what you mean,” Ganus said, pleading.
“He won’t need to know after I take a couple of swipes at him with this knife of mine. All his troubles will be over then for the rest of his life. He ought to be thanking me instead of doing all that begging. Hell, I don’t think he’s educated like he claims. He sure don’t talk like it. A smart, educated nigger would say go ahead and do me a big favor so I won’t never get in trouble from now on.”
“Let me ask him something first, Hank,” Pete said, pushing the others aside. “Boy, what kind of notions you got in that woolly head about white girls?”
“None at all, please, sir,” he answered tensely, thoroughly frightened.
Vern said, “Hank, I always thought that was why niggers wanted to be educated—so they’d get some notions.”
“I know how to find out if he’s got notions,” Pete said. “Boy, which are the best, white girls or nigger girls?”
“I wish you wouldn’t make me say anything like that, please, sir, Mr. Pete. It’s not right to make me say those things. That’s something a colored boy ought to keep his mouth shut about.”
Hank laughed, and said, “He talks just like a nigger preacher I heard once. My old man gigged him with a pitchfork and tried to make him say whether he thought Jesus Christ was white or black. He almost bust a gut trying to get out of saying it.”
“Boy, you think nigger girls are better?” Pete asked him.
“No, sir, I didn’t say that.”
“You think white girls are better?”
“Yes, sir—no, sir! I don’t know anything about it. I didn’t mean it either way. All I meant was—”
“You’d better be careful what you say,” he was warned.
“Please, sir, I only meant what I ought to. I wish you wouldn’t try to make me say what I oughtn’t.”
“All I’m doing is asking you, and you’re the one who’s doing the answering. How come you know so much about white girls—how do you know if they’re better or not?”
“I don’t know anything at all about it, Mr. Pete. That’s the Good Man’s truth.”
“Vern Huff saw you in the Singfield garage,” Pete told him. “You were in there with Stephena Singfield, and there wasn’t nobody else around, neither. Don’t you know better than being out there all alone like that with a white girl?”
“Mr. Pete, she told me to go out there in the garage and skin-the-cat,” he said earnestly. He glanced appealingly at Robbie, wanting somebody to believe him at a time like that. “I always try to do what Miss Stephena tells me.”
“She didn’t tell you to show off, did she?”
“No, sir, and all I did was—”
“Don’t you know no better than to show off in front of a white girl?”
“Mr. Pete, I didn’t mean to show off—”
“How’d I know that was all you did out there?”
“Because that’s the only thing in the whole wide world I did do, Mr. Pete. You can ask Miss Stephena yourself and she’ll tell you it’s the plain truth. She told me to go out there and skin-the-cat, and I went right out and did what she told me.”
“How about that, Vern?” Hank asked. “You saw what he did in the garage. Is he lying about it?”
“He was hanging on a chinning bar skinning-the-cat and showing off just like he’d been born white in the big house,” Vern said. “I watched him till he got down, and he sat on the floor and grinned like a fool about it. He acted like he thought she was going to rub the fuzz off his peach for him, for being such a big show-off. You ought’ve seen him grin at her, Hank. You’d of thought he was whiter than she was.”
“Maybe he was figuring on getting some goody for showing off,” Pete said, looking at Ganus and nodding suspiciously. “I’ve heard of light-skin niggers like him who didn’t know better than think they had it coming to them.”
“The lighter-skinned they are,” Vern said, “the more they think it’s coming to them.”
“Hell, I’m as white as the next one,” Hank
“He won’t need to know after I take a couple of swipes at him with this knife of mine. All his troubles will be over then for the rest of his life. He ought to be thanking me instead of doing all that begging. Hell, I don’t think he’s educated like he claims. He sure don’t talk like it. A smart, educated nigger would say go ahead and do me a big favor so I won’t never get in trouble from now on.”
“Let me ask him something first, Hank,” Pete said, pushing the others aside. “Boy, what kind of notions you got in that woolly head about white girls?”
“None at all, please, sir,” he answered tensely, thoroughly frightened.
Vern said, “Hank, I always thought that was why niggers wanted to be educated—so they’d get some notions.”
“I know how to find out if he’s got notions,” Pete said. “Boy, which are the best, white girls or nigger girls?”
“I wish you wouldn’t make me say anything like that, please, sir, Mr. Pete. It’s not right to make me say those things. That’s something a colored boy ought to keep his mouth shut about.”
Hank laughed, and said, “He talks just like a nigger preacher I heard once. My old man gigged him with a pitchfork and tried to make him say whether he thought Jesus Christ was white or black. He almost bust a gut trying to get out of saying it.”
“Boy, you think nigger girls are better?” Pete asked him.
“No, sir, I didn’t say that.”
“You think white girls are better?”
“Yes, sir—no, sir! I don’t know anything about it. I didn’t mean it either way. All I meant was—”
“You’d better be careful what you say,” he was warned.
“Please, sir, I only meant what I ought to. I wish you wouldn’t try to make me say what I oughtn’t.”
“All I’m doing is asking you, and you’re the one who’s doing the answering. How come you know so much about white girls—how do you know if they’re better or not?”
“I don’t know anything at all about it, Mr. Pete. That’s the Good Man’s truth.”
“Vern Huff saw you in the Singfield garage,” Pete told him. “You were in there with Stephena Singfield, and there wasn’t nobody else around, neither. Don’t you know better than being out there all alone like that with a white girl?”
“Mr. Pete, she told me to go out there in the garage and skin-the-cat,” he said earnestly. He glanced appealingly at Robbie, wanting somebody to believe him at a time like that. “I always try to do what Miss Stephena tells me.”
“She didn’t tell you to show off, did she?”
“No, sir, and all I did was—”
“Don’t you know no better than to show off in front of a white girl?”
“Mr. Pete, I didn’t mean to show off—”
“How’d I know that was all you did out there?”
“Because that’s the only thing in the whole wide world I did do, Mr. Pete. You can ask Miss Stephena yourself and she’ll tell you it’s the plain truth. She told me to go out there and skin-the-cat, and I went right out and did what she told me.”
“How about that, Vern?” Hank asked. “You saw what he did in the garage. Is he lying about it?”
“He was hanging on a chinning bar skinning-the-cat and showing off just like he’d been born white in the big house,” Vern said. “I watched him till he got down, and he sat on the floor and grinned like a fool about it. He acted like he thought she was going to rub the fuzz off his peach for him, for being such a big show-off. You ought’ve seen him grin at her, Hank. You’d of thought he was whiter than she was.”
“Maybe he was figuring on getting some goody for showing off,” Pete said, looking at Ganus and nodding suspiciously. “I’ve heard of light-skin niggers like him who didn’t know better than think they had it coming to them.”
“The lighter-skinned they are,” Vern said, “the more they think it’s coming to them.”
“Hell, I’m as white as the next one,” Hank
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