Chester Himes - If he hollers let him go

He turned red and started to say something else, but I didn't stop. I backed out my car, circled in the parking lot, crossed the Pacific Electric tracks, and turned into the harbour road, just idling along. I didn't feel like speeding. The car drove easy all of a sudden, I thought. Not a jerk in it, not a squeak; it took the bumps like a box-spring mattress. It was a pleasure just sitting there, my fingers resting lightly on the steering wheel, just idling along.

I was going to kill him if they hung me for it, I thought pleasantly. A white man, a supreme being. Just the thought of it did something for me; just contemplating it. All the tightness that had been in my body, making my motions jerky, keeping my muscles taut, left me and I felt relaxed, confident, strong. I felt just like I thought a white boy oughta feel; I had never felt so strong in all my life.

A warm glow went all over me as if I had just stepped out of a Turkish bath and had had a good massage. My mind was light, relieved, without a care in the world. As I idled along past the long line of industries I felt a sudden compelling friendliness toward the white people I passed. I felt like waving to them and saying, 'It's all right now. It's fine, solid, it's a great deal.'

A well-dressed, slenderly built middle-aged white woman stepped from the curb in the path of my car. I eased to a stop and waited for her to pass. She looked up; surprise was first in her eyes, then she gave a tentative, half-decided smile. I smiled in return, warm and friendly. It made all the difference in the world; the weights had gone out of my head.

Now I felt the heat of the day, saw the hard, bright California sunshine. It lay in the road like a white, frozen brilliance, hot but unshimmering, cutting the vision of my eyes into unwavering curves and stark unbroken angles. The shipyards had an impressive look, three-dimensional but infinite. Colours seemed brighter. Cranes were silhouetted against the grey-blue distance of sky.

I felt the size of it, the immensity of the production. I felt the importance of it, the importance of the whole war. I'd never given a damn one way or the other about the war excepting wanting to keep out of it; and at first when I wanted the Japanese to win. And now I did; I was stirred as I had been when I was a little boy watching a parade, seeing the flag go by. That filled-up feeling of my country. I felt included in it all; I had never felt included before. It was a wonderful feeling.

Glancing up, I saw a dine-dance cafe across from the Consolidated. I pulled into the parking lot and coasted to a stop, got out, and went inside. It was cool inside and so dark I had to pause just inside the doorway for my sight to pick out objects. The bar was flat across one side, and the dining-room circled out in front of it.

There were a number of men at the bar, a few women. A group of loud-voiced shipyard workers sat at a table playing Indian dice. They were all white. I found a seat at the bar between a woman and a man and made myself comfortable. The fear of being refused service might have come into my mind, but I didn't notice it. After a while the bar-tender stopped in front of me. He was a thin, indifferent-faced man with thinning black hair and a winged moustache. I ordered a double scotch and he grinned. The white woman next to me stopped talking and looked around. I could feel her gaze on me.

'You would take gin though, wouldn't you?' the bar-tender said.

I let my eyes rove over the stock. All I saw was gin, rum, tequila, vodka, and wine. I grinned back at the bar-tender. 'Gin's fine,' I said. 'I was nursed on gin.'

He picked up the bottle, poised it. 'Double?'

'That's right,' I said. I turned to look at the white woman at my side. Our eyes met. She had brown eyes, frankly curious; and blonde hair, dark at the roots, piled on top of her head. In the dim orange light her lipstick didn't show and her mouth looked too thin for the size of her other features. She had taken off her brassiere on account of the heat and the outline of her breasts showed distinctly through her white rayon blouse.

She looked away after a moment and when I looked into the mirror I met the eyes of the man on the other side of her. I smiled slightly, looked away before seeing whether he returned it or not.

The bar-tender replaced the gin bottle. 'Chaser?'

'Water,' I said.

He set up the water. 'We don't have no more whisky, only once or twice a week,' he said. 'I ain't seen no Scotch since I don't know when.'

'Scotch? What's that?' the blonde girl said. She had a man's heavy voice.

'Speaking of Scotch reminds me of a joke,' the man on the other side of her began. 'Two Scotchmen went to a Jew store to buy a suit of clothes…'

I got interested in watching a guy down the bar balance a half-filled glass on its edge and didn't listen. When I finished my gin I went over and sat down at a table. A young darkhaired girl in a blue, white-trimmed uniform came over to take my order. She had two imitation daisies pinned on each side of her hair. Her face was impersonal.

I ordered the biggest steak they had, then a double martini as an afterthought. A big rawboned old-timer came in and looked about for a place to sit. Finally he sat at the table with me. I thought to myself, I must be turning white really and truly, and grinned at him.

'If it's one thing I don't like, it's sitting at a goddamned empty table,' he greeted.

'It is kinda bad,' I said.

'You married?' he asked.

I shook my head. 'Still in the field.'

'I been married thirty-two goddamned years,' he said. 'Got the best goddamned finest woman in the world. Got three boys in the Marines. And goddamnit, every time I come into this goddamned joint I don't find nothing but empty tables.' I thought for a moment he was going to bang on the table and complain to the management,

'You work at Consolidated?' he asked suddenly.

I shook my head. 'I work at Atlas.'

'That goddamned stinking joint!' he said. 'The Navy had to take over that goddamned yard before they could get any work done. That is the goddamnest, laziest, prissiest, undermanned, prejudiced shipyard-' He cursed out Atlas until my steak came, then he looked at it and said, 'That looks pretty good. They must be getting some better beef out this way now.' Until his steak came he cursed out the West Coast beef.

We ate silently. I'd never eaten steak that tasted so good. When I'd finished I got up, paid my bill, said, 'See you,' and left. He didn't say anything; but I felt all right about it.

I decided to go back by Figueroa, and when I turned into it a couple of white sailors thumbed me and I stopped to give them a lift. They were very young boys, still in their teens, scrubbed-faced and slightly tanned. The three of us sat in the front seat; the one in the middle put his arm behind me to make room. For a time we went along without talking, then I asked, 'What's you guy's names?'

'Lester,' the one in the middle said, and the other one said, 'Carl.'

'What's yours?' Lester asked, and I told him, 'Bob.'

'You work in a shipyard?' Carl asked.

'Atlas,' I told him. 'I'm a sheet-metal worker.'

'I worked a while up at Richmond-Richmond No. 1, Kaiser's yard,' he said. 'I'm from San Francisco.'

'I was up there once,' I said. 'I like Frisco, it's a good city.'

The boy in the middle hadn't said anything, so I asked him, 'Where you from, Lester?'

'Memphis,' he said. 'You ever been there?'

I gave him a quick side glance; then I chuckled. 'No, I never been to Memphis,' I said. 'I'm from Ohio-Cleveland.'

'I bet you'd like Memphis,' he said as if he really believed it.

'Maybe,' I said. 'But I'll never know.'

He grinned. 'You like Los Angeles, eh?'

'Just between you and me,' I said, 'Los Angeles is the most over-rated, lousiest, countriest, phoniest city I've ever been in.'