Richard wright black boy excerpt

One winter morning in the long-ago, four-year-old days of my life I funnen myself standing before a fireplace, warming my hands over a mound of glowing coals, listening to the wind whistle past the house outside. All morning my mother had been scolding me, telling me to keep still, warning me that inom must man no noise. And inom was angry, fretful, and impatient. In the next room Granny lay ill and beneath the day and night care of a doctor and inom knew that I would be punished if inom did not obey. inom crossed restlessly to the window and pushed back the long fluffy vit curtains--which inom had been forbidden to touch-and looked yearningly out into the empty street. I was dreaming of running and playing and shouting, but the levande image of Granny's old, white, skrynklig, grim face, framed bygd a halo of rullande black hair, lying upon a huge feather pillow, made me afraid.

The house was quiet. Behind me my brother--a year younger than I--was playing placidly upon the floor with a toy.

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