The Outsider

by Richard Wright

  “For almost a week,” Cross lied.

  Herndon looked Cross over, his eyes traveling from Cross’s necktie to his shoes.

  “Say, come in here,” Herndon said suddenly. “I want to talk to you.”

  Cross knew that the man had changed his tactics. He’s going to try to scare me in another way now…He stepped into a nicely furnished room which had a large desk. A wood fire burned in the grate and shadows danced along the walls. Herndon studied Cross for some seconds.

  “Listen,” he began in a tone of voice that indicated that he was stooping to give advice to someone who he doubted had sense enough to profit by it. “You are being misled. For thirty years I’ve had a strict policy about renting, and nobody’s going to make me change it. This lease you’re talking about—It’s nothing. Forget it. The quicker, the better for you. I’m going to see Blount tonight and give ’im hell. Get me straight. I don’t give a good goddamn about what happens to you, see? I could crush you, if I wanted to. Now, go upstairs and pack your stuff and get the hell out of there! You’re black and you don’t belong there and you goddamn well know it.”

  “Thanks,” Cross said in a low, clear voice. “I’m staying here as long as Mr. Blount says I can. It’s your move.”

  “So, you’re a Communist, hey?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh, yes, you are, and you think you’re being smart,” Herndon’s voice was rising. “I can take care of your kind. You Reds think you—”

  “I told you that I’m not a Communist; I’m anti-Communist!” Cross said sternly.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what kind of a Communist you are!” Herndon shouted.

  “I didn’t think you did,” Cross said quietly. “That’s why I insisted on telling you. I’m black and that’s what’s riling you. But I will not move from here.”

  Herndon, his lips quivering, yanked open a drawer of the desk.

  “Be careful, man,” Cross warned him, ramming his hand into his coat pocket. “I’m armed. If you pull out a gun, I’ll shoot you!” Cross was bent forward, his entire body tense, his eyes not blinking.

  Herndon slammed the drawer shut and came to the side of his desk.

  “Get out of here, you black sonofabitch!” he shouted, his body trembling with rage. “Get out of this house! Get out of this building! Get out of my sight! If I see you again, I’ll kill you, you hear?”

  Cross did not move; he stood towering over Herndon whose mouth held flecks of foam at the corners.

  “I’m going, but I never turn my back on a man who’s yelling at me,” he said slowly.

  Herndon’s lips moved soundlessly. Cross kept his eyes on Herndon and moved backwards to the door, still clutching his gun. With his left hand he groped for the knob, turned it, and pulled the door open.

  “Mr. Herndon, whenever you’re in my presence, be careful,” Cross said. “You’ve threatened me and I won’t forget it.”

  He went through the door and shut it. Things would happen fast now. He smiled as he went upstairs. The encounter with Herndon had given him a lift, had almost made the last shred of dreaminess leave him. This thing’ll be decided tonight one way or the other, he told himself as he entered the apartment.

  Eva returned an hour later. He had to be careful in her presence; he must not let her feel that he had spied on her intimate life.

  “Oh, Lionel!” she called.

  He went into the hallway and saw Eva still wearing her coat; her cheeks were red and excitement was in her eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “Herndon says he wants to see Gil as soon as he comes in,” Eva said breathlessly. “What happened? Did you have a run in with ’im?”

  “We had it,” Cross said.

  “Did he get rough?”

  “He wanted to pull a gun, but I told him I had one, too.”

  “Oh, Lord—” She leaned weakly against the wall. “Poor Lionel…”

  Her eyes were full of pity, and Cross knew that she felt that he too was a victim of the Party, that the Party was using him for bait. I’m tougher than you think I am, he said to himself.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “I like his kind.”

  “Oh, dear! Where’s Gil?” She was trembling.

  “Now, Eva, don’t worry,” Cross tried to soothe her. “Nothing’s going to happen for the moment, anyway. His next move will be to try to scare Gil, and I don’t think Gil scares easily.”

  “Don’t you want a drink or something?” she asked, looking at him as though she expected to see him collapse.

  “I never refuse a drink,” he said.

  She brought out a bottle of cognac.

