Alex Cross's Trial Part 3
STANDING ON THE BOARD SIDEWALK beside Jenkins's display window was the dapper local photographer, Scooter Willems. Today he looked extra-fashionable in a seersucker suit with a straw boater. As always, he had his camera and tripod with him. I wondered whether he had just photographed me in action."Where'd you learn to fight like that, Ben?""Boxing team at college," I said."No, I mean, where'd you learn to put your thumbs in a man's throat like that? Looks like you learned to fight in the street," Scooter said."I reckon I just have the instinct," I said."Mind if I take your photograph, Ben?"I remembered the night I first saw him, photographing George Pearson. "I do mind, Scooter. My clothes are a mess.""That's what would make it interesting," he said with a big smile."Maybe for you. Not for me. Don't take my picture.""I will honor your wishes, of course." Scooter folded the tripod and walked away.I tucked my shirt into my torn trousers, and when I brushed my hand against my chin, it came back b.l.o.o.d.y.Moody Cross stepped out of Sanders's store with a sack of rice on one hip and a bag of groceries on her arm. She walked toward me."You are beyond learning," she said.I used my handkerchief to wipe off the blood. "And what is it I have failed to learn, Moody?""You can go around trying to fight every white man in Mississippi that hates colored people," she said, "but it won't do any good. There's a lot more of them than there is of you. You can't protect us. n.o.body can do that. Not even G.o.d."She turned to walk away, but then she looked back. "But thank you for trying," she said.
Chapter 61.
IN FOUR WEEKS OF LIVING at Maybelle's, I'd come to realize that my room was so damp, so airless, so overheated night and day, that nothing ever really dried out.My clothes, my hand towel, and my shave towel were always damp. My hair was moist at all times. As much as I toweled off, powdered with talc, and blotted with witch hazel, my shirts and underclothes always retained a film of moisture. This stifling closet at the top of Maybelle's stairs was a punishment, a torture, a prison.And besides, there was so much to keep me awake at night.I longed for a letter from home.And maybe because I didn't hear, I wrestled with thoughts of Elizabeth. I could still feel our kiss in front of her house.I wondered if Roosevelt had ever gotten my wire. Surely he would have sent some answer by now. What if that telegraph operator in McComb had taken exception to the facts as I was reporting them?And here I was, quite a sight, if anyone happened in to see me. I lay crosswise on the iron bed, naked, atop sweat-moistened sheets. I had tied a wet rag around my head; every half hour or so, I refreshed it with cool water from the washbasin.But no one could win the battle against a Mississippi summer. Your only hope was to lie low and move as little as possible."Mr. Corbett."At first I thought the voice came from the landing, but no, it came from outside.Beneath my window."Mr. Corbett."A stage whisper drifting up from three stories below.I swung my legs to the floor, wrapped the top sheet around myself, and walked over to the window. I couldn't make out anyone in the mottled shadows under Maybelle's big eudora tree.I called softly, "Who's out there? What do you want?""They sent me to get you," the voice said."Who sent you?""Moody Cross," he said. "Can you come?"I didn't think it was a trap, but it paid to be careful. "What for? What does Moody want?""You got to come, Mr. Corbett." The fear in the voice was unmistakable. "They been another lynchin'.""Oh G.o.d-where?""Out by the Quarters.""Who is it?""Hiram," the man said. "Hiram Cross. Moody's brother is dead."
Chapter 62.
I FELT A DEEP SURGE of pain in my chest, a contraction so sharp that for a moment I wondered if I was having a coronary. Almost instantly I was covered with clammy sweat.I heard the voice from outside again."Somebody overheard Hiram say that one day white folk would work for the black," the man whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "Now Hiram swinging dead from a tree."I felt the room beginning to turn-no, that was just my head spinning. I felt a strange chill, and a powerful force rising within me."Stand back," I said loudly."What's that, Mr. Corbett?""I said stand back. Get out from under this window!"I heard branches strain and creak as the man obeyed.Then I leaned my head out the window and threw up my supper.
Chapter 63.
