The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter (86 page)

“Naturally. Jus promise to come back for us later.”

“I understand this means I flunked the job interview.”

“Naw, you passed the interview.” He is smiling, stands and turns to him. “I didn't plan on us runnin acrost this nigger, Randall, it jus happened. Tell ya the truth, I'm sprised a man intelligent as you are's still here. When I saw you at that rally when we was young, I jus took regular interest cuz you was another kid. What happened was. That debate. Damn! he ain't no dummy. Smart, an no hypocrite. I
hate
the professional men, support the Klan in finance but not want their name on it. Mosta the doctors and lawyers jus fine with what we got here, long's they never get their own hans dirty. Bloody.”

“As you know I ain't no professional man, nor a Klan regular.”

Francis Veter laughs. “Look at that.”

The Negro on his back has subtly moved himself a couple of yards away. Francis Veter walks to stand over him. The Negro seems to have no idea Francis Veter is there until he tries to move again and the top of his head is blocked by Francis Veter's boots. Francis Veter smiles, he and the Negro facing each other upside down. “Ain'tchu cute. Thinkin jus Randall an me here talkin, you could crawl away we wouldn't notice.” Francis Veter shakes his head. “You're the guest a honor.” He places his boot on the Negro's face, holding him in place without putting any weight on it. “Well you
should
a been a professional. Like this nigger in his fine suit.” He speaks softer. “I hate em worst than you do, I guess. Wish we was clear of em, wish the country give back to the white man. But spose that ain't gonna happen so at the very least I'd like to maintain the segregation a the species.”

“We got em, Uncle Francis!” The boys have brought the bricks tied with rope. They each hold a freshly opened bottle of Jack.

“I think Mr. Evans would like to take our friend to the hospital.”

“What!”

“I respect his input an I wantchu to respect it too, so shut up.”

Randall looks at them, then looks at the man on the ground, who seems to be staring back at Randall. Hyperventilating, his leg twisted into some insane position, face swollen, How the hell'd it happen? One second Francis Veter and his nephews were playing around, the next they went nuts. He walks over, stoops next to the Negro. Randall takes a breath, then hoists the body over his shoulder. The Negro lets out a great moan of pain, then falls back to panting. Randall starts moving toward the truck. The Negro is heavy. As Randall plods further away from the others his path becomes darker, only the residual light from Francis Veter's flashlight. Then Francis Veter clicks the light off. Randall gropes in the utter blackness for several steps then down, he slips in the mud and falls with a thud, dropping the Negro who emits another moan of anguish. Randall sits up and tries lifting the burden while getting himself back up to standing, but keeps slipping, falling flat out as if he were on ice. The light clicks back on, spotlighting his clumsiness momentarily and Randall sits up catching his breath, gathering his strength and his wits to try again when the boys come running and laughing, Francis Veter strolling behind. He slaps Randall on the back.

“Knew ya couldn't do it!” The Negro is slumped in an odd position, trying to move himself. Reggie harshly throws him onto his back, again eliciting an agonizing groan. The brothers stoop on either side of the supine man, grinning into his face. Francis Veter lowers his voice. “If you prefer, go on back to the truck, Randall. We'll be done here in a little while.”

“This little piggie went to market.” The Negro screams. “This little piggie stayed home.”

Reggie has a knife, and with each piggie he slices off another of the Negro's fingers. The process takes a while with each digit as it's not a clean slice, Reggie needing to saw through. Louis places his knees on the Negro's shoulders, the boy's weight keeping him in place. With Reggie holding his hand, Randall registers the odd image of a manicure, and something snaps, the lunacy of it all, and Randall the consummate failure trying to be all heroic and here a damn slip in the mud foils that, his grand rescue effort turning into some Three Stooges shtick and Randall starts laughing uncontrollably, holding his stomach and his companions join in, everyone sidesplitting which makes Reggie's little amputations sloppier. When he's finally finished with the right hand, he puts the fingers into his front dungaree pocket and hands the knife to his brother to start the left.

