gone?”
“Yee-eeah….”
“You pull off fast….”
Again they were silent. Then Bigger leaned forward, breathing hard.
“I’m gone…. God…. damn….”
They sat still for five minutes, slumped down in their seats. Finally, they straightened.
“I don’t know where to put my feet now,” Bigger said, laughing. “Let’s take another seat.”
“O.K.”
They moved to other seats. The organ still played. Now and then they glanced back up to the projector’s room high in the rear of the theatre. They were impatient for the picture to start. When they spoke again their voices were throaty, drawling, tinged with uneasiness.
“You reckon it’ll go all right?” Bigger asked.
“Maybe.”
“I’d just as soon go to jail as take that relief job.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“Let’s think about how we’ll do it, not about how we’ll get caught.”
“Scared?”
“Hell, naw.”
They listened to the pipe organ. It was humming so low that it could scarcely be heard. There were times when it seemed to stop altogether; then it would surge forth again, mellow, nostalgic, sweet.
“We better take our guns this time,” Bigger said.
“O.K. But we gotta be careful. We don’t wanna kill nobody.”
“Yeah, but I’ll feel safer with a gun this time.”
“Gee, I wished it was three now. I wished it was over.”
“Me too.”
The organ stopped and the screen flashed with the rhythm of moving shadows. Bigger sat looking at the first picture; it was a newsreel. As the scenes unfolded his interest was caught and he leaned forward. He saw images of smiling, dark-haired white girls lolling on the gleaming sands of a beach. The background was a stretch of sparkling water. Palm trees stood near and far. The voice of the commentator ran with the movement of the film: Here are the daughters of the rich taking sunbaths in the sands of Florida! This little collection of debutantes represents over four billion dollars of America’s wealth and over fifty of America’s leading families….
“Some babies,” Jack said.
“Yeah, man!”
“I’d like to be there.”
“You can,” Bigger said. “But you’d be hanging from a tree like a bunch of bananas….”
They laughed softly and easily, listening to the commentator’s voice. The scene shifted to and fro over the glittering sands. Then Bigger saw in close-up the picture of a slight, smiling white girl whose waist was encircled by the arms of a man. He heard the commentator’s voice: Mary Dalton, daughter of Chicago’s Henry Dalton, 4605 Drexel Boulevard, shocks society by spurning the boys of La Salle Street and the Gold Coast and accepting the attentions of a well-known radical while on her recent winter vacation in Florida…. The close-up showed the smiling girl kissing the man, who lifted her up and swung her round from the camera.
“Say, Jack?”
“Hunh?”
“That gal…. That gal there in that guy’s arms…. That’s the daughter of the guy I’m going to work for. They live at 4605 Drexel…. That’s where I’m going tonight to see about that job….”
“For real?”
“Sure!”
The close-up faded and the next scene showed only the girl’s legs running over the sparkling sands; they were followed by the legs of the man running in pursuit. The words droned on: Ha! He’s after her! There! He’s got her! Oh, boy, don’t you wish you were down here in Florida ? The close-up faded and another came, showing two pairs of legs standing close together. Oh, boy! said the voice. Slowly, the girl’s legs strained upward until only the tips of her toes touched the sand. Ah, the naughty rich! There was a slow fade-out, while the commentator’s voice ran on: Shortly after a scene like this, shocked Mama and Papa Dalton summoned Mary home by wire from her winter vacation and denounced her Communist friend .
“Say, Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s a Communist?”
“Damn if I know. It’s a race of people who
“Yee-eeah….”
“You pull off fast….”
Again they were silent. Then Bigger leaned forward, breathing hard.
“I’m gone…. God…. damn….”
They sat still for five minutes, slumped down in their seats. Finally, they straightened.
“I don’t know where to put my feet now,” Bigger said, laughing. “Let’s take another seat.”
“O.K.”
They moved to other seats. The organ still played. Now and then they glanced back up to the projector’s room high in the rear of the theatre. They were impatient for the picture to start. When they spoke again their voices were throaty, drawling, tinged with uneasiness.
“You reckon it’ll go all right?” Bigger asked.
“Maybe.”
“I’d just as soon go to jail as take that relief job.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“Let’s think about how we’ll do it, not about how we’ll get caught.”
“Scared?”
“Hell, naw.”
They listened to the pipe organ. It was humming so low that it could scarcely be heard. There were times when it seemed to stop altogether; then it would surge forth again, mellow, nostalgic, sweet.
“We better take our guns this time,” Bigger said.
“O.K. But we gotta be careful. We don’t wanna kill nobody.”
“Yeah, but I’ll feel safer with a gun this time.”
“Gee, I wished it was three now. I wished it was over.”
“Me too.”
The organ stopped and the screen flashed with the rhythm of moving shadows. Bigger sat looking at the first picture; it was a newsreel. As the scenes unfolded his interest was caught and he leaned forward. He saw images of smiling, dark-haired white girls lolling on the gleaming sands of a beach. The background was a stretch of sparkling water. Palm trees stood near and far. The voice of the commentator ran with the movement of the film: Here are the daughters of the rich taking sunbaths in the sands of Florida! This little collection of debutantes represents over four billion dollars of America’s wealth and over fifty of America’s leading families….
“Some babies,” Jack said.
“Yeah, man!”
“I’d like to be there.”
“You can,” Bigger said. “But you’d be hanging from a tree like a bunch of bananas….”
They laughed softly and easily, listening to the commentator’s voice. The scene shifted to and fro over the glittering sands. Then Bigger saw in close-up the picture of a slight, smiling white girl whose waist was encircled by the arms of a man. He heard the commentator’s voice: Mary Dalton, daughter of Chicago’s Henry Dalton, 4605 Drexel Boulevard, shocks society by spurning the boys of La Salle Street and the Gold Coast and accepting the attentions of a well-known radical while on her recent winter vacation in Florida…. The close-up showed the smiling girl kissing the man, who lifted her up and swung her round from the camera.
“Say, Jack?”
“Hunh?”
“That gal…. That gal there in that guy’s arms…. That’s the daughter of the guy I’m going to work for. They live at 4605 Drexel…. That’s where I’m going tonight to see about that job….”
“For real?”
“Sure!”
The close-up faded and the next scene showed only the girl’s legs running over the sparkling sands; they were followed by the legs of the man running in pursuit. The words droned on: Ha! He’s after her! There! He’s got her! Oh, boy, don’t you wish you were down here in Florida ? The close-up faded and another came, showing two pairs of legs standing close together. Oh, boy! said the voice. Slowly, the girl’s legs strained upward until only the tips of her toes touched the sand. Ah, the naughty rich! There was a slow fade-out, while the commentator’s voice ran on: Shortly after a scene like this, shocked Mama and Papa Dalton summoned Mary home by wire from her winter vacation and denounced her Communist friend .
“Say, Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s a Communist?”
“Damn if I know. It’s a race of people who
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