MOODY DID NOT SHED a tear at her brother's funeral. Her face was an impa.s.sive sculpture carved from the smoothest brown marble.Abraham fought to stay strong, to stand and set a brave example for all the people watching him now. And although he managed to control his expression, he could do nothing about the tears spilling down his face.Swing low, sweet chariot.Coming for to carry me home.It must have been the hottest place on earth, that little sanctuary with one door in back and one door in front and no windows at all. It was the Mt. Zion A.M.E. Full Gospel church, three miles out of town on the Muddy Springs Road, and it was jammed to overflowing with friends and relatives.Early in the service, a woman fainted and crashed hard to the floor. Her family gathered around her to fan her and lift her up. A baby screamed b.l.o.o.d.y murder in the back. Half the people in the room were weeping out loud.But Moody did not cry.n.o.body knows the trouble I've seen.n.o.body knows but Jesus.n.o.body knows the trouble I've seen.Glory hallelujah!"I knew Hiram from the day he was born!" cried the preacher. "I loved him like a father loves his son!""Yes, you did!" shouted an old lady in the front row."Tell it, brother!""Amen!""I carried the baby Hiram to the river," the preacher went on, "and I dipped him in the river of life. That's right, I held him under the water of Jesus until he was baptized, and he come up sputtering, and then he was lifted up in the Holy Spirit and the everlasting light of Jesus-""That's right, Rev!""-so that no matter what might happen to Hiram, no matter what fate might befall him as he walked the earth, he would always have the Lord Jesus Christ walking right there by his side!""Say it, brother!""Now, children," the preacher said with a sudden lowering of his tone, "we know what happened to our son and brother Hiram Cross! We know!""Hep us, Jesus!""The white man done come for Hiram, done took him and killed him," the preacher called."We should think of our Lord, and how brave he was on that last night when he set there waiting for the Roman soldiers to come. He knew what was gonna happen. He knew who was coming for him. But he did not despair."Instantly I found myself wanting to disagree, wanting to cry out, to remind him of the despairing words of Jesus on the cross, My father, my father, why hast thou forsaken me?"Hiram was just that brave," said the preacher. "He didn't bow down or beg them to spare his life. He went along without saying a word, without letting them ever get a look at his fear. We should all strive to be as courageous as our brother Hiram.""That's right!""The white man killed Hiram!" he hollered again. "But my friends, we are not like the white man! We cannot allow ourselves to be like that. The Bible tells us what to do. Jesus tells us what to do. It's plain to see. We have to do as Jesus did, we have to turn the other cheek."There were groans from the congregation. It seemed to me that most of them had been turning the other cheek their entire lives.Abraham's head had drooped until his chin was nearly resting on his chest. Moody continued to gaze straight ahead at the plain wooden cross on the rear wall."As the Lord tells us in Proverbs, 'Do not say, "I'll pay you back for this wrong!" Wait for the Lord, and he will deliver you.' G.o.d does not want us taking matters into our own hands."That is our charge, brothers and sisters. That is what the Lord tells us, in the book of Matthew: 'Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.'""How long, Brother Clifford?" came a voice from the back. "How long we 'posed to wait? Till the end of all time? How long?""We wait until the Lord makes his will clear," the preacher said calmly. "We wait like the children of Isr'al waited, forty years out in that desert."The insistent voice spoke again:"But how long? How long do we go on forgiving? How many of us got to die before it's time?"And that is when I saw one shining tear roll down Moody's face.We shuffled along, following behind Hiram in his pine box, out the narrow front door. The choir took up an old hymn.I sing because I'm happy.I sing because I'm free.For His eye is on the sparrowAnd I know He watches me.And I know He watches me.
Chapter 64.
A BLINDING LIGHT CAME. Then another bright flash.We were leaving the church, just making our way down the rickety steps.Another stunning flash of light came.At first I thought it was lightning, then I realized lightning doesn't come from a clear blue sky. I blinked, trying to regain my power of sight, and then saw what was causing it: Scooter Willems and his camera, with its flash-powder apparatus.Beside him were three large men I did not recognize, white men with twisted smiles on their faces, guns at their sides.Moody left the line of mourners and marched straight over to Willems, right up to him."Show some respect," she said to him. "This is my brother's funeral.""Sorry, Moody," Scooter said, almost pleasantly. "I thought you might want a photograph for your memory book.""I don't need no photograph to remember this," she said. "I'll remember it fine."The pallbearers were st.u.r.dy young men about the same age as Hiram. They slid Hiram's coffin onto the back of a buck-board. I made my way over to where Moody was glaring at Scooter and his bodyguards.Scooter turned to me. "Moody's all het up because I wanted to take a memorial photograph of the funeral.""Too bad you didn't take a memorial photograph of the lynching," Moody said. She turned on her heel and fell in step with the other mourners behind the wagon."Leave her alone, Scooter," I said.Scooter frowned. "Like I said, I just wanted to commemorate the event."I turned to leave, but Scooter wasn't quite finished talking."Hey, Ben, how's about I take one of you against this ocean of colored folks."I spun around at him. "Put your d.a.m.n camera away. Go back to Eudora, where you belong. Leave these folks alone."I noticed two little black boys listening to our conversation. As I turned to leave, Scooter spoke to them."Hey, little boys, I'll give you each a nickel to let me take your picture." He held out his hand with two nickels in it.I pulled nickels out of my own pocket and handed one each to the boys. "Y'all run on," I said.They did.And I went to join Hiram's funeral procession.
Chapter 65.
ABRAHAM HANDED ME a huge slice of chess pie. It was a southern funeral favorite because it could be made quickly, using ingredients most people kept on hand-milk, eggs, sugar, b.u.t.ter.Abraham's house was overflowing with dishes and platters and baskets of food, and mourners eating as much as they could.A question swam into my mind. How did Scooter Willems know Moody? I distinctly recalled him calling her by name, as if they were old friends. Were they? And how could that be?I excused myself and threaded my way through the crowded little parlor, through the overpopulated kitchen, out the back door. I saw Moody sitting in the yard on an old tree stump, glaring at the ground."Moody," I said.She did not acknowledge me.I reached out to touch her shoulder. "Moody."She pushed my hand away. "Don't put your white hand on my black shoulder," she said.I drew back and put my hands in my pockets."Do you know Scooter Willems?" I asked.She lifted her head and looked at me. "Who?""'Scooter Willems. That photographer from outside the church.""I never seen that man in my life. He ain't nothin' but a buzzard, pickin' the meat off of dead people's bones.""If you've never seen him, how did he know your name?""I don't know."Moody looked into my eyes. For the first time since we'd met, she didn't look the least bit feisty or defiant. She looked downtrodden. Defeated. The heartbreak of Hiram's death had drained all the anger from her.I put my hand on her shoulder again. This time she reached up and patted my hand."I've been going to funerals since I was a baby," she said. "This one is different. Ain't no 'peaceable joy' around here.""What do you mean?""We used to burying the old folks," she said. "You know-after they lived a whole life. After they married and had their own kids, maybe even their grandkids. But lately, all these funerals for the young ones. And Hiram... I mean, Hiram..."Moody began to cry."He weren't nothing but a baby himself," she said.I felt tears coming to my own eyes."Here." I thrust the pie under her nose. "Eat some of this. You need to eat."It was useless advice, I knew, but it was what I remembered my father saying to people at funerals. Eat, eat... Now I understood why he'd said it: he just couldn't think of anything else to say.Moody took the plate from my hand.
