Invisible Man (40 page)

And hardly had he settled himself when he stared at my desk, saying, "What you got there, Brother?" and pointed toward a pile of my papers.

I leaned slowly back in my chair, looking him in the eye. "That's my work," I said coldly, determined to stop any interference from the start.

"But I mean
that,"
he said, pointing, his eyes beginning to blaze, "that there."

"It's work," I said, "all my work."

"Is that too?" he said, pointing to Brother Tarp's leg link.

"That's just a personal present, Brother," I said. "What could I do for you?"

"That ain't what I asked you, Brother. What is it?"

I picked up the link and held it toward him, the metal oily and strangely skinlike now with the slanting sun entering the window. "Would you care to examine it, Brother? One of our members wore it nineteen years on the chain gang."

"Hell, no!" He recoiled. "I mean, no, thank you. In fact, Brother, I don't think we ought to have such things around!"

"You
think so," I said. "And just why?"

"Because I don't think we ought to dramatize our differences."

"I'm not dramatizing anything, it's my personal property that happens to be lying on my desk."

"But people can see it!"

"That's true," I said. "But I think it's a good reminder of what our movement is fighting against."

"No, suh!" he said, shaking his head, "no, suh! That's the worse kind of thing for Brotherhood -because we want to make folks think of the things we have in common. That's what makes for Brotherhood. We have to change this way we have of always talking about how different we are. In the Brotherhood we are all brothers."

I was amused. He was obviously disturbed by something deeper than a need to forget differences. Fear was in his eyes. "I never thought of it in just that way, Brother," I said, dangling the iron between my finger and thumb.

"But you want to think about it," he said. "We have to discipline ourselves. Things that don't make for Brotherhood have to be rooted out. We have enemies, you know. I watch everything I do and say so as to be sure that I don't upset the Brotherhood --'cause this is a wonderful movement, Brother, and we have to keep it that way. We have to
watch
ourselves, Brother. You know what I mean? Too often we're liable to forget that this is something that's a privilege to belong to. We're liable to say things that don't do nothing but make for more misunderstanding."

What's driving him, I thought, what's all this to do with me? Could he have sent me the note?

Dropping the iron I fished the anonymous note from beneath the pile and held it by a corner, so that the slanting sun shone through the page and outlined the scrawling letters. I watched him intently. He was leaning upon the desk now, looking at the page but with no recognition in his eyes. I dropped the page upon the chain, more disappointed than relieved.

"Between you and me, Brother," he said, "there are those amongst us who don't really believe in Brotherhood."

"Oh?"

"You damn right they don't! They're just in it to use it for their own ends. Some call you Brother to your face and the minute you turn your back, you're a black son of a bitch! You got to watch 'em."

"I haven't encountered any of that, Brother," I said.

"You will. There's lots of poison around. Some don't want to shake your hand and some don't like the idea of seeing too much of you; but goddam it, in the Brotherhood they gotta!" I looked at him. It had never occurred to me that the Brotherhood could force anyone to shake my hand, and that he found satisfaction that it could was both shocking and distasteful. Suddenly he laughed. "Yes, dammit, they gotta! Me, I don't let 'em get away with nothing. If they going to be brothers let 'em be brothers! Oh, but I'm fair," he said, his face suddenly self-righteous. "I'm fair. I ask myself every day, 'What are you doing against Brotherhood?' and when I find it, I root it out, I burn it out like a man cauterizing a mad-dog bite. This business of being a brother is a full-time job. You have to be pure in heart, and you have to be disciplined in body and mind. Brother, you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, I think I do," I said. "Some folks feel that way about their religion."

"Religion?" He blinked his eyes. "Folks like me and you is full of distrust," he said. "We been corrupted 'til it's hard for some of us to believe in Brotherhood. And some even want revenge! That's what I'm talking about. We have to root it out! We have to learn to trust our other brothers. After all, didn't
they
start the Brotherhood? Didn't
they
come and stretch out their hand to us black men and say,

'We want y'all for our brothers?' Didn't they do it? Didn't they, now? Didn't they set out to organize us, and help fight our battle and all like that? Sho they did, and we have to remember it twenty-four hours a day.
Brotherhood.
That's the word we got to keep right in front of our eyes every second. Now this brings me to why I come to see you, Brother."

