If He Hollers Let Him Go by Chester Himes Read Free Book Online Page B

mouth and his blue eyes were blistered with hate. I’ll never forget that bastard’s eyes. Then that sick, gone feeling came in the pit of my stomach—just a flash. And a blinding explosion went off just back of my eyes as if the nerve centres had been dynamited. I had the crazy sensation of my eyes popping out of my head and catching a telescopic photo of ringed figures, some half up, others squatting in a circle. Then I didn’t know a thing.
    When I came to the whistle was blowing. I lay flat on my back in the shade of a rack of plates. Two white fellows and a coloured fellow were bent over me, waiting for me to come to. When I opened my eyes they helped me to get to thy feet.
    One of the white fellows gave me a sympathetic grin. ‘You stuck your chin right straight into his fist.’
    The other one said, ‘I got some of your money for you— twenty-five dollars and some change.’ He stuck it in my hand.
    The coloured fellow’s eyes were muddy, opaque. His flat brown face was unsmiling. He didn’t say anything.
    I was still dazed. I braced myself against the plates, shook my head to clear it.
    One of the white fellows said, ‘Take it easy, son.’ They both waited a moment longer and when I didn’t say anything they moved off together, grinning. They were elderly, kindly men. I wasn’t angry at them; I just hadn’t given them a thought. I leaned there for a while, half in the noonday sun, feeling a little faint. I put my hand up tentatively and stroked my chin. When I looked up I saw a couple of other white fellows who had been in the game standing at a distance, watching me.
    Then I remembered the blond boy’s eyes. I recalled his words, ‘I’ll cool the nigger!’ I felt that sick, gone feeling again. I began trembling; I felt weak, scared. I knew I couldn’t take it; but I was scared of what I might do. Scared of what might happen to me afterward. If I could just stop thinking; every time I thought of trouble I thought of death. Then I looked at the coloured fellow again. His face was impassive.
    ‘You see which way he went?’ I asked.
    He studied me for a moment. ‘Ah know whar he work,’ he said. His expression didn’t change.
    I licked my lips, tried to keep the sick, scared feeling out of my eyes. ‘Where?’ I asked.
    He stood there looking at me as if time meant nothing. A curious animal change came over his face. I noticed him take his hand out of his pocket. It struck me funny. But now we seemed closer, as if we’d struck an understanding or come to an agreement about something.
    ‘He in de copper shop,’ he said. ‘He work on a ‘chine down in de back end. You doan need tuh go through de shop, you ken cum in de back do’.’
    I started off. My first step was wobbly, more from the sick, gone feeling in my stomach then from any effects of the blow. The coloured fellow stepped in beside me; his eyes slid from side to side.
    ‘You got a chiv?’ he asked.
    I knew I didn’t have one but I fanned myself. ‘Musta left it in my box,’ I said.
    He looked around again, then slipped me his. I didn’t look at it, but by its feel it must have been eight inches long. I slipped it in my pocket.
    ‘Ah’da cut de bastard’s throat mahself,’ he said. ‘But Ah thought you’d wanna do it yuhself.’
    He split off and I kept on toward the copper shop. My hand rested on the knife in my pocket. I began thinking of how I ought to cut him. Whether I ought to slip up and begin stabbing him in the back, trying to get his heart; or wheel him about to face me and begin slashing him across the face, cutting out his eyes and slashing up his mouth. Maybe he’d be on the lookout for me, I thought, and would have a knife himself. Then we’d dodge about and keep cutting at each other until one dropped.
    Bile rolled up in my stomach and spread out in my mouth. I started retching and caught myself. The sun beat down on my bared head like showers of rain. My skin was tight and burning hot, but it wouldn’t