Entrapment and Other Writings Read Online Free PDF

half-irritated as increasingly he became aware that his attempt at self-deception was failing rapidly. In a last frantic grab at self-conviction he said aloud: “Forgive them, Lord,they know not what they doeth.” This ancient flummery, so vapid, childish, irrelevant and unreal, yet gave him the peace he sought. What was past was past—he had forgiven. He could go on now as though nothing had happened, be as happy as he had been before the murders. He had forgiven.
    One night he had dreamed of the dead child—dreamed that he stood beside her in front of the altar of the First Colored Baptist church. She was dressed in white, and was holding a tiny baby in her arms. She had smiled up at him with gentle eyes, and he had lowered his head to kiss her; but as he did so she raised her lips to his, and the fierce dark blood had come bubbling over them. It had splashed over the white of her dress, had spattered the front of his coat, and flowed in an even faster and greater flood until he could see nothing but blood about him, until he felt himself sinking in a sea of blood. Then everything had grown dark, and terrible, and strange, and he had awakened in a cold sweat, sitting upright on his cot.
    Slouched now on the deserted courthouse steps, his head bowed heavily in his hands as though with both its own great weight and the weight of its heavy trouble, he resolved that, should he ever dream that dream again, he would not try to kiss her. It had been his attempt to kiss her, he felt, that had brought the blood to her lips. Next time, should it happen again, he would say, very loudly and quickly: “Forgive them, Honey, they know not what they doeth.” Saying it like that, he felt, would somehow ward off that terrible dark flood.
    The chimes above his head began to toll. He did not raise his head at their sound, but sat counting the slow strokes to himself until twelve had chimed. Then he looked up.
    Four faces. Four hard faces. Regan, Luther, Bryan, Breck.
    He knew, with an odd certainty, that they had been standing above him since the seventh stroke of the chimes.

A LUMPEN
    (Scene: West Madison Street, Chicago)
    The rain came straight down one morning at Taylor and Halstead and pigeons flocked on a roof. I’d been cursing the clock all night at the Olive Branch Mission, and I thought to mooch a little down Taylor. I thought of a song learned in another city and I hummed that song to myself.
    On Union Street I bought bad whiskey
    On Hobby Street I bought bad beer
    Down in the stalls stand ten bad women
    All cryin’, Lord, I’m here
    But gimme somethin’ in my pocket and you can keep that Lord stuff.
    On the corner of Morgan and Harrison a man was handing out little books. I seen he didn’t give one to a girl who came past, so I thought, I should like one of them little books too. A Greek in a coat came by and the guy give him three and the Greek threw ’em all away except one. I walked past slow an’ the guy didn’t see me, so I went past again an’ he didn’t move. So I stopped dead still in front of him an’ says, “Partner, I’ll have one of them little books.” So he picked the one up off the ground an’ he give me that.
    I must be gettin’ to look kind of crummy, I thought, I must be gettin’ to look pretty bad. But I didn’t say a word. I just went off with my head in the little blue book, readin’ it hard like I had buboes and wanted to know from the book where to go. The book says, Are You the Wreck of a Man, Consultation Free. And I tried to mooch a bit down Morgan, but every other guy is a cop these days.
    I threw the book away when I come into the shelter on account they stink your clothes every night here an’ if the louser sees I am readin’ such a book he will ask have I got a hard chancre or what, that I am reading such a book.
    Then I’d have to get undressed just to show him I ain’t.
    When I got into bed I thought of a song I learned once, so I hummed that song to myself.
    My daddy he