But Cleo didn't know that. 'Nothing but tramps!' she stormed, getting excited about it. The veneer came off and she looked and talked just like any other Southern girl who'd never been farther than grammar school. 'Nobody but a white tramp would marry a nigger!' she shouted, almost hitting me in the mouth with her gesticulations. 'And nobody but a nigger tramp would have 'em. I was at a party in Chicago and saw one of our supposed-to-be leading Negro actors sitting up there making love to some white tramp's eyebrows.'
I laughed out loud. 'To her eyebrows?' I said. 'Now I'd like to see that.'
Polly and Arline were exchanging strange looks, as if to say, 'Where did this creature come from?' And Alice looked positively pricked.
But Cleo didn't pay any attention to any of us; she went on beating up her chops, looking wild and agitated. 'One of my teachers at Chicago U. was talking 'bout some girl 'bout your colour'-she indicated Alice-'and I just up and told him that it was an insult to mention light Negroes' colour to 'em; it was 'most the same as calling 'em bastards, saying their mamas had been slipping off in the bushes with white men…'
Alice looked horrified; I knew she'd never be invited there again. But it tickled me. It was all I could do to keep from falling out laughing.
'Just as soon as a Negro marries one of them they start going down,' Cleo went on vehemently. 'Decent Negro people won't accept them in their homes-'
The doorbell chimed and Alice went down to answer it. Cleo was still raving when Alice ushered a tall, nice- looking, well-dressed white fellow into the room. He had sandy hair and a pleasant smile and looked like a really nice guy. But he was white, and I was antagonistic from the start.
'This is Tom Leighton, one of my co-workers,' she introduced him about.
For a moment there was an embarrassed silence; then the dames became intellectual again.
'Perhaps Mr. Leighton can give us some suggestions on our Little Tokyo problem,' Polly prompted, and they had it and gone.
Leighton said something that didn't make any sense at all to me, and Cleo gushed. 'Oh, that's it! That's just the thing!' I jerked a look at her; she'd blown coy to the point of simpering. I thought, well, whataya know; this white animosity didn't go as far as the men.
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 shipyard worker,' I said.
'Oh, I'm sorry,' he apologized.
I let him dangle. There was another embarrassed 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 pronounced 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, 'I was particularly interested in the characterization of Nonnie.'
You would, I thought, since she was so goddamned 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 appeasement, '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 shipyard. 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 masses. As soon as the masses, 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 goddamn 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 participate and co-operate in the general uprising of the masses all over the world.'
