The Children (16 page)

With dragging steps, he walked up the block, until he came to the house where Ishky lived. He turned into the hall, and then he began to go up the steps. No more danger from Ollie now; here, Ollie would never think to look for him. But he didn't care about Ollie. Ollie could hurt him no more than his head hurt now.

The steps were long. After a while, it appeared to his dulled mind that he had been climbing forever. This he associated with the climb up the bluff. Once, he had fallen down, and now he would have to be careful not to fall again, very careful; because his head had swelled to such a size that if he fell once more, it would surely burst. Strangely, he smiled just a little bit at the thought of his head bursting. If he pricked it with a pin— He began to laugh, and in his imagination, he saw his head like a monster balloon. Soon, it would float him away. There was nothing quite so funny as the picture of himself hanging under his head, floating.

He came to the top of the stairs, and he stepped out onto the sun-baked roof. Always full of sun, and steaming with hot tar, making the most delightful smell in the world. Tired, he sat down to rest, sprawling his legs out in front of him. He made a tar ball, chewed upon it.

He spat now and again, as his mouth filled with the dark juice. Once, he touched the cut on his hand, winced with the pain, smiled then.

Nothing in all the world was quite so peaceful as this roof with the sun baking it. Birds around him, and overhead the blue sky, but no other life. If his head burst here, it would scatter into the blue sky. He wondered whether he would drop then.

He made a tar ball, threw it; then he made another and threw that. He laughed with quiet joy and satisfaction, because he was happy and alone, because he was in a place Ollie would never think of.

“Ollie,” he said, just to test his theory out; and then he cocked his head carefully to one side, waiting for an answer.

“Ollie.”

“Geesus, Ollie, whaddya gonna do?”

His mouth dropped, and his gaze wandered all over the roof, but he knew that Ollie was nowhere near him.

Then he rose, walking over to the airshaft. Vividly, he remembered how Ishky had attempted to leap across it the day before.

Then he had been afraid, and rightly. But now his head was swollen out and out, like a great balloon. He was hanging from his head, in the same way that a basket hangs from a balloon. And if he stepped out over the airshaft, he would float. Perhaps he would float away—all the way to the sky.

At the thought, he laughed with delight. And, awkwardly, he scrambled over the edge of the roof.

He fell close to the house, where there were no clotheslines to impede his flight. He fell upon the rubbish with a sickening crash, and he lay still.

THIRTY

H
OW IS IT THAT I HATE BLACKBELLY NO MORE
?
IT CAME
about like this.

We are all in a circle, watching, and he and Ollie are face to face, showering blows upon one another. I am still crying, from my own fight, but under my breath I manage to urge Ollie on.

“Killim! Duh dirdy black basted! Shiddon his face, Ollie! Makeim eatis nuts!”)

Blackbelly goes down, and I leap in with the others. Everyone is trying to hit him at the same time, Shomake, all of them; all our hate is concentrated on Blackbelly. The battle between the gangs is over, but Blackbelly is still left. We want to tear him to pieces.

Suddenly, Ollie yells, “Aw, lay offana him!”

One by one, we separate ourselves, until only Kipleg and two more boys are holding Blackbelly. He's bleeding from the nose, and his shirt is torn all to shreds, but he is no longer crying. Sullenly he stands there, staring at us, his yellow eyes roving from one to another, fixing themselves finally upon Ollie, who is laughing at him.

“Well, shidface,” Ollie says.

And then—I no longer hate Blackbelly. It is difficult to explain, but all in a moment, my hate has vanished. Inside, I am limp and weak, but I see something.

(I saw that thing for many years. What did, Ishky know of hate, of power and glory and beauty? But as the years went, I saw it, again and again. But I don't know whether I ever saw it so clearly as then.)

More than I see it, I feel it. I want to go over to Blackbelly, very close to him, take his hand and explain. You see, I am close to him, the same way I was close to Shomake before the fight.

I clench my teeth. Otherwise, I will cry, and I don't want to cry now. I look at Shomake and he looks at me, and perhaps we see the same thing in each other's face. Shomake edges over to me, and his hand reaches out for my arm.

“Ishky—”

“Yeah?”

“Whatta dey gonna do?”

“I dunno.”

“Geesus, whatta fight!”

“Yeah.”

“I wanna go home.”

“Yeah.”

Blackbelly attempts to wrench himself free, but they only laugh at him. Then he stands there, in silent rage. Then he appears to swell, inside of himself, and he tries to smile back at Ollie. But he's not good at smiling.

“Whaddya gonna do wittim, Ollie?” Kipleg wants to know.

“Less cokalize him,” someone else suggests.

“Doncha worry,” Ollie tells them.

Blackbelly mutters, “Lemme go!”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yuh gonna git yer lumps.”

“Yuh better lemme go,” Blackbelly mutters. “I'm jus' tellin' yuh dat yuh'd better lemme go.”

“I'll piss in yer face, yuh dirdy nigger.”

“C'mon,” Ollie commands. “Jus' bringim along, an' I'll showya whatta do.” They drag Blackbelly with them, and we all follow Ollie. Shomake says to me:

“Geesus, I'm scared.”

“It's awright.”

“I wanna go home, Ishky.”

“Yuh wan' Ollie tuh giveya duh lumps?”

