Part II, Chapters 4–5: "Battle Royal" by Ralph Ellison

I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naïve.

About eighty-five years ago they were told that they were free, united with others of our country in everything pertaining to the common good, and, in everything social, separate like the fingers of the hand. And they believed it. They exulted in it.

I want you to overcome 'em with yeses, undermine 'em with grins, agree 'em to death and destruction, let 'em swallow you till they vomit or bust wide open.

Grandfather had been a quiet old man who never made any trouble, yet on his deathbed he had called himself a traitor and a spy, and he had spoken of his meekness as a dangerous activity.

I was considered an example of desirable conduct—just as my grandfather had been. And what puzzled me was that the old man had defined it as treachery.

On my graduation day I delivered an oration in which I showed that humility was the secret, indeed, the very essence of progress.

I had some misgivings over the battle royal, by the way. Not from a distaste for fighting, but because I didn't care too much for the other fellows who were to take part.

We were led out of the elevator through a rococo hall into an anteroom and told to get into our fighting togs.

The hair was yellow like that of a circus kewpie doll, the face heavily powdered and rouged, as though to form an abstract mask, the eyes hollow and smeared a cool blue, the color of a baboon's butt.

He was a large man who wore diamond studs in a shirtfront which swelled with the ample paunch underneath, and each time the blonde swayed her undulating hips he ran his hand through the thin hair of his bald head...

I could hear the bleary voices yelling insistently for the battle royal to begin.

I lay prone, pretending that I was knocked out, but felt myself seized by hands and yanked to my feet.

I played one group against the other, slipping in and throwing a punch then stepping out of range while pushing the others into the melee to take the blows blindly aimed at me.

It was a dream fall, my body languid and fastidious as to where to land, until the floor became impatient and smashed up to meet me.

It was a dream fall, my body languid and fastidious as to where to land, until the floor became impatient and smashed up to meet me.

A moment later I came to. An hypnotic voice said FIVE emphatically.

But not yet, the men on the other side were waiting, red faces swollen as though from apoplexy as they bent forward in their chairs.

"We of the younger generation extol the wisdom of that great leader and educator," I shouted, "who first spoke these flaming words of wisdom: ‘A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly vessel. From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a signal: "Water, water; we die of thirst!"

"Cast down your bucket where you are." The captain of the distressed vessel, at last heeding the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came up full of fresh sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon River.

I spoke automatically and with such fervor that I did not realize that the men were still talking and laughing until my dry mouth, filling up with blood from the cut, almost strangled me.

The speech seemed a hundred times as long as before, but I could not leave out a single word. All had to be said, each memorized nuance considered, rendered.

The speech seemed a hundred times as long as before, but I could not leave out a single word. All had to be said, each memorized nuance considered, rendered.

The room filled with the uproar of laughter until, no doubt, distracted by having to gulp down my blood, I made a mistake and yelled a phrase I had often seen denounced in newspaper editorials, heard debated in private.

I stood beneath his photograph with my brief case in hand and smiled triumphantly into his stolid black peasant's face.

"To Whom It May Concern," I intoned.