He sat back, his huge hands grasping his knees. "I got a plan I want to talk over with you."

"What is it, Brother?" I said.

"Well, it's like this. I think we ought to have some way of showing what we are. We ought to have some banners and things like that. Specially for us black brothers."

"I see," I said, becoming interested. "But why do you think this is important?"

" 'Cause it helps the Brotherhood, that's why. First, if you remember, when you watch our people when there's a parade or a funeral, or a dance or anything like that, they always have some kind of flags and banners even if they don't mean anything. It kind of makes the occasion seem more important like. It makes people stop look and listen. 'What's coming off here?' But you know and I know that they ain't none of 'em got no true flag --except maybe Ras the Exhorter, and he claims
he's
Ethiopian or African. But none of us got no true flag 'cause that flag don't really belong to us. They want a true flag, one that's as much theirs as anybody else's. You know what I mean?"

"Yes, I think I do," I said, remembering that there was always that sense in me of being apart when the flag went by. It had been a reminder, until I'd found the Brotherhood, that
my
star was not yet there . . .

"Sure, you know," Brother Wrestrum said. "Everybody wants a flag. We need a flag that stands for Brotherhood, and we need a sign we can wear."

"A sign?"

"You know, a pin or a button."

"You mean an emblem?"

"That's it! Something we can wear, a pin or something like that. So that when a Brother meets a Brother they can know it. That way that thing what happened to Brother Tod Clifton wouldn't have happened . . ."

"What wouldn't have happened?"

He sat back. "Don't you know about it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's something that's best forgot about," he said, leaning close, his big hands gripped and stretched before him. "But you see, there was a rally and some hoodlums tried to break up the meeting, and in the fighting Brother Tod Clifton got holt to one of the white brothers by mistake and was beating
him,
thought he was one of the hoodlums,
he
said. Things like that is bad, Brother,
very
bad. But with some of these emblems, things like that wouldn't happen."

"So that actually happened," I said.

"Sure did. That Brother Clifton goes wild when he gits mad . . . But what do you think of my idea?"

"I think it should be brought to the attention of the committee," I said guardedly, as the phone rang. "Excuse me a moment, Brother," I said.

It was the editor of a new picture magazine requesting an interview of "one of our most successful young men."

"That's very flattering," I said, "but I'm afraid I'm too busy for an interview. I suggest, however, that you interview our youth leader, Brother Tod Clifton; you'll find him a much more interesting subject."

"No, no!" Wrestrum said, shaking his head violently as the editor said, "But we want you. You've

--"

"And you know," I interrupted, "our work is considered very controversial, certainly by some."

"That's exactly why we want you. You've become identified with that controversy and it's our job to bring such subjects to the eyes of our readers."

"But so has Brother Clifton," I said.

"No, sir; you're the man and you owe it to our youth to allow us to tell them your story," he said, as I watched Brother Wrestrum leaning forward. "We feel that they should be encouraged to keep fighting toward success. After all, you're one of the latest to fight his way to the top. We need all the heroes we can get."

"But, please," I laughed over the phone, "I'm no hero and I'm far from the top; I'm a cog in a machine. We here in the Brotherhood work as a unit," I said, seeing Brother Wrestrum nod his head in agreement.

"But you can't get around the fact that you're the first of our people to attract attention to it, can you now?"

"Brother Clifton was active at least three years before me. Besides, it isn't that simple. Individuals don't count for much; it's what the group wants, what the group does. Everyone here submerges his personal ambitions for the common achievement."

"Good! That's very good. People want to hear that. Our people need to have someone say that to them. Why don't you let me send out an interviewer? I'll have her there in twenty minutes."

"You're very insistent, but I'm very busy," I said.

