Читать книгу The Nigger Factory - Gil Scott-Heron - Страница 12
ОглавлениеWhen Earl Thomas arrived on Sutton University’s campus for the very first time he had in his pocket a letter that he had received over the summer from a junior named Kenny Smith. The letter was actually a mimeographed note from the Dean of Admissions office designating Kenny as a student orientation assistant who should be looked up when the newcomer arrived; he was the person who would help the incoming student find his way around campus.
Kenny Smith had been easy to locate. Earl found him sitting in the Admissions Office reading a copy of the special Statesman that welcomed freshmen and transfer students. The thing that immediately warmed Earl to his orientation assistant was the young man’s dress. Kenny was wearing a pair of low-cut sneakers, no socks, cut-off blue jean shorts, and a Sutton sweat shirt. He was a world apart from the other orientators lining the walls dressed in slacks, shirts with collars; even a suit and tie or two could be seen.
‘My whole wardrobe is odds and ends,’ Kenny told Earl when the transfer student pointed out the contrast.
It had become understood between the two young men, who hit it off immediately, that Kenny could not be held to tradition and conformity of any description. Kenny did not seem to care in the least what any other students did, thought, wore, or acted like. He was his own man and described himself as the odd one even in his family circle. The nickname ‘Odds’ became quite natural between them.
At approximately the time that Earl was leaving Mrs Gilliam’s boarding house for his meeting with MJUMBE, Odds was just learning of the day’s political activities. Earl’s campaign manager had been in bed all day with a cold and had managed to sleep through the afternoon MJUMBE announcements in his room. Only a trip to the bathroom and an open dormitory door gave him any inkling of the ingredients that were bubbling in the political cauldron.
‘Wonder why Thomas let Baker take over?’ someone was asking as Odds passed the open door.
‘Aw, bruh, c’mon,’ was the reply. ‘Thomas ain’ lettin’ Baker do nothin’. Thomas ain’ never been nowhere. Baker just dug that we was gittin’ ready to have another bullshit year an’ did his thing. The bullshit intellectuals voted for Egghead Hall, the brothers voted for Baker, and the bitches put Thomas in office from the col’ ass jump.’
Odds tried to place the voices and couldn’t. He wanted to hear more about the ‘takeover’ they were discussing and he didn’t particularly like being referred to as a bitch. He had voted for Earl.
‘Ya gotta be tough to deal wit’ Calhoun, man. You know what happened to Peabody las’ year,’ the voice went on. ‘He bullshitted an’ Tommed jus’ like Thomas an’ in the end didn’ nuthin’ git done.’
‘As usual,’ someone added.
‘An’ Baker’s gonna mess with Calhoun?’ Odds asked entering the room.
‘Whuss happ’nin’? … Fuckin’ right!’ The speaker went on. He was a tall, bearded boy wearing sunglasses. ‘Baker’ll git over.’
‘Kin I git a match?’ Odds asked.
‘Yo, bruh. I got one,’ a second student with sunglasses offered.
‘Did’joo see the thing today when MJUMBE got it together? They came out on that platform bad wit’ capital letters!’
‘I didn’ dig it, man,’ Odds admitted. ‘What happened?’
‘Man,’ came the enthusiastic reply. ‘You missed a helluva thing. Lemme tell you. All day long they was announcin’ this meetin’ for fo’ o’clock in fronta the SUB, right? Nobody knows who’s callin’ it or what it’s about. So at four bells damn near the whole school is millin’ ’roun’ in front a the platform steps leadin’ t’the SUB, but the only thing there is a mike. No people. Up through the crowd comes Baker and King an’ them. They all dressed in black dashikis with gold trim. All five of ’um got bald heads except my man from New York, whuss his name? Abul. Abul Menka. You know that dude wit’ the big ’fro an’ the T-bird? … well, they read out this list a deman’s, grievances that they got t’gether for the Head Nigger an’ they say they gonna lay the shit on ’im t’night. That mean this muthafuckuh gonna be jumpin’ in the mornin,’ Jim.’
‘Or not,’ Odds said. ‘What did Earl Thomas have to say?’
‘Nuthin’, man. I didn’ even see him. What could he say? Iss all true. Most a the shit is stuff he been sayin’ he wuz gittin’ t’gether, but he ain’ done nuthin’.’
Odds already knew where Earl had been. Chances were that Baker had known too. Earl seldom came on campus on Wednesday since he didn’t have a class. For a second Odds was tempted to point this out to the students in the room, but he decided that there would be little reason. He wanted to tell them that Earl had been trying to get things together too, but his association with Earl would have made everything sound like a mere cop out.
‘Later,’ he said, sliding back out into the hall. Echoes of the discussion followed Odds back into his room, but his mind was far away. What should he do? Call Earl? No. Earl probably wouldn’t be at home by now. What time was it? Just past seven his watch told him. The best thing would be to try and find Earl and get something started. Started? Ended? Stopped?
It was at that moment that Odds thought of Lawman. Lawman was a good friend. He was surprised, as he thought about it, that Lawman had not called him. If ever there was a guy who could sort out a political mess it was the ever-serious pre-law major.
Odds grabbed a dime from the top of his desk and padded back out into the darkened hall. Quickly he uncradled the receiver and dropped a dime into the pay phone. He turned the dial seven times and waited. The phone rang twice.
‘Hullo?’
‘Hello. Lawman?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Look, brother. This is Odds. We got problems. Have you heard?’
‘’Bout what?’
‘As near as I can tell Baker an’ his knuckleheads took over Earl’s program this afternoon an’ s’pose to be goin’ to Calhoun’s t’night.’
‘Goddamn!’ Lawman breathed. ‘When did this happen?’
‘This afternoon. Were you on campus?’
‘I had a one o’clock class. I went to it an’ then I split.’
‘You didn’ hear?’
‘Nuthin, man. I met this bitch over here at two. She was talkin’ ’bout calculus, but you know better than that.’
‘Yeah. I know ’bout what got calculated …’
‘Where were you?’
‘In bed. Man, I had me a ass-kickin’ chest cold all week.’
‘You sound like it. Where’s Earl?’
‘You got me. Out makin’ like a hero I guess.’
‘Tryin’ to carry it by himself too. He didn’t call me.’ Lawman was thoughtful. ‘Whew! Man, this is too much. I can hardly get this shit together.’
‘I know.’
‘Where you at?’ Lawman asked.
‘In the dorm.’
‘Let’s get together an’ talk this over. I was jus’ sittin’ down to eat when you buzzed. You want to come over here and have a bite to eat?’
‘No grit, man. I figger with a half-gallon of Esso Extra or something I might be able to deal … why don’ you meet me at O’Jay’s ’bout eight o’clock?’
‘All right,’ Lawman agreed. They hung up.
Odds scuffled back down the hall to his room and prepared to wash up and brush his teeth. He was no longer concerned with the nagging cough and chest cold that had kept him in bed.
The Lawman turned back to a small pot of soup and the slices of ham that rimmed his plate. His small one-room apartment was a mess. Records were scattered all over the floor near his record player. The books he had been attempting to deal with when the young woman arrived earlier in the afternoon were still open and loose-leaf notes from his notebook had blown onto the floor. His small army cot in the corner was a disarranged mess with the stained sheets from three hours of love-making tangled up at the foot of the bed. He stepped over to the sink next to the hot plate and rinsed his mouth out and splashed his face with a double handful of cold water.
‘Rraugh!’ he snorted as the water shocked his circled, reddened eyes. He felt around the wall for the wrinkled towel and rubbed his face roughly when he ripped it from the rack.
‘Fuck!’ he cursed out loud. Then he sat down to eat.
