Chapter 3
I
am not a literary man, I am a writer.
William
Faulkner
A typical very dark, black woman. Sort of fat, twenty, thirty
maybe forty pounds overweight. About thirty to forty years old, hard to tell. Not gray, etc. Goes to
Flogging with rawhide or blacksnake whip was
the usual method for punishing slaves.
Imprisonment lost the master their time, and short rations impaired
their health.
When
we get to her place, I get out of the cab and open the door for her. I decide to test the look. To my surprise she responds, again with the
glittering eyes. I ask, “what are you doing living next to a church?”
“Oh me? I just live next
to it that’s all.”
Ran away, a Negro girl
called Mary. Has a small scar over
her eye, a good many teeth missing, the letter A is branded on her cheek and
forehead.
Now I’m
certain she wants me to come in and ball.
But I honestly fear getting VD- that trip. A cab driver from Luxury stops - I picture a
black dude - her husband - she makes a sound of recognition - I get a little scared
- like caught in the act -
Ran away, a Negro man named Henry; his
left eye out, some scars from a dirk on and under his left arm, and much
scarred with the whip.
-
he rolls down the window and I see it’s this young white cat, wants to know
where the 440 Club is - I’m not sure but I think its at 440 12 St.
“No,
I don’t think so,” the black chic says.
She’s waiting while I talk to him even though she’s already paid her
fare. So he takes off and she is
standing in the doorway.
She’s
still looking at me invitingly and I realize now that she wants me to come up
and that’s the first time I realize that a lot of black chicks would do
anything, etc., for a white cat - and that is their trip - that’s why they are
so hostile to me sometimes because I have been sort of indifferent to black
women, and if there is anything a woman won’t forgive you for - it’s not being
attracted to her.
So
I test it on the next fare - a young, beautiful mulatto chic - I am totally friendly - and she responds
completely - really overjoyed - she stumbles, almost, out of the cab - and is
obviously going to her parent’s house so there isn’t any chance for me to go
with her, etc.
The beautiful octoroons of New Orleans,
equal in their profession to the most talented courtesans of old France, were
bought and sold like field hands -- but at far higher prices, and for a
different purpose.
That
is an opening up of an area. It was
partly my fault - the trouble I have had with black chicks - my own
unresponsiveness. But I worry about VD -
with almost any woman that isn’t relatively virginal. Maybe that’s the basis of that mythical -
“folklore” - idea of men being attracted only to virgins, etc.
This
black cat gets into my cab and he is really black, so I say it and tell him
he’s really going to have a hard time - like he’s going to have to make it big
like Malcolm X, etc., if he’s going to make it.
He
says, “man, like you don’t sound prejudiced” - then pauses- “but I bet you
are.”
Then
I say, “no I’m not prejudiced, no more than you
are.”
He
says, “I’m not prejudiced at all.”
I
go into a thing about people liking the people they’re around, etc. I’ve been around black people etc. Then he gets this big leer on his face and
says, “I’ll bet you could really go for some black ass right about now.”
It
sort of shocks me and I say, “man that’s not my thing, I mean I like black
chicks and all that,” and go into a thing, “you know - the blacker the better-
you know what I mean.”
“Yeah
I know what you mean.”
Among
other blessings which public opinion secures to the Negroes, is the common
practice of violently punching out their teeth.
To make them wear iron collars by day and night, and to worry them with dogs,
are practices almost too ordinary to deserve mention.
Anyway,
just a heavy rap with one more black man - the blacks are the best people in
the world - but you’ve got to get them on your side - not to cliché - but it is
a cliché - they are as good - etc., as any human being can be - they may very
well be the hope of humanity. Yet they
reject black themselves something terrible - it is fully tragic - it is as if
they think of themselves as black white men -- and hate the very blackness that
prevents them from attaining their white dream ideal (?)
Then
I go into the Baldwin Hotel to take a leak and when I come out, I see a cop
throwing a black dude, about forty five, into the back seat of his squad
car. He jumps in after him and shuts the
door. He’s a great big, beefy blond
dude. His partner watches from the front
seat while he beats the hell out of the guy, with his fists. By the time I get in my cab and start out for
the