Chester Himes - If he hollers let him go

I looked down at him with a broad smile that went all down in my throat and chest. It was all I could do to keep from putting my finger in his face. 'Don't be sorry on my account,' I said, slightly slurring the words with too much throat. 'I have one reserved. Jones-Robert Jones.'

The painted smile came off, leaving slackness in his face, and his eyes looked trapped. 'Jones, Mr. Jones…' The 'Mr.' almost strangled him, but he recovered quickly. 'Certainly, sir. I'll have to consult my lists for tonight. We have so many unexpected officers whom we must serve, you know.' This time his smile included me.

But I wouldn't accept it. Alice squeezed my arm.

He turned, left us standing on the platform at the head of the entrance stairway, walked the length of the dining-room, and disappeared through the doorway into the pantry.

'He must keep his lists in the icebox,' I said, and Alice squeezed my arm again.

I jerked a belligerent look at her, then suddenly felt good all over. She had regained her control and she looked so poised and assured and beautiful, standing there among the white folks, I filled right up to the throat. I noticed a number of the white men sliding furtive glances of admiration at her, and I thought, 'You just go right on and keep yours, brothers, and I'll keep mine-and won't miss a thing either.' Alice looked up and caught me looking at her and I winked.

'You're a cute chick,' I said. 'How 'bout a date?'

She smiled. 'It's nice to go out with you,' she whispered. 'I feel so well protected.'

I didn't get it so I just grinned. But when several other diners came up, walked past us down into the dining-room, and were seated by the captains, her smile faded. I began getting on my muscle again; I looked down over the sea of curious faces disdainfully. Breath started choking up in me and I thought, Tomorrow I'm going to kill one of you bastards, and it loosened up again. I lit a cigarette to steady my hands, thumbed the match toward the sandbox.

Finally the head waiter returned from the pantry and now he was affable. It was more insulting than hostility. He led us down to the last table by the pantry door and beckoned a crooked-faced, slightly stooped Greek waiter to take our order.

'We came here to get something to eat out of the kitchen, not to eat in it,' I said.

The head waiter lifted his brows. 'I don't understand.' He shrugged indifferently. 'This is the only table we have vacant, sir. You were fortunate, sir, to get reservations at all at such a late hour.'

'- at all, period,' I said.

Alice looked extremely embarrassed. The head waiter hovered hopefully. The Greek waiter held the chair for her and the head waiter departed. The orchestra began playing something sticky, sweet. I sat down and looked at the menu, determined to get my money's worth out of the joint. Most of the courses were listed in French and I had an impulse to sail it across the room. Then I laughed.

'Bring us a couple of martinis while I consult my dictionary,' I said to the waiter, and when he left I said to Alice, 'I'm going to have some broiled pheasant and champagne and I know the white folks are going to say, "That's the nearest that nigger can find to chicken and gin," but I don't even give a damn.'

Alice's eyes frightened me; I thought for a moment that I'd lost her. Then she said in an even voice, 'A good sauterne would be better with your pheasant,' and I breathed again.

When the waiter returned with the martinis she became more at ease. The knowledge that she could order a meal with confidence set her up again. I started to bring her down but decided against it; she needed whatever she could get from any source, I thought.

'You order for both of us,' I said.

She and the Greek had a fine time discussing food. He was enjoying it too, it seemed, and she was getting her kicks until a woman at a nearby table giggled. Chances are the woman hadn't given her a thought; but she went into her shell again. Even the waiter noticed it. She finished ordering and the waiter left.

I looked across at the party next to us. A young ensign with chiselled features sat across from a very blonde girl in a gorgeous print dress. Her hair was drawn in a bun at the nape of her neck, showing a small, shell-like ear. I let my gaze rest on her for a moment, taking in the delicate lines of her chin and throat, the sensitive lines about her mouth and the clean curved sweep of her neck. My gaze moved slightly and I looked squarely into the eyes of the ensign. There was no animosity in his gaze, only a mild surprise and a sharp interest. There were two elderly people at the table, probably the parents of one of them, and the man laughed suddenly at something that was said. After a moment he switched his gaze to Alice; it stayed on her so long the blonde girl looked at her too. Her face kept the same expression. Alice didn't notice either of them; she was drinking her martini with a rigid concentration.

I had a sudden wistful desire to be the young ensign's friend. I would have liked to send him a note inviting them to join us after dinner and go to some night spot. Then I met the frosty glare of the elderly lady. I looked away.

Alice began one of her one-sided monologues, this time about literature. I knew suddenly that she was fighting; that she'd been fighting before, I let her fight.

'Don't you like to go out with me?' I asked her suddenly.

She stopped talking and gave me a long solemn look. 'I always like to go out with you, Bob,' she said. 'You make me feel like a woman. But this is the first time you've ever made me feel like an exhibit.'

'But I really thought you liked to go to places like this,' I said.

She said without thinking, 'But, Bob, with you everybody here knows just what we are.' I didn't get it at first. She hadn't meant to state it so baldly, so she began covering up. 'I'm not trying to justify it, I'm just stating how it is.'

'You mean-' I burst out laughing and people from several tables turned about to stare with disapproval. Finally I got it out: 'You mean when you go in with the white folks the people think you're white.'

There was pure murder in her eyes. 'You don't have to be uncouth.'

'On top of being black too, eh?' I added, chuckling. 'Hell, they probably think we're movie people anyway, or that you're white as it is. I'll tell them I'm an East Indian if you think that'll help. Next time I'll wear a turban.'

The nearby diners had quieted to listen. Alice got a strained smile on her face and began talking politics. But I wouldn't let her get away with it. 'What are you trying to do now, educate me?' I said.

Neither of us said another word; we were both relieved when it was over. The waiter brought me a slip of paper clipped to the bill face down on the tray. When I picked up the bill I read the two typed lines:

We served you this time but we do not want your patronage in the future.

I started to get up and make my bid, to do my number for what it was worth. But when I looked at Alice I cooled. I could take it, I was just another nigger, I was going to lynch me a white boy and nothing they could do to me would make a whole lot of difference anyway-but she had position, family, responsibility.

The bill was twenty-seven dollars and seventy-three cents. I figured they'd padded it but I didn't beef. I simply borrowed the waiter's pencil and wrote: 'At your prices I cannot afford to eat at your joint often enough for you to worry about,' and put the note, three tens, and some change on the tray.

The waiter leaned over and said, 'If it will make you feel any better I'm going to quit. And you can read what I think about it in the People's World.'

I looked at him a moment and said, 'If you're thinking about how I feel, when you should have quit was before you brought the note.'