“No; I was tired.”
“So you left her to the Negro?”
“I left her in the car. I didn’t leave her to anybody.”
“But the Negro was in the car?”
“Yes.”
“And she got in the front seat with him?”
“Yes.”
“And you did not try to stop her?”
“No.”
“And all three of you had been drinking?”
“Yes.”
“And you were satisfied to leave her like that, with a drunken Negro?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had no fear for her?”
“Why, no.”
“You felt that she, being drunk, would be as satisfied with anyone else as she had been with you?”
“No; no…. Not that way. You’re leading….”
“Just answer the questions. Had Miss Dalton, to your knowledge, ever had sex relations with a Negro before?”
“No.”
“Did you think that that would be as good a time as any for her to learn?”
“No; no….”
“Didn’t you promise to contact the Negro to see if he was grateful enough to join the Communist Party?”
“I didn’t say I’d contact him.”
“Didn’t you tell him you’d contact him within two or three days?”
“No.”
“Mr. Erlone, are you sure you didn’t say that?”
“Oh, yes! But it was not with the construction you are putting upon it….”
“Mr. Erlone, were you surprised when you heard of the death of Miss Dalton?”
“Yes. At first I was too stunned to believe it. I thought surely there was some mistake.”
“You hadn’t expected that drunken Negro to go that far, had you?”
“I hadn’t expected anything.”
“But you told that Negro to read those Communist pamphlets, didn’t you?”
“I gave them to him.”
“You told him to read them?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t expect him to go so far as to rape and kill the girl?”
“I didn’t expect anything in that direction at all.”
“That’s all, Mr. Erlone.”
Bigger watched Jan go back to his seat. He knew how Jan felt. He knew what the man had been trying to do in asking the questions. He was not the only object of hate here. What did the Reds want that made the coroner hate Jan so?
“Will Mr. Henry Dalton please come forward?” the coroner asked.
Bigger listened as Mr. Dalton told how the Dalton family always hired Negro boys as chauffeurs, especially when those Negro boys were handicapped by poverty, lack of education, misfortune, or bodily injury. Mr. Dalton said that this was to give them a chance to support their families and go to school. He told how Bigger had come to the house, how timid and frightened he had acted, and how moved and touched the family had been for him. He told how he had not thought that Bigger had had anything to do with the disappearance of Mary, and how he had told Britten not to question him. He then told of receiving the kidnap note, and of how shocked he had been when he was informed that Bigger had fled his home, thereby indicating his guilt.
When the coroner’s questioning was over, Bigger heard Max ask,
“May I direct a few questions?”
“Certainly. Go right ahead,” the coroner said.
Max went forward and stood directly in front of Mr. Dalton.
“You are the president of the Dalton Real Estate Company, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Your company owns the building in which the Thomas family has lived for the past three years, does it not?”
“Well, no. My company owns the stock in a company that owns the house.”
“I see. What is the name of that company?”
“The South Side Real Estate Company.”
“Now, Mr. Dalton, the Thomas family paid you….”
“Not to me! They pay rent to the South Side Real Estate Company.”
“You own the controlling stock in the Dalton Real Estate Company, don’t you?”
“Why, yes.”
“And that company in turn owns the stock that controls the South Side Real Estate Company, doesn’t it?”
“Why, yes.”
“I think I can say that the Thomas family pays rent to you?”
“Indirectly, yes.”
“Who formulates the policies of these two companies?”
“Why, I do.”
“Why is it that you charge the Thomas family and other Negro families more rent for the same kind of houses than you charge whites?”
“I don’t fix the rent scales,” Mr. Dalton said.
“Who does?”
“Why, the law of supply and demand regulates the price of houses.”
“Now, Mr. Dalton, it has been said that you donate millions of dollars to educate Negroes. Why is it that you exact an exorbitant rent of eight dollars per week from the Thomas family for one unventilated, rat-infested room in which four people eat and sleep?”
The coroner leaped to his feet.
“I’ll not tolerate your brow-beating this witness! Have you no sense of decency? This man is one of the most respected men in this city! And your questions have no bearing….”
“They do have a bearing!” Max shouted. “You said we could question with latitude here! I’m trying to find the guilty person, too! Jan Erlone is not the only man who’s influenced Bigger Thomas! There were many others before him. I have as much right to determine what effect their attitude has had upon his conduct as you had to determine what Jan Erlone’s had!”
“I’m willing to answer his questions if it will clear things up,” Mr. Dalton said quietly.
“Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Now, tell me, why is it that you charged the Thomas family eight dollars per week for one room in a tenement?”
“Well, there’s a housing shortage.”
“All over Chicago?”
“No. Just here on the South Side.”
“You own houses in other sections of the city?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you rent those houses to Negroes?”
“Well…. Er…. I—I—I don’t think they’d like to live any other place.”
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody.”
“You came to that conclusion yourself?”
“Why, yes.”
“Isn’t it true you refuse to rent houses to Negroes if those houses are in other sections of the city?”