Chapter 66.
MOODY WAS RIGHT. No "peaceable joy" came into Abraham Cross's house that day.The bottle of moonshine was gradually consumed. The ham was whittled away until nothing but a knuckly bone was left on the plate. The pies shrank, shrank some more, then disappeared entirely. The afternoon lingered and finally turned into nighttime, with ten thousand cicadas singing in the dark.I shook hands with Abraham. Moody gave me a quick little hug. I made my way through the remaining mourners, out the front door.Fifty yards from the house, in front of the fig tree where I had parked the bicycle, stood three large white men. I couldn't make out details of their faces in that shadowy street, but I knew where I'd seen them: these were the same men who'd been standing with Scooter that afternoon at the Mt. Zion church when he took his photographs.One of them spoke. "You looking for some trouble, Corbett?"I didn't answer.Looking back on it, I guess one man must have been smoking a pipe. I saw him move and smack something hard against the trunk of the fig. Sparks flew in a shower to the ground."We asked you a question," said the man in the middle. "Serious question.""Abraham! Moody!" I yelled.I don't know if they heard me. If they did, I don't know whether they came out of the house. In less time than it took for me to get my arms up, the three men were on me.Kicked in the head. In the face. I tasted blood. I fell face-down on the ground, hard. A knee went into my stomach, fists whaling at me all over. Someone stomping on the side of my rib cage. I could not get my breath. Something tore into my neck. It felt like fire."Looks like you found it-trouble!" a man grunted, and drew back to get a better angle for kicking me. He delivered a stunning blow to my knee. I heard a cracking crunch and felt a wild sear of pain and thought he had shattered my right kneecap.That was the last thing I remembered for a while.
Chapter 67.
THE NEXT THING I was aware of-voices."You gotta use a higher branch. He's tall."Something was in my eyes. Blood. I was blind from all the blood."Use that next branch, that one yonder," said a second man. "That's what we used when we hung that big n.i.g.g.e.r from Tylertown.""He wasn't tall as this one. I can't hardly see up this high.""h.e.l.l he wadn't. I had to skinny up the tree to put the rope way over."Every inch of my body was experiencing a different kind of pain: sharp pain, dull pain, pain that throbbed with a ma.s.sive pounding, pain that burned with a white-hot roar.I thought, It's amazing how much pain you can feel and still not be dead."This n.i.g.g.e.r-lover is tall," the second man said, "but that 'un from Tylertown, he had to be six-foot-six if he was a inch."I groaned. I think they were lifting me-hands under my armpits, digging into my flesh, cutting into me, dragging me off to one side.A thud-something hurting my back. Then I felt the damp ground under me.A crack-something landed hard on my left knee. I guessed that knee was shattered too."This rope is all greasy. I can't get aholt of it.""That's n.i.g.g.e.r grease."I felt the coa.r.s.e hemp rope coming down over my face, dragging over my nose, tightening against my neck.And I thought: Oh, G.o.d! They're hanging me!Then I flew up into the air, like an angel-an angel whose head was exploding with terrible pain.I could not see anything. I thought my eardrums had burst from the pressure in my skull.But they hadn't tied the noose right. Maybe the one who thought I was too tall was inexperienced. The rope was cutting under my jaw, but it had not gone tight. I got my hand up, somehow worked my fingers between the rope and my neck. I dangled and kicked as if I could kick my way out of the noose. They are hanging you, boy, was the chant that went through my head, over and over, like a song, an executioner's song.Crack! I felt a sting on my back. Was it a bullwhip? A buggy whip? A willow branch?"He's done. Or he will be," the voice said. "We can go. Let's get out of here."The air smelled of woodsmoke. Were they going to burn me? Was I going to go up in flames now?That heat grew and grew. I struggled to see through the blood. It sure is hot up here. Maybe I'm already in h.e.l.l. Maybe the devil has come and got me."We better get out of here, J.T.," said the voice."Not yet.""Listen to me. They're still awake over in the Quarters. They're angry.""Let 'em come out here," the other man said."They'll be looking for Corbett. He's just like one of them." "Yeah, he is. Just like a n.i.g.g.e.r. Wonder how that is?"I heard the crack of a branch. The voices began to fade. The heat that had burned me alive began to fade away. Then I was alone. There were iron hands around my neck, squeezing and squeezing. No air. No breath. No way to breathe.Oh, G.o.d. My mouth was so dry.And then I was gone from the world.
Chapter 68.
