'Whatcha do, boy, kill somebody?' he asked in a husky chesty whisper and I knew he was reeling drunk. 'Yeah, I killed the son of a bitch, what you gonna do about it?' He asked, 'Was he a Jew?' and I said, 'Naw, he was a goddamned peckerwood like you,' and for an instant he didn't move, didn't make a sound. I couldn't hear him breathing and I looked for him to hit me, probably beat me to death, and I didn't give a goddamn. Then he began chuckling and I could smell his breath on me again and he asked, 'Whatja kill him for?' and I said, 'He called me a nigger.' He laughed louder and louder until his big booming laugh woke up the neighbourhood and he said, 'That's right, you kill 'em every time.' He laughed some more then he said, 'I always wondered 'bout you folks whether you ever wanted to kill us like we wanna kill you.' He stopped and panted and wiped the tears out of his eyes and said, 'I'm from Florida and ev'ybody I knew said they'd killed a nigger or two-at least one nigger-and I used to b'lieve 'em and I got to packing 'round my rifle looking for a nigger to kill till my old man found out what I was doing and said I couldn't kill no niggers until I got to be twenty-one and by that time I'd joined the Marines so I ain't never got to kill a nigger.' He sounded regretful looking at me and I got to wondering if he was thinking about killing me so I told him, 'I raped a white woman too,' and that tickled him all over again and he laughed loud and long and said, 'Hell, I've raped all kinda women, white women, black women, yellow women, red women, and the only reason I ain't raped no green women is 'cause I couldn't find none.' Then he stopped and laughed again and said, 'I done killed all kinda sonabitches, raped all kinda women'-pointing to the decorations on his chest-'see these, the Purple Heart, the Bronze Star, the Presidential Memorial Citation, even a Good Conduct Medal. I got these for killing a lot of sonabitches I ain't even seen until after they was dead.
'Hell, boy, so you killed a man because he called you a nigger,' he said and laughed, 'and raped a white woman all in one night. Was she the man's woman you killed?' 'Naw,' I said, 'she don't even live nowhere near here,' and that started him off again. 'Goddamn you're some boy,' he said, 'rape a white woman in one part of town then run clear across town and kill a white man 'cause he called you a nigger.' He stopped and wiped the tears out of his eyes, and said regretfully looking at me, 'I ain't killed a nigger yet.' Then he drew slowly back and let it go and I saw it coming big as a house but there wasn't anything I could do but wait for it…
I woke up on the floor. Somebody was banging on the bars, saying, 'Damn if you didn't fall right off your bunk. They musta been after you.'
I must have thought he was the Marine because the first thing I felt was I didn't give a damn whether he killed me or not; I had made it. Then I saw he was the jailer and the day came back. When I tried to stand up nothing worked; I tried three times, finally made it by pieces. I was sore, stiff, ached in every joint. My head throbbed and the wound beat with my heart. My mouth felt useless, swollen shut; my tongue felt too big; I was thirsty, lousy, and really beat-low in the mind as a man can get. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with my knuckles, stood blinking at him.
He unlocked the door. 'Come on,' he said. 'You're lucky. Judge Morgan wants to see you in his chambers.'
I stepped into the bull pen, followed him dumbly. We went through some gates, down some corridors, came into an office with a big ornate desk and some big maroon leather chairs. There was a deep green carpet on the floor and two windows with clean white venetian blinds. In the distance was the harbour in the high bright sun.
'We'll just wait here,' he said, standing.
I stood a little away from him without replying. The dream was so real I kept thinking they had me in for murder. Then I began remembering the incidents of the day before, the stretch of Madge's big brutal mouth yelling, 'Rape,' the hammer floating at my head and not being able to dodge it, coming to on the hospital cot. Then the break, the drive back to town. When my mind came to the talk with Alice I tried not to think about it, but it came back anyway. Now she'd know once and for all. They had me and they were going to throw the book at me. I didn't have any hope at all of beating it; I didn't even feel like making the effort any more; I'd just as soon take a plea and get it to hell over with. I felt like a different person, I didn't have any fight left, didn't even hate the peckerwoods any more, didn't have anything left in me at all any more. What I hated most about the whole thing was I had to keep on living in the goddamned world.