“Why, yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s an old custom.”
“Do you think that custom is right?”
“I didn’t make the custom,” Mr. Dalton said.
“Do you think that custom is right?” Max asked again.
“Well, I think Negroes are happier when they’re together.”
“Who told you that?”
“Why, nobody.”
“Aren’t they more profitable when they’re together?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Mr. Dalton, doesn’t this policy of your company tend to keep Negroes on the South Side, in one area?”
“Well, it works that way. But I didn’t originate….”
“Mr. Dalton, you give millions to help Negroes. May I ask why you don’t charge them less rent for fire-traps and check that against your charity budget?”
“Well, to charge them less rent would be unethical.”
“Unethical!”
“Why, yes. I would be underselling my competitors.”
“Is there an agreement among realtors as to what Negroes should be charged for rent?”
“No. But there’s a code of ethics in business.”
“So, the profits you take from the Thomas family in rents, you give back to them to ease the pain of their gouged lives and to salve the ache of your own conscience?”
&nb
sp; “That’s a distortion of fact, sir!”
“Mr. Dalton, why do you contribute money to Negro education?”
“I want to see them have a chance.”
“Have you ever employed any of the Negroes you helped to educate?”
“Why, no.”
“Mr. Dalton, do you think that the terrible conditions under which the Thomas family lived in one of your houses may in some way be related to the death of your daughter?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s all,” said Max.
After Mr. Dalton left the stand, Peggy came, then Britten, a host of doctors, reporters, and many policemen.
“We will now hear from Bigger Thomas!” the coroner called.
A wave of excited voices swept over the room. Bigger’s fingers gripped the arms of the chair. Max’s hand touched his shoulder. Bigger turned and Max whispered,
“Sit still.”
Max rose.
“Mr. Coroner?”
“Yes?”
“In the capacity of Bigger Thomas’ lawyer, I’d like to state that he does not wish to testify here.”
“His testimony would help to clear up any doubt as to the cause of the death of the deceased,” the coroner said.
“My client is already in police custody and it is his right to refuse….”
“All right. All right,” the coroner said.
Max sat down.
“Stay in your seat. It’s all right,” Max whispered to Bigger.
Bigger relaxed and felt his heart pounding. He longed for something to happen so that the white faces would stop staring at him. Finally, the faces turned away. The coroner strode to the table and lifted the kidnap note with a slow, long, delicate, and deliberate gesture.
“Gentlemen,” he said, facing the six men in the rows of chairs, “you have heard the testimony of the witnesses. I think, however, that you should have the opportunity to examine the evidence gathered by the Police Department.”
The coroner gave the kidnap note to one of the jurors who read it and passed it on to the others. All of the jurors examined the purse, the blood-stained knife, the blackened hatchet blade, the Communist pamphlets, the rum bottle, the trunk, and the signed confession.
“Owing to the peculiar nature of this crime, and owing to the fact that the deceased’s body was all but destroyed, I deem it imperative that you examine one additional piece of evidence. It will help shed light upon the actual manner of the death of the deceased,” the coroner said.
He turned and nodded in the direction of two white-coated attendants who stood at the rear door. The room was quiet. Bigger wondered how much longer it would last; he felt that he could not stand much more. Now and then the room blurred and a slight giddiness came over him; but his muscles would flex taut and it would pass. The hum of voices grew suddenly loud and the coroner rapped for order. Then a commotion broke out. Bigger heard a man’s voice saying,
“Move aside, please!”
He looked and saw the two white-coated attendants pushing an oblong, sheet-covered table through the crowd and down the aisle. What’s this? Bigger wondered. He felt Max’s hand come on to his shoulder.
“Take it easy, Bigger. This’ll soon be over.”
“What they doing?” Bigger asked in a tense whisper.
For a long moment Max did not answer. Then he said uncertainly,
“I don’t know.”
The oblong table was pushed to the front of the room. The coroner spoke in a deep, slow voice that was charged with passionate meaning:
“As Deputy Coroner, I have decided, in the interests of justice, to offer in evidence the raped and mutilated body of one Bessie Mears, and the testimony of police officers and doctors relating to the cause and manner of her death….”
The coroner’s voice was drowned out. The room was in an uproar. For two minutes the police had to pound their clubs against the walls to restore quiet. Bigger sat still as stone as Max rushed past him and stopped a few feet from the sheet-covered table.
“Mr. Coroner,” Max said. “This is outrageous! Your indecent exhibition of that girl’s dead body serves no purpose but that of an incitement to mob violence.….”
“It will enable the jury to determine the exact manner of the death of Mary Dalton, who was slain by the man who slew Bessie Mears!” the coroner said in a scream that was compounded of rage and vindictiveness.
“The confession of Bigger Thomas covers all the evidence necessary for this jury!” Max said. “You are criminally appealing to mob emotion….”
“That’s for the Grand Jury to determine!” the coroner said “And you cannot interrupt these proceedings any longer! If you persist in this attitude, you’ll be removed from this room! I have the legal right to determine what evidence is necessary….”