A FEW MOMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Then I blacked out again.Awake.Asleep.Awake.The wakeful times were a nightmare of confusion.Terrible pain. There was something snapping at my feet, something with fierce sharp claws. Racc.o.o.ns? Possums? A rabid fox? I didn't know if I was still alive.I was surely dead for a while, then the bugs woke me with their biting, sucking my blood, little no-see-ums biting my neck and arms, mosquitoes big as bats sucking the blood from my veins, and then rats jumped onto my legs and ran up and down my body, squeaking, snapping at my privates.Then a flash of light, so bright I saw the s.p.a.ckle of blood outlined on my swollen eyelids.Was I dead? Was I in a different world? In my delirium I heard something. Maybe the angels singing. Or was it a dog barking-Another flash, so bright it nearly shook me.The pain in my skull increased. I felt the blood pumping through a vein in my forehead. I imagined it bursting, the blood running in a stream down my leg.I tried to make a fist. My fingers are gone!Oh my G.o.d. Maybe not. I couldn't feel anything on that side.I couldn't taste the air.I could only feel my tongue swelling up in my mouth, choking me. And my fingers were gone.In my overheated brain I saw Mama at her desk, in that flowing white gown she wore under her housecoat. The violet inkstand, the silver pen. Mama smiled at me. "I think you'll like this poem, Ben. It's about you, baby."I sat on my little stool in the room off her bedroom that smelled like lavender and talc.u.m powder. I saw myself sitting there as if I were a figure in a drawing-a precise, detailed sketch of Mama and me.Then the pain came swelling up through my chest, through my neck, and up into my brain.Another flash of light.And once again, nothing.
Chapter 69.
MORNING COMES TO A MAN hanging from a rope as it comes to a man sleeping in his bed-the chatter of birds, a faint breeze, the bark of a dog.Then comes the pain again.So much blood had clotted on my eyelids and eyelashes that I couldn't open them.I breathed in short sharp intakes of air. The fingers of my right hand wedged into the rope had kept open just enough of a pa.s.sage for a trickle of air down my windpipe. It had kept me alive. Or maybe somebody had spared me. Maybe the one who said I was too tall? Maybe someone I knew?The rest of my body was pure pain: so intense, so complete, that the pain now seemed like my normal state."Look, Roy, ain't no colored man. That man white."The voice of a child."Dang," said another voice. "Look like they done painted him red all over."A dog barked."Worms!" the first boy yelled.I could only imagine what kind of horrible creatures were crawling on my skin."Worms!"I felt something licking my foot. Then it barked."Worms! Get away from him, he dirty!"Ahhh. Worms was the dog.It was so hot. I should surely be dead by now. I think the pain radiating from my knees was keeping me alive. It wasn't that I had a will to survive.I thought of stories from the war, wounds so horrible or amputations so unbearable that men begged their comrades to shoot them, to put them away. If I could speak, I would ask these boys to fetch a gun and shoot me in the head.I felt something sharp poking my stomach. I must have flinched or jumped a little, and gave out a groan. The boys shrieked in terror."Oh, Jesus, the man alive!""Run!"I heard them running as fast as they could, running away from the monster. I heard Worms barking as he ran after them.I wanted to tell them to please come back and cut me down. Oh, how I wanted to lie on the ground just once more before I died.That was not to be. I couldn't just hang here like this, waiting to die. The best I could hope for was to hasten it along.I began wriggling my dead hand, trying to get it out from between the rope and my neck.Part Four"MY NAME IS HENRY"
Chapter 70.
"MY NAME IS HENRY."I could barely hear."Can you hear me? I said my name's Henry."I could barely see.I could, however, tell that the person speaking to me was a woman. An ancient, bent-over colored woman."Henry. My name is Henry," she said. "You in there, Mist' Corbett?"Most of her teeth were missing, producing a kind of whistly lisp as she leaned closer and spoke to me."Come on now, eat this," she said. She held out a spoonful of something. I opened my mouth. She stuck it in. G.o.d, it was delicious: black-eyed peas cooked to death, mashed to a paste.While moving the food around my sore, battered mouth, my tongue discovered the gaping hole on the left side where two teeth had been."Where am I?" I croaked."Abraham house," Henry said. She poised another spoonful in front of my mouth.I will never forget the taste of those peas. They remain to this day the single most wonderful food I have ever encountered.I heard a familiar voice: "Now would you look at Mr. Corbett, settin' up and eatin' baby food all by himself." Moody came around from the head of the narrow cot where I lay, at the center of their parlor, in exactly the spot where Hiram's coffin had been.Perhaps I was still in the midst of my delirium, but I thought she looked happy that I was alive and awake."This is Aunt Henry who been looking after you," she said."Henry?" I asked."Don't you be calling me Henrietta," she said.Moody sat on the little footstool beside my bed. "You been through a pretty rough time, Mr. Corbett," she said. "When they cut you down, we just knew you was dead. But Papaw felt a pulse on your arm. So he run and got Aunt Henry. She's the one with the healing touch.""Don't make him talk now, child," Aunt Henry said. "He still wore out." Every time I opened my mouth she stuck in more of the black-eyed-pea mush that was bringing me back to life, a spoonful at a time."She been pouring soup in you with a funnel," Moody said. "She done washed you and powdered you, shaved your face. When your fever went up, she sent me to the icehouse for ice to put in your bed. When the cut places started to scab, she put salt water on 'em so they wouldn't scar.""How long have I been here?""Eight days since they cut you down," she said.I felt the dull pounding ache in both knees. I remembered how those men had kicked my feet out from under me, then gone after my knees with the toes of their boots."Did they break my knees?"Aunt Henry frowned. "Near 'bout," she said. "But you got you some hard knees. All battered up and cut up. But ain't broke.""That's good." I managed a weak smile."It is good," Aunt Henry said. "Soon as you finish this here peas, you gonna have one more little nap, and then we gonna see if we can get you walkin'."Moody said, "You'd best get him up running, Aunt Henry."I shifted onto my side. "What do you mean?""The ones that hanged you gonna find you," Moody said. "Then they gonna hang you again."
Chapter 71.