  “I brought this from France last summer,” she said, “feeling that I might need it sometime. And, now’s the time.”

  Cross looked at her and smiled. Bless her; she’s feeling good because she feels that she’s of some use to me…

  “Look,” he said, pushing the glass she had filled to her. “I think you need this more than I do.”

  She drank from the glass and poured one for him.

  “What do you think will happen, Lionel?” she asked in a whisper. “That Herndon’s capable of anything—Oh, God, Lionel, do you think it’s worth it?”

  Cross could see that she was on the verge of telling him to ditch the Party, to get out, to save himself. At that moment he heard Gil’s key turning in the lock of the door and a pall of anxiety came over Eva’s face. Cross could see Gil hanging up his coat in the hallway. As Gil entered, Eva turned as though to speak to Cross, but checked herself.

  “Hello, everybody,” Gil said placidly.

  “Tired, Gil?” Eva asked; she was trying to act natural.

  “Not especially,” he said, shrugging. He drew his wallet from his coat pocket and extracted a paper from it, saying: “Here’s the permit for your gun, Lionel. The Party had a lawyer pull some strings…But be careful, guy.”

  “Thanks,” Cross said. “I can tell you that this permit comes just in time. I met Herndon today.”

  “Really? And how was it?”

  “Rugged.”

  Eva rushed forward and she caught hold of the lapels of Gil’s coat. “You mustn’t let Lionel get into this,” she spoke hysterically. “Herndon said he wanted to see you the moment you came in…And he’s already threatened Lionel with a gun—”

  “Let Lionel tell me what happened,” Gil said, gently pushing Eva to one side, struggling to master his annoyance.

  “Well,” Cross began. “I was returning from—”

  “Just a moment,” Gil said. He took out his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco; then he paused and looked intently at Eva. Eva stared; she seemed on the verge of speaking, but controlled herself.

  “I must see about dinner,” she mumbled, flushing red. She left the room and Gil lit his pipe, sucked at it.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  Cross related what had transpired, leaving out nothing. Gil made no comment; he rose and stood at a window looking out, smoking silently. Then he turned, sat at his desk and began writing upon a pad of paper. Eva came on tiptoe to the door, peered in apprehensively, then left. Cross lit a cigarette and waited. I’ll make him guess at what I’m feeling just as I have to guess at what he’s feeling, he told himself.

  The doorbell pealed. Gil paused in his writing, lifted his hand from the page, then began writing again. Eva came to the door, her eyes round with fear.

  “Gil,” she called timidly.

  “Yes,” Gil answered, but not turning or looking at her.

  “Maybe it’s Herndon—Shall I answer?” she asked in a whisper.

  “You’re always to answer the door,” he said calmly.

  As though seeking support, Eva looked at Cross.

  “If it’s Herndon, do be careful,” she said.

  “Eva!” Gil barked at her.

  “I’ll answer it,” Cross said.

  “No, Lionel. Eva will answer the door,” Gil said in slow, heavy accents of authority.
r />   Cross wanted to rise and take the man by the throat. Why does he act like that? Then he tried to dismiss it from his mind. After all, I’m no angel, he mused. It’s really none of my business…He was now sorry that he had read Eva’s diary; his knowing her as he did made it impossible for him to regard her with detachment. Eva lingered a moment longer at the door, then vanished.

  “Oh!” Eva’s frightened voice came from the hallway a moment later.

  “I’m sorry, Eva—Did I scare you? Is Gil home? I got to see ’im quick—It’s awfully important—”

  “Come in, Bob—But what’s the matter? You look sick or something—Did you have some trouble downstairs?”

  “Trouble? Yes. But not downstairs…What do you mean? Is Gil here?”

  “He’s in the living room,” Eva said.

  Gil had stopped writing, his pen poised over the sheet of paper. His eyes hardened as Bob, his face twitching, his eyes bloodshot and staring, appeared in the doorway.

  “Hey, Lane,” Bob called to Cross; there was no heartiness in his voice.

  Gil whirled in his seat and demanded: “What do you want here, Bob?”

