Chester Himes - If he hollers let him go

At first the brandy made me hate her with a blue violence. I wanted to knock her down and kick her. I told myself if I ever saw her again she'd have to come crawling to me on her knees. When I came into Central I was so blind with anger and chagrin I almost ran into a bus broadside. Then suddenly I was ravenous.

I went out to the new barbecue place at Forty-second Street and ordered Virginia ham. But half-way through it I got the sudden picture of Alice sitting in Leighton's coupe, smiling with appreciation at something he'd said. She'd be interested and attentive, I thought, because Leighton was white and she couldn't help but want to impress him with her culture and intelligence.

I pushed the stuff away from me, got up and went over to the cashier's, paid for it, and went out. I turned my car around, started downtown. I could imagine Leighton taking her someplace after the lecture that the 'known' Negroes, like me, couldn't go. Perhaps to one of the swanky joints out on the strip-the Troc, maybe. She'd be gay and unrestrained with him, I thought; not tight and frustrated like she'd been with me the other night. She'd know that everybody would think she was white. Then she'd be able to tell me what a nice time she'd had with Tom.

At Fifth I turned west, found a parking space, went into the Blue Room. The joint was crowded. There were a couple of white sailors at one end of the bar and a white girl with her coloured girl friend down near the middle. The rest were coloured, mostly railroad men. I leaned over a guy's shoulder and ordered a double brandy, took it down to the juke box at the front, and put a nickel on King Cole's 'I'm Lost.'

All of a sudden I knew that I was getting ready to go back and see Madge. Getting charged. Getting my gauge up to be a damned fool about a white woman, to blow my simple top, maybe get into serious trouble-about a slut any white bum could have at will. Just to get even with Alice-with Kelly too, and Mac, and all the rest. It was crazy; I knew it was crazy, like a sign I once saw that said, 'Read and run, nigger; if you can't read, run anyhow.'

'Simple son of a bitch!' I said aloud.

A little black gal at the end of the bar turned around and gave me. a qualitative smile. 'Whatttt?' She had a soft, caressing voice.

'I was talking to myself,' I said self-consciously.

The girl next to her looked around then. The black gal said, 'Well, how 'bout you?'

I leaned over her shoulder, put my empty glass on the bar, patted her hair as I drew away. 'I'd like to see you sometime,' I said, and her eyes got to telling me about it. 'But not tonight,' I said, and it went out of her eyes.

I went out, got in my car, and turned back toward Figueroa. When I pulled up in front of the hotel I glanced at my watch. It was nine after eleven; I had no idea it was that late. I cut the motor, took another long swig, then got out and started up the front stairs with the bottle in my hand. I didn't give a damn if the clerk was still on duty and had the whole police force with him. I was rocking and scared of nobody in the world, on a live-wire edge and ready to pop.

The hall light still burned but the desk was deserted. I'd primed myself to give the clerk an argument, to tell him this was America and he could go to hell; and when I found him gone I felt a slight letdown. I turned, went down to the front, knocked at 202. No one answered. I tried the knob; the door was locked. I knocked harder. Finally a sleepy Texas voice asked, 'Who's there?'

'Bob,' I said. 'Let me in.'

There was a silence for a moment then she asked, 'Who?' as if she couldn't believe her ears.

'Bob-from the shipyard,' I told her. 'I told you I was coming to see you.' My tongue was thick and I had trouble with my words.

'You better get away from here,' she threatened.

'Open up the door,' I said. 'Don't be so simple all the time.'

'If you don't get away from there I'll call the police and have you put underneath the jail,' she said in a fierce whisper as if standing close to the door.

'Call the police then,' I growled, rattling the knob.

'I'll scream,' she threatened.

'Scream then,' I said.

She didn't reply and I started hammering on the door.

'Well, wait a minute, can't you?' she whispered, unlocking the door. She opened it a crack. 'You wanna wake up everybody and let 'em see what's happening?'

I pushed inside, said, 'I don't give a damn.'

She quickly closed and locked the door, then wheeled toward me. 'You can't stay here, you'll get us both in trouble.'

'To hell with the trouble,' I muttered, turning to face her. 'Have a drink?'

She backed against the door. 'Well, wait till I get dressed, can't you? Are you in all that big a hurry?'

I put the bottle on the floor by the bed and stood looking at her a moment. She had on a nubby maroon robe and her blonde hair, dark at the roots, was done up in metal curlers tight to her head. Without lipstick or make-up she looked older; there were deep blue circles underneath her eyes and blue hollows on each side of the bridge of her nose. Tiny crow's-feet spread out from the outer corners of her eyes and hard slanting lines calipered obliquely from her nostrils, dropping vertically from the edges of her mouth. Her mouth was big, hard, brutal, with lips almost colourless; and her eyes were wide, blue, staring, almost popping, but now there was a muddy look in them. Beneath her robe her breasts seemed lower, big and loose, and her hips lumped out from her waist like half-filled sacks. For bedroom slippers she wore a pair of worn-out play shoes that had once been red. She had big feet and her ankles were very white, laced with blue veins, and dirty on the bone.

Then I moved in, trapped her against the door.

She jerked to one side, turning, and went half across the room. I lunged, grabbed for her, caught her wrist, and pulled her back. She got rougher and began struggling in earnest. I got her by both arms, put my one-eighty pounds into it, and pushed her down across the bed. She twisted out from underneath me, turned on her stomach. I grabbed her by the shoulder and tried to turn her over toward me; but she rolled clear over me on the other side, and then started fighting with her fists. I grabbed her arms again and pinned them to her sides. She started kicking at me. We tussled silently back and forth across the bed until we were both panting for breath.

She was big, strong, and quick, and it was all I could do to hold my own. 'Gawddamn you!' she grated once, but that was the only time she spoke. I didn't say anything. We stopped for a moment by common accord, resting. Her face was a hard, glowing red and her blue eyes were dark and furious. Her mouth was a hard brutal line.

I relaxed my hold and she snatched a hand loose and hit me in the face. I made a sudden rough grab for her and we both rolled over on the floor. We kept rolling until we were in the middle of the floor and I got her flat on her back and pinned her down.

She stopped struggling and went limp, and the strangest look came into her eyes.

'I dare you to, nigger,' she said. 'Just go 'head. I'll get you lynched right here in California.'

'Aw, go to hell,' I growled.

'My Gawddd, now you wanna beat me,' she said, and all of a sudden started crying. 'I don't know what made me let you in, you cruel black bastard.'

She looked like hell. She was really a beat biddy, trampishlooking and pure rebbish; and since I'd already lost my livewire edge, I wondered what the hell I'd seen in her in the first place. I just stood there and looked at her and wondered.

And on top of all of that she began acting coy. 'Take off my shoes,' she said, holding out her feet.

'Take off your own goddamned shoes.'

'You think 'cause I let you in you can do anything you want,' she flared. 'Well, let me tell you-'