"We'll have a drink," he said, getting out and heading for where the neon-lighted sign of a bull's head announced the El Toro Bar.
I was disappointed. I wanted no drink; I wanted to take the next step that lay between me and an assignment. I followed him inside with a surge of irritation.
The barroom was warm and quiet. The usual rows of bottles with exotic names were lined on the shelves, and in the rear, where four men argued in Spanish over glasses of beer, a juke box, lit up green and red, played "Media Luz." And as we waited for the bartender, I tried to figure the purpose of the trip.
I had seen very little of Brother Jack after beginning my studies with Brother Hambro. My life had been too tightly organized. But I should have known that if anything was going to happen, Brother Hambro would have let me know. Instead, I was to meet him in the morning as usual. That Hambro, I thought, is he a fanatic teacher! A tall, friendly man, a lawyer and the Brotherhood's chief theoretician, he had proved to be a hard taskmaster. Between daily discussions with him and a rigid schedule of reading, I had been working harder than I'd ever found necessary at college. Even my nights were organized; every evening found me at some rally or meeting in one of the many districts (though this was my first trip to Harlem since my speech) where I'd sit on the platform with the speakers, making notes to be discussed with him the next day. Every occasion became a study situation, even the parties that sometimes followed the meetings. During these I had to make mental notes on the ideological attitudes revealed in the guests' conversations. But I had soon learned the method in it: Not only had I been learning the many aspects of the Brotherhood's policy and its approach to various social groupings, but the city-wide membership had grown familiar with me. My part in the eviction was kept very much alive, and although I was under orders to make no speeches, I had grown accustomed to being introduced as a kind of hero.
Yet it had been mainly a time for listening and, being a talker, I had grown impatient. Now I knew most of the Brotherhood arguments so well -- those I doubted as well as those I believed -- that I could repeat them in my sleep, but nothing had been said about my assignment. Thus I had hoped the midnight call meant some kind of action was to begin...
Beside me, Brother Jack was still lost in thought. He seemed in no hurry to go elsewhere or to talk, and as the slow-motion bartender mixed our drinks I puzzled vainly as to why he had brought me here. Before me, in the panel where a mirror is usually placed, I could see a scene from a bullfight, the bull charging close to the man and the man swinging the red cape in sculptured folds so close to his body that man and bull seemed to blend in one swirl of calm, pure motion. Pure grace, I thought, looking above the bar to where, larger than life, the pink and white image of a girl smiled down from a summery beer ad on which a calendar said April One. Then, as our drinks were placed before us, Brother Jack came alive, his mood changing as though in the instant he had settled whatever had been bothering him and felt suddenly free.
"Here, come back," he said, nudging me playfully. "She's only a cardboard image of a cold steel civilization."
I laughed, glad to hear him joking. "And that?" I said, pointing to the bullfight scene.
"Sheer barbarism," he said, watching the bartender and lowering his voice to a whisper. "But tell me, how have you found your work with Brother Hambro?"
"Oh, fine," I said. "He's strict, but if I'd had teachers like him in college, I'd know a few things. He's taught me a lot, but whether enough to satisfy the brothers who disliked my arena speech, I don't know. Shall we converse scientifically?"
He laughed, one of his eyes glowing brighter than the other. "Don't worry about the brothers," he said. "You'll do very well. Brother Hambro's reports on you have been excellent."
"Now, that's nice to hear," I.said, aware now of another bullfight scene further down the bar in which the matador was being swept skyward on the black bull's horns. "I've worked pretty hard trying to master the ideology."
"Master it," Brother Jack said, "but don't overdo it. Don't let it master you. There is nothing to put the people to sleep like dry ideology. The ideal is to strike a medium between ideology and inspiration. Say what the people want to hear, but say it in such a way that they'll do what we wish." He laughed. "Remember too, that theory always comes after practice. Act first, theorize later; that's also a formula, a devastatingly effective one!"
He looked at me as though he did not see me and I could not tell whether he was laughing at me or with me. I was sure only that he was laughing.
"Yes," I said, "I'll try to master all that is required."
"You can," he said. "And now you don't have to worry about the brothers' criticism. Just throw some ideology back at them and they'll leave you alone -- provided, of course, that you have the right backing and produce the required results. Another drink?"
"Thanks, I've had enough."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure."
"Good. Now to your assignment: Tomorrow you are to become chief spokesman of the Harlem District..."
"What!"
"Yes. The committee decided yesterday."
"But I had no idea."
"You'll do all right. Now listen. You are to continue what you started at the eviction. Keep them stirred up. Get them active. Get as many to join as possible. You'll be given guidance by some of the older members, but for the time being you are to see what you can do. You will have freedom of action -- and you will be under strict discipline to the committee."
"I see," I said.
"No, you don't quite see," he said, "but you will. You must not underestimate the discipline, Brother. It makes you answerable to the entire organization for what you do. Don't underestimate the discipline. It is very strict, but within its framework you are to have full freedom to do your work. And your work is very important. Understand?" His eyes seemed to crowd my face as I nodded yes. "We'd better go now so that you can get some sleep," he said, draining his glass. "You're a soldier now, your health belongs to the organization."
"I'll be ready," I said.
"I know you will. Until tomorrow then. You'll meet with the executive committee of the Harlem section at nine a.m. You know the location of course?"
"No, Brother, I don't."
"Oh? That's right -- then you'd better come up with me for a minute. I have to see someone there and you can take a look at where you'll work. I'll drop you off on the way down," he said.
The district offices were located in a converted church structure, the main floor of which was occupied by a pawn shop, its window crammed with loot that gleamed dully in the darkened street. We took a stair to the third floor, entering a large room beneath a high Gothic ceiling.
"It's down here," Brother Jack said, making for the end of the large room where I saw a row of smaller ones, only one of which was lighted. And now I saw a man appear in the door and limp forward.
"Evening, Brother Jack," he said.
"Why, Brother Tarp, I expected to find Brother Tobitt."
"I know. He was here but he had to leave," the man said. "He left this envelope for you and said he'd call you later on tonight."
"Good, good," Brother Jack said. "Here, meet a new brother..."
"Pleased to meet you," the brother said, smiling. "I heard you speak at the arena. You really told 'em."
"Thanks," I said.
"So you liked it, did you, Brother Tarp?" Brother Jack said.
"The boy's all right with me," the man said.
"Well, you're going to see a lot of him, he's your new spokesman."
"That's fine," the man said. "Looks like we're going to get some changes made."
"Correct," Brother Jack said. "Now let's take a look at his office and we'll be going."
"Sure, Brother," Tarp said, limping before me into one of the dark rooms and snapping on a light. "This here is the one."