  Bob acted as if he had not heard; he sank weakly into a chair. He looked at Gil and forced a sick grin that faded quickly and his face went lifeless, his eyes staring at the floor in a kind of stupor. A large drop of mucus formed at the tip of his flat, brown nose, hovered there for a second, then dropped to his upper lip. He licked at it, unaware that he did so.

  “Gil,” he begged, “you’ve got to help me.”

  Eva stood in the doorway. Cross sat watching. Gil was looking at Bob with half-turned body. Bob turned to Cross.

  “Lane, you got to talk to ’im for me—”

  “Bob!” Gil shouted, his tone full of dangerous warning. “Lane has nothing to do with this, and you damn well know it! What are you trying to do? Disturb his faith in the Party? You’ve said enough already to be brought up on serious charges!”

  “I just want to talk to ’im—”

  “You’re trying to influence Lane!” Gil shouted again, leaping to his feet. “You’re organizing against the Party right here in my presence!”

  “No, no, Gil—”

  “You’re trying to turn Lane against the Party right under my eyes!”

  “Oh, God, no! No, Gil!”

  “You are guilty right now of ideological factionalism!”

  “What’s that?” Bob asked incredulously.

  “You are trying to get Lane to support your ideas,” Gil accused Bob.

  Bob sighed; he had come to plead innocent to one crime and now he found himself accused of still another crime. Cross felt certain that Gil did not want him to witness this.

  “I’ll go to my room,” he offered.

  “No; stay right here,” Gil ordered.

  And Cross suddenly realized that Gil wanted him to see what was happening. Gil’s chastisement of Bob could either be a warning or an object lesson. How efficient this is, Cross marveled. Not a single word or gesture is wasted. By observing this, Cross, too, could learn how to break and ravage the spirits of others, or he could see what would happen to him if he disobeyed. Eva remained in the doorway, her eyes fixed upon Bob’s face. Gil was looking at Eva with eyes full of warning, but Eva was not aware of his gaze. The moment, however, she saw it, she blushed and hurriedly left the room.

  “Now, what’s the matter with you, Bob?” Gil asked at last.

  Bob had not taken off his hat or his coat. Dirty snow melted on his shoes and tiny rings of water were forming on the carpet. Bob spoke in a broken whimper:

  “The Party voted to expel me, Gil—”

  “I know that,” Gil said calmly.

  “But Gil, I don’t wanna leave the Party—You got to help me—My life’s in the Party—The Party’s all I got in the world—I made a mistake—”

  “Tell that to the Party,” Gil said, turning and sitting again at his desk.

  “Oh, please, Gil—You don’t understand—I don’t even want to say it, man—You know my problem—I’m British—Only the Party knows it!” Bob rose and went to the back of Gil and whispered despairingly: “Listen, an hour ago the Immigration men came to my flat, see? Lucky, I didn’t go to the door—Sarah went. She told ’em in a loud voice that I was out—I heard ’em talking to Sarah and I slipped down the back stairs—I came here, to you, Gil—You’re my friend—Gil, for God’s sake, don’t let ’em do this; don’t let the Party do this to me—”

  “How do you know it was the Party?” Gil asked.

  “But only the Party knew!”

  “But how do you know the Party did it?” Gil demanded.

  “Listen, I once heard Hilton threaten another West Indian Negro like me—He said he could drop an unsigned note to the Immigration folks if he didn’t behave—”

  “But have you any proof that the Party told the Government?” Gil demanded.

  Bob shook his head; his eyes were blank and empty. Cross saw the point; if Bob had no proof, what harm could Bob’s accusation do?

  “Naw; I ain’t got no proof…”

  Gil rose and stood over Bob.

  “Are you accusing the Party of playing the role of a stool pigeon?” he thundered.

  Bob winced as though he had been slapped.

  “No, no, no!”

  “Then what in hell are you saying?”

  “Gil, listen to me. Ten years ago I had to run off from Trinidad to keep the British from putting me in jail for Party activity—If I go back, they’ll snatch me off the boat and take me straight to jail for ten years—Ten years in jail in the tropics is death—I mean death, man—Don’t you understand?”

  “I understand,” Gil said, nodding his head. “But that doesn’t explain why you fought the Party.”