AUNT HENRY WAS RIGHT. My knees weren't broken. But they certainly were not happy when called upon to do their job.Armed with wobbly wooden crutches and a short gla.s.s of whiskey, I went for a late-afternoon stroll between Moody and Abraham. My body ached in a hundred different places, all tied together by the pain in my knees. When I bent my leg to take a step, the knee shot a white-hot arrow of pain to my hip. My neck was still raw from the rope, and the mangled fingers of my right hand were twisted and so blackish blue they might yet go gangrenous and have to come off. The sweat rolled down my back, into the swollen whip welts, stinging like fire ants.But I kept on, hobbling down the muddy board walkway. I knew I was d.a.m.ned lucky to have survived, with no broken bones. My pain was nothing. It would be gone in a few days, or weeks at the worst. I could deal with that.But inside, I felt another, more disturbing pain. I had been beaten and left for dead. I had disappeared from the world, and hardly anyone had come looking for me. I mattered to virtually no one. Meg. Elizabeth. My father. My daughters. Jacob, my childhood best friend. The entire town of Eudora. I had mostly been forgotten. A few people from town had come, good, kind folks. L. J. Stringer had actually visited a few times. But my own father hadn't come once."Abraham," I said. "Could I ask a favor?""Ask it," he said."Can you stop by Maybelle's and see if she's got any letters for me?"He shook his head. "I went by this morning. Nothing there." Then he added, "Nothing for you from the White House, either."I kept on, but the pressure of the crutches under my arms was getting to be too much to bear. Everything from my neck down was one big aching ma.s.s of bruises."Does Maybelle know what happened to me?" I asked."Mr. Corbett, everybody in Eudora knows what happened to you. I'll tell you something I believe. There's good and bad in Eudora Quarters, good and bad in the town of Eudora-probably in equal numbers. Problem is, there's cowards in both places. That's why the bullies can have their way, Mr. Corbett.""Abraham," I said with a sigh. "For G.o.d's sake. We've been through a good bit together. Would you please call me Ben?"He patted my shoulder. "All right, Ben.""Thank you.""You welcome." He smiled. "But now you got to call me Mr. Cross." Abraham laughed out loud at that.As I picked my way past the door of Gumbo Joe's, two old ladies looked up and waved at me. "I pray for you, sir," one of them said to me."Thank you, ma'am."We went on a few more yards. "The colored folks appreciate what you was trying to do, Mist-Ben," he said. "We know your heart is not the same as some the rest."Moody spoke up. "Yeah, and the white folks know it too. That's why they goin' to kill him."
Chapter 72.
"YOU JUST PLAIN don't need me no more." Aunt Henry said it straight out as she dabbed at the wounds on my back with one of her secret potions."Fact is, Mist' Corbett, you hardly even got any scabs left on you," she said. "These is all healed up real good."I twisted around on my chair to pull on my shirt, wincing from the pain."Now don't you be foolin' with me," Aunt Henry said. "You walkin' good with no crutch."I knew she was right. Aside from the occasional shock of pain in my neck, or in my knees, I was feeling almost human again. I had no further need for Aunt Henry's fussing and babying, which I had come to enjoy.And it was time for me to go back to Eudora.Frankly, I felt a bit reluctant to leave. There was something good about life as it happened in this modest little house. Certainly, the opportunity to see Moody every day was something I had enjoyed. But as much as that, I had enjoyed getting to know Abraham. With everything going against him-the death of his grandson, the increasing fear in the colored community, the lifetime of bigotry he had endured-Abraham was a man at peace with himself.Just the night before, on a warm rainy evening when the mosquitoes were at their droning worst, we sat on a bench underneath the overhang of the porch.We were working our way through a basket of hot corn m.u.f.fins Moody had just brought out of the oven. I smiled up at her. She ignored me and turned back inside."Sometimes a man can sense something," Abraham said. "Something small that can blossom up into trouble.""You mean, because we haven't heard from Roosevelt?" I asked. "I don't understand that at all. I almost got hanged for him.""This got nothing to do with the president," he said, gazing off into the darkness. "I'm talking about another kind of business. Right here in my house."I swallowed the rest of the m.u.f.fin and wiped my mouth, inelegantly, on the back of my hand. I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had been hoping he wouldn't notice."Nothing has happened, Abraham," I said softly. "Nothing is going to happen."He didn't look at me."I love that girl just about as much as I ever loved anybody," he said. "Including her mama. And including even my dear departed wife. As for you-well, I done took you into my house, hadn't I? That ought to show you, I hold you in high regard. You a fine man, Ben, but this just can't be. It can't be. Moody... and you? That is impossible.""I understand that, Abraham. I don't think you ought to worry. Maybe you hadn't noticed, but Moody hasn't spoken a kind word to me since the day we met."He put his hand on my shoulder."And maybe you hadn't noticed," he said, "but that's exactly how you can tell when a woman is in love with you."
Chapter 73.