“Naw,” says Francis Veter, walking over. “That's too goddamn redundant.” The uncle takes the knife, holds it up to the Negro's eyes, then begins to slowly unzip the Negro's pants. The Negro's scream is bloodcurdling, his entire body shuddering so violently that it seems he will fly out of there. Francis Veter takes his time slicing off the left testicle, his eyes on the Negro's petrified face the entire time. Randall is frozen, chalk white. The boys display a pulling-the-light-out-of-the-firefly glee on their faces, though sporadically wincing, unconsciously taking their hands to protect their own genitals. Then, suddenly, the shrieking Negro is silent, falling slowly into a stillness. Francis Veter frowns. “Oh no ya don't,” he says softly. He takes his fingers, trying to force the Negro's eye open. Then gently slaps the Negro's cheek. When there is no response he waves Reggie over, takes the boy's bottle and begins to pour it, a steady stream, onto the Negro's face. Finally his eyelid, heavy, slowly rises. Francis Veter smiles. “There ya go. You gonna stay conscious for us. Hear?”

**

Eliot remembers the lynching photos men laughing men grin, kill The men grin at Eliot. The white men, white faces one two three four want my mama. Eliot has one eye, Mr. Daughtery had one eye, Cyclops, Eliot sees blood, the woods red, grass red sky Where's my mama? the man. Eliot remembers the man from jail he gave him shoes, Mr. Daughtery in his wheelchair Eliot gets his wheelchair, Eliot will live Eliot will roll on his cart like Roy How was school today, jumpin bean? A-plus! A-plus! A-plus
I don't wanna die

**

“Aw look at him,” says Francis Veter. He tenderly touches the tears rolling down the Negro's face. The Negro is trying to catch his breath, short breaths. “What. You fraid a dyin all alone without your family an friends? Well that's why you gotta think of us as your friends, buddy. Cuz we gonna stick by ya, right till the end.”

In seventh grade, Mrs. Robbins brought in a wooden skeleton complete with organs. Randall looks at the Negro and imagines the skeleton model but with the leg and arm bones in pieces, several ribs crushed to powder, the kidneys and intestines mangled, skull busted, brain mashed. Randall got A's in anatomy Randall should have been a doctor.

A Buick driving by on the road. Francis Veter clicks off the flashlight. The car slows, having noticed the overturned vehicle. It pulls over. A white man gets out of the driver's seat. White family. The father stands staring, hands on his hips. Francis Veter sets down his flashlight and starts to walk over, followed by his nephews. In the distance Randall can see the man backing up at the sight of them appearing out of the darkness. Francis Veter waves, friendly. An owl hoots.

“Listen you.” Randall grabs the back of the Negro's head, brings his face close. “You know me?” Randall picks up the flashlight, illuminating their features. “I seen you before. Where?”

The Negro's lips move. Nothing comes out.

“They gonna kill ya.” Randall sighs. “They gonna kill ya, I see that now, they gonna kill ya nothin you can do
nothin.
Jus say your name. Say your name so's we know how to mark your grave.”

The Negro's lips move, no sound. Then Randall catches a glimmer near by. Puddle. A cry escapes Randall: the mercy of it. He gently lets the Negro's head down, rolling his face into the shallow pool. The Negro tries to move but can't. Bubbles. Then gradually less bubbles. In the distance the car drives away. The bubbles are gone. Randall exhales. It's over. He remembers a spring day when he was little, walking through the woods with B.J. and finding a dead bird, anonymous as the body before him now. The Evans brothers had buried the creature, Randall had said a prayer, and now he and Francis Veter and his nephews would bury the Negro and Randall would say a prayer, Wasn't there a shovel in the back of Francis Veter's truck? Relief, even joy, Randall feels it, for himself, for the soul before him at last released from his misery.

And with an enormous heave the Negro flips himself out of the puddle, coughing.

Randall gawks. He didn't drown. Randall can't believe it. He didn't drown! By the grace of God he'd been offered a compassionate death and instead he saves himself. For what. More
torture?
Blamed
fool!
Goddamn fool nigger!

“Well,”
says Francis Veter laughing, returning with his nephews. “Those were some Pennsylvania plates. I told em we didn't know about that upturned station wagon but we been out night huntin. Hence the blood all over us.”

“An he believed that.” Randall's enraged eyes still on the Negro.

“I'm inclined to say he didn't, but the way Yankee Doodle Daddy was shakin, I don't think we need to be worryin bout the family makin a return visit to Dixie anytime soon.”

