A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories

by Flannery O'Connor

  “What kind of a man?” Mr. Head persisted, his voice expressionless.

  “A fat man,” Nelson said. He was beginning to feel that he had better be cautious.

  “You don’t know what kind?” Mr. Head said in a final tone.

  “An old man,” the boy said and had a sudden foreboding that he was not going to enjoy the day.

  “That was a nigger,” Mr. Head said and sat back.

  Nelson jumped up on the seat and stood looking backward to the end of the car but the Negro had gone.

  “I’d of thought you’d know a nigger since you seen so many when you was in the city on your first visit,” Mr. Head continued. “That’s his first nigger,” he said to the man across the aisle.

  The boy slid down into the seat. “You said they were black,” he said in an angry voice. “You never said they were tan. How do you expect me to know anything when you don’t tell me right?”

  “You’re just ignorant is all,” Mr. Head said and he got up and moved over in the vacant seat by the man across the aisle.

  Nelson turned backward again and looked where the Negro had disappeared. He felt that the Negro had deliberately walked down the aisle in order to make a fool of him and he hated him with a fierce raw fresh hate; and also, he understood now why his grandfather disliked them. He looked toward the window and the face there seemed to suggest that he might be inadequate to the day’s exactions. He wondered if he would even recognize the city when they came to it.

  After he had told several stories, Mr. Head realized that the man he was talking to was asleep and he got up and suggested to Nelson that they walk over the train and see the parts of it. He particularly wanted the boy to see the toilet so they went first to the men’s room and examined the plumbing. Mr. Head demonstrated the icewater cooler as if he had invented it and showed Nelson the bowl with the single spigot where the travelers brushed their teeth. They went through several cars and came to the diner.

  This was the most elegant car in the train. It was painted a rich egg-yellow and had a wine-colored carpet on the floor. There were wide windows over the tables and great spaces of the rolling view were caught in miniature in the sides of the coffee pots and in the glasses. Three very black Negroes in white suits and aprons were running up and down the aisle, swinging trays and bowing and bending over the travelers eating breakfast. One of them rushed up to Mr. Head and Nelson and said, holding up two fingers, “Space for two!” but Mr. Head replied in a loud voice, “We eaten before we left!”

  The waiter wore large brown spectacles that increased the size of his eye whites. “Stan’ aside then please,” he said with an airy wave of the arm as if he were brushing aside flies.

  Neither Nelson nor Mr. Head moved a fraction of an inch. “Look,” Mr. Head said.

  The near corner of the diner, containing two tables, was set off from the rest by a saffron-colored curtain. One table was set but empty but at the other, facing them, his back to the drape, sat the tremendous Negro. He was speaking in a soft voice to the two women while he buttered a muffin. He had a heavy sad face and his neck bulged over his white collar on either side. “They rope them off,” Mr. Head explained. Then he said, “Let’s go see the kitchen,” and they walked the length of the diner but the black waiter was coming fast behind them.

  “Passengers are not allowed in the kitchen!” he said in a haughty voice. “Passengers are NOT allowed in the kitchen!”

  Mr. Head stopped where he was and turned. “And there’s good reason for that,” he shouted into the Negro’s chest, “because the cockroaches would run the passengers out!”

  All the travelers laughed and Mr. Head and Nelson walked out, grinning. Mr. Head was known at home for his quick wit and Nelson felt a sudden keen pride in him. He realized the old man would be his only support in the strange place they were approaching. He would be entirely alone in the world if he were ever lost from his grandfather. A terrible excitement shook him and he wanted to take hold of Mr. Head’s coat and hold on like a child.

  As they went back to their seats they could see through the passing windows that the countryside was becoming speckled with small houses and shacks and that a highway ran alongside the train. Cars sped by on it, very small and fast. Nelson felt that there was less breath in the air than there had been thirty minutes ago. The man across the aisle had left and there was no one near for Mr. Head to hold a conversation with so he looked out the window, through his own reflection, and read aloud the names of the buildings they were passing. “The Dixie Chemical Corp!” he announced. “Southern Maid Flour! Dixie Doors! Southern Belle Cotton Products! Patty’s Peanut Butter! Southern Mammy Cane Syrup!”