FROM THE DAY after my hanging, someone was always awake and on guard at Abraham Cross's house. During the day and the evening, Abraham and Moody took turns keeping watch from the front-porch rocker. Since I was the cause of all this, I took the dead man's shift, from midnight till dawn.Some nights I heard Abraham stirring, and then he would come out to sit with me for an hour or two.One night, along about four a.m., I thought I heard his soft tread on the floorboards.I looked up. It was Moody standing there."Mind a little company?" she said."I don't mind," I said.She sat down on the bench beside the rocker. A foot or two away from me-a safe distance.We sat in our usual silence for a while. Finally I broke it. "I've been busting to ask you a question, Moody.""Wouldn't want you to bust," she said. "What is it?""Is that the only dress you own?"She burst out laughing, one of the few times I'd made her laugh.It was the same white jumper she'd worn the day I met her and every day since. Somehow it stayed spotless, although she never seemed to take it off."Well, if you really want to know, I got three of these dresses," she said. "All three just alike. Of all the questions you could have asked me, that's the one you picked?" she said. "You are one peculiar man, Mr. Corbett.""I sure wish you would call me Ben. Even your grandfather calls me Ben now.""In case you hadn't noticed, I don't do everything he does," she said. "I'll just keep on calling you Mr. Corbett."At first I thought it was moonlight casting that delicate rim of light around her face, lighting up her dark eyes. Then I realized that it was dawn breaking, the first streak of gray in the sky."I'll be moving back to Maybelle's tomorrow," I said. "It's time."Moody didn't reply."It'll be better for Abraham once I'm out of here," I said. "And for you."No answer.I said, "The only reason those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds come around is because I'm here."Nothing. She stared out at the street."Thanks to y'all, I'm much better now. I'm feeling fine. I've got some decisions to make."Her silence and stubbornness just went on and on, and I gave up trying to pierce it. I sat back and watched the gray light filling in all the blank dark s.p.a.ces.I think we sat another ten whole minutes without a word. The sun came up and cast its first shadows of the day.At last Moody said, "You know I ain't never gonna sleep with you."I considered that for a moment."I know," I said. "Is it because I'm white?""No," she said. "Because I'm black."
Chapter 74.
"I AM JUST AS SORRY AS I can be, Mr. Corbett, but we simply have no rooms available at this time," Maybelle said to me. "We are full up."The dilapidated rooming house seemed strangely deserted for a place that was completely occupied."But Abraham came by and paid you while I was incapacitated," I said."Your money is in that envelope on top of your baggage," she said, pointing at my trunk and valises in a dusty corner of the center hall. "You can count it, it's all there.""You accepted my money," I said, "but now that I need the room, you're throwing me out? That makes no sense."Up till now, Maybelle had maintained her best polite southern-lady voice. Now the tone changed. Her voice dropped three notes."Look, I ain't gonna stand here and argue with the likes of you," she said. "I don't know how I could make it any clearer. We got no rooms available for you. So if you don't mind, I will thank you to go on and leave the house now.""I can't carry this trunk by myself," I said."Why don't you get one of your n.i.g.g.e.r friends to help you," she snapped. "That's what I would do.""I'll take the valises and send someone back for the trunk," I said.I stuffed the envelope in my pocket, picked up a bag in each hand, and walked out into the blazing noonday sun of Eudora. Now what?Sweet tea. That's what I needed, a frosty gla.s.s of tea. And time to think things through. I went to the Slide Inn Cafe and sat at my usual table. I sat there for almost twenty minutes. I could not seem to get the attention of a waitress. Miss f.a.n.n.y wouldn't even meet my eye.Oh, they saw me. The waitresses cast glances at me and whispered among themselves. The other customers-plump ladies in go-to-town dresses, rawboned farmers, little girls clinging to their mamas' skirts-they saw me too. When I dared to look back at them, they turned away. And I remembered what Abraham had said: There's cowards in both places. That's why the bullies can have their way.Finally, Miss f.a.n.n.y approached with a gla.s.s of tea, dripping condensation down its sides.She spoke in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry, Mr. Corbett. We don't all feel the same way about you. Personally, I got nothing against you. I like you. But I ain't the owner. So you'd best just drink this tea and be on your way. You're not welcome here.""All right, Miss f.a.n.n.y," I said. "Thanks for telling me."I drank the tea in a few gulps. I put a quarter on the table. I hoisted my valises and walked out into the street.As I pa.s.sed Miss Ida's notions shop, I saw Livia Winkler coming out."Miz Winkler," I said, touching the brim of my hat.She suddenly looked fl.u.s.tered. Averting her eyes, she turned around and hurried back into the shop.I crossed the street, to the watering trough in front of Jenkins' Mercantile. I scooped up a handful of water and splashed my face."That water is for horses, mules, and dogs," said a voice behind me. I turned.It was the same fat redheaded man who with his two friends had jumped me at this very place, when they were holding those boys' heads underwater.This time he held a branding iron in his hand.I was too exhausted to fight. I was hot. I was still a bit weak and wobbly from everything I had been through. But Red didn't know that. I straightened up to full height."Use your brain," I said. "Turn around and walk away. Before I brand you."We stared each other down. Finally he broke it off-shook his head in disgust, spat on the sidewalk near my shoes, and walked away. He looked back once. I was still there, watching him go.Then I turned and headed in the direction of the one person in Eudora I believed would help me.
Chapter 75.
"WELL, d.a.m.n, BEN! I could have used some warning, you know? I got about the biggest family and the littlest house in the whole town, and you want to move in here? d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l, Ben!"That was the warm greeting I got from Jacob Gill, my oldest friend in the world, my hope for a roof over my head that night."Sorry, Jacob," I said, "but I didn't know anywhere else to go."He looked me over. I looked right back at him. Finally he crossed some line in his mind. He sighed, picked up one of my valises, carried it through the tiny parlor and into the tiny dining room."I reckon this is the guest room now," he said, and finally offered up a half smile. "I'll get some blankets; we can make a pallet on the floor-unless you want to sleep out in the smokehouse. Got nothing hanging in there, it might be more private for you.""This will be fine," I said.Jacob's house was a sad sight on the inside. The few pieces of furniture were battered old castoffs held together with baling wire and odd ends of rope. The cotton batting was coming out of the cushions on the settee. In the kitchen, a baby's cradle gave off an unpleasant aroma. A skinny cat nosed around the pantry, no doubt hoping to meet a mouse for lunch. Jacob said, "You want a drink?""Just some water would be good for me.""The pump's on the back porch," he said. "I need me a finger or two myself."He didn't bother to pour the whiskey into a gla.s.s. He pulled the cork and took a big slug right out of the bottle."Well, that's just fine, ain't it? Drinking straight from the bottle, and it ain't even lunchtime yet."This observation belonged to Charlotte, Jacob's wife, who came in from the back porch with an infant in one arm and a pile of laundry in the other."h.e.l.lo, Charlotte. Ben Corbett.""Yeah, I know who you are." Her voice was cool. "I heard you were back in town.""Ben's gonna be staying with us for a few days," said Jacob. "I told him he could sleep in the dining room.""That's grand," Charlotte said. "That's just wonderful. That oughta make us the most popular family in Eudora."
Chapter 76.
THE SECOND NIGHT I WAS at the Gill house, after a supper of leftover chicken parts and grits, Jacob suggested we go for "a walk, a smoke, and a nip."First he poured whiskey from the big bottle into a half-pint bottle, which he stuck in his trouser pocket.He walked and drank. I walked and looked anxiously down every dark alley."You sure are one h.e.l.l of a nervous critter tonight," Jacob said."You'd be nervous too, if they beat you half to death and strung you up and left you for dead," I said. "Excuse me if I tend to be a bit cautious after almost being lynched."A man came down the steps of the First Methodist church, looking as if he had been waiting for us.I recognized him: Byram Chaney, a teacher at the grammar school. Byram had to be well up in his seventies by now; I had thought of him as elderly years ago, when he was teaching me how to turn fractions into decimals."Evening, Jacob," he said. "Ben."Jacob turned toward the streetlight to roll a cigarette. "I hope Byram didn't startle you, Ben," he said."Glad you could join us this evening, Ben," Byram said. "I think getting a firsthand look at things will be worthwhile for you. Jacob spoke up for you."Suddenly I realized that Byram Chaney had, in fact, been waiting for us. I turned to Jacob to find out why."I haven't told him yet," Jacob said to Byram."Told me what?""You'd best go on and tell him," said Byram. "We'll be to Scully's in a minute."I knew Scully as a man who owned a "kitchen farm" on the road south of town. Everybody who didn't have his own garden went to Scully's for whatever vegetables were in season."What's going on here, Jacob?""Calm down, Ben. We're just going to a little meeting. Me and Byram thought it might be a good idea if you came along. I did speak up for you.""What kind of a meeting?""Just friends and neighbors," he said. "Keep your mind open.""Pretty much half the people in town," put in Byram."But they don't like to be seen by outsiders," said Jacob. "That's why you'll have to wear this."From his knapsack he pulled a white towel.Then I realized it wasn't a towel at all. It was a pointed white hood with two holes cut for eyes.I stopped dead in my tracks."A Klan meeting?" I said."Keep your voice down, Ben," Jacob said. "We're standing right here beside you. We can hear.""You must be insane," I said. "I'm not going to any Klan meeting. Don't you know it's illegal? The Klan's been outlawed for years.""Tell the sheriff," said Jacob. "He's a member."As soon as I got over my shock at finding that my old best friend was a Ku Klux Klansman, I knew Chaney was right. I had to go along. This was exactly the kind of information Theodore Roosevelt had sent me down here to uncover.
Chapter 77.
THROUGH THE HOLES in my hood I saw at least fifty men in white hoods and robes, walking in loose ranks along the dirt road. Jacob, Byram, and I fell right in with their step.No one said anything until we were all inside Scully's large old barn and the doors had been closed.One man climbed up on a hay bale and ordered everyone to gather around. I followed Jacob toward the back wall of the barn."Our first order of business," he said, "is to announce that we have a special guest attending our meeting this evening."He waved his hand-was he waving in my direction? There was no way he could know who I was, not under that hood.Without a word Jacob reached over and s.n.a.t.c.hed the hood off my head.I stood revealed. The only man in the place without a mask covering his face.A murmur ran through the crowd."Benjamin Corbett," said the man on the bale. "Welcome, Ben. You are among friends here. We're not the ones tried to hurt you."I sincerely doubted that. But then he took off his hood and I recognized Winston Conover, the pharmacist who had filled our family's prescriptions for as long as I could remember.One by one the men around me began taking off their hoods. I knew most of them. The Methodist minister. A farm products salesman. A conductor on the Jackson & Northern railroad. A carpenter's a.s.sistant. The county surveyor. The man who did shoe repairs for Kline's store. Sheriff Reese and his deputy. The man who repaired farm implements at the back of Sanders' General Store.So this was the dreaded Ku Klux Klan. As ordinary a group of small-town men as you're likely to come across."Ben, we appreciate you showing up to let us talk to you." It was Lyman Tripp. Jovial, chubby Lyman had the readiest smile in town. He was the undertaker, so he also had the steadiest business of anyone."Maybe you'll see that we ain't all monsters," he said. "We're just family men. We got to look out for our women