**

When Eliot goes to the dentist about the gaps the dentist is going to say Well where's the teeth? The teeth flying! Eliot needs those teeth. Tooth fairy came, Mama! I got a penny! Look at that shiny new penny, big boy This morning my mother was alive and now she died This morning I was alive I got a penny, Mama! I can buy nigger babies! Heads is good luck, says Andi and she gives it to him.

**

“Bring those bricks over here,” Francis Veter tells his nephews. Randall is sitting next to the Negro. A dramatic streak of lightning. The boys, mesmerized, stare where it flashed. Francis Veter sits on a large rock. “Whew! Guess we're in for more storms.” He lights a cigarette.

“Fool fuckin nigger.” Randall's furious eyes on the Negro.

“So whatcha think? One a them lawyers come to town? There was some nigger lawyers at the voter registration. I saw em but, well.” He shrugs, smiling. “They all look alike to me.”

Randall turns to Francis Veter. “So when you figure we done here.”

“Fire!” says Louis as he hurls a brick at the Negro's head. “Bull's-eye!”

“Goddamn you, boy!” snaps his uncle, going to the Negro. “If he's dead, you're dead!”

Louis, chagrined after his first show of initiative, stammers. “I wasn't tryin ta. But ain't we—”

“I ain't finished with him yet.” Francis Veter's palm hovers over the Negro's mouth. “Okay there's a little somethin goin on here.” He lifts the eyelid, checks the pupil. “In answer to your question, Randall. Look like the sand near run outa this hourglass.” He sits back on the rock to finish his cigarette. “I jus wanna make sure he's with us till the end. Wouldn't be right kill a man, not let him experience every feel of it.”

They are silent, watching the Negro's chest rise and fall. It doesn't rise very high. Reggie starts laying out the fingers, admiring them, like another boy would lay out baseball cards. Maybe he
was
one of those lawyers at the voter registration. That must've been where he'd seen him. Randall thinks about Roger, Roger the successful Chicago nigger attorney, Roger's dismissive look to Randall. After Randall'd loaned him his goddamn schoolbooks.

“Uncle Francis, can I go ahead an cut off his left fingers? I'd like to have some fingers.”

Francis Veter puffs, doesn't take his eyes off the Negro. “Naw. I like the right fingers left ball gone. I was never a fan a symmetry.”

“But then I don't get any fingers.”

“I'll give ya one a mine,” Reggie offers.

“I don't
want
one a yours! I can't say I earned it if
you
cut if off, I want my own!”

“Boy?” Francis Veter warns.

“We gonna burn him, Uncle Francis?” asks Reggie.

“We'll see.” Francis Veter, waiting for the Negro to regain consciousness, seems relaxed, patient. The owl in the woods hoots.

“Look what I done, Uncle Francis. I used the rope from the bricks.”

“That ain't how you make a noose. Here.” Reggie takes Louis's rope and demonstrates. Randall knows how to make a noose. Randall made a noose long ago, a kid, hard to remember the circumstances now. Then out the blue B.J.s favorite story:
In an old house in Paris / that was covered with vines / lived twelve little girls in two straight lines

“We got it, Uncle Francis!” says Louis, holding up the coiled rope.

Francis Veter inspects it from where he sits. “Then go fine me a good tree.” The boys, cheering and romping, scamper into the forest. Francis Veter allows the quiet to settle before he speaks.

“He's ours, Randall.”

Randall turns to Francis Veter, who still gazes upon the Negro, content.

“Our kill. Guess I been waitin my whole life for this. The opportunity. Justification.”

“Justification.”

“Stranger in a suit from outa town. An he had a nice way a talkin fore we shut him up. Educated. Gotta be one a them damn voter registration lawyers. An then for him to jus happen to have this accident, us happen to be drivin by. Meant to be.”

Randall has a splitting headache. He turns back to the Negro.

“So this what you had in mind? From the start?”

“From the start a findin him?” Francis Veter ponders. “Probly not. When I first spied him, jus thought we have a little fun. An then. I don't know, some line we crost. An I knew no turnin back.” The wind picking up, blowing the trees. “Wish I could take a picture nex to him. You ever see them ole photos?” He sighs. “Well. Them days are gone. Least
we
know it happened. An now that it did, I don't never have to do it again. All the elements in the universe made it come together for tonight.”