  “I didn’t know I was fighting the Party…I don’t want to fight the Party…”

  “You took a position against the Party! That’s counter-revolution! And for counter-revolutionists the Party has no mercy!” Gil told him.

  “Gil, you got to tell ’em to give me another chance…The Party can hide me…Let me go to Mexico, anywhere—”

  “Who are you to defy the Party?”

  “I ain’t nobody, nothing…” Bob slid from his chair and lay prone on the floor. “This is too much, Gil—Please, please, don’t let ’em do this to me! I was wrong! I confess! And I’ll do anything you say, Gil! You’re on the Central Committee and they’ll listen to you. I been to Headquarters and they won’t even talk to me—”

  Cross was stunned. He wanted to rise and place his foot on Bob’s neck and cut off the flow of whining words. Gil watched Bob with calm, placid eyes and Cross wondered how many men and women Gil had seen in such prostrate positions of penitent surrender to enable him to stare at Bob with so aloof and yet engrossed a passion.

  “Did you meet anybody when you came up here?” Gil asked suddenly.

  Bob blinked his eyes bewilderedly. “Meet anybody? No; I saw nobody…Gil, please!”

  “All right, Bob. You can go now.”

  Bob’s body galvanized itself to a sitting position on the floor; his hand went to his mouth in dismay.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t care where you go—”

  “But they’ll get me, Gil! Look, I’ll give my life to the Party!”

  “The Party doesn’t want your life.” Gil smiled.

  Cross closed his eyes. His anger was centered against Bob for his weakness. No wonder Gil would not give in! The more merciless Gil was the more Bob would yield. Eva came to the door, her eyes avoiding Bob. Cross could see her legs trembling.

  “Gil, dinner’s ready.”

  “Go ahead and eat, Lionel. I’ll join you later,” Gil said.

  Cross rose and went out of the room, his eyes avoiding Bob who sobbed on the floor. He had no appetite, but he sat at the table and Eva served him. As he chewed his food, he heard Gil’s voice rising in accusation, then Bob’s voice falling in meek pleas. Then came a pause during which Bob cough
ed loudly. Finally there was a sound of footsteps in the hallway. Gil was saying something to Bob at the door, then the door closed. Cross looked at Eva; her eyes were full of fear, and her hand shook slightly as she ate. Gil came briskly to the table, sat, keeping his eyes in front of him. He volunteered no information and acted as though he knew that no one would dare ask for any.

  “God, I’m hungry,” Gil said pleasantly and reached for the platter of roast beef.

  After he had served himself generously, Gil turned to Cross and asked: “Say, did you see who won the chess tournament in Moscow? I was too busy to buy a paper.”

  “No, I don’t know who won,” Cross said, slightly nonplussed.

  “Do you play chess?” Gil asked.

  “No.”

  “You ought to learn. It’s wonderful for relaxation,” Gil advised him.

  As dinner proceeded in silence, Cross was aware that a feeling of tranquility had descended upon him. In his mind Gil had receded far off until he had become a tiny, little luminous figure upon which all of his attention was focussed. It was as if he was squinting his eye along the barrel of a rifle toward some distant and elusive target and at long last the center of the target had come within the hairline of the sight.

  After he had drained his cup of coffee, Gil chuckled softly and asked: “What time is it?” He looked at his wrist watch. “Hummm…Ten past nine—I’d better get down and see Herr Herndon.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Cross asked.

  “Why?” Gil asked, lifting his brows in surprise.

  Cross said nothing. Eva sat stiff, staring with protesting eyes into her empty coffee cup. Then she lifted her eyes to Gil and Cross saw the light of protest die. God, she’s scared, Cross thought. If she’s that afraid of him, how she must hate him…!

  Gil stood and went into the hallway, then out of the door. Eva rose suddenly, as though feeling that she had to drown her anxieties in activity, and began clearing the dishes from the table.

  “I’ll help you,” Cross said, taking a stack of plates and starting for the kitchen.

  “No, Lionel—”

  “Why not?” he said, continuing to clear the table.

  “You don’t have to, you know,” she said.