Three Days Before the Shooting . . .

by Ralph Ellison

  “‘Now, this handy ham-man was Mister Big Smith the chef, who was the number one cook on the Santa Fe Chief, and he’s looking out the window for his pretty little wife and his six little children. Then, as the Chief rolls closer, a commotion breaks out in the crowd behind us and we see six little boys pulling little red wagons come bursting through the door. There’s a lady dressed in blue right behind them, and when they spy Mister Big Smith holding that big greasy bag they let out a cheer like it’s already Christmas and he’s Santa Claus. Then the train comes to a halt and they all run to greet him, and when we draw closer we see Mister Big Smith look his missus in the eye and start laying down some jive.

  “‘He says, “I brought it to you, baby, all the way from Chi!”

  “‘To which his little missus bats her big brown eyes and says, “Oh, you did, did you darling? Well, now, that’ll make the crackers more crumb-rum-bumbling and the cheese taste fine! But how come you treating me so gentlemanly kind?”

  “‘To which Mister Big Smith smiles and says, “It’s because I loves you, baby, better than I do my handsome self.”

  “‘To which Missus Big Smith then replies, “But that’s “how it’s supposed to be, considering that all these hungry younguns truly happen to be ours.”

  “‘ “They sho is, baby,” Mr. Big Smith says, “and that’s exactly how come I brought it all the way from dear ole Chi.”

  “‘At which the six little children start to licking their lips with a gleam in their eyes.

  “‘And that’s when Mister Patrick O’Sullivan, the Santa Fe Chief’s chief steward, sticks his red head out of a window with his Irish up.

  “‘ “Tell me something, Smith,” the chief steward says, “how could you bring it from Chicago when we both know damn well that it was already sitting in the freezer on our way up North? Aye, and begorra, it was there and getting bigger on the morning we arrived!” And when we hear him squawking in that angry tone of voice we almost run for cover.

  “‘But we don’t, because with Mister Big Smith’s madam and boys all standing there listening we’re much too curious as to what will happen next. So we move a little closer, and when we hear it we have visions of a race riot breaking out.

  “‘ “Man, what the hell you talking about?” Mr. Big Smith says. “Why, you make this Santa Fe’s Chief sound like some kind of one-hoss, one-way line—which it sho to hell ain’t! Therefore like I say, I brought it here from Chi! Which even you ought to know is the boar-hog’s special hangout and the she-pig’s grazing ground. And besides all that, why else would I be slaving on this railroad ‘lessen it’s to fill all these hungry bellies which I swore to God I’d feed?”

  “‘Then, turning ruby red and blinking his eyes, the chief steward says, “Just exactly what the Santa Fe railroad has to do with how you spend your nights at home is too much of a riddle even for a traveling man like me—but if you have an honest answer you’d better let me have it!”

  “‘And that’s when Mister Big Smith starts preaching him his answer in a deep bass-baritone.

  “‘He says, “When you hired me for this job, didn’t you insist you had to have a man who was fast with his hands and steady on his feet?”

  “‘And the chief steward glares and says, “That’s right!”

  “‘ “Well that’s me,” Mister Big Smith says, and to which the six little children yell a loud “Amen!”

  “‘ “And didn’t you say you wanted a strong man who could swing and sway like What’s-his-name on the radio and bring it in the cold of December and the heat of July?” Mister Big Smith says.

  “‘ “That I did,” the chief steward says, “that I did….”

  “‘ “And in the light of day and the dark of night?”

  “‘ “Right!”

  “‘ “And in Kansas windstorms, Oklahoma sleet, and in all that hellish Texas heat?”

  “‘ “Right again,” the chief steward said, “that’s the man this line requires!”

  “‘ “Well, so you got him,” Mister Big Smith says, “cause I’m that man!” And the six little children yell, “AMEN!”

  “‘Then, trying to switch the argument back on the track where it started, the chief steward holds up his hand to get him in a word. But Mister Big Smith won’t let him do it, not even edgewise.