Two men entered the room through the other door and broke my train of thought. One was a short, squat, quick-motioned man with a heavy-featured, pallid face and a half-bald head. He had on tortoiseshell glasses, a wrinkled brown suit, and talked in a brisk, rapid voice, slurring his words. He took the seat behind the desk, motioned the other man to be seated, looked over at me, and asked the jailer, 'Is this the boy?' all at the same time.
The other man was big, grey-haired, athletic-looking, more deliberate in his motions. He was poised, immaculate in an expensive-looking grey flannel suit, with a thoughtful, serious expression on his face. He lowered himself carefully in the chair beside the desk, crossed his legs, and studied me.
'Yes, Your Honour, Robert Jones,' the jailer replied to the squat man behind the desk, taking hold of my arm at the same time.
'You needn't hold him,' the judge snapped. 'He's not going to bite us.'
The jailer let go my arm, stood away from me again.
The judge said, 'The president of Atlas Corporation, Mr. Houghton here, has interceded in your behalf, Jones. He has come down here expressly to talk to you.' His rapid, casual voice got sharp. 'I want you to listen to him.'
The first time I tried my voice wouldn't come at all, then I tried again and lisped, 'Yes sir,' in no more than a whisper.
Mr. Houghton cleared his throat and got on a look of deep concern. 'I talked with Mrs. Perkins last evening and again this morning,' he began. 'She is a tolerant and intelligent woman, I am happy to say, capable of weighing personal vengeance against national good. She realizes that, should she press charges against you, it might in all likelihood create racial tension among the employees and seriously handicap our production schedule, so she has consented to withdraw her charge against you, and Judge Morgan has informed me that this is permissible.' He had a cultured, scholarly voice, authoritative but unemotional. 'It is a patriotic gesture comparable only to the heroism of men in battle, and I have the highest admiration for her.'
I knew right off what had happened; they'd grilled Madge and learned the truth, or learned enough to guess at the rest. His conscience bothered him too much for him to let me take a strictly bum rap, but he'd never come right out and say it; he'd cover for her till hell froze over and make himself believe that he was doing it for the best. But I didn't care how he played it- I was beat.
'I genuinely regret that circumstances permit you to escape punishment,' he went on, 'for you, more than any criminal, should be punished. You had no motive, not even an understandable excuse. Yours was a crime of uncontrolled lust-the act of an animal. And for it to be you, out of all other Negro employees at Atlas, to commit this crime is doubly disheartening, not only to the people of your race but to those of us who have always had the welfare of your people at heart.' He paused and got out his I-trusted-you look. 'You were given every opportunity to advance. You were the first Negro to be employed in a position of responsibility by our corporation and you were in a position to represent your race, to win for them advantages heretofore denied. You were selected because you were considered the highest type of Negro. We made you a leader of your people, such as Joe Louis, the prize fighter, Marian Anderson, the singer, and others. We had confidence in you. To do a thing like this, at a time when Negroes are making such rapid progress, when Negro soldiers are earning the respect of the nation, and when Negro workers are being employed in all branches of industry is more than a disgrace to yourseif, it is a betrayal of your people…'
He was very, very smooth, but I wanted him to hurry and get it over with.
'Mr. MacDougal and Mr. Kelly both tried very hard to make you a success on that job,' he went on. 'They wanted you to set an example for other Negro employees, to open the way for those with more than average skill. I, personally, am anxious that Negroes make a good record in industry, and it is indeed regrettable, I assure you, to learn that you are not to be trusted to work alongside white women employees.
'That is all I have to say to you,' he concluded, rising. 'But I hope, seriously, that you will think about it.'
He had to say all that, I thought, just to cover up for a nogood cracker slut who just happened to be born white instead of black.
He turned to Judge Morgan. 'Good morning, Your Honour, and thank you.'
'Delighted,' the judge mumbled, half rising.
Mr. Houghton went out.
