The Nigger Factory. Gil Scott-Heron

that pays for my schooling. The point of this conversation is to find whether or not you’d like to run.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You care, don’choo?’

      ‘Yeah. I do, but…’

      ‘But what?’

      ‘But I’m a transfer student. This is just my second semester here. I don’t think I know enough about the place to…’

      ‘You mean,’ Lawman cut in, ‘that until I mentioned it you hadn’t had one thought about the kinda things that might be happ’ning if you had anything to do with it?’

      ‘I suppose I had some thoughts …’

      ‘What did you decide you would do?’

      ‘It didn’t matter since I wasn’t the president,’ Earl said.

      ‘Give it some thought,’ Lawman suggested. ‘You’ve got a good political mind. Anybody who can hold his own with old man Mills has to have a good political mind.’

      ‘What about the two guys I’ve seen listed as candidates already?’

      ‘Worthless,’ Lawman spat out. ‘Hall is a “egghead” dude from Boston or somewhere. He spends about thirty hours a day in the library reading Emily Dickinson and shit like that. He’s a brown-nosed jackass as far as I’m concerned. I go to the SGA meetings sometimes and see him rapping. He’s a junior class senator. Calls himself filibusterin’ when he gets up with a little Robert’s rule book on parliamentary procedure and starts hangin’ everything up with points of order … thass what democracy has done for niggers. They lay in that idealistic crap all day and smell like shit all night.’

      ‘What about Baker, the football player? He’s runnin’.’

      ‘Yeah. So what? He’s a maniac as far as I’m concerned, although he’ll prob’bly win unless you or someone like you goes against him. I never heard a sound political thought come from his direction. Him and King go through political issues like they’re runnin’ an off-tackle play. Everything that they don’t like is wrong. I can’t…’

      ‘I understand,’ Earl said thoughtfully.

      ‘Good!’ Lawman said as he got up. ‘You give it some thought, brother, and I’ll be talkin’ to you.’

      That was the beginning. Earl and Lawman talked about it again the next day. Earl admitted that he had often thought about things that would be done differently if he were president. Somehow it had never gone any further than that. Together, the two men constructed a platform for Earl to run on. Odds, Earl’s best friend, was drafted as a campaign manager. They were on their way.

      The memory of all the things he had been through with Odds and Lawman brought still another question to the surface. Why hadn’t either one of them called to say anything about the meeting with MJUMBE and the students?

      Earl came out of his bedroom and locked the door behind him. He checked his pocket for the keys he needed. Door key and car keys were there. It was then that his light sweater and slacks almost collided with Zeke’s khakis and T-shirt.

      ‘You got troubles?’ Zeke asked.

      ‘No,’ Earl lied. ‘Why?’

      ‘You in such a durn hurry yo’ leavin’ shavin’ cream stuck behin’ yo’ ear,’ Zeke pointed out.

      Earl wiped at the spot and Zeke nodded.

      ‘Dumplin’s t’night?’ Earl asked mischievously.

      ‘Naw, but we’da had’um if I’da wanned ’um.’

      ‘Yeah. You an’ Miz G. runnin’ a game on me an’ Ol’ Hunt.’

      ‘Shit!’ Zeke waved. ‘Mosatime you ain’ here an’ Hunt could be eatin’ cobras an’ drinkin’ elephant piss fo’ all he know. May as well have chicken an’ dumplin’s since I lak ’um.’

      ‘Naw,’ Earl laughed. ‘That ain’ it. Tell me, man, whuss happ’nin’ wit’yo’ kitchen thing?’

      Zeke played the game. He looked both ways down the narrow hall and then lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone. ‘I shouldn’ be tellin’,’ he admitted, ‘but since you an’ me s’pose to be boys … I, uh, sneaks down to the galley wit’ Miz G. every other day o’ so an’ we gits high on Barracuda wine. Then I starts talkin’ ’bout hi’ I been all over the worl’ an’ still ain’ dug nothin that tastes as good t’me as her chicken an’ dumplin’s. Jus’ lak that they out there on the table. Same as when you talk ’bout banana puddin’.’

      ‘Without the Barracuda wine.’

      ‘Wit’out that.’

      Earl laughed aloud. Zeke maintained a straight face somehow, but the thought of Mrs Gilliam drinking anything stronger than iced tea was too much for him. Zeke was notorious for drinking anything that could be classified as liquid and Earl had often met the handyman at O’Jay’s, a local bar, but Mrs Gilliam? A pillar of Mt Moriah? Sacri-lege!

      ‘We love dem grapes!’ Zeke said as Earl scurried down the stairs.

      ‘Right!’

      Zeke was a good man as far as Earl was concerned. The older man had never had a family or a real home until Mrs Gilliam had started renting rooms. There was nothing that could be described as his real profession either. He mowed lawns or shoveled snow or worked on cars at Ike’s garage and come the first of every month he always had his rent money and he rarely missed a night at O’Jay’s. At forty-five he was a slightly built, balding man with a coffee complexion and a contagious sense of humor.

      Mrs Gilliam was stirring the evening stew when Earl rushed through the kitchen with a quick ‘Good evening.’ He was halfway to the back door when she stopped him.

      ‘Where might you think you goin’ this evenin’ befo’ you eat yo’ dinner?’ she asked indignantly.

      ‘I got a meetin’ to go to,’ he said. ‘It jus’ came up.’

      Mrs Gilliam looked at him fondly for a second. With purpose she clamped the lid down on the stew pot and wiped her hands on the red trim apron. She took Earl by the arm and led him to the kitchen table where she sat him down.

      ‘Let me tell you something,’ she began. ‘I’ve been in Sutton a long time. A long time to realize certain things. When I got here Sutton University was sittin’ right where it is today. My husban’ went to Sutton fo’ a year at night … why you runnin’ yo’sef into a fit fo’ them? They ain’ never been organized. Why you think you got to do so much to organize ’um? Why you got to be there every blessed minnit? No, I take that back. You ain’ over there half as much as my daughter was. Laurie was there all day an’ wuzn’ no studen’ … how she got away wit’out havin’ one a them men’s babies is still beyon’ me. Go on, chile, do what you think you got to do.’

      Earl nodded constantly during her monologue as though he understood all of the things that she was trying to say. But as he reached the porch he was more sure than ever that he didn’t understand her and he wanted to go back and tell her to talk, say everything that was on her mind.

      ‘Earl,’ she called, ‘I don’ wanna hear you ramblin’ ’roun’ in my kitchen at no thousan’ o’clock like las’ night. I know you gon’ be wantin’ some a this somethin’ t’eat, but you can’ have it so if you don’ git it na you won’ have it.’

      ‘Yes ma’am, I hear you,’ he said.

      Zeke heard Earl leaving as he came down to the kitchen. Mrs Gilliam still sat resting her elbows on the kitchen table as though she was tired. It was always a strain for her to deal with her youngest tenant. He never seemed to think twice before agreeing to skip a meal to attend something on campus. She personally didn’t