  “Hush up!” Nelson hissed.

  All over the car people were beginning to get up and take their luggage off the overhead racks. Women were putting on their coats and hats. The conductor stuck his head in the car and snarled, “Firstopppppmry,” and Nelson lunged out of his sitting position, trembling. Mr. Head pushed him down by the shoulder.

  “Keep your seat,” he said in dignified tones. “The first stop is on the edge of town. The second stop is at the main railroad station.” He had come by this knowledge on his first trip when he had got off at the first stop and had had to pay a man fifteen cents to take him into the heart of town. Nelson sat back down, very pale. For the first time in his life, he understood that his grandfather was indispensable to him.

  The train stopped and let off a few passengers and glided on as if it had never ceased moving. Outside, behind rows of brown rickety houses, a line of blue buildings stood up, and beyond them a pale rose-gray sky faded away to nothing. The train moved into the railroad yard. Looking down, Nelson saw lines and lines of silver tracks multiplying and criss-crossing. Then before he could start counting them, the face in the window started out at him, gray but distinct, and he looked the other way. The train was in the station. Both he and Mr. Head jumped up and ran to the door. Neither noticed that they had left the paper sack with the lunch in it on the seat.

  They walked stiffly through the small station and came out of a heavy door into the squall of traffic. Crowds were hurrying to work. Nelson didn’t know where to look. Mr. Head leaned against the side of the building and glared in front of him.

  Finally Nelson said, “Well, how do you see what all it is to see?”

  Mr. Head didn’t answer. Then as if the sight of people passing had given him the clue, he said, “You walk,” and started off down the street. Nelson followed, steadying his hat. So many sights and sounds were flooding in on him that for the first block he hardly knew what he was seeing. At the second corner, Mr. Head turned and looked behind him at the station they had left, a putty-colored terminal with a concrete dome on top. He thought that if he could keep the dome always in sight, he would be able to get back in the afternoon to catch the train again.

  As they walked along, Nelson began to distinguish details and take note of the store windows, jammed with every kind of equipment—hardware, drygoods, chicken feed, liquor. They passed one that Mr. Head called his particular attention to, where you walked in and sat on a chair with your feet upon two rests and let a Negro polish your shoes. They walked slowly and stopped and stood at the entrances so he could see what went on in each place but they did not go into any of them. Mr. Head was determined not to go into any city store because, on his first trip here, he had got lost in a large one and had found his way out only after many people had insulted him.

  They came in the middle of the next block to a store that had a weighing machine in front of it and they both in turn stepped up on it and put in a penny and received a ticket. Mr. Head’s ticket said, “You weigh 120 pounds. You are upright and brave and all your friends admire you.” He put the ticket in his pocket, surprised that the machine should have got his character correct but his weight wrong, for he had weighed on a grain scale not long before and knew he weighed 110. Nelson’s ticket said, “You weigh 98 pounds. You have a great destiny ahead of you but beware o
f dark women.” Nelson did not know any women and he weighed only 68 pounds but Mr. Head pointed out that the machine had probably printed the number upsidedown, meaning the 9 for a 6.

  They walked on and at the end of five blocks the dome of the terminal sank out of sight and Mr. Head turned to the left. Nelson could have stood in front of every store window for an hour if there had not been another more interesting one next to it. Suddenly he said, “I was born here!” Mr. Head turned and looked at him with horror. There was a sweaty brightness about his face. “This is where I come from!” he said.

