Father and Son by Langston Hughes

Author:Langston Hughes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2015-04-28T04:00:00+00:00

VII

The day grew hotter and hotter. Heat waves rose from the fields. Sweat dampened the Colonel’s body. Sweat dampened the black bodies of the Negroes in the cotton fields, too, the hard black bodies that had built the Colonel’s fortune out of earth and sun and barehanded labor. Yet the Colonel, in spite of the fact that he lived on this labor, sat in his shaded house fanning that morning and wondering what made niggers so contrary—he was thinking of Bert—as the telephone rang. The fat and testy voice of his old friend, Mr. Higgins, trembled at the other end of the wire. He was calling from the Junction.

Accustomed as he was to his friend’s voice on the phone, at first the Colonel could not make out what he was saying. When he did understand, his neck bulged and the palms of the hands that held the phone were wet with sweat. Anger and shame made his tall body stoop and bend like an animal about to spring. Mr. Higgins was talking about Bert.

“That yellow nigger…” Mr. Higgins said. “One of your yard-niggers sassed…” Mr. Higgins said. “I thought I’d better tell you…” Mr. Higgins said. “Everybody…” Mr. Higgins said.

The whole town was excited about Bert. In the heat of this over-warm autumn day, the hot heads of the white citizens of the town had suddenly become inflamed about Bert. Mr. Higgins, county politician and Postmaster at the Junction, was well qualified to know. His Office had been the center of the news.

It seemed that Bert had insulted the young white woman who sold stamps and made out money-orders at the Post Office. And Mr. Higgins was telling the Colonel about it on the phone, warning him to get rid of Bert, that people around the Junction were getting sick and tired of seeing him.

At the Post Office this is what happened: a simple argument over change. But the young woman who sold the stamps was not used to arguing with Negroes, or being corrected by them when she made a mistake. Bert said, “I gave you a dollar,” holding out the incorrect change. “You gave me back only sixty-four cents.”

The young woman said, counting the change, “Yes, but you have eight three-cent stamps. Move on now, there’re others waiting.” Several white people were in line.

Bert said, “Yes, but eight times three is not thirty-six. You owe me twelve cents more.”

The girl looked at the change and realized she was wrong. She looked at Bert—light near-white nigger with grey-blue eyes. You gotta be harder on those kind than you have on the black ones. An educated nigger, too! Besides it was hot and she wasn’t feeling well. A light near-white nigger with grey eyes! Instead of correcting the change, she screamed, and let her head fall forward in front of the window.

Two or three white men waiting to buy stamps seized Bert and attempted to throw him out of the Post Office. Bert remembered he’d been a football player—and Colonel Norwood’s son—so he foughtback.

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