The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored ManJohnson, James Weldon
General
The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man
Johnson, James Weldon
African American men -- Fiction; Racially mixed people -- Fiction
In leaving, the guests were enthusiastic in telling the host that
he had furnished them the most unusual entertainment they had ever
enjoyed. When they had gone, my millionaire friend--for he was
reported to be a millionaire--said to me with a smile: "Well, I have
given them something they've never had before." After I had put on my
coat and was ready to leave, he made me take a glass of wine; he then
gave me a cigar and twenty dollars in bills. He told me that he would
give me lots of work, his only stipulation being that I should not
play any engagements such as I had just filled for him, except by his
instructions. I readily accepted the proposition, for I was sure that
I could not be the loser by such a contract. I afterwards played for
him at many dinners and parties of one kind or another. Occasionally
he "loaned" me to some of his friends. And, too, I often played for
him alone at his apartments. At such times he was quite a puzzle to me
until I became accustomed to his manners. He would sometimes sit for
three or four hours hearing me play, his eyes almost closed, making
scarcely a motion except to light a fresh cigarette, and never
commenting one way or another on the music. At first I sometimes
thought he had fallen asleep and would pause in playing. The stopping
of the music always aroused him enough to tell me to play this or
that; and I soon learned that my task was not to be considered
finished until he got up from his chair and said: "That will do."
The man's powers of endurance in listening often exceeded mine in
performing--yet I am not sure that he was always listening. At times
I became so oppressed with fatigue and sleepiness that it took almost
superhuman effort to keep my fingers going; in fact, I believe I
sometimes did so while dozing. During such moments this man sitting
there so mysteriously silent, almost hid in a cloud of heavy-scented
smoke, filled me with a sort of unearthly terror. He seemed to be some
grim, mute, but relentless tyrant, possessing over me a supernatural
power which he used to drive me on mercilessly to exhaustion. But
these feelings came very rarely; besides, he paid me so liberally I
could forget much. There at length grew between us a familiar and warm
relationship, and I am sure he had a decided personal liking for me.
On my part, I looked upon him at that time as about all a man could
wish to be.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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