Chapter 9 Chapter nine

No one knew where Uncle Bud slept.He was sometimes found on the streets of Harlem, pushing his cart, searching the dark for anything of value.He has a special ability to recognize valuable things.In Harlem, no one throws away valuables, but he always finds something of value.At dawn, people will find him in the dilapidated waste recycling station, selling the rags, paper, glass, iron sheets, etc. he picked up.The bony white guy with the bulbous eyes would pay him. In fact, Uncle Budd slept in his little car during the summer.He would push the car into some dirty street, or some dark corner.In these places, no one would make a fuss about an old scavenger sleeping in his car.Uncle Bud curled up, lying on the rags, covered with the things he picked up, sleeping soundly, not at all affected by the noise outside, even death would not wake him up.Nothing can bother him.

That night, Uncle Budde's cart was full of cotton, and he pushed it toward the street below 125th Street, which is near the Tri-Arbor Bridge and away from Mr. Goodman's junkyard. The recycle bin is very close. A police car stopped beside Uncle Bud, and there were two white policemen in the car. "What did you pick up, old guy?" the policeman in the car asked. Uncle Bud stopped, scratched his head and said, "Sir, I picked up some Yilayao, springs, bottles, rags, and..." "Did you find the money," the white policeman asked jokingly, "you didn't find $87,000, did you?"

"No, I hope to pick it up." Uncle Bud shook his head innocently and said. "If you had $87,000, what would you do with it?" the white policeman asked with a smile. Uncle Bud scratched his head again and said, "I'm going to buy myself a new car and go back to Africa." Then he said under his breath, "There ain't no fucking white people like you making fun of me." Of course, the white police didn't hear the latter sentence, only heard the first sentence, they laughed and drove away in the police car. Uncle Bud found a place next to an abandoned car by the river, lay down and fell asleep.When he woke up, the sun was already high.Barry Water Field was on his way to meet Colonel Robert L. Kernhaven when Lord Budd headed for the scrap yard by the river south of the bridge.

There is a fence around the outside of this scrap recycling station, and there are piles of scrap iron, decaying wooden sheds, and other rubbish everywhere.Uncle Bud stopped in front of a small side door next to an office building. Beside this office building, there was a single-storey wooden cabin that extended out to the street.A big black mangy dog, the size of a great dane, came silently to the door and stared at him with yellow eyes. "What a mangy dog!..." Uncle Bud poked his head through the iron gate and said.The dog didn't even blink an eye. A ragged, unshaven white man, coming out of the office building, took the dog and put him on a chain.Then he turned around and asked, "Uncle Bud, what did you find?"

Uncle Bud looked at the white man and said, "A bale of cotton, Mr. Goodman." Mr. Goodman started. "Hey, a bale of cotton?" "Yes!..." Uncle Bud nodded proudly, opened the cotton bag and said, "It's real Mississippi cotton." Mr. Goodman opened the door and came to look.The cotton was packed in a burlap bag, and he couldn't see anything clearly. He pulled out a few strands from the seam of the sack, put it under his nose and smelled it, and asked, "How do you know it's Mississippi cotton?" "I know it's Mississippi cotton as soon as I see it," said Uncle Bud assuredly, "because I've picked a lot of it."

"I can't see it," said Mr. Goodman. "It can be smelled easily," said Uncle Budd, "because the cotton has a black person sweat on it." Mr. Goodman sniffed the strand of cotton again: "Is there anything special about it?" "Yes, it makes the cotton stronger." Two black workers in overalls walked over slowly. "Hey, look, Cotton! . . . " cried one of them, "My God, my God! . . . " "Are you homesick when you see things?" asked another. "Miss your mother's cunt." The first person looked at his companion and responded.

"Hey, keep your mouth clean, man, I don't wanna swear," said the second. Mr. Goodman knew about them, and it was only a joke. "Now, get the cotton on the scale," he ordered. The bale of cotton weighed four hundred and eighty-seven pounds. "Here's five dollars," said Mr. Goodman. "Five dollars! . . . " cried Uncle Bud angrily. "Why, a pound of cotton is worth thirty-nine cents." "Do you think this was still in the First World War," said Mr. Goodman sternly. "Cotton isn't worth much now." The two workers exchanged glances silently.

"That's more than that," said Uncle Budd. "Where am I going to sell a bale of cotton?" Mr. Goodman said. "Who wants a bale of unprocessed cotton? . . . Even the bullets are made of metal these days. Besides, the cotton looks, and The ones in the grocery store are different." Uncle Bud stopped talking. "Well, ten dollars," said Mr. Goodman. "Fifty dollars," muttered Uncle Budd. "My God, he wants fifty dollars more! . . . " cried Mr. Goodman to two of his workmen. "More than I paid for the brass." The two workers kept their hands in their pockets, their faces were stern, and they didn't say a word.Uncle Bud also stubbornly remained silent.All three blacks were silent.