  “‘ “Naw,” Mister Big Smith tells him, “you started this mess so now I’m gonna finish it: You said you wanted a family man who’d be forced to keep on the job and stay on the ball—and that’s got to be me! Take a look at all those kids down there,

  every damn one has a gut as vicious as a tiger….”

  “‘… And grinning like they were truly tiger cubs, the six little children yell, “Aaa-men! Aaa-men! And agin Aaa-men!”

  “‘ “What’s more,” Mister Big Smith says, “they have to have clothes and the other necessaries! Like schoolbooks, pencils, and yellow writing pads! And pretty soon they’ll have to take off and go to college!”

  “‘ “They’ll have to do WHAT?” Chief O’Sullivan cries, and he stares down at the crowd like Big Smith’s either telling lies or hitting him with a corn shuck that’s steaming hot and nasty.

  “‘ “You heard me, man,” Mister Big Smith says, “just like those kids of your’n they have to git to college! That’s how come I have to skimp like hell and lay away the cash!”

  “‘ “Well, I’ll be damn’,” Mister Pat O’Sullivan says, and as he stares at Big Smith’s kids he starts to tremble. Then his eyes stretch wide like he’s been hit with a vision of train wrecks, arson, and national disaster.

  “‘Then he stares at that big greasy bag in his chief cook’s hands and says, “Dammit, Smith, I’ve been waiting to hear the connection between what you’re saying and what you have stashed in that bag! So now tell me in plain English, what the hell is it?”

  “‘ “If you need more of an answer,” Mister Big Smith says, “that’s up to you. Because since you were smart enough to hire a man who’s loaded down with all this weight I’m carrying, then you ought to know without being told that he’s got to make ends meet so his family can eat, and his kids can be strong enough to face up to the future! So now I repeat, this here greasy bag and all what’s in it is mine, yeah! And I brought it all the way from what you call Chur-caa-ga!”

  “‘So by now the chief steward’s idea of geography is so warped and scrambled that he can’t tell north from south. And with all those college degrees and dollar signs whirling in his head all he can do is stare and stammer like he’s up and lost his mind. While Big Smith, who’s blasted the poor man’s logic with his different point of view, stares back with a look of firm conviction in his eyes.

  “‘Then we see the chief steward start looking uncertain as he tries to find a flaw in Big Smith’s argument, but it gets him nowhere. Because pretty soon his body starts to sag and his face begins to quake, and all at once he’s grinning like a possum with a bad toothache. And with that we see Mister Big Smith give his six little tigers a wink and a grin. Then he slaps Chief O’Sullivan on his back and whispers in his ear. And the next thing we know they’re laughing and wheezing and pressing the flesh, and it’s like watching a couple of close soul buddies out on a spree. So with that, after they’d engaged in a war of words and had us thinking that the next step would be a hard-fought, head-knocking, butt-kicking Battle of the Greasy Bag, it was done and over—or at least reached a truce….’ ”

  “And that’s all it was, a truce,” a man yelled through the roar of applause, “and you better believe it!”

  And as Hickman watched Cliofus waiting to continue he smiled and thought, They’re really enjoying it, but I doubt if it could have happened that way. But now let’s stop the noise and let Cliofus—or whoever it is that’s inventing this lie—get going so I can learn more about Janey’s visitor….

  “Thanks, ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate that,” Cliofus said, “but some of you might be thinking that my little buddy and me were being too optimistic. But don’t
forget, ladies and gentlemen: Both Big Smith and Chief O’Sullivan were dedicated railroad men. And although members of segregated lodges and unions they were also good Scottish Rite Masons in the thirty-third degree. Which in those days—if you dig what I mean—was far more a cause for hope and understanding than if they’d simply been blood brothers who happened to have black and white skins….”

  “Oh, we dig you, Cli,” a voice called from the bar, “because on the job those cats could be one thing and something completely different when they met on the sidewalks! Which for us is ancient history. So what we want to hear now is the rest of what the words had to say to your visitor and how he took it!”

  “That’s what I’m waiting to tell you, man,” Cliofus called back with a frown, “but the words aren’t concerned with history, they deal with what really happens to folks before history gets written!

