Invisible man

            "But you said . . ." I stood up, completely confused. Was he having fun with me? "Couldn't you let me talk to him for just five minutes?" I pleaded. "I'm sure I can convince him that I'm worthy of a job. And if there's someone who has tampered with my letter, I'll prove my identity . . . Dr. Bledsoe would --"

            "Identity! My God! Who has any identity any more anyway? It isn't so perfectly simple. Look," he said with an anguished gesture. "Will you trust me?"

            "Why, yes, sir, I trust you."

            He leaned forward. "Look," he said, his face working violently, "I was trying to tell you that I know many things about you -- not you personally, but fellows like you. Not much, either, but still more than the average. With us it's still Jim and Huck Finn. A number of my friends are jazz musicians, and I've been around. I know the conditions under which you live -- Why go back, fellow? There is so much you could do here where there is more freedom. You won't find what you're looking for when you return anyway; because so much is involved that you can't possibly know. Please don't misunderstand me; I don't say all this to impress you. Or to give myself some kind of sadistic catharsis. Truly, I don't. But I do know this world you're trying to contact -- all its virtues and all its unspeakables -- Ha, yes, unspeakables. I'm afraid my father considers me one of the unspeakables . . . I'm Huckleberry, you see . . ."

            He laughed drily as I tried to make sense of his ramblings. Huckleberry? Why did he keep talking about that kid's story? I was puzzled and annoyed that he could talk to me this way because he stood between me and a job, the campus . . .

            "But I only want a job, sir," I said. "I only want to make enough money to return to my studies."

            "Of course, but surely you suspect there is more to it than that. Aren't you curious about what lies behind the face of things?"

            "Yes, sir, but I'm mainly interested in a job."

            "Of course," he said, "but life isn't that simple . . ."

            "But I'm not bothered about all the other things, whatever they are, sir. They're not for me to interfere with and I'll be satisfied to go back to college and remain there as long as they'll allow me to."

            "But I want to help you do what is best," he said. "What's best, mind you. Do you wish to do what's best for yourself?"

            "Why, yes, sir. I suppose I do . . ."

            "Then forget about returning to the college. Go somewhere else . . ."

            "You mean leave?"

            "Yes, forget it . . ."

            "But you said that you would help me!"

            "I did and I am --"

            "But what about seeing Mr. Emerson?"

            "Oh, God! Don't you see that it's best that you do not see him?"

            Suddenly I could not breathe. Then I was standing, gripping my brief case. "What have you got against me?" I blurted. "What did I ever do to you? You never intended to let me see him. Even though I presented my letter of introduction. Why? Why? I'd never endanger your job --"

            "No, no, no! Of course not," he cried, getting to his feet. "You've misunderstood me. You mustn't do that! God, there's too much misunderstanding. Please don't think I'm trying to prevent you from seeing my -- from seeing Mr. Emerson out of prejudice . . ."

            "Yes, sir, I do," I said angrily. "I was sent here by a friend of his. You read the letter, but still you refuse to let me see him, and now you're trying to get me to leave college. What kind of man are you, anyway? What have you got against me? You, a northern white man!"

            He looked pained. "I've done it badly," he said, "but you must believe that I am trying to advise you what is best for you." He snatched off his glasses.

            "But I know what's best for me," I said. "Or at least Dr. Bledsoe does, and if I can't see Mr. Emerson today, just tell me when I can and I'll be here . . ."

            He bit his lips and shut his eyes, shaking his head from side to side as though fighting back a scream. "I'm sorry, really sorry that I started all of this," he said, suddenly calm. "It was foolish of me to try to advise you, but please, you mustn't believe that I'm against you . . . or your race. I'm your friend. Some of the finest people I know are Neg -- Well, you see, Mr. Emerson is my father."

            "Your father!"

            "My father, yes, though I would have preferred it otherwise. But he is, and I could arrange for you to see him. But to be utterly frank, I'm incapable of such cynicism. It would do you no good."

            "But I'd like to take my chances, Mr. Emerson, sir . . . This is very important to me. My whole career depends upon it."

            "But you have no chance," he said.

            "But Dr. Bledsoe sent me here," I said, growing more excited. "I must have a chance . . ."

            "Dr. Bledsoe," he said with distaste. "He's like my . . . he ought to be horsewhipped! Here," he said, sweeping up the letter and thrusting it crackling toward me. I took it, looking into his eyes that burned back at me.

            "Go on, read it," he cried excitedly. "Go on!"

            "But I wasn't asking for this," I said.

            "Read it!"

My dear Mr. Emerson: