The Nigger Factory by Gil Scott Heron Page A

oil-stained mechanic’s apron tied around his neck and waist. He had marched straight over to her desk.
    ‘I’d like to take you out this evening,’ he said quite suddenly.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered trying to recover from his matter-of-fact approach. ‘I go directly home from work . . . I don’t even believe I know your name.’
    ‘Then you haven’t been nearly as interested in me as I have been in you,’ he replied quietly.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really.’
    ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you.’
    ‘What about a movie sometime?’
    Angie had looked furtively around the front office. The other secretaries and workers didn’t seem to be paying the least bit of attention to her. Earl propped himself on the corner of her desk and lit a cigarette.
    ‘Mr Thomas,’ Angie had exclaimed. ‘I’m . . .’
    ‘“. . . a liar,”’ Earl cut in. ‘“Because I said I didn’t know your name, but I do and though I can’t have dinner with you this evening I would love to have you drive me home after work because I didn’t bring my car in today.”’
    ‘How did you know I didn’t bring my car in?’
    ‘We mechanics get here early,’ Earl said, brightly smiling for the first time. ‘And if we saw a good-looking woman taking her car in to LeRoy’s the night before and happen to wonder whether or not she got it fixed, we look out the next morning to find out how she arrives. Never can tell when you might get a chance to drive somebody home.’
    Angie was unable to control a smile. It had felt good smiling at him and with him that first time. She still felt warm when she remembered the way he sat on her desk in front of everybody as though he didn’t have a care in the world about being spotted by the boss and fired or reprimanded.
    ‘I’ll meet you by the punch-out clock at four-oh-five and if you work late I’ll wait.’ Earl had smiled a bit shyly then and left her sitting with her mouth open at the desk.
    They had been dating now for almost five months. They stopped going out so often when he started back at Sutton, but Angie didn’t mind. She was a good cook and loved to cook for him. He always acted as though he were starving and as if she were the best cook on earth. And she loved the feel of his arms around her. He was strong and masculine. She liked to rub her hands over his shoulder blades and feel the muscles rippling under his skin. She loved to have him crush her and then revive her with a kiss when she was almost breathless. She loved Earl Thomas.
    She was sitting alone in the kitchen at nearly eleven o’clock having a second cup of coffee when she heard a car pull up outside her house. Seconds later she heard a car door slam and steps trotting up the brick path that led from the curb to her front door. Then there was a knock.
    ‘If it’s not the late Mr Thomas,’ she said smiling at the door.
    Earl kissed her on the forehead and stepped into the living room. ‘If it’s not the lovely Miss Rodgers,’ he said. She took his coat and hung it on a hanger in the closet next to the front door. Earl was looking out through the curtains at the darkness of Maple Street. She bent over his shoulder and pecked himon the cheek. He turned to her and embraced her and kissed her mouth.
    ‘You’ve just got to tell me everything,’ she exclaimed, remembering the day’s activities. ‘Louise called me an’ told me just enough to drive me out of my mind. She said that nobody knows the full story but you and Baker and Calhoun. The rest of the campus is in a frenzy, I suppose.’
    ‘Everything’s fucked up,’ he said gruffly. ‘Where’s the eats? I think I jus’ may starve.’ He wrapped a long arm around her waist and walked side by side with her to the kitchen.
    In the kitchen he sat in the corner and leaned back sighing. She watched him close his eyes as though he would go to sleep. He yawned a big yawn and stretched his long frame, finally exhaling while pounding his chest.
    Angie