Three Days Before the Shooting . . .

by Ralph Ellison

  Dropping the photo to the desk with a rueful smile, he shook his head, thinking, It’s been so long ago and so much has changed that it’s hard to believe that it ever happened. But whatever she’s asking of me I have to answer. Her “little men”! Maybe that was the real trouble, you were simply too doggone big, loud, and aggressive!

  But as he returned the snapshots to their wrapping he realized that his troubling, apprehensive mood was being generated by overtones which played between Millsap’s old report and Janey’s letter. Reaching for it, he began reading it again; but suddenly aware of the edgy sound of Sister Wilhite’s second call to lunch, he replaced the report, clippings, and snapshots and returned the briefcase to the closet. Then, thinking abstractly of Millsap and Janey, time zones and distances, he made his way to the bathroom, washed and dried his hands, and inspected his beard in the mirror.

  Stroking his chin, he thought, A boy learns to shave by watching his father—at least I did—but what do boys do who have no fathers? Like Janey’s little men? Hickman, they experiment, scrape and nick. Keep their eyes open in barbershops. Safety razors helped a lot, but with fathers or without, boys must make up a good part of themselves from observed examples. We are formed or left unformed by such small and unnoticed things. Because at that time of life everything from games to catechisms serve as rituals, whether in the streets or at the dinner table. So boys, unlike girls, are formed catch-as-catch-can, no matter what parents do to guide them. They’re formed more by accident and so much slower than little girls—but I know that he watched me shave, even played at it, using soapsuds and a butter knife … asking me why I puffed out both cheeks like I was blowing my horn when I was only shaving….

  I said, Because stretching the skin a bit makes the shaving easier….

  And why don’t ladies shave?

  Some do, Bliss, but only a few, far and in between.

  Between what?

  Why between the times they shave. You know something, Bliss? You ask a lot of questions—hand me that towel.

  How come?

  You mean why ladies don’t shave? Because, Bliss, most of their hair is on their heads where everybody likes for it to be. And since any hair that they might want to shave takes a long time to grow back they just leave things as the good Lord made them….

  His will be done?

  Yes, Bliss, His will be done….

  Reaching the table, where Sister Corrine in a hard-starched blue gingham apron and Deacon in white suspenders and open collar were already seated, he said grace, picked up his napkin, and turned to Sister Corrine, who was serving his plate, and said,

  “Sister Corrine, you were right….”

  “Of course I’m right,” she said with a pert jerk of her head, “but what about?”

  “Oh, come on,” he said, “quit stalling; I mean about the letter….”

  “Oh my Lord! Is she sick?”

  “No, or at least she didn’t say so. It’s something else….”

  “So tell us, what did she say?”

  “That’s the point, it’s not so much what she said as what she didn’t say….”

  “Quit making riddles, A.Z.,” Wilhite said. “Is it something to do with that boy?”

  Suddenly Hickman sat back in his chair, his fork in the air.

  “Boy,” he said, “what on earth would he be doing out there?”

  “I’m only asking,” Wilhite said, “but as you know, he has a way of turning up almost anywhere….”

  “That’s right,” Sister Corrine said, “and you remember that she wrote you years ago about his being out there.”

  “I remember,” Hickman said, “but you can forget that because this time she said nothing about him. Besides, why on earth would he go into Janey’s area? She’s the last person in the world he’d want to run into. Especially now that he’s sitting on top of his world.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Sister Corrine said, “because there’s still such a thing as conscience, even for someone like him.”

  “No,” Wilhite said, “A.Z. is probably right. He wouldn’t risk it.”

  “So all right, Revern’,” Sister Corrine said, “instead of all this speculating why don’t you tell us what she said? What’s bothering her?”

  His appetite gone, Hickman put down his fork. “To tell you the truth, she wrote me a small book of a letter and after reading it twice I still don’t know exactly what she’s getting at.”

  “So what’s so strange about that?” Sister Corrine said. “She always liked to play the coy one. At least that’s the way she’s always seemed to me. One way or another that woman has been stringing you along for years!”

  Wilhite struck the table. “Corrine,” he said, “shut up and mind your own business!”

  “I am! Because it’s my God-given duty to look out for both of you hicky-heads, so don’t you go raising your voice at me!”

  “Please,” Hickman said, “the last thing I need is for you two to get going at one another. So if it will do anything to quiet you, she seems to be worried about some fellow whom she thinks to have been one of her charges. One of those she refers to as her ‘little men.’ Heaven only knows why she’s being so vague about it, but she says that he’s out there asking questions….”

  “And didn’t I know it,” Sister Corrine said, “she’s after you ag’in! A woman like that will say anything to get a man’s attention!”

  “No,” Hickman said, “it’s nothing like that. And even if it were, where’s your charity?”

  “Charity? It’s not charity she wants, it’s you.”

  “So what are you going to do about it, A.Z.?” Wilhite said.

  “I guess,” Hickman said, suddenly making his decision, “that I’m going west about it….”