and protect what's rightfully ours."I didn't quite know what he meant by "rightfully ours."Byram Chaney tied a gold belt around the waist of his robe. He climbed up on the hay bale from which Doc Conover had just stepped down."All right, let's get it started," he said.The men stood around in their white sheets with their hoods off, conducting the most ordinary small-town meeting. They discussed the collection of dues, a donation they'd recently made to a widowed young mother, nominations for a committee to represent the local chapter at the county meeting in McComb.Just when it began to seem as harmless as a church picnic, Byram Chaney said, "Okay now, there must be a recognizing of new business related to the n.i.g.g.e.rs."Doc Conover spoke up. "I had two colored girls come into the drugstore last week. They said they was up from Ocean Springs visiting some kin of theirs. They wanted to buy tincture of iodine. I explained to 'em, just as nice as I could, that I don't sell to coloreds. Then one of 'em started to lecturin' me on the Const.i.tution. When I told her to get the h.e.l.l out of my store, she said she'd come back with her daddy and her brother, and they'd make me sell 'em iodine.""You say they's from Ocean Springs?" said Jimmy Whitley, the athletic coach at Eudora High."That's sure what they said.""Johnny Ray, ain't you got a cousin in the chapter down in Ocean Springs?""I do, that's Wilbur Earl," said Johnny Ray.Byram Chaney said, "Johnny Ray, why don't you talk to your cousin, find out who those girls might have been. Then we can see about getting 'em educated."The crowd murmured in agreement.Another man spoke. "I only want to report that that old n.i.g.g.e.r Jackie, you know, the one that used to drive the carriage for Mr. Macy? He come into my store again, looking for work."I recognized the speaker as Marshall Farley, owner of the five-and-dime.Jacob leapt to his feet and spoke with pa.s.sion. "There you go," he said. "n.i.g.g.e.rs looking for jobs that belong to us! That old c.o.o.n's had a perfectly good job all this time, driving for one of the richest men in the county. Now he wants more. He wants a job that could go to a fella like me, a good man with a family to feed."In place of the polite murmur, a wave of anger now rolled through the crowd. I understood something new about these men. They weren't filled just with hate; they were filled with at least as much fear. Fear that the black man was going to take everything away from them-their jobs, their women, their homes, all their hopes and dreams.Then I realized Jacob was talking about me. "So if you ask me, I think it's high time we teach our guest a thing or two," he was saying. "He needs to know we aren't just a bunch of ignorant bigots. I make a motion that we give over the rest of our meeting to the proper education of Ben Corbett."I looked around and couldn't believe what I saw. Half a dozen men, in a rough circle, were coming right at me. Then they were upon me, and they had me trapped for sure.
Chapter 78.
FEELING SICK TO my stomach now, my brain reeling, I rode in the back of an open farm wagon with Jacob, Byram Chaney, and Doc Conover. I was the one with hands bound behind his back.Cicadas made a furious racket in the trees, their droning rhythm rising and falling. We were driving south out of town into the swamp, an all-too-familiar journey by now.I was almost as terrified as I was angry. When I spoke to Jacob, I could barely keep from screaming."How could you do this? The one man I thought I could trust!""Stay calm, my friend.""I'm not your friend," I said."Ben, you can't help it if you got some mistaken ideas about us," he said. "You'll find out, we're n.o.body to be scared of. We're fair-minded fellows, like you. I just ask you to keep an open mind.""By going to the swamp to watch you lynch another black man?""I said, stay calm."After a time we came into a clearing. I could have sworn this was the place where somebody hanged me. Where I almost died. But it was a different spot altogether.Two men in white robes stood near a crude wooden platform. Between them they held a man in place, with a rope around his neck.His face was turned away from me."Let's go closer," Jacob said."This is close enough," I said.But it wasn't my decision to make. Byram Chaney lifted his reins and drove the wagon into the clearing for a better view of the murder.Slowly the man on the platform turned to face the crowd. He was a small man. Frightened. Pathetic. On his nose he wore gold-rimmed spectacles.The man was white.
Chapter 79.
"HIS NAME IS ELI WEINBERG," Byram Chaney told me in confidential tones. "He's a crooked little Jew from New Orleans. He talked three different widow ladies out of a thousand dollars each. He was selling deeds to some nonexistent property he said was down in Metairie.""And he would have got away with all that money," Jacob said, "but the fellows found him yesterday, hiding in the out-house at the McComb depot."Eli Weinberg decided to speak up for himself. "Those are valid deeds, gentlemen," he said in a quavery voice."What are you doing?" I said. "You can't hang him, he might be telling the truth!" I felt my whole body shaking. "Why don't you look into what he says?""We did look into it," said Doc Conover. "We got word from our brothers that he's been fast-talking his way into towns all over this part of the country.""So have him arrested," I said."This is better," Conover said. "We get the job done, no waiting, no money wasted on lawyers and trials and such. And we let them other Jews know they better think twice before coming to Eudora to steal from the likes of us.""The likes of you?" I said. "h.e.l.l, you're all murderers!"Eli Weinberg heard my voice. He twisted around in the hands of his captors to see who might have spoken in his defense. "Murderers! Yes, that man's right! You are all murderers!"Jacob said, "You're missing the point, Ben. The Klan is here to fight against all injustice. We're not here just to educate n.i.g.g.e.rs. We're here to educate anyone who needs educating."I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. "You're crazy, Jacob. You and your friends are just a bunch of crazy killers."Eli Weinberg shouted out, "Listen to him! He's right! You're all crazy killers!"Those were the last words he spoke.Someone jerked hard on the rope, and Eli Weinberg's body flew into the air. His cheeks inflated. His eyes bugged in their sockets. His face turned an awful dark crimson, then slowly faded to gray. Vomit spilled from his mouth. His body jerked and trembled horribly.Within seconds he was dead.A few seconds after that, the brilliant flash of Scooter Willems's camera illuminated the dark night.
Chapter 80.