“What’s the matter, buddy, the peckawoods them was doing you in?”
“Becaz they said there was a strike in theah. And I said I didn’t give a doughnut, I was going to work foh mah money all the same. I got one o’ them bif! in the eye, though. …”
“Don’t go back, buddy. Let the boss-men stick them jobs up. They are a bunch of rotten aigs. Just using us to do their dirty work. Come on, let’s haul bottom away from here to Harlem.”
At Dixie Red’s poolroom that evening there were some fellows with bandaged arms and heads. One iron-heavy, blue-black lad (he was called Liver-lip behind his back, because of the plankiness of his lips) carried his arm in a sling, and told Jake how he happened to be like that.
“They done jumped on me soon as I turned mah black moon on that li’l saloon tha’s catering to us niggers. Heabenly God! But if the stars them didn’t twinkle way down in mah eyes. But easy, easy, old man, I got out mah shaving steel and draws it down the goosey flesh o’ one o’ them, and, buddy, you shoulda heah him squeal. … The pohlice?” His massive mouth molded the words to its own form, “They tooks me, yes, but tunned me loose by’n’by. They’s with us this time, boh, but, Lawdy! if they hadn’t did entervention I woulda gutted gizzard and kidney outa that white tripe.”
Jake was angry with Zeddy and asked him, when he came in, why he had not told him at first that the job was a scab job.
“I won’t scab on nobody, not even the orneriest crackers,” he said.
“Bull Durham!” cried Zeddy. “What was I going to let on about anything for? The boss-man done paid me to git him mens, and I got them. Ain’t I working there mahself? I’ll take any job in this heah Gawd’s country that the white boss make it worf mah while to work at.”
“But it ain’t decent to scab,” said Jake.
“Decent mah black moon!” shouted Zeddy. “I’ll scab through hell to make mah living. Scab job or open shop or union am all the same jobs to me. White mens don’t want niggers in them unions, nohow. Ain’t you a good carpenter? And ain’t I a good blacksmith? But kain we get a look-in on our trade heah in this white man’s city? Ain’t white mens done scabbed niggers outa all the jobs they useter hold down heah in this city? Waiter, bootblack, and barber shop?”
“With all a that scabbing is a low-down deal,” Jake maintained.
“Me eye! Seems lak youse gittin’ religion, boh. Youse talking death, tha’s what you sure is. One thing I know is niggers am made foh life. And I want to live, boh, and feel plenty o’ the juice o’ life in mah blood. I wanta live and I wanta love. And niggers am got to work hard foh that. Buddy, I’ll tell you this and I’ll tell it to the wo’l’—all the crackers, all them poah white trash, all the nigger-hitting and nigger-breaking white folks—I loves life and I got to live and I’ll scab through hell to live.”
Jake did not work again that week. By Saturday morning he didn’t have a nickel, so he went to Nije Gridley to borrow money. Nije asked him if he was going that evening to Billy Biasse’s railroad flat, the longshoremen gaming rendezvous. Jake said no, he was going with Zeddy to a buffet flat in 140th Street. The buffet flat was the rendezvous of a group of railroad porters and club waiters who gambled for big stakes. Jake did not go there often because he had to dress up as if he were going to a cabaret. Also, he was not a big-stake gambler. … He preferred Billy Biasse’s, where he could go whenever he liked with hook and overalls.
“Oh, that’s whar Zeddy’s hanging out now,” Nije commented, casually.
For some time before Jake’s return from Europe Zeddy had stopped going to Billy Biasse’s. He told Jake he was fed up with it. Jake did not know that Zeddy owed Nije money and that he did not go to Billy Biasse’s because Nije often went there. …
Later in the evening Nije went to Billy Biasse’s and found a longshoreman who was known at the buffet flat, to take him there.
Gambling was a bigger game than sex at this buffet flat. The copper-hued lady who owned it was herself a very good poker-player. There were only two cocoa-brown girls there. Not young or attractive. They made a show of doing something, serving drinks and trying hard to make jokes. In dining- and sitting-room, five tables were occupied by cardplayers. Railroad porters, longshoremen, waiters; tight-faced, anxious-eyed. Zeddy sat at the same table with the lady of the flat. He had just eliminated two cards and asked for two when Nije and his escort were let into the flat. Zeddy smelled his man and knew it was Nije without looking up.
Nije swaggered past Zeddy and joined a group at another table. The gaming went on with intermittent calls for drinks. Nije sat where he could watch Zeddy’s face. Zeddy also, although apparently intent on the cards, kept a wary eye on Nije. Sometimes their eyes met. No one was aware of the challenge that was developing between the two men.
There was a little slackening in the games, a general call for drinks, and a shifting of chairs. Nije got nearer to Zeddy. … Half-smiling and careless-like, he planted his boot-heel upon Zeddy’s toes.
“Git off mah feets,” Zeddy barked. The answer was a hard blow in the face. Zeddy tasted blood in his mouth. He threw his muscular gorilla body upon the tall Nije and hugged him down to the floor.
“You blasted black Jew, say you’ prayers!” cried Zeddy.
“Ain’t scared o’ none o’ you barefaced robber niggers.” Nije was breathing hard under Zeddy and trying to get the better of him by the help of the wall.
“Black
