Native Son

by Richard Wright

  “Yessuh.”

  “I want you to know why I’m hiring you.”

  “Yessuh.”

  “You see, Bigger, I’m a supporter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Did you ever hear of that organization?”

  “Nawsuh.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Dalton. “Have you had your dinner?”

  “Nawsuh.”

  “Well, I think you’ll do.”

  Mr. Dalton pushed a button. There was silence. The woman who had answered the front door came in.

  “Yes, Mr. Dalton.”

  “Peggy, this is Bigger. He’s going to drive for us. Give him something to eat, and show him where he’s to sleep and where the car is.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dalton.”

  “And, Bigger, at eight-thirty, drive Miss Dalton out to the University and wait for her,” said Mr. Dalton.

  “Yessuh.”

  “That’s all now.”

  “Yessuh.”

  “Come with me,” Peggy said.

  Bigger rose and got his cap and followed the woman through the house to the kitchen. The air was full of the scent of food cooking and pots bubbled on the stove.

  “Sit here,” Peggy said, clearing a place for him at a white-topped table. He sat and rested his cap on his knees. He felt a little better now that he was out of the front part of the house, but still not quite comfortable.

  “Dinner isn’t quite ready yet,” Peggy said. “You like bacon and eggs?”

  “Yessum.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Yessum.”

  He sat looking at the white walls of the kitchen and heard the woman stir about behind him.

  “Did Mr. Dalton tell you about the furnace?”

  “No’m.”

  “Well, he must have forgotten it. You’re supposed to attend to that, too. I’ll show you where it is before you go.”

  “You mean I got to keep the fire going, mam?”

  “Yes. But it’s easy. Did you ever fire before?”

  “No’m.”

  “You can learn. There’s nothing to it.”

  “Yessum.”

  Peggy seemed kind enough, but maybe she was being kind in order to shove her part of the work on him. Well, he would wait and see. If she got nasty, he would talk to Mr. Dalton about her. He smelt the odor of frying bacon and realized that he was very hungry. He had forgotten to buy a sandwich with the quarter his mother had given him, and he had not eaten since morning. Peggy placed a plate, knife, fork, spoon, sugar, cream, and bread before him; then she dished up the bacon and eggs.

  “You can get more if you want it.”

  The food was good. This was not going to be a bad job. The only thing bad so far was that crazy girl. He chewed his bacon and eggs while some remote part of his mind considered in amazement how different the girl had seemed in the movie. On the screen she was not dangerous and his mind could do with her as it liked. But here in her home she walked over everything, put herself in the way. He had quite forgotten that Peggy was in the kitchen and when his plate was empty he took a soft piece of bread and began to sop it clean, carrying the bread to his mouth in huge chunks.

  “You want some more?”

  He stopped chewing and laid the bread aside. He had not wanted to let her see him do that; he did that only at home.

  “No’m,” he said. “I got a plenty.”

  “You reckon you’ll like it here?” Peggy asked.

  “Yessum. I hope so.”

  “This is a swell place,” Peggy said. “About as good as you’ll find anywhere. The last colored man who worked for us stayed ten years.”

  Bigger wondered why she said “us.” She must stand in with the old man and old woman pretty good, he thought.

  “Ten years?” he said.

  “Yes; ten years. His name was Green. He was a good man, too.”

  “How come he to leave?”

  “Oh, he was smart, that Green was. He took a job with the government. Mrs. Dalton made him go to night school. Mrs. Dalton’s always trying to help somebody.”

  Yes; Bigger knew that. But he was not going to any night school. He looked at Peggy; she was bent over the sink, washing dishes. Her words had challenged him and he felt he had to say something.

  “Yessum, he was smart,” he said. “And ten years is a long time.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t so long,” Peggy said. “I’ve been here twenty years myself. I always was one for sticking to a job. I always say when you get a good place, then stick there. A rolling stone gathers no moss, and it’s true.”