  Mr. Head was appalled. He saw the moment had come for drastic action. “Lemme show you one thing you ain’t seen yet,” he said and took him to the corner where there was a sewer entrance. “Squat down,” he said, “and stick you head in there,” and he held the back of the boy’s coat while he got down and put his head in the sewer. He drew it back quickly, hearing a gurgling in the depths under the sidewalk. Then Mr. Head explained the sewer system, how the entire city was underlined with it, how it contained all the drainage and was full of rats and how a man could slide into it and be sucked along down endless pitchblack tunnels. At any minute any man in the city might be sucked into the sewer and never heard from again. He described it so well that Nelson for some seconds shaken. He connected the sewer passages with the entrance to hell and understood for the first time how the world was put together in its lower parts. He drew away from the curb.

  Then he said, “Yes, but you can stay away from the holes,” and his face took on that stubborn look that was so exasperating to his grandfather. “This is where I come from!” he said.

  Mr. Head was dismayed but he only muttered, “You’ll get your fill,” and they walked on. At the end of two more blocks he turned to the left, feeling that he was circling the dome; and he was correct for in a half-hour they passed in front of the railroad station again. At first Nelson did not notice that he was seeing the same stores twice but when they passed the one where you put your feet on the rests while the Negro polished your shoes, he perceived that they were walking in a circle.

  “We done been here!” he shouted. “I don’t believe you know where you’re at!”

  “The direction just slipped my mind for a minute,” Mr. Head said and they turned down a different street. He still did not intend to let the dome get too far away and after two blocks in their new direction, he turned to the left. This street contained two- and three-story wooden dwellings. Anyone passing on the sidewalk could see into the rooms and Mr. Head, glancing through one window, saw a woman lying on an iron bed, looking out, with a sheet pulled over her. Her knowing expression shook him. A fierce-looking boy on a bicycle came driving down out of nowhere and he had to jump to the side to keep from being hit. “It’s nothing to them if they knock you down,” he said. “You better keep closer to me.”

  They walked on for some time on streets like this before he remembered to turn again. The houses they were passing now were all unpainted and the wood in them looked rotten; the street between was narrower. Nelson saw a colored man. Then another. Then another. “Niggers live in these houses,” he observed.

  “Well come on and we’ll go somewheres else,” Mr. Head said. “We didn’t come to look at niggers,” and they turned down another street but they continued to see Negroes everywhere. Nelson’s skin began to prickle and they stepped along at a faster pace in order to leave the neighborhood as soon as possible. There were colored men in their undershirts standing in the doors and colored women rocking on the sagging porches. Colored children played in the gutters and stopped what they were doing to look at them. Before long they began to pass rows of stores with colored customers in them but they didn’t pause at the entrances of these. Black eyes in black faces were watching them from every direction. “Yes,” Mr. Head said, “this is where you were born—right here with all these niggers.”

  Nelson scowled. “I think you done got us lost,” he said.

  Mr. Head swung around sharply and looked for the dome. It was nowhere in sight. “I ain’t got us lost either,” he said. “You’re just tired of walking.”

  “I ain’t tired, I’m hungry,” Nelson said. “Give me a biscuit.”

  They discovered then that they had lost the lunch.

  “You were the one holding the sack,” Nelson said. “I would have kepaholt of it.”

  “If you want to direct this trip, I’ll go on by myself and leave you right here,” Mr. Head said and was pleased to see the boy turn white. However, he realized they were lost and drifting farther every minute from the station. He was hungry himself and beginning to be thirsty and since they had been in the colored neighborhood, they had both begun to sweat. Nelson had on his shoes and he was unaccustomed to them. The concrete sidewalks were very hard. They both wanted to find a place to sit down but this was impossible and they kept on walking, the boy muttering under his breath, “First you lost the sack and then you lost the way,” and Mr. Head growling from time to time, “Anybody wants to be from this nigger heaven can be from it!”

  By now the sun was well forward in the sky. The odor of dinners cooking drifted out to them. The Negroes were all at their doors to see them pass. “Whyn’t you ast one of these niggers the way?” Nelson said. “You got us lost.”

  “This is where you were born,” Mr. Head said. “You can ast one yourself if you want to.”