Slowly, Max turned and walked back to his seat, his lips a thin line, his face white, his head down.
Bigger was crushed, helpless. His lips dropped wide apart. He felt frozen, numb. He had completely forgotten Bessie during the inquest of Mary. He understood what was being done. To offer the dead body of Bessie as evidence and proof that he had murdered Mary would make him appear a monster; it would stir up more hate against him. Bessie’s death had not been mentioned during the inquest and all of the white faces in the room were utterly surprised. It was not because he had thought any the less of Bessie that he had forgotten her, but Mary’s death had caused him the most fear; not her death in itself, but what it meant to him as a Negro. They were bringing Bessie’s body in now to make the white men and women feel that nothing short of a quick blotting out of his life would make the city safe again. They were using his having killed Bessie to kill him for his having killed Mary, to cast him in a light that would sanction any action taken to destroy him. Though he had killed a black girl and a white girl, he knew that it would be for the death of the white girl that he would be punished. The black girl was merely “evidence.” And under it all he knew that the white people did not really care about Bessie’s being killed. White people never searched for Negroes who killed other Negroes. He had even heard it said that white people felt it was good when one Negro killed another; it meant that they had one Negro less to contend with. Crime for a Negro was only when he harmed whites, took white lives, or injured white property. As time passed he could not help looking and listening to what was going on in the room. His eyes rested wistfully on the still oblong white draped form under the sheet on the table and he felt a deeper sympathy for Bessie than at any time when she was alive. He knew that Bessie, too, though dead, though killed by him, would resent her dead body being used in this way. Anger quickened in him: an old feeling that Bessie had often described to him when she had come from long hours of hot toil in the white folks’ kitchens, a feeling of being forever commanded by others so much that thinking and feeling for one’s self was impossible. Not only had he lived where they told him to live, not only had he done what they told him to do, not only had he done these things until he had killed to be quit of them; but even after obeying, after killing, they still ruled him. He was their property, heart and soul, body and blood; what they did claimed every atom of him, sleeping and waking; it colored life and dictated the terms of death.
The coroner rapped for order, then rose and stepped to the table and with one sweep of his arm flung the sheet back from Bessie’s body. The sight, bloody and black, made Bigger flinch involuntarily and lift his hands to his eyes and at the same instant he saw blinding flashes of the silver bulbs flicking through the air. His eyes looked with painful effort to the back of the room, for he felt that if he saw Bessie again he would rise from his chair and sweep his arm in an attempt to blot out this room and the people in it. Every nerve of his body helped him to stare without seeing and to sit amid the noise without hearing.
A pain came to the front of his head, right above the eyes. As the slow minutes dragged, his body was drenched in cold sweat. His blood throbbed in his ears; his lips were parched
and dry; he wanted to wet them with his tongue, but could not. The tense effort to keep out of his consciousness the terrible sight of Bessie and the drone of the voices would not allow him to move a single muscle. He sat still, surrounded by an invisible cast of concrete. Then he could hold out no longer. He bent forward and buried his face in his hands. He heard a far-away voice speaking from a great height….
“The jury will retire to the next room.”
Bigger lifted his head and saw the six men rise and file out through a rear door. The sheet had been pulled over Bessie’s body and he could not see her. The voices in the room grew loud and the coroner rapped for order. The six men filed slowly back to their chairs. One of them gave the coroner a slip of paper. The coroner rose, lifted his hand for silence and read a long string of words that Bigger could not understand. But he caught phrases:
“…the said Mary Dalton came to her death in the bedroom of her home, located at 4605 Drexel Boulevard, from suffocation and strangulation due to external violence, said violence received when the deceased was choked by the hands of one, Bigger Thomas, during the course of criminal rape….
“…we, the Jury, believe that the said occurrence was murder and recommend that the said Bigger Thomas be held to the Grand Jury on a charge of murder, until released by due process of law….”
The voice droned on, but Bigger did not listen. This meant that he was going to jail to stay there until tried and executed. Finally, the coroner’s voice stopped. The room was full of noise. Bigger heard men and women walking past him. He looked about like a man waking from a deep sleep. Max had hold of his arm.
“Bigger?”
He turned his head slightly.
“I’ll see you tonight. They’re taking you to the Cook County Jail. I’ll come there and talk things over with you. We’ll see what can be done. Meanwhile, take it easy. As soon as you can, lie down and get some sleep, hear?”
Max left him. He saw two policemen wheeling Bessie’s body back through the door. The two policemen who sat to either side of him took his arms and locked his wrists to theirs. Two more policemen stood in front of him and two more stood in back.
“Come on, boy.”
Two policemen walked ahead, making a path for him in the dense crowd. As he passed white men and women they were silent, but as soon as he was some few feet away, he heard their voices rise. They took him out of the front door, into the hall. He thought that they were going to take him back upstairs and he made a motion to go in the direction of the elevator, but they jerked him back roughly.
Native Son Page 36