  “Anyway, since I knew better than to interrupt what the words were saying to my visitor I listened, and this is what they said:

  “‘So when he stops laughing the chief steward gives the chief cook the high sign and decides to hang loose. But since his wise Irish mother didn’t raise her a fool, he takes a good look at Big Smith’s kids and their little red wagons and thinks warm thoughts about his own little kids and his wife’s nice disposition, her fine corned beef and cabbage, plus her sweet, sweet jelly-roll. Which reminds him why he has to work hard and look out for them and their best interest. And especially his job.

  “‘So he rushes off to check out his meat box, his storeroom, and his bin of fresh vegetables. And this leaves Big Smith time to spend with his six little children and his pretty little missus before the Santa Fe Chief takes off for Texas. And now as the kids focus on that big greasy bag they start firing him some questions.

  “‘ “What’d you bring us for supper, Daddy?” the six little children say. But although they’re fishing like Trojans they aren’t about to get a bite. Because by now Big Smith the daddy has gone to gazing at their mama with genuine larceny, and she’s smiling back with what they’d come to understand is a sleepy bedroom look in her eyes. So then they start making them some wishes.

  “‘ “I hope it’s roast beef,” the oldest one says.

  “‘ “I hope it’s mutton,” the second oldest says.

  “‘ “I hope it’s corned beef hash with some good ole giblet gravy,” the third oldest of them says.

  “‘ “Now me,” the fourth one says, “I could use some good ole sausage, and I mean the Brookfield kind.”

  “‘ “Shucks, I hope it’s round steak cooked as tender as Jim Jeffries’ head after Jack Johnson got through right-crossing and left-jabbing,” the fifth one says, “and a great big bucketful of good ole onion gravy—yeah! And a skillet full of cornbread, and some good ole turnip greens with the turnips on the side.”

  “‘ “Then the little Big Smith baby sticks out his tongue at his brothers and says, “Shucks, all of y’all ain’t nothing but some greedy greedy-guts. But I don’t care what Daddy brought us in that bag, long as there’s some sweet Virginia ham hidden in it. And you want to know why? It’s ‘cause I got this brand-new tooth which needs something truly special for me and it to try….”

  “‘So pretty soon they get so worked up and hungry that they almost get to fighting. But then they hear the Chief’s engine shooting off steam and ringing its bell and turn to have a look before the long train leaves the station.

  “‘Because by now the fireman is in position with his big scoop on the ready, the engineer sits gripping on the throttle with his white-gloved hand, the steam domes, the sandbox, and the long bulging boiler are all bright and gleaming, and its valves are jetting steam. While lined in a row near where we’re watching, the waiters in white and porters in blue are looking stern and handsome like the Coldstream Guards we used to see marching side by side in the newsreels.

  “‘So now, with the passengers all seated with the crew in place and the big stationmaster standing at attention with his megaphone in hand, here comes the conductor who’s in charge of the Chief’s long journey, who’s stepping like he’s listening to a band.

  “‘Dressed in a blue uniform with his jacket rowed with medals and the black visor of his cap aglow with golden braid, he’s strutting like a general on parade. And when he comes to a halt he throws back his head, and when he sings out “AAAAL-ahhh-BOARD!” he reminds me of how Miss Kindly tries to encourage us to like classical music better than jazz by having Enrico Caruso yell Aida through the horn of her Victrola!

  “‘Then down the tracks as far as we can see, the signal lamps and semaphores are glowing green, green, green. And that’s when Mister Big Smith beams down at his chair-step children as proud as a king. Then he turns to his pretty little missus and looks very soulful as he says, “I want you to save it, pretty mama, and I mean all of it, for me!”

  “‘And Missus Big Smith says, “Oh, that’s no trouble, no trouble a’tall. Not as long as I get your kind attention on your next trip through!”

  “‘ “And if I don’t, I truly hope,” Mister Big Smith says, “that something big and mean will bite me!”

  “‘ “Never you mind all that innocent-sounding jive,” Missus Big Smith says, “‘Cause you know, and I know there ain’t nothing that big and reckless even down there in Dallas! Anyway, after all your endless traveling it’s time you had some rest and quiet diversion. So you hurry home and see me, you hear me?”