  Nelson was afraid of the colored men and he didn’t want to be laughed at by the colored children. Up ahead he saw a large colored woman leaning in a doorway that opened onto the sidewalk. Her hair stood straight out from her head for about four inches all around and she was resting on bare brown feet that turned pink at the sides. She had on a pink dress that showed her exact shape. As they came abreast of her, she lazily lifted one hand to her head and her fingers disappeared into her hair.

  Nelson stopped. He felt his breath drawn up by the woman’s dark eyes. “How do you get back to town?” he said in a voice that did not sound like his own.

  After a minute she said, “You in town now,” in a rich low tone that made Nelson feel as if a cool spray had been turned on him.

  “How do you get back to the train?” he said in the same reedlike voice.

  “You can catch you a car,” she said.

  He understood she was making fun of him but he was too paralyzed even to scowl. He stood drinking in every detail of her. His eyes traveled up from her great knees to her forehead and then made a triangular path from the glistening sweat on her neck down and across her tremendous bosom and over her bare arm back to where her fingers lay hidden in her hair. He suddenly wanted her to reach down and pick him up and draw him against her and then he wanted to feel her breath on his face. He wanted to look down and down into her eyes while she held him tighter and tighter. He had never had such a feeling before. He felt as if he were reeling down through a pitchblack tunnel.

  “You can go a block down yonder and catch you a car take you to the railroad station, Sugarpie,” she said.

  Nelson would have collapsed at her feet if Mr. Head had not pulled him roughly away. “You act like you don’t have any sense!” the old man growled.

  They hurried down the street and Nelson did not look back at the woman. He pushed his hat sharply forward over his face which was already burning with shame. The sneering ghost he had seen in the train window and all the foreboding feelings he had on the way returned to him and he remembered that his ticket from the scale had said to beware of dark women and that his grandfathers had said he was upright and brave. He took hold of the old mans hand, a sign of dependence that he seldom showed.

  They headed down the street toward the car tracks where a long yellow rattling trolley was coming. Mr. Head had never boarded a streetcar and he let that one pass. Nelson was silent. From time to time his mouth trembled slightly but his grandfather, occupied with his own problems, paid him no attention. They stood on the corner and neither looked at the Negroes who were passing, going about their business ju
st as if they had been white, except that most of them stopped and eyed Mr. Head and Nelson. It occurred to Mr. Head that since the streetcar ran on tracks, they could simply follow the tracks. He gave Nelson a slight push and explained that they would follow the tracks on into the railroad station, walking, and they set off.

  Presently to their great relief they began to see white people again and Nelson sat down on the sidewalk against the wall of a building. “I got to rest myself some,” he said. “You lost the sack and the direction. You can just wait on me to rest myself.”

  “There’s the tracks in front of us,” Mr. Head said. “All we got to do is keep them in sight and you could have remembered the sack as good as me. This is where you were born. This is your old home town. This is your second trip. You ought to know how to do,” and he squatted down and continued in this vein but the boy, easing his burning feet out of his shoes, did not answer.

  “And standing there grinning like a chim-pan-zee while a nigger woman gives you directions. Great Gawd!” Mr. Head said.

  “I never said I was nothing but born here,” the boy said in a shaky voice. “I never said I would or wouldn’t like it. I never said I wanted to come. I only said I was born here and I never had nothing to do with that. I want to go home. I never wanted to come in the first place. It was all your big idea. How you know you ain’t following the tracks in the wrong direction?”

  This last had occurred to Mr. Head too. “All these people are white,” he said.

  “We ain’t passed here before,” Nelson said. This was a neighborhood of brick buildings that might have been lived in or might not. A few empty automobiles were parked along the curb and there was an occasional passerby. The heat of the pavement came up through Nelson’s thin suit. His eyelids began to droop, and after a few minutes his head tilted forward. His shoulders twitched once or twice and then he fell over on his side and lay sprawled in an exhausted fit of sleep.