  Bigger said nothing.

  “Everything’s simple and nice around here,” Peggy said. “They’ve got millions, but they live like human beings. They don’t put on airs and strut. Mrs. Dalton believes that people should be that way.”

  “Yessum.”

  “They’re Christian people and believe in everybody working hard. And living a clean life. Some people think we ought to have more servants than we do, but we get along. It’s just like one big family.”

  “Yessum.”

  “Mr. Dalton’s a fine man,” Peggy said.

  “Oh, yessum. He is.”

  “You know, he does a lot for your people.”

  “My people?” asked Bigger, puzzled.

  “Yes, the colored people. He gave over five million dollars to colored schools.”

  “Oh!”

  “But Mrs. Dalton’s the one who’s really nice. If it wasn’t for her, he would not be doing what he does. She made him rich. She had millions when he married her. Of course, he made a lot of money himself afterwards out of real estate. But most of the money’s hers. She’s blind, poor thing. She lost her sight ten years ago. Did you see her yet?”

  “Yessum.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yessum.”

  “Poor thing! Mrs. Patterson, who takes care of her, is away for the week-end and she’s all alone. Isn’t it too bad, about her?”

  “Oh, yessum,” he said, trying to get into his voice some of the pity for Mrs. Dalton that he thought Peggy expected him to feel.

  “It’s really more than a job you’ve got here,” Peggy went on. “It’s just like home. I’m always telling Mrs. Dalton that this is the only home I’ll ever know. I wasn’t in this country but two years before I started working here….”

  “Oh,” said Bigger, looking at her.

  “I’m Irish, you know,” she said. “My folks in the old country feel about England like the colored folks feel about this country. So I know something about colored people. Oh, these are fine people, fine as silk. Even the girl. Did you meet her yet?”

  “Yessum.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yessum.”

  Peggy turned and looked at him sharply.

  “She’s a sweet thing,” she said. “I’ve known her since she was two years old. But she’s kind of wild, she is. Always in hot water. Keeps her folks worried. The Lord only knows where she got her wild ways. But she’s got ’em. If you stay around here long, you’ll get to know her.”

  Bigger wanted to ask about the girl, but thought that he had better not do that now.

  “If you’re through, I’ll show you the furnace and the car, and where your room is,” she said and turned the fire low under the pots on the stove.

  “Yessum.”

  He rose and followed her out of the kitchen, down a narrow stairway at the end of which was the basement. It was dark; Bigger heard a sharp click and the light came on.

  “This way…. What did you say your name was?”

  “Bigger, mam.”

  “What?”

  “Bigger.”

  He smelt the scent of coal and ashes and heard fire roaring. He saw a red bed of embers glowing in the furnace.

  “This is the furnace,” she said.

  “Yessum.”

  “Every morning you’ll find the garbage here; you burn it and put the bucket on the dumb-waiter.”


  “Yessum.”

  “You never have to use a shovel for coal. It’s a self-feeder. Look, see?”

  Peggy pulled a lever and there came a loud rattle of fine lumps of coal sliding down a metal chute. Bigger stooped and saw, through the cracks of the furnace, the coal spreading out fanwise over the red bed of fire.

  “That’s fine,” he mumbled in admiration.

  “And you don’t have to worry about water, either. It fills itself.”

  Bigger liked that; it was easy; it would be fun, almost.

  “Your biggest trouble will be taking out the ashes and sweeping. And keep track of how the coal runs; when it’s low, tell me or Mr. Dalton and we’ll order some more.”

  “Yessum. I can handle it.”

  “Now, to get to your room all you have to do is go up these back stairs. Come on.”

  He followed up a stretch of stairs. She opened a door and switched on a light and Bigger saw a large room whose walls were covered with pictures of girls’ faces and prize fighters.

  “This was Green’s room. He was always one for pictures. But he kept things neat and nice. It’s plenty warm here. Oh, yes: before I forget. Here are the keys to the room and the garage and the car. Now, I’ll show you the garage. You have to get to it from the outside.”