  “‘ “Oh, yes,” Mr. Big Smith says, “but ‘til then you save it, pretty mama, ‘cause I’m really going to need it!”

  “‘Then, with a hug and a kiss, he presents her with that big greasy bag, and tosses the six little kids some hard rock candy of the kind that’s flavored with peppermint and cinnamon, and they go racing down the tracks so they’ll be there waiting when the Chief comes rolling south on its way to Texas.

  “‘So then we take off down the tracks a piece so we can have a better view. And my, oh, my! When it hits that back-o-town grade it’s a-huffing and a-puffing and a-ringing its bell. And when it takes that sweeping curve past the cottonseed mill the little Big Smith kids are already there with their little red wagons. Then, as the dining car gets closer it starts to belching out this eye-bugging bounty of pork chops, lamb chops, veal chops, and mutton, beef steaks, calves’ liver, and bacon, and crates of chitt’lings—which Big Smith had to get in Chicago, or else K.C., ‘cause even the richest white passengers of the Santa Fe Chief weren’t up to being served such special colored folk’s food as chitterlings. And next thing we know those six little Big Smith children are hustling along the tracks snatching and grabbing as they gather in the grub. And when they come dragging their wagons back all loaded down with loot and the oldest sees us gawking like we can’t believe our eyes, he wrinkles up his nose and sings out real sassy,

  I don’t know about y’all’s daddies,

  But ours treats us truly fine

  ‘Cause he’s the best chief cook On the Santa Fe line!

  “‘And as though to prove he’s not telling us a lie, when we take our last look at the Santa Fe Chief, Mister Big Smith, their dear ole daddy, is leaning out the window waving to his missus and his boys with a big loving smile on his face. And as we watch him fade down the tracks we both want to cry. Why? Because it’s made us understand far better than we can say about what we’ve missed by being orphans….’ ”

  And now, as Cliofus suddenly paused to stare in his direction, Hickman watched openmouthed as the big man in the wheelchair clasped his hands in a gesture of benediction. Then, spreading his arms like a dedicated preacher, Cliofus said with a throb in his voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, I still don’t know what those words were up to or how my visitor took them, but take my advice: Whenever times get so hard that you doubt your earthly mission, just remember Big Smith the chef and his family! Yes, and keep the spirit of its mother, its father, and its six little children in your minds! Then give praise to Glory for sending us such a self-persevering, hope-inspiring exam
ple for our instruction!”

  And as Hickman whispered Amen and joined the crowd’s applause, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and turned to see the driver who had driven him to what had turned out to be a cave of surprises.

  “Didn’t I tell you he was something else?” the driver said.

  “You surely did, my friend,” Hickman said with emotion, “but even after your warning I wasn’t prepared for anything like what I’ve heard here tonight. And would you believe it, after seeing me in the audience he signified at me by ending his wild parable of a tale like it was some kind of sermon!”

  “Yeah, but you liked it, didn’t you?”

  “And you’d better believe it. I liked it almost as well as some of the wise old lies I heard in barbershops and pool halls back in the old days. But hearing that kind of thing in a nightclub makes a man wonder what’s happening to this country and us as a people.”

  “Oh, we’ll make it, and you can bet on that. But what about Cliofus?”

  “Well, even after knowing him since he was a big clumsy infant I’ll have to say that he’s turned out to have the strangest way with words that I’ve ever heard. But who knows? Maybe he’s not only a man who’s plagued by his words, but a man of the Word transcendent….”

  [MOVIE]

  AND NOW, AS HICKMAN watched Cliofus throw his hands above his head and bow, the room rang with cheers and applause. Then, feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned to see a grinning face within inches of his own.

  “Didn’t I tell you he was something else?” the face said, and he recognized the taxi driver.

  “You surely did,” Hickman said, “but I wasn’t prepared for anything like this, not in a nightclub….”

  “Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?”

  “I’ll have to admit that I do, almost as well as I did in pool halls and barber-shops. But hearing this kind of thing in a nightclub is still pretty strange….”