write a persuasive essay?

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The Filipino and the Drunkard

William Saroyan

This loud-mouthed guy in the brown camel-hair coat was not

really mean, he was drunk. He took a sudden dislike to the small well-

dressed Filipino and began to order him around the waiting room, telling

him to get back, not to crowd up among the white people. They were

waiting to get on the boat and cross the bay to Oakland. If he hadn't been

drunk no one would have bothered to notice him at all, but as it was, he

was making a commotion in the waiting room, and while everyone

seemed to be in sympathy with the Filipino, no one seemed to want to

bother about coming to the boy's rescue, and the poor Filipino was

becoming very frightened.

He stood among the people, and this drunkard kept pushing up

against him and saying, I told you to get back. Now get back. Go way

back. I fought twenty-four months in France. I'm a real American. I don't

want you standing up here among white people.

The boy kept squeezing nimbly and politely out of the

drunkard's way, hurrying through the crowd, not saying anything and

trying his best to be as decent as possible. He kept dodging in and out,

with the drunkard stumbling after him, and as time went on the

drunkard's dislike grew and he began to swear at the boy. He kept

saying, You fellows are the best-dressed men in San Francisco, and you

make your money washing dishes. You've got no right to wear such fine

clothes

He swore a lot, and it got so bad that a lot of ladies had to

imagine they were deaf and weren't hearing any of the things he was

saying.

The When the big door opened, the young Filipino moved swiftly

among the people, fleeing from the drunkard, reaching the boat before

anyone else. He ran to a corner, sat down for a moment, then got up and

began looking for a more hidden place. At the other end of the boat was

the drunkard. He could hear the man swearing. He looked about for a

place to hide, and rushed into the lavatory. He went into one of the open

compartments and bolted the door.

The drunkard entered the lavatory and began asking others in

the room if they had seen the boy. He was a real American, he said. He

had been wounded twice in the War.

In the lavatory he swore more freely, using words he could

never use where women were present. He began to stoop and look

beyond the shut doors of the various compartments. I beg your pardon,

he said to those he was not seeking, and when he came to the

compartment where the boy was standing, he began swearing and

demanding that the boy come out.

You can't get away from me, he said. You got no right to use a

place white men use. Come out or I'll break the door.

Go away, the boy said.

The drunkard began to pound on the door.

You got to come out sometime, he said. I'll wait here till you do.

Go away, said the boy. I've done nothing to you.

He wondered why none of the men in the lavatory had the decency to

calm the drunkard and take him away, and then he realized there

were no other men in the lavatory.

Go away, he said.

The drunkard answered with curses, pounding the door.

Behind the door, the boy's bitterness grew to rage. He began to

tremble, not fearing the man but fearing the rage growing in himself. He

brought the knife from his pocket and drew open the sharp blade, holding

the knife in his fist so tightly that the nails of his fingers cut into the flesh

of his palm.

Go away, he said. I have a knife. I do not want any trouble.

The drunkard said he was an American. Twenty-four months in

France. Wounded twice. Once in the leg, and once in the thigh. He would

not go away. He was afraid of no dirty little yellow-belly Filipino with a

knife. Let the Filipino come out, he was an American.

I will kill you, said the boy. I do not want to kill any man. You

are drunk. Go away. Please do not make any trouble, he said earnestly.

He could hear the motor of the boat pounding. It was like his

rage pounding. It was a feeling of having been humiliated, chased about

and made to hide, and now it was a wish to be free, even if he had to kill.

He threw the door open and tried to rush beyond the man, the knife tight

in his fist, but the drunkard caught him by the sleeve and drew him back.

The sleeve of the boy's coat ripped, and the boy turned and thrust the

knife into the side of the drunkard, feeling it scrape against rib-bone. The

drunkard shouted and screamed at once, then caught the boy at the

throat, and the boy began to thrust the knife into the side of the man

many times, as a boxer jabs in the clinches.

When the drunkard could no longer hold him and had fallen to

the floor, the boy rushed from the room, the knife still in his hand, blood

dripping from the blade, his hat gone, his hair mussed, and the sleeve of

his coat badly torn.

Everyone knew what he had done, yet no one moved.

The boy ran to the front of the boat, seeking some place to go, then

ran back to a corner, no one daring to speak to him, and everyone aware

of his crime.

There was no place to go, and before the officers of the boat

arrived he stopped suddenly and began to shout at the people.

I did not want to hurt him, he said. Why didn't you stop him? Is

it right to chase a man like a rat? You knew he was drunk. I did not want

to hurt him, but he would not let me go. He tore my coat and tried to

choke me. I told him I would kill him if he would not go away. It is not my

fault. I must go to Oakland to see my brother. He is sick. Do you think I

am looking for trouble when my brother is sick? Why didn't you stop him?