  He followed her down the steps and outside into the driveway. It was much warmer.

  “Looks like snow,” Peggy said.

  “Yessum.”

  “This is the garage,” she said, unlocking and pushing open a door which, as it swung in, made lights come on automatically. “You always bring the car out and wait at the side door for the folks. Let’s see. You say you’re driving Miss Dalton tonight?”

  “Yessum.”

  “Well, she leaves at eight-thirty. So you’re free until then. You can look over your room if you want to.”

  “Yessum. I reckon I will.”

  Bigger went behind Peggy down the stairs and back into the basement. She went to the kitchen and he went to his room. He stood in the middle of the floor, looking at the walls. There were pictures of Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, and Henry Armstrong; there were others of Ginger Rogers, Jean Harlow, and Janet Gaynor. The room was large and had two radiators. He felt the bed; it was soft. Gee! He would bring Bessie here some night. Not right at once; he would wait until he had learned the ropes of the place. A room all to himself! He could bring a pint of liquor up here and drink it in peace. He would not have to slip around any more. He would not have to sleep with Buddy and stand Buddy’s kicking all night long. He lit a cigarette and stretched himself full length upon the bed. Ohhhh…. This was not going to be bad at all. He looked at his dollar watch; it was seven. In a little while he would go down and examine the car. And he would buy himself another watch, too. A dollar watch was not good enough for a job like this; he would buy a gold one. There were a lot of new things he would get. Oh, boy! This would be an easy life. Everything was all right, except that girl. She worried him. She might cause him to lose his job if she kept talking about unions. She was a funny girl, all right. Never in his life had he met anyone like her. She puzzled him. She was rich, but she didn’t act like she was rich. She acted like…. Well, he didn’t know exactly what she did act like. In all of the white women he had met, mostly on jobs and at relief stations, there was always a certain coldness and reserve; they stood their distance and spoke to him from afar. But this girl waded right in and hit him between the eyes with her words and ways. Aw, hell! What good was there in thinking about her like this? Maybe she was all right. Maybe he would just have to get used to her; that was all. I bet she spends a plenty of dough, he thought. And the old man had given five million dollars to colored people. If a man could give five million dollars away, then millions must be as common to him as nickels. He rose up and sat on the edge of the bed.

  What make of car was he to drive? He had not thought to look when Peggy had opened the garage door. He hoped it would be a Packard, or a Lincoln, or a Rolls Royce. Boy! Would he drive! Just wait! Of course, he would be careful when he was driving Miss or Mr. Dalton. But when he was alone he would burn up the pavement; he would make those tires smoke!

  He licked his lips; he was thirsty. He looked at his watch; it was ten past eight. He would go to the kitchen and get a drink of water and then drive the car out of the garage. He went down the steps, through the basement to the stairs leading to the kitchen door. Though he did not know it, he walked on tiptoe. He eased the door open and peeped in. What he saw made him suck his breath in; Mrs. Dalton in flowing white clothes was standing stone-still in the middle of the kitchen floor. There was silence, save for the slow ticking of a large clock on a white wall. For a moment he did not know if he should go in or go back down the steps; his thirst was gone. Mrs. Dalton’s face was held in an attitude of intense listening and her hands were hanging loosely at her sides. To Bigger her face seemed to be capable of hearing in every pore of the skin and listening always to some low voice speaking. Sitting quietly on the floor beside her was the white cat, its large black eyes fastened upon him. It made him uneasy just to look at her and that white cat; he was about to close the door and tiptoe softly back down the stairs when she spoke.

  “Are you the new boy?”

  “Yessum.”

  “Did you want something?”

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you, mam. I—I…. I just wanted a drink of water.”

  “Well, come on in. I think you’ll find a glass somewhere.”

