Black Like Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

discuss “our situation.” The illusion of my “Negroness” took over so completely that I fell into the same pattern of talking and thinking. It was my first intimate glimpse. We were Negroes and our concern was the white man and how to get along with him; how to hold our own and raise ourselves in his esteem without for one moment letting him think he had any God-given rights that we did not also have.
    A fine-looking middle-aged Negro woman, dressed in a white uniform, stepped out into the sidewalk a few doors away and stared at me.
    Sterling nudged my ribs. “You got that widow woman interested,” he laughed. “You just watch. She’ll find some reason to come down here before long.”
    I asked him who she was.
    She works there in the bar - nice lady, too. She ain’t going to rest till she finds out who you are.”
    I began to get thirsty and asked Sterling where I could find a drink.
    “You’ve got to plan ahead now,” he said. “You can’t do like you used to when you were a white man. You can’t just walk in anyplace and ask for a drink or use the rest room. There’s a Negro café over in the French Market about two blocks up. They got a fountain in there where you can drink. The nearest toilet’s the one you just came from. But here - I got water.”
    He reached behind the shine stand and brought out a gallon lard can with wires looped through holes in each side to make a handle. A flake of ash floated on the water’s surface. I up-ended the bucket and drank.
    “Well, well, we’re going to have company,” Sterling said. “That nice widow woman’s coming this way.”
    I glanced down the street. Past the metal upright shoe racks I saw her walk gracefully toward us. She was carefully looking across the street.
    She ignored me and asked Sterling if he had any peanuts to sell.
    “No, dear heart. Joe’s out looking for some now. They’re hard to find this time of year.” He spoke unctuously, as though he had no idea why she really came down; but all three of us knew he knew and that we knew he knew. But the game had to be played.
    Then she turned and saw me, apparently for the first time. She looked startled, then delighted. “Why how do you do?” she said with a magnificent smile that illuminated not only her face but the entire quarter.
    I bowed and returned the smile, spontaneously, because the radiance of her expression took me by surprise. “Why, just fine. How do you do?”
    “Fine,” she bowed. “Nice to see you around.”
    I bowed again, confused. “I thank you, daughter.”
    After an awkward, grin-filled pause, she turned to walk away. “Well, I’ll be seeing you,” she sang out over her shoulder.
    I looked dumbly at Sterling. He lifted his cap and scratched into the gray hairs of his head, his eyes wise and wide with amusement.
    “Did you get that, eh?” he asked. “She liked you. You’re in a fix now.” He burst out laughing. “You hadn’t counted on something like
that
, eh?”
    “I sure hadn’t,” I said.
    “She ain’t no slut,” he said. “She’s a widow looking for a mate, and you’re well dressed. She ain’t going to pass up a chance like that.”
    “Oh Lord - this complicates things,” I groaned. “Tell her I’m already married, will you?”
    “Well, now, I don’t know,” he smiled. “That might just spoil the fun. I think I’ll just tell her you’re a widow man, a preacher visiting here in New Orleans. I feel like she’s the kind that would love to be a preacher’s wife.”
    “Look - you know I can’t fiddle around with things like that. It’ll be no fun for her when this project gets known and she finds out I’m a white man.”
    Customers came - whites, Negroes and Latin Americans. Well-dressed tourists mingled with the derelicts of the quarter. When we shined their shoes we talked. The whites, especially the tourists, had no reticence before us, and no shame since we were Negroes. Some wanted to know where they could find girls, wanted