  “And like I didn’t already know it,” Sister Corrine said, getting to her feet, “so instead of sitting here listening to you two making up excuses while this food gets cold I’m going to do some packing.”

  “A.Z.,” Wilhite said, “don’t you think you should let me do it? I could scout around without many folks recognizing me….”

  “Thanks, but it’s better that I look into this myself. And face-to-face. Anyway, I doubt that Janey would talk to you—And no matter what Sister Corrine thinks, she’s not playing games. Signifying, yes; but it’s something serious that’s bothering her.”

  “Did this fellow threaten her?”

  “No, but she sees some kind of threat in his showing up.”

  “So it has to be that boy, he’s on the move again!”

  “No! Why do you keep bringing him into it? He was never one of her little men, he was ours!”

  “Take it easy, A.Z., I was only asking. And I have this feeling that he’s mixed up in it. Big men make little men, remember? And have women who birth them.”

  “True, Wilhite, but he’d be crazy to show up out there.”

  “And that’s what I’m afraid of, A.Z. And since it’s come up, I might as well say it: I think the game he’s been playing has brought him to the point where he’ll do anything. So far he’s been getting away with it, but there’s a limit to everything.”

  Hickman leaned forward. “What was that you said about a woman?”

  “I didn’t, I said ‘women,’ and I was thinking about that mess he made back when he was exploiting folks with those mammy-made movies. Don’t tell me you’ve forgot it.”

  “No, I haven’t, how could I? Naw, Wilhite, it’s simply something that I wasn’t allowing myself to remember.”

  “So you see what I mean?”

  “Yes,” he said, getting up from the table, “and it’s all the more reason that I have to get out there. Will you drive me to the airport?”

  “Who else?”

  “Fine! So I’d better tell Sister Corrine that I’m traveling light and get myself ready.”

  [BUS TRIP]

  WITH THE PLANE SLOWLY circling as it began its approach to the airport, Hickman looked out to see networks
of streets wheeling below. Tall buildings thrust skyward from the heart of the city, and far to the northeast the domeless State Capitol revolved in its setting of green lawns, oil wells, and derricks. Then from a wing-tilting slant southward the North Canadian River flashed into view, etched in the landscape like the scrawl of a child.

  Shimmering low in its banks, the river appeared peaceful, but in following its course from the air he recalled accounts of a spring when without warning it had raged through the lowlands destroying homes and uprooting trees in a flood filled with debris and drowned animals. That no human lives were lost was seen as a miracle, but people caught in its path were forced to flee its destruction in skiffs and canoes….

  But now the river’s tranquillity muted his memories, and as he turned away to see the fasten seat belts sign flashing, he obeyed. And in thinking of Janey he recalled that her mysterious visitor had also arrived without warning and wondered if it were that which she found so disturbing.

  But now, hearing a roaring reversal of engines, he felt the plane descending. And with a belt-tightening bump it struck the runway and he was cruising toward the airport ahead like a shot from a cannon.

  Leaving the plane, he retrieved his baggage and made his way through the crowded terminal to wait outside for the downtown bus. Where, standing in the shade with his panama pushed back from his brow, he watched a steady stream of cars and taxis discharging and taking on passengers. Marked by a hubbub of idling engines and excited voices, the scene was punctuated by the slam-bam, “Thank you sir, Thank you ma’am” of skycaps loading and unloading luggage. And as he looked on he recalled his last trip to the airport. For then he had enjoyed reminiscing with three of its veteran skycaps about dances for which he had played during the old days. But as he scanned the scene nearby to see if they were among them there came a flash of memory in which it took on details from the past, and with it a disturbing sense of his aging.

  For increasingly such flashbacks were accompanied by interior dialogues in which a voice from his life as an irreverent young bluesman mocked his present role of spiritual leader and reminded him of his lingering worldliness. Marked by a conflict between his past and his present, it was an ongoing dialogue in which the younger self badgered and teased while his older self stubbornly asserted its spiritual authority. But while their interchanges were often amusing and helped in clarifying his thinking, a busy airport was no place for such distracting argument. So now, still hoping to pass a few words with somone from the old days, he concentrated his attention on a group of skycaps who were loaded down with the baggage of passengers as they headed for a plane which was loading. But again none were familiar.

  And with a shrug he turned away, thinking, Forget it, Hickman. And remember that it’s been years since you’ve seen them. So if they’re still alive they’ve probably retired or gone on to other jobs or professions. In those days it was common for college graduates—including Ph. Ds.—to work as skycaps, bellhops, and waiters, but now times are changing. So who knows? Maybe the old-timers you remember were college trained and the war finally provided them opportunities for using their knowledge….