  He went to the sink, watching her as he walked, feeling that she could see him even though he knew that she was blind. His skin tingled. He took a glass from a narrow shelf and filled it from a faucet. As he drank he stole a glance at her over the rim of the glass. Her face was still, tilted, waiting. It reminded him of a dead man’s face he had once seen. Then he realized that Mrs. Dalton had turned and listened to the sound of his feet as he had walked. She knows exactly where I’m standing, he thought.

  “You like your room?” she asked; and as she spoke he realized that she had been standing there waiting to hear the sound of his glass as it had clinked on the sink.

  “Oh, yessum.”

  “I hope you’re a careful driver.”

  “Oh, yessum. I’ll be careful.”

  “Did you ever drive before?”

  “Yessum. But it was a grocery truck.”

  He had the feeling that talking to a blind person was like talking to someone whom he himself could scarcely see.

  “How far did you go in school, Bigger?”

  “To the eighth grade, mam.”

  “Do you ever think of going back?”

  “Well, I gotta work now, mam.”

  “Suppose you had the chance to go back?”

  “Well, I don’t know, mam.”

  “The last man who worked here went to night school and got an education.”

  “Yessum.”

  “What would you want to be if you had an education?”

  “I don’t know, mam.”

  “Did you ever think about it?”

  “No’m.”

  “You would rather work?”

  “I reckon I would, mam.”

  “Well, we’ll talk about that some other time. I think you’d better get the car for Miss Dalton now.”

  “Yessum.”

  He left her standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, exactly as he had found her. He did not know just how to take her; she made him feel that she would judge all he did harshly but kindly. He had a feeling toward her that was akin to that which he held toward his mother. The difference in his feelings toward Mrs. Dalton and his mother was that he felt that his mother wanted him to do the things she wanted him to do, and he felt that Mrs. Dalton wanted him to do the things she felt that he should have wanted to do. But he did not want to go to night school. Night school was allright; but he had other plans. Well, he didn’t know just what they were right now, but he was working them out.

  The night air had grown warm
er. A wind had risen. He lit a cigarette and unlocked the garage; the door swung in and again he was surprised and pleased to see the lights spring on automatically These people’s got everything, he mused. He examined the car; it was a dark blue Buick, with steel spoke wheels and of a new make. He stepped back from it and looked it over; then he opened the door and looked at the dashboard. He was a little disappointed that the car was not so expensive as he had hoped, but what it lacked in price was more than made up for in color and style. “It’s all right,” he said half-aloud. He got in and backed it into the driveway and turned it round and pulled it up to the side door.

  “Is that you, Bigger?”

  The girl stood on the steps.

  “Yessum.”

  He got out and held the rear door open for her.

  “Thank you.”

  He touched his cap and wondered if it were the right thing to do

  “Is it that university-school out there on the Midway, mam?”

  Through the rear mirror above him he saw her hesitate before answering.

  “Yes; that’s the one.”

  He pulled the car into the street and headed south, driving about thirty-five miles an hour. He handled the car expertly, picking up speed at the beginning of each block and slowing slightly as he approached each street intersection.

  “You drive well,” she said.

  “Yessum,” he said proudly.

  He watched her through the rear mirror as he drove; she was kind of pretty, but very little. She looked like a doll in a show window: black eyes, white face, red lips. And she was not acting at all now as she had acted when he first saw her. In fact, she had a remote look in her eyes. He stopped the car at Forty-seventh Street for a red light; he did not have to stop again until he reached Fifty-first Street where a long line of cars formed in front of him and a long line in back. He held the steering wheel lightly, waiting for the line to move forward. He had a keen sense of power when driving; the feel of a car added something to him. He loved to press his foot against a pedal and sail along, watching others stand still, seeing the asphalt road unwind under him. The lights flashed from red to green and he nosed the car forward.

  “Bigger!”

  “Yessum.”

  “Turn at this corner and pull up on a side street.”

  “Here, mam?”