Mr. Goodman felt that he was in a difficult situation, that he was disturbed inside, as if he had taken advantage of Uncle Budd. "For your sake, fifteen dollars." "Fifty dollars," muttered Uncle Budd. Mr. Goodman gestured that there was no room for negotiation.All three Negroes looked at him accusingly. "You think I'm Abraham Lincoln, but I'm Abraham Goodman!" The blacks didn't appreciate his wit. "Twenty dollars!..." Mr. Goodman said desperately, turning to face office. "Thirty dollars!..." Uncle Bud took a step back. The two black workers, shaking the bale of cotton, seemed to be asking whether to carry it in or put it back.

"Twenty-five," said Mr. Goodman angrily. "A deal," said Uncle Budd. By this time Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven had met Barry Water Field.At this time he is eating breakfast.Breakfast was delivered from a small restaurant down the street.Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven seemed to be proving to the Negroes outside that if they went South they would have breakfast, too—the Negroes were looking in through the gaps in the posters on the glass windows. Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven's breakfast was a bowl of batter with butter floating on it, four fried eggs, six sausages, six country rolls--each an inch thick, with a thick layer of Butter—and a jug of syrup.This was Colonel Kernhaven's own breakfast, but he paid for the restaurant to heat it up.In the middle of the plate stands a bottle of American whiskey.

