Ralph Ellison - Invisible man

She steadied her gaze, frowning. "Who, Georgie?" she said, looking at me out of one bleary eye. "Georgie's blind 'sa mole in a hole 'n doesn't know a thing about it. 'D you ever hear of such a thing, fifteen years! Say, what're you laughing at, boo'ful?"

"Me," I said, beginning to roar, "just me ..."

"I've never seen anyone laugh like you, boo'ful. It's wonderful!"

I was slipping her dress over her head now and her voice came muffled through the shantung cloth. Then I had it down around her hips and her flushed face wavered through the collar, her hair down in disorder again.

"Boo'ful," she said, blowing the word, "will you do it again sometimes?"

I stepped away and looked at her. "What?"

"Please, pretty boo'ful, please," she said with a wobbly smile.

I began to laugh, "Sure," I said, "sure ..."

"When, boo'ful, when?"

"Any time," I said. "How about every Thursday at nine?"

"Oooooh, boo'ful," she said, giving me an old-fashioned hug. "I've never seen anyone like you."

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Really, I haven't, boo'ful ... Honor bright ... believe me?"

"Sure, it's good to be seen, but we've got to go now," I said seeing her about to sag to the bed.

She pouted. "I need a lil nightcap, boo'ful," she said.

"You've had enough," I said.

"Ah, boo'ful, jus' one ..."

"Okay, just one."

We had another drink and I looked at her and felt the pity and self-disgust returning and was depressed.

She looked at me gravely, her head to one side.

"Boo'ful," she said, "you know what lil ole Sybil thinks? She thinks you're trying to get rid of her."

I looked at her out of a deep emptiness and refilled her glass and mine. What had I done to her, allowed her to do? Had all of it filtered down to me? My action ... my -- the painful word formed as disconnectedly as her wobbly smile -- my responsibility? All of it? I'm invisible. "Here," I said, "drink."

"You too, boo'ful," she said.

"Yes," I said. She moved into my arms.

I MUST have dozed. There came the tinkling of ice in a glass, the shrill of bells. I felt profoundly sad, as though winter had fallen during the hour. She lay, her chestnut hair let down, watching through heavy-lidded, blue, eye-shadowed eyes. From far away a new sound arose.

"Don't answer, boo'ful," she said, her voice coming through suddenly, out of time with the working of her mouth.

"What?" I said.

"Don't answer, let'er ring," she said, reaching her red-nailed fingers forth.

I took it from her hands, understanding now.

"Don't, boo'ful," she said.

It rang again in my hand now and for no reason at all the words of a childhood prayer spilled through my mind like swift water. Then: "Hello," I said.

It was a frantic, unrecognizable voice from the district. "Brother, you better get up here right away --" it said.

"I'm ill," I said. "What's wrong?"

"There's trouble, Brother, and you're the only one who can --"

"What kind of trouble?"

"Bad trouble, Brother; they trying to --"

Then the harsh sound of breaking glass, distant, brittle and fine, followed by a crash, and the line went dead.

"Hello," I said, seeing Sybil wavering before me, her lips saying, "Boo'ful."

I tried to dial now, hearing the busy signal throbbing back at me: Amen-Amen-Amen Ah man; and I sat there a while. Was it a trick? Did they know she was with me? I put it down. Her eyes were looking at me from out of their blue shadow. "Boo --"

And now I stood and pulled her arm. "Let's go, Sybil. They need me uptown" -- realizing only then that I would go.

'"No," she said.

s'"But yes. Come."

She fell back upon the bed defying me. I released her arms and looked around, my head unclear. What kind of trouble at this hour? Why should I go? She watched me, her eyes brightly awash in blue shadow. My heart felt low and deeply sad.

"Come back, boo'ful," she said.

"No, let's get some air," I said.

And now, avoiding the red, oily nails I gripped her wrists and pulled her up, toward the door. We tottered, her lips brushing mine as we wavered there. She clung to me and, for an instant, I to her with a feeling immeasurably sad. Then she hiccupped and I looked vacantly back into the room. The light caught in the amber liquid of our glasses.

"Boo'ful," she said, "life could be so diff'rent --"

"But it never is," I said.

She said, "Boo'ful."

The fan whirred. And in a corner, my brief case, covered with specks of dust like memories -- the night of the battle royal. I felt her breathing hot against me and pushed her gently away, steadying her against the door frame, then went over as impulsively as the remembered prayer, and got the brief case, brushing the dust against my leg and feeling the unexpected weight as I hugged it beneath my arm. Something clinked inside.

She watched me still, her eyes alight as I took her arm.

"How're you doing, Syb?" I said.

"Don't go, boo'ful," she said. "Let Georgie do it. No speeches tonight."

"Come on," I said, taking her arm quite firmly, pulling her along as she sighed, her wistful face turned toward me.

We went down smoothly into the street. My head was still badly fuzzed from the drink, and when I looked down the huge emptiness of the dark I felt like tears ... What was happening uptown? Why should I worry over bureaucrats, blind men? I am invisible. I stared down the quiet street, feeling her stumbling beside me, humming a little tune; something fresh, naïve and carefree. Sybil, my too-late-too-early love ... Ah! My throat throbbed. The heat of the street clung close. I looked for a taxi but none was passing. She hummed beside me, her perfume unreal in the night. We moved into the next block and still no taxis. Her high heels unsteadily scrunched the walk. I stopped her.

"Poor boo'ful," she said. "Don't know his name ..."

I turned as though struck. "What?"

"Anonymous brute 'n boo'ful buck," she said, her mouth a bleary smile.

I looked at her, skittering about on high heels, scrunch, scrunch on the walk.

"Sybil," I said, more to myself than to her, "where will it end?" Something told me to go.

"Aaaah," she laughed, "in bed. Don't go up, boo'ful, Sybil'll tuck you in."

I shook my head. The stars were there, high, high, revolving. Then I closed my eyes and they sailed red behind my lids; then somewhat steadied I took her arm.

"Look, Sybil," I said, "stand here a minute while I go over to Fifth for a taxi. Stand right here, dear, and hold on."

We tottered before an ancient-looking building, its windows dark. Huge Greek medallions showed in spots of light upon its façade, above a dark labyrinthine pattern in the stone, and I propped her against the stoop with its carved stone monster. She leaned there, her hair wild, looking at me in the street light, smiling. Her face kept swinging to one side, her right eye desperately closed.

"Sure, boo'ful, sure," she said.

"I'll be right back," I said, backing away.

"Boo'ful," she called, "My boo'ful."

Hear the true affection, I thought, the adoration of the Boogie Bear, moving away. Was she calling me beautiful or boogieful, beautiful or sublime ... What'd either mean? I am invisible ...

I went on through the late street quiet, hoping that a cab would pass before I had gone all the way. Up ahead at Fifth the lights were bright, a few cars shooting across the gaping mouth of the street and above and beyond, the trees -- great, dark, tall. What was going on, I pondered. Why call for me so late -- and who?

I hurried ahead, my feet unsteady.

"Booo'ful," she called behind me, "boooooo'ful!"

I waved without looking back. Never again, no more, no more. I went on.

At Fifth a cab passed and I tried to hail it, only to hear someone's voice arise, the sound floating gaily by. I looked up the lighted avenue for another, hearing suddenly the screech of brakes and turning to see the cab stop and a white arm beckoning. The cab reversed, rolled close, settling with a bounce. I laughed. It was Sybil. I stumbled forward, came to the door. She smiled out at me, her head, framed in the window, still pulling to one side, her hair waving down.