Invisible man

            But not yams, I had no problem concerning them and I would eat them whenever and wherever I took the notion. Continue on the yam level and life would be sweet -- though somewhat yellowish. Yet the freedom to eat yams on the street was far less than I had expected upon coming to the city. An unpleasant taste bloomed in my mouth now as I bit the end of the yam and threw it into the street; it had been frost-bitten.

            The wind drove me into a side street where a group of boys had set a packing box afire. The gray smoke hung low and seemed to thicken as I walked with my head down and eyes closed, trying to avoid the fumes. My lungs began to pain; then emerging, wiping my eyes and coughing, I almost stumbled over it: It was piled in a jumble along the walk and over the curb into the street, like a lot of junk waiting to be hauled away. Then I saw the sullen-faced crowd, looking at a building where two white men were toting out a chair in which an old woman sat; who, as I watched, struck at them feebly with her fists. A motherly-looking old woman with her head tied in a handkerchief, wearing a man's shoes and a man's heavy blue sweater. It was startling: The crowd watching silently, the two white men lugging the chair and trying to dodge the blows and the old woman's face streaming with angry tears as she thrashed at them with her fists. I couldn't believe it. Something, a sense of foreboding, filled me, a quick sense of uncleanliness.

            "Leave us alone," she cried, "leave us alone!" as the men pulled their heads out of range and sat her down abruptly at the curb, hurrying back into the building.

            What on earth, I thought, looking about me. What on earth? The old woman sobbed, pointing to the stuff piled along the curb. "Just look what they doing to us. Just look," looking straight at me. And I realized that what I'd taken for junk was actually worn household furnishings.

            "Just look at what they doing," she said, her teary eyes upon my face.

            I looked away embarrassed, staring into the rapidly growing crowd. Faces were peering sullenly from the windows above. And now as the two men reappeared at the top of the steps carrying a battered chest of drawers, I saw a third man come out and stand behind them, pulling at his ear as he looked out over the crowd.

            "Shake it up, you fellows," he said, "shake it up. We don't have all day."

            Then the men came down with the chest and I saw the crowd give way sullenly, the men trudging through, grunting and putting the chest at the curb, then returning into the building without a glance to left or right.

            "Look at that," a slender man near me said. "We ought to beat the hell out of those paddies!"

            I looked silently into his face, taut and ashy in the cold, his eyes trained upon the men going up the steps.

            "Sho, we ought to stop 'em," another man said, "but ain't that much nerve in the whole bunch."

            "There's plenty nerve," the slender man said. "All they need is someone to set it off. All they need is a leader. You mean you don't have the nerve."

            "Who me?" the man said. "Who me?"

            "Yes, you."

            "Just look," the old woman said, "just look," her face still turned toward mine. I turned away, edging closer to the two men.

            "Who are those men?" I said, edging closer.

            "Marshals or something. I don't give a damn who they is."

            "Marshals, hell," another man said. "Those guys doing all the toting ain't nothing but trusties. Soon as they get through they'll lock 'em up again."

            "I don't care who they are, they got no business putting these old folks out on the sidewalk."

            "You mean they're putting them out of their apartment?" I said. "They can do that up here?"

            "Man, where you from?" he said, swinging toward me.

            "What does it look like they puttin' them out of, a Pullman car? They being evicted!"

            I was embarrassed; others were turning to stare. I had never seen an eviction. Someone snickered.

            "Where did he come from?"

            A flash of heat went over me and J turned. "Look, friends," I said, hearing a hot edge coming into my voice. "I asked a civil question. If you don't care to answer, don't, but don't try to make me look ridiculous."

            "Ridiculous? Hell, all scobos is ridiculous. Who the hell is you?"

            "Never mind, I am who I am. Just don't beat up your gums at me," I said, throwing him a newly acquired phrase.

            Just then one of the men came down the steps with an armful of articles, and I saw the old woman reach up, yelling, "Take your hands off my Bible!" And the crowd surged forward.

            The white man's hot eyes swept the crowd. "Where, lady?" he said. "I don't see any Bible."

            And I saw her snatch the Book from his arms, clutching it fiercely and sending forth a shriek. "They can come in your home and do what they want to you," she said. "Just come stomping in and jerk your life up by the roots! But this here's the last straw. They ain't going to bother with my Bible!"