The Negroes outside watched Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven gobble up batter, eggs, sausage, and chunks of bread.All this evoked a ray of nostalgia for them.When Colonel Kernhaven drizzled syrup over the meals, many Negroes felt a strong sense of homesickness. "I'd love to go back to the country and eat every day," said a black-faced fellow, "but I don't want to spend the night there." "Honey, watching that guy gobble it up makes my stomach growl and smoke comes out of my throat," said another black man excitedly. Belle Davies—the neat, handsome young man, recruiting agent for the Reverend Dick O'Malley—pushed a mouthful of molasses into Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven's mouth While serving batter, eggs, and sausage, Davis walked into the offices at Back to the South Movement headquarters.He stopped in front of Colonel Kernhaven's desk and stood upright, apparently on some business. "Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven, I'm Bell Davis," he said aloud, "on behalf of Reverend O'Malley and the Back to Africa Movement, and I've come to speak to you for a few words." Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven looked up at Belle Davies with his cold blue eyes, his mouth still chewing slowly and gracefully like a camel chewing the cud.It took longer to look at the man in front of him than it took to look at Barry Water Field just now.After chewing a mouthful of bread, Colonel Kerlhaven took a sip of whiskey, rinsed his mouth, cleared his throat, and said to him, "Come back in half an hour. Let me finish my breakfast first." "I'm going to tell you now," said Bell Davis firmly. Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven looked up again, and looked at Belle Davies, the blond young man who had been standing at the back, and suddenly came closer.The two young black men sitting at the table also became nervous. "Well, go ahead. What's your name?" asked Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven. "Davis." Bell Davis said sarcastically, "Use a short and pleasant sentence to express what I mean—you go back to me!..." The blond-haired, blue-eyed young man rushed forward suddenly, and Bell Davis opened his stance, ready to fight back, but Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven waved his hand to stop the young man. "That's all, my boy?" asked Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven calmly. "That's all. I'm not your child," Bell Davis said. "You're done, then," said Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven calmly, and resumed his meal gracefully. As Bell Davis walked out, the blacks outside stepped aside to let him pass.They did not know what he had said to Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven, but they knew that Bell Davis was not with them.Because they saw him standing straight in front of the white man, gnashing his teeth as he spoke.They look up to Bell Davis. Half an hour later, the parade arrived. They marched on Fifth Avenue, holding up the "Back to Africa Movement" flag and holding placards that read: White people, go!roll!roll!Negroes, stay!Keep!Keep!The parade of twenty-five people was followed by two or three hundred people watching.The parade surrounded the offices of the Headquarters of the Back to the South Movement, singing as they went: "Go away, white people, go away before you go! ... Go away, white people, go away before you go..." Bell Davis stood On the side of the road, between two older black men. Negroes flocked to this place from all directions, filling the entire street.The car couldn't move forward, and the atmosphere became more and more tense, and it seemed that something was going to happen.A young black man rushed to the front, and just as he was about to throw a brick at the big glass window, a supporter of the "Back to Africa Movement" stepped forward to stop him in time: "Don't do that, kid, Don't do it, let's settle it peacefully." "How to solve it peacefully?" The young black man asked angrily.The man couldn't answer. Suddenly, the scream of the police siren sounded in the distance, at first it sounded like the faint cry of a banshee heralding death.As the police car got closer, the sound became louder and louder, like the undead escaping from hell. The first police car cuts through the crowd and pulls to a side street screeching.Two uniformed white police officers drew their guns, banged on the sidewalk, and yelled, "Back off the street, get off the street! . . . " Then another police car cut through the crowd, screeching to a halt. down.There was a third, a fourth, and a fifth.The white cops got out of their cars and brandished guns like the trained white actors in that terrible ballet of "If You're Black, Go Back." The atmosphere in the crowd suddenly became tense.A white policeman pushed a black man. The black man was about to fight back, but was quickly pulled away by other policemen. A woman fell and was trampled underfoot. "Help, murder!..." the black-ass woman screamed.The crowd moved towards her, and the police followed. "Damn it, fuck it, come on! . . . " a young black man brandished his switchblade and shouted excitedly. Then the branch chief arrived in a publicity van. "All policemen get back in their cars," the branch chief ordered loudly.His voice came out high and clear through the speakers, "Get back in the car and order it!  …" The police returned to their cars one after another, and the atmosphere eased.Someone cheered, and the crowd slowly dispersed.The long queue of cars lined up at more than ten intersections began to move forward, and the people in the cars looked curiously at the crowds of black people outside. The Chief went over and spoke to Bell Davis and the two other men who were with him. "New York law says no more than nine people in a parade! . . . " he said, "would you like to reduce the number to nine?" Bell Davis looked at the two older men, who nodded.So, he said to the director: "Okay." Then he began to reduce the number of people. The Chief of Police went into the Back to the South headquarters office, walked up to Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven, and said he wanted to see his papers.Colonel Kernhaven's papers were legitimate, and he had a labor permit issued by the New York government.The New York government allowed him to act as an agent for the Return to the South Movement, which was registered in Birmingham, Alabama. The chief went back to the street and arranged ten policemen to maintain order in front of the office, and two police cars were responsible for evacuating the crowd on the street.Then he shook hands with Bell Davis and took the publicity van back to the police station. The crowd gradually dispersed. "I knew that as soon as Pastor Dick O'Malley got the news, he would definitely take action." A black-ass nun in the church said excitedly. Her companion looked confused: "I want to know," she said, "are we losing or winning?" The blond young man in the office asked Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven, "Have we succeeded?" Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven lit another cigar and exhaled a smoke ring. "It's just good publicity, boy," replied Colonel Kerhaven triumphantly. It was already afternoon, and the two black clerks had already slipped out the back door to eat. In the late afternoon, one of Mr. Goodman's workers stood among the crowd watching the Back to Africa march, admiring the posters in the windows of the Back to the South headquarters office.He's showered, shaved, dressed, and ready for the big weekend night.Now he's just killing the time before dating. Suddenly, his eyes fell on the small advertisement in the corner, which read: Buy a bale of cotton.He was startled, and at this moment, a back-to-Africa supporter grabbed his arm. "Don't go in, my friend. Don't trust those rascals! . . . " "Man, I'm not trying to go back to the South, I've never been to the South, I just want to talk to that guy." "About what?" "I just want to ask that person, are their chicken legs really that big?" He pointed to the advertisement picture on the window. The man laughed: "Go and ask, friend, and tell me his answer when you come back." The workman went in and walked up to Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven's desk, took off his hat and said, "Colonel, I'm exactly the man you're looking for. My name is Josh." Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven coldly looked Josh up and down as usual, and leaned back against the chair, seemingly unmoved by it. The blond young man stood beside him. "So, Josh, what can you do for me?" asked Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven, smiling, showing his white teeth. "I can find you a bale of cotton," Josh replied. The scene froze dramatically.Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven remained motionless with the cigar he was about to put into his mouth; the young man, who was about to turn to examine the street, froze.However, the stalemate lasted only for a moment.The colonel remained calm, put the cigar between his lips gracefully, and exhaled a smoke ring.The blond young man turned back, leaned forward slightly, and stared at Josh without saying a word. "You want a bale of cotton, don't you?" Josh asked. "Where can you get a bale of cotton, my boy?" Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven seemed to ask casually. "The scrap yard where I work." The blond young man sighed in disappointment. "It was a junk picker who sold it to us this morning." Josh continued, hoping that they could make a price. The blond young man tensed up again. But Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven asked calmly, "He didn't steal it? We don't want to buy anything stolen." "I'm sure Uncle Bud didn't steal it," Josh said, "he must have picked it up somewhere." "Find a bale of cotton?" Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven asked suspiciously. "How interesting! . . . " "Yes!..." Josh nodded in defense, "He wanders around the streets every night, picking up things that others don't want. Where can he steal a bale of cotton?" "He sold it to you this morning?" "No, it was sold to Mr. Goodman. He has a scrap yard and I just work there, but I can get you this bale of cotton." "when?" "There is no one there now. Every Saturday afternoon, Mr. Goodman goes home early. If you really want it, I can get it for you tonight." "How?" asked Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven sternly. "I have a key, and I can sell it to you myself without us having to trouble Mr. Goodman." "Okay!..." Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven nodded and blew out another smoke ring. "We'll be waiting for you in my car at the subway station on 125th Street at ten o'clock tonight. Can you make it there?" "Of course I can!..." Josh nodded, then hesitated, "However, how much will you pay me?" "Make an offer," said Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven. "One hundred dollars." After Josh finished speaking, he held his breath and waited for his answer. "Deal," Colonel Robert L. Kerhaven agreed bluntly.