  Yes, he thought, the war was terrible, but like the Depression it brought new opportunities. Which is what Daddy meant by such events being forms of “left-handed democracy.” And he was right, because they have indeed brought important changes. They’re unpredictable, but even when they appear totally negative their effects can be mixed and deceptive. That’s why Daddy was always advising folks to keep alert in case something which appears completely disastrous turns out to be a blessing in disguise. Yes, and gets exploited by others before our folks even realize what’s happening. Young Millsap called it “a unity of opposites”—which was just another term for the unpredictable unity of good things and bad.

  And now, watching a handsome black chauffeur assisting an elderly white couple into a gleaming Rolls-Royce, he recalled reading Millsap’s hilarious account of what he called his “Civil War experience” and shook with a sudden upsurge of laughter.

  What a devilish example of how man-made illusions can play jokes on reality, he thought. First the real war leads to the end of slavery and promises Millsap’s grandparents their freedom. And although it turned out to be far less than they expected, they encouraged their children to look ahead with fairly high expectations. Then, with the war assumed to have ended, Millsap is born and his parents train him to be a responsible citizen. And out of a stubborn hope that whenever equality did arrive he’d be prepared to make the most of it, they sacrifice to give him a good education. So although the road was still rocky and dangerous he was sustained in his struggle by his parents’ faith in democracy.

  But when he’s finished college and things seemed to be becoming a bit more hopeful, times change for the worse. He’s on his own, out of work, and so low in his educated mind that he’s plumb disgusted. And then, just when he’s beginning to wonder if conditions were any better than they were for his grandparents—up pops the War between the States—which was anything but Civil—to set back the clock and confuse him!

  Only this time it’s taken the form of a movie, and about which he hears from his buddy who, like most of our folks, wants nothing to do with a war in which thousands of white folks were killed fighting over slavery. Yes, and over which they’re still fighting, whether they know it or not up there in Washington!

  So while his buddy rejects risking the embarrassment that could come from taking a job in the movie, Millsap faces a tough decision. Because having studied books on the war and lived its results he can either follow his friend’s example and feel morally victorious, or refuse to let the past get in the way of his dealing with his present condition. So, deciding to be practical, he rushes to Antietam, a place where some of the worst of the killing took place, applies for a job, and feels lucky to be accepted.

  Then next thing he knows he’s been cast backwards in time and being told how to act like an ignorant slave by a white director—who was probably born somewhere in Europe—and ends up with his educated mind in a whirlwind. Because after all the years and the struggling he finds himself being fed at long range by the same war which led to his being born half-free and now educated and hungry!

  What a war! And when you consider who turned up playing the part of a Confederate officer, what a mind-boggling joke for history to play on us descendants of slaves!

  Yeah, Hickman, an inner voice answered, it’s crazy, but as you keep telling the brothers and sisters: Every “yes” has its “no,” and every “no” its “yes.” And just as you keep insisting that mankind’s distress is God’s opportunity, this country’s hard times—like its love of easy living—often work to our advantage. It’s like improvising jazz, but given all its commotion, sour notes, and off-beat rhythms, if you don’t keep the hope-inspiring melody it began with ever in mind, life can be a tough tune to follow.

  So if you want to keep riffing you have to keep thinking and making tough choices, and not only looking ahead, but up, down, around, and behind you! Yes, and watching out for all kinds of discords and accidentals. Talk about blessings coming wrapped up in calamities! Still, that’s how it always was, is now, and shall probably continue, world without end as it was in the beginning.

  Yes, he thought, but these skycaps are youngsters, and even if I were to remind them of such complexities theyre probably too busy making money to let it bother them.

  Like me in the old days. When you’re young and not only getting by but enjoying a few of the good things of life, who wants to think about the close connection between good times and bad, the past and the present? It’s too gloomy, too depressing. Satchel Paige said, don’t look back because something might be gaining on us. Yes, but no matter how fast you keep running something is always gaining on you, even if it’s nothing but Time.

  Time, now that’s the joker in the deck—just look at those fellows racing against the clock as they hustle those tips! Wonder how they think about themselves in t
erms of ambition and training? Students? Ex-war pilots? Airplane designers—like the fellow working as a porter at that airfield in Dayton? Which reminds you that the difference between a man’s sense of himself and how he’s viewed by others can be as different as the contrast between midnight and morning….

  Get an education, they tell us.

  And we try.

  Then they say, Now make yourself worthy.

  So we try and sometimes succeed, at least to our own conception.

  But then they tell us that we’re not really ready, and no matter how hard we dispute them we learn that we have to wait for a war or depression to strike the whole country before we can move on to our next slow stage of advancement.

  Still, there’s no question that toting bags is better than chopping cotton—which a lot of folks back home are not only still doing but making the best of it. So where you are still makes a difference. That’s why so many took off for places like Chicago, Denver, and Kansas City—Sorry, baby, but I can’t take you. And before that those like Janey’s folks left the South and came out here where the land was less settled and living less contentious. But all too soon they learned that they still had to keep watching their steps. Because when the land got settled and the towns established and more of us kept arriving, doors started slamming and we were pushed off to the side, across the tracks, and down to the bottoms.