Read Online Three Days Before the Shooting ... by Ralph Ellison - Free Book Online

Those niggers had something on that fellow. Most likely they’re all under Communist discipline.”
    “Look, my friend,” the Congressman said, “you’re getting hysterical.”
    “That’s right,” I said. “I can’t imagine anyone taking an order like that from anyone, let alone a Negro.”
    “But these are revolutionary times,” the hysterical man said. “There’re a lot of misguided people around who’ll take orders from anyone to do anything.”
    “You’ve got something there,” someone else said.
    “You’re damn right I have! They’re fanatics! Terrorists! They’ll do whatever they’re told! And you have to remember that we’re dealing here with a background of slavery. For years back those people have been trained to take orders, and now the Communists have moved in. Didn’t they run one for vice president? That’s why I say that old bastard was probably under orders to have that fellow shoot Senator Sunraider and then kill himself.”
    “Of course this is nonsense,” someone said.
    “I agree,” the Congressman said, “and you should remember that the government isn’t exactly uninformed as to the activities of the Communists and other such subversive groups. Don’t let yourself be carried away, at least not before we have more information.”
    “I trust my own information,” the hysterical man said.
    “Was that what the old man yelled?” the Congressman asked.
    “What?”
    “Dive in the name of the Party?”
    “Sir, this is no kidding matter. You should study the history of terrorism, of brainwashing, the uprising in Santo Domingo, the Nat Turner rebellion!”
    “But did anyone hear the old Negro’s words?”
    “Hear? Who had to hear it?” the hysterical man said. “We all saw that nigger grapple with the guard, we saw him yell something to the gunman, and we saw the gunman leap. He was like somebody hopped up or hypnotized, wasn’t he? What more do we have to know?”
    “There’s a hell of a lot we have to know,” another man said.
    “Yes, we’re leaping to conclusions. We don’t know the gunman’s race, nationality, name, or age—”
    “Listen,” the hysterical man said, “if that nigger wasn’t giving orders, why didn’t the gunman shoot him?”
    “Maybe he was out of bullets.”
    “I doubt if that’s the explanation,” someone said. “A terrorist on a mission like that would carry extra clips. Even an extra weapon.”
    “That’s possible,” the Congressman said, turning again to the hysterical man, “but now I’ll ask you this: Why, instead of throwing himself over the railing, didn’t he try to escape through the crowd?”
    “Because that big nigger was in the way, that’s why! If he hadn’t jumped, that nigger would have blown his head off and thrown him over. Didn’t you see how the burly bastard handled that guard?”
    “But the old man was empty-handed.”
    “I tell you that fellow would have been shot!” the hysterical man said.
    “By whom, the guard?”
    “Hell, no, by that big nigger! Or by one of those nigger women. I’ll bet you every one of them was armed.”
    “But I heard the old man yell, ‘Don’t shoot that boy,’ “a man who had been silent said.
    “I’ll be damn if I heard him say anything like that.”
    “Well, I did, and that’s when he overpowered the guard.”
    “Did anyone actually see whether the Negro was armed or not?”
    “All I know is that when he started that damned singing and praying he threw out his arms and his hands were empty.”
    “Look,” the hysterical man said, “that nigger probably passed his own gun to one of those other niggers.”
    “That’s raw speculation,” the Congressman said. “We don’t know anything for sure. I wish they’d find that bomb and let us out of here so that we can gather the facts.”
    “Hey, McIntyre!” a voice called, and I snapped around to see McGowan, his face red with excitement, pushing his beefy way toward me.
    “It’s unbelievable,” he said.