上外版大学英语写作精选第六册(4)

    "He has written several."

    "I didn't know that."

    "What makes you want to read Mencken？"

    "Oh， I just saw his name in the newspaper，" I said.

    "It's good of you to want to read，" he said. "But you ought to read the right things."

    I said nothing. Would he want to supervise my reading？

    "Let me think，" he said. "I'll figure out something."

    I turned from him and he called me back. He stared at me quizzically.

    "Richard， don't mention his to the other white men，" he said.

    "I understand，" I said. "I won't say a word."

    A few days later he called me to him.

    "I've got a card in my wife's name，" he said. "Here's mine."

    "Thank you， sir."

    "Do you think you can manage it？"

    "I'll manage fine，" I said.

    "If they suspect you， you'll get in trouble，" he said.

    "I'll write the same kind of notes to the library that you wrote when you sent me for books，" I told him. "I'll sign your name."

    He laughed.

    "Go ahead. Let me see what you get，" he said.

    That afternoon I addressed myself to forging a note. Now， what were the name of books written by H. L. Mencken？ I did not know any of them. I finally wrote what I thought would be a foolproof note： Dear Madam： Will you please let this nigger boy —— I used the word "nigger" to make the librarian feel that I could not possibly be the author of the note —— have some books by H.L. Mecken？ I forged the white man's name.

    I entered the library as I had always done when on errands for whites， but I felt that I would somehow slip up and betray myself. I doffed my hat， stood a respectful distance from the desk， looked as unbookish as possible， and waited for the white patrons to be taken care of. When the desk was clear of people， I still waited.

    The white librarian looked at me.

    "What do you want， boy？"

    As though I did not possess the power of speech， I stepped forward and simply handed her the forged note， not parting my lips.

    "What books by Mencken does he want？" She asked.

    "I don't know， ma'am，" I said， avoiding her eyes.

    "Who gave you this card？"

    "Mr. Falk，" I said.

    "Where is he？"

    "He's at work， at M —— Optical Company，" I said. "I've been in here for him before."

    "I remember，" the woman said. "But he never wrote notes like this."

    Oh， God， she's suspicious. Perhaps she would not let me have the books？ If she had turned her back at that moment， I would have ducked out the door and never gone back. Then I thought of a bold idea.

    "You can call him up， ma'am，" I said， my heart pounding.

    "You're not using these books， are you？" she asked pointedly.

    "Oh， no， ma'am. I can't read."

    "I don't know what he wants by Mencken，" she said under her breath.

    I knew now that I had non； she was thinking of other things and the race question had gone out of her mind. She went to the shelves. Once or twice she looked over her shoulder at me， as though she was still doubtful. Finally she came forward with two books in her hand.

    "I'm sending him two books，" she said. "But tell Mr. Falk to come in next time， or send me the names of the books he wants. I don't know what he wants to read."

    I said nothing. She stamped the card and handed me the books. Not daring to glance at them. I went out of the library， fearing that the woman would call me back for further questioning. A block away from the library I opened one of the books and read a title： A Book of Prefaces. I was nearing my nineteenth birthday and I did not know how to pronounce the word "preface". I thumbed the pages and saw strange words and strange names. I shook my head， disappointed. I looked at the other book； it was called Prejudices， I knew what that word meant； I had heard it all my life. And right off I was on guard against Mencken's books. Why would a man want to call a book Prejudices？ The word was so stained with all my memories of racial hate that I cold not conceive of anybody using it for a title. Perhaps I had made a mistake about Mencken？ A man who had prejudices must be wrong.