And if Brother Wrestrum hadn't been wig-wagging, trying to tell me what to say I would have refused. Instead, I consented. Perhaps, I thought, a little friendly publicity wouldn't hurt. Such a magazine would reach many timid souls living far from the sound of our voices. I had only to remember to say little about my past.

"I'm sorry for this interruption, Brother," I said, putting down the phone and looking into his curious eyes. "I'll bring your idea to the attention of the committee as quickly as possible." I stood to discourage further talk and he got up, fairly bursting to continue.

"Well, I've got to see some other brothers myself," he said, "I'll be seeing you soon."

"Anytime," I said, avoiding his hand by picking up some papers. Going out, he turned with his hand on the door frame, frowning. "And, Brother, don't forget what I said about that thing you got on your desk. Things like that don't do nothin' but cause confusion. They ought to be kept out of sight."

I was glad to see him go. The idea of his trying to tell me what to say in a conversation only part of which he could have heard! And it was obvious that he disliked Clifton. Well, I disliked
him.
And all that foolishness and fear over the leg chain. Tarp had worn it for nineteen years and could laugh, but this big --Then I forgot Brother Wrestrum until about two weeks later at our downtown headquarters, where a meeting had been called to discuss strategy.

Everyone had arrived before me. Long benches were arranged at one side of the room, which was hot and filled with smoke. Usually such meetings sounded like a prizefight or a smoker, but now everyone was silent. The white brothers looked uncomfortable and some of the Harlem brothers belligerent. Nor did they leave me time to think about it. No sooner had I apologized for my lateness than Brother Jack struck the table with his gavel, addressing his first remarks to me.

"Brother, there seems to be a serious misunderstanding among some of the brothers concerning your work and recent conduct," he said.

I stared at him blankly, my mind groping for connections. "I'm sorry, Brother Jack," I said, "but I don't understand. You mean there's something wrong with my work?"

"So it seems," he said, his face completely neutral. "Certain charges have just been made . . ."

"Charges? Have I failed to carry out some directive?"

"About that there seems to be some doubt. But we'd better let Brother Wrestrum speak of this," he said.

"Brother Wrestrum!"

I was shocked. He hadn't been around since our talk, and I looked across the table into his evasive face, seeing him stand with a slouch, a rolled paper protruding from his pocket.

"Yes, Brothers," he said, "I brought charges, much as I hated to have to do it. But I been watching the way things have been going and I've decided that if they don't stop
soon,
this brother is going to make a fool out of the Brotherhood!"

There were some sounds of protest.

"Yes, I said it and I mean it! This here brother constitutes one of the greatest dangers ever confronted by our movement."

I looked at Brother Jack; his eyes were sparkling. I seemed to see traces of a smile as he scribbled something on a pad. I was becoming very hot.

"Be more specific, Brother," Brother Garnett, a white brother, said. "These are serious charges and we all know that the brother's work has been splendid. Be specific."

"Sho, I'll be specific," Wrestrum boomed, suddenly whipping the paper from his pocket, unrolling it and throwing it on the table. "This here's what I mean!"

I took a step forward; it was a portrait of me looking out from a magazine page.

"Where did that come from?" I said.

"That's it," he boomed. "Make out like you never seen it."

"But I haven't," I said. "I really haven't."

"Don't lie to these white brothers. Don't lie!"

"I'm not lying. I never saw it before in my life. But suppose I had, what's wrong with it?"

"You know what's wrong!" Wrestrum said.

"Look, I don't know anything. What's on your mind? You have us all here, so if you have anything to say, please get it over with."

"Brothers, this man is a --a --opportunist! All you got to do is read this article to see. I charge this man with using the Brotherhood movement to advance his own selfish interests."

"Article?" Then I remembered the interview which I had forgotten. I met the eyes of the others as they looked from me to Wrestrum.

"And what does it say about us?" Brother Jack said, pointing to the magazine.

"Say?" Wrestrum said. "It doesn't say anything. It's all about him. What
he
thinks, what
he
does; what
he's
going to do. Not a word about the rest of us who's been building the movement before he was ever heard of. Look at it, if you think I'm lying. Look at it!"