Ralph Ellison - Invisible man

"How about a drink for us, Emma?" Brother Jack said.

"Well, now, I'll have to think about it," she said, tilting her severely drawn head and smiling.

"Don't think, act," he said. "We're very thirsty men. This young man pushed history ahead twenty years today."

"Oh," she said, her eyes becoming intent. "You must tell me about him."

"Just read the morning papers, Emma. Things have begun to move. Yes, leap ahead." He laughed deeply.

"What would you like, Brother?" she said, her eyes brushing slowly over my face.

"Bourbon," I said, a little too loudly, as I remembered the best the South had to offer. My face was warm, but I returned her glance as steadily as I dared. It was not the harsh uninterested-in-you-as-a-human-being stare that I'd known in the South, the kind that swept over a black man as though he were a horse or an insect; it was something more, a direct, what-type-of-mere-man-have-we-here kind of look that seemed to go beneath my skin ... Somewhere in my leg a muscle twitched violently.

"Emma, the bourbon! Two bourbons," Brother Jack said.

"You know," she said, picking up a decanter, "I'm intrigued."

"Naturally. Always," he said. "Intrigued and intriguing. But we're dying of thirst."

"Only of impatience," she said, pouring the drinks. "I mean you are. Tell me, where did you find this young hero of the people?"

"I didn't," Brother Jack said. "He simply arose out of a crowd. The people always throw up their leaders, you know ..."

"Throw them up," she said. "Nonsense, they chew them up and spit them out. Their leaders are made, not born. Then they're destroyed. You've always said that. Here you are, Brother."

He looked at her steadily. I took the heavy crystal glass and raised it to my lips, glad for an excuse to turn from her eyes. A haze of cigarette smoke drifted through the room. I heard a series of rich arpeggios sound on the piano behind me and turned to look, hearing the woman Emma say not quite softly enough, "But don't you think he should be a little blacker?"

"Shhh, don't be a damn fool," Brother Jack said sharply. "We're not interested in his looks but in his voice. And I suggest, Emma, that you make it your interest too ..."

Suddenly hot and breathless, I saw a window across the room and went over and stood looking out. We were up very high; street lamps and traffic cut patterns in the night below. So she doesn't think I'm black enough. What does she want, a black-face comedian? Who is she, anyway, Brother Jack's wife, his girl friend? Maybe she wants to see me sweat coal tar, ink, shoe polish, graphite. What was I, a man or a natural resource?

The window was so high that I could barely hear the sound of traffic below ... This was a bad beginning, but hell, I was being hired by Brother Jack, if he still wanted me, not this Emma woman. I'd like to show her how really black I am, I thought, taking a big drink of the bourbon. It was smooth, cold. I'd have to be careful with the stuff. Anything might happen if I had too much. With these people I'll have to be careful. Always careful. With all people I'll have to be careful ...

"It's a pleasant view, isn't it?" a voice said, and I whirled to see a tall dark man. "But now would you mind joining us in the library?" he said.

Brother Jack, the men who had come along in the car, and two others whom I hadn't seen before were waiting.

"Come in, Brother," Jack said. "Business before pleasure is always a good rule, whoever you are. Some day the rule shall be business with pleasure, for the joy of labor shall have been restored. Sit down."

I took the chair directly before him, wondering what this speech was all about.

"You know, Brother," he said, "we don't ordinarily interrupt our social gatherings with business, but with you it's necessary."

"I'm very sorry," I said. "I should have called you earlier."

"Sorry? Why, we're only too glad to do so. We've been waiting for you for months. Or for someone who could do what you've done."

"But what ... ?" I said.

"What are we doing? What is our mission? It's simple; we are working for a better world for all people. It's that simple. Too many have been dispossessed of their heritage, and we have banded together in brotherhood so as to do something about it. What do you think of that?"

"Why, I think it's fine," I said, trying to take in the full meaning of his words. "I think it's excellent. But how?"

"By moving them to action just as you did this morning... Brothers, I was there," he said to the others, "and he was magnificent. With a few words he set off an effective demonstration against evictions!"

"I was present too," another said. "It was amazing."

"Tell us something of your background," Brother Jack said, his voice and manner demanding truthful answers. And I explained briefly that I had come up looking for work to pay my way through college and had failed.

"Do you still plan to return?"

"Not now," I said. "I'm all done with that."

"It's just as well," Brother Jack said. "You have little to learn down there. However, college training is not a bad thing -- although you'll have to forget most of it. Did you study economics?"

"Some."

"Sociology?"

"Yes."

"Well, let me advise you to forget it. You'll be given books to read along with some material that explains our program in detail. But we're moving too fast. Perhaps you aren't interested in working for the Brotherhood."

"But you haven't told me what I'm supposed to do," I said.

He looked at me fixedly, picking up his glass slowly and taking a long swallow.

"Let's put it this way," he said. "How would you like to be the new Booker T. Washington?"

"What!" I looked into his bland eyes for laughter, seeing his red head turned slightly to the side. "Please, now," I said.

"Oh, yes, I'm serious."

"Then I don't understand you." Was I drunk? I looked at him; he seemed sober.

"What do you think of the idea? Or better still, what do you think of Booker T. Washington?"

"Why, naturally, I think he was an important figure. At least most people say so."

"But?"

"Well," I was at a loss for words. He was going too fast again. The whole idea was insane and yet the others were looking at me calmly; one of them was lighting up an underslung pipe. The match sputtered, caught fire.

"What is it?" Brother Jack insisted.

"Well, I guess I don't think he was as great as the Founder."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Well, in the first place, the Founder came before him and did practically everything Booker T. Washington did and a lot more. And more people believed in him. You hear a lot of arguments about Booker T. Washington, but few would argue about the Founder ..."

"No, but perhaps that is because the Founder lies outside history, while Washington is still a living force. However, the new Washington shall work for the poor ..."

I looked into my crystal glass of bourbon. It was unbelievable, yet strangely exciting and I had the sense of being present at the creation of important events, as though a curtain had been parted and I was being allowed to glimpse how the country operated. And yet none of these men was well known, or at least I'd never seen their faces in the newspapers.

"During these times of indecision when all the old answers are proven false, the people look back to the dead to give them a clue," he went on. "They call first upon one and then upon another of those who have acted in the past."

"If you please, Brother," the man with the pipe interrupted, "I think you should speak more concretely."

"Please don't interrupt," Brother Jack said icily.

"I wish only to point out that a scientific terminology exists," the man said, emphasizing his words with his pipe. "After all, we call ourselves scientists here. Let us speak as scientists."