Invisible man: читать книгу онлайн полностью и бесплатно

"Well, I guess I don't think he was as great as the Founder."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Well, in the first place, the Founder came before him and did practically everything Booker T. Washington did and a lot more. And more people believed in him. You hear a lot of arguments about Booker T. Washington, but few would argue about the Founder ..."

"No, but perhaps that is because the Founder lies outside history, while Washington is still a living force. However, the new Washington shall work for the poor ..."

I looked into my crystal glass of bourbon. It was unbelievable, yet strangely exciting and I had the sense of being present at the creation of important events, as though a curtain had been parted and I was being allowed to glimpse how the country operated. And yet none of these men was well known, or at least I'd never seen their faces in the newspapers.

"During these times of indecision when all the old answers are proven false, the people look back to the dead to give them a clue," he went on. "They call first upon one and then upon another of those who have acted in the past."

"If you please, Brother," the man with the pipe interrupted, "I think you should speak more concretely."

"Please don't interrupt," Brother Jack said icily.

"I wish only to point out that a scientific terminology exists," the man said, emphasizing his words with his pipe. "After all, we call ourselves scientists here. Let us speak as scientists."

"In due time," Brother Jack said. "In due time ... You see, Brother," he said, turning to me, "the trouble is that there is little the dead can do; otherwise they wouldn't be the dead. No! But on the other hand, it would be a great mistake to assume that the dead are absolutely powerless. They are powerless only to give the full answer to the new questions posed for the living by history. But they try! Whenever they hear the imperious cries of the people in a crisis, the dead respond. Right now in this country, with its many national groups, all the old heroes are being called back to life -- Jefferson, Jackson, Pulaski, Garibaldi, Booker T. Washington, Sun Yat-sen, Danny O'Connell, Abraham Lincoln and countless others are being asked to step once again upon the stage of history. I can't say too emphatically that we stand at a terminal point in history, at a moment of supreme world crisis. Destruction lies ahead unless things are changed. And things must be changed. And changed by the people. Because, Brother, the enemies of man are dispossessing the world! Do you understand?"

"I'm beginning to," I said, greatly impressed.

"There are other terms, other more accurate ways of saying all this, but we haven't time for that right now. We speak now in terms that are easy to understand. As you spoke to the crowd this morning."

"I see," I said, feeling uncomfortable under his stare.

"So it isn't a matter of whether you wish to be the new Booker T. Washington, my friend. Booker Washington was resurrected today at a certain eviction in Harlem. He came out from the anonymity of the crowd and spoke to the people. So you see, I don't joke with you. Or play with words either. There is a scientific explanation for this phenomenon -- as our learned brother has graciously reminded me -- you'll learn it in time, but whatever you call it the reality of the world crisis is a fact. We are all realists here, and materialists. It is a question of who shall determine the direction of events. That is why we've brought you into this room. This morning you answered the people's appeal and we want you to be the true interpreter of the people. You shall be the new Booker T. Washington, but even greater than he."

There was silence. I could hear the wet cracking of the pipe.

"Perhaps we should allow the Brother to express himself as to how he feels about all this," the man with the pipe said.

"Well, Brother?" Brother Jack said.

I looked into their waiting faces.

"It's all so new to me that I don't know exactly what I do think," I said. "Do you really think you have the right man?"

"You mustn't let that worry you," Brother Jack said. "You will rise to the task; it is only necessary that you work hard and follow instructions."

They stood up now. I looked at them, fighting a sense of unreality. They stared at me as the fellows had done when I was being initiated into my college fraternity. Only this was real and now was the time for me to decide or to say I thought they were crazy and go back to Mary's. But what is there to lose? I thought. At least they've invited me, one of us, in at the beginning of something big; and besides, if I refused to join them, where would I goto a job as porter at the railroad station? At least here was a chance to speak.

"When shall I start?" I said.

"Tomorrow, we must waste no time. By the way, where are you living?"

"I rent a room from a woman in Harlem," I said.

"A housewife?"

"She's a widow," I said. "She rents rooms."

"What is her educational background?"

"She's had very little."

"More or less like the old couple that was evicted?"

"Somewhat, but better able to take care of herself. She's tough," I said with a laugh.