Free Native Son by Richard Wright

rolling his eyes in a mute appeal for help. But no one moved. Bigger’s left fist was slowly lifting to strike. Gus’s lips moved toward the knife; he stuck out his tongue and touched the blade. Gus’s lips quivered and tears streamed down his cheeks.
    “Hahahaha!” Doc laughed.
    “Aw, leave ’im alone,” Jack called.
    Bigger watched Gus with lips twisted in a crooked smile.
    “Say, Bigger, ain’t you scared ’im enough?” Doc asked.
    Bigger did not answer. His eyes gleamed hard again, pregnant with another idea.
    “Put your hands up, way up!” he said.
    Gus swallowed and stretched his hands high along the wall.
    “Leave ’im alone, Bigger,” G.H. called weakly.
    “I’m doing this,” Bigger said.
    He put the tip of the blade into Gus’s shirt and then made an arc with his arm, as though cutting a circle.
    “How would you like me to cut your belly button out?”
    Gus did not answer. Sweat trickled down his temples. His lips hung wide, loose.
    “Shut them liver lips of yours!”
    Gus did not move a muscle. Bigger pushed the knife harder into Gus’s stomach.
    “Bigger!” Gus said in a tense whisper.
    “Shut your mouth!”
    Gus shut his mouth. Doc laughed. Jack and G.H. laughed. Then Bigger stepped back and looked at Gus with a smile.
    “You clown,” he said. “Put your hands down and set on that chair.” He watched Gus sit. “That ought to teach you not to be late next time, see?”
    “We ain’t late, Bigger. We still got time….”
    “Shut up! It is late!” Bigger insisted commandingly.
    Bigger turned aside; then, hearing a sharp scrape on the floor, stiffened. Gus sprang from the chair and grabbed a billiard ball from the table and threw it with a half-sob and half-curse. Bigger flung his hands upward to shield his face and the impact of the ball struck his wrist. He had shut his eyes when he had glimpsed the ball sailing through the air toward him and when he opened his eyes Gus was flying through the rear door and at the same time he heard the ball hit the floor and roll away. A hard pain throbbed in his hand. He sprang forward, cursing.
    “You sonofabitch!”
    He slipped on a cue stick lying in the middle of the floor and tumbled forward.
    “That’s enough now, Bigger,” Doc said, laughing.
    Jack and G.H. also laughed. Bigger rose and faced them, holding his hurt hand. His eyes were red and he stared with speechless hate.
    “Just keep laughing,” he said.
    “Behave yourself, boy,” Doc said.
    “Just keep laughing,” Bigger said again, taking out his knife.
    “Watch what you’re doing now,” Doc cautioned.
    “Aw, Bigger,” Jack said, backing away toward the rear door.
    “You done spoiled things now,” G.H. said. “I reckon that was what you wanted….”
    “You go to hell!” Bigger shouted, drowning out G.H.’s voice.
    Doc bent down behind the counter and when he stood up he had something in his hand which he did not show. He stood there laughing. White spittle showed at the corners of Bigger’s lips. He walked to the billiard table, his eyes on Doc. Then he began to cut the green cloth on the table with long sweeping strokes of his arm. He never took his eyes from Doc’s face.
    “Why, you sonofabitch!” Doc said. “I ought to shoot you, so help me God! Get out, before I call a cop!”
    Bigger walked slowly past Doc, looking at him, not hurrying, and holding the open knife in his hand. He paused in the doorway and looked back. Jack and G.H. were gone.
    “Get out of here!” Doc said, showing a gun.
    “Don’t you like it?” Bigger asked.
    “Get out before I shoot you!” Doc said. “And don’t you ever set your black feet inside here again!”
    Doc was angry and Bigger was afraid. He shut the knife and slipped it in his pocket and swung through the door to the street. He blinked his eyes from the bright sunshine; his nerves were so taut that he had difficulty in breathing. Halfway down the block he passed Blum’s store; he looked out of the corners of his