“Naw—”

“Den come on.”…

Ollie leads us deeper and deeper into the woods, and most of the way, we have to drag Blackbelly. I hope they will let him go, even if he beats me up the first time he sees me on the block. Then we come to a little glen, so thick with trees and underbrush that only a mottled pattern of the sun pierces through. Inside, the ground is moist and wet, and everything about it is deliciously quiet. It is all so pretty that I can't help but find some happiness in it. I hurt all over; I'm bruised and cut, but I can still see beauty.

At one side, there's a tall rock, a tree growing out of it; at the other side, the bluff bends down to the river; and through the trees, I can just glimpse the river, all silver and fine.

We stop there, and they hold Blackbelly under the rock. And then, for the first time, comprehension dawns upon us. Instinctively, we all know what Ollie is going to do, but no one of us says anything. We are taut, eager, and we wait, gathering close about Blackbelly. I think that we are afraid he will escape at the last moment. We have forgotten everything but the game, the drama, and we watch Ollie like a pack of dogs would watch their master.

Ollie walks back and forth, looking at Blackbelly, the grin flickering all over his lips. He blinks his eyes, and then he puts his hands in his pockets. He walks up to Blackbelly.

“D'ya know what dey do tuh dinges in duh sout'?” he demands.

“Boy, yuh'd better lemme go,” Blackbelly says. But I can see that he isn't sure of himself anymore.

“Gimme a butt,” Ollie says to Kipleg. He lights the cigarette, taking several careless puffs. Then, holding the cigarette between his lips, he unwinds the rope from his middle. At one end, he makes a slipknot.

We know what Ollie is up to, and we tremble with fear, with anticipation. Will he dare? Or is it all bluff upon his part? Will he back out at the last moment? Is he only attempting to scare Blackbelly, or is he in earnest? It is an even bet, and, inwardly, we each take our side. I think that Ollie is only bluffing, that he will back out at the last minute.

“Gonna lynchim?” Kipleg asks eagerly.

“Maybe—”

“Gonna really lynchim?”

“Maybe—”

“Nuts!”

“Betcha yuh don', Ollie.”

Cutting a piece from the end of the rope, Ollie ties Blackbelly's hands. And slowly, the rage on Blackbelly's face changes to fear. He squirms, struggles, and yells frantically. Then the brief spasm is over, and he stands again in silence, glowering at us. I can see that he is going to call Ollie's bluff, that he doesn't believe Ollie has the nerve to go through with it. I can see that he is making up his mind about what he is going to do to Ollie at some future time. And I can see that now Ollie is beginning to hesitate. All along, it was a game, and he never thought of hanging as hanging. But if he stops now, he will lose face. Ollie is a king, and he can't afford to lose face.

Maybe you will ask why I didn't try to stop it. The answer is simple enough. I was afraid.

God, how afraid I am! Suppose it is Ishky, there in Blackbelly's place. What would I do? Shomake presses close to me. He looks into my eyes, and I only shake my head. I don't know.

Some of the others are like that. They are afraid that Ollie will go through with it. Only they are afraid to lose face. Everybody is afraid to lose face. And they are eager, too. Nobody has ever seen anything like this.

Blackbelly stares at Ollie. “Whaddya gonna do?” he whispers.

“Lynchya.”

“Boy, yuh'd better watch out, white boy!”

“Gonna do sumpen?”

“I'll killya dead. Jus' lemme go, an' yuh'll see what I'll do.”

“S'pose I don' leddya go?”

“I'll git yuh!”

“Yeah—after we lynchya.”

“You ain' gonna lynch me.”

“No?—”

“Boy, I'm tellin' yuh, lemme go!”

Ollie stares at him, still grinning. But his lips are trembling, and I know that Ollie is afraid. He turns his back, and begins to climb up the rock. We are all staring after him, even Blackbelly.

Shomake begins to cry. He drops back a few steps, holding in his sobs, but I can see how the tears are running down his cheeks. But I don't cry. I stare at Ollie, horribly, horribly fascinated.

The end of the rope is fastened around the base of the tree, and Ollie ties knot after knot. Then he pulls on it, to make sure it won't slip. I can tell that he got this out of a movie or something, maybe a book, because he seems to know exactly what to do. After he has fastened one end to the tree, he takes the end with the loop, puts his arm through it, and shinnies up the tree. He crawls out on a branch, letting the loop dangle through a crotch. It just about reaches to the top of the rock. Then he drops from the tree to the ground.

We stand and stare, there is something so awfully dreadful about that loop. Blackbelly stares, too. Now he's afraid. His mouth trembles, and the tears crawl down his cheeks.

“Lemme go,” he says hoarsely.

Ollie is back in front of him, not grinning anymore, and almost as frightened as Blackbelly. But I know he won't back out now. He can't.

“Gonna stringim up?” Kipleg whispers.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe—maybe—”

“We'll jus' chokim a liddle,” Ollie says.

“Dat's good fer niggers.”

“Yeah.”

Blackbelly screams, “Lemme go!” He makes a frantic effort to tear himself loose.

We climb the rock, dragging him up with us. Then we put the noose around his neck, drawing it tight. Struggling there, Blackbelly is balanced on the edge of the rock. Then we push him off, scrambling down to the ground.

No sound now. We stare at him. We have forgotten everything but the figure hanging from the rope. No sound at all from us.

His body twists and struggles, his feet beating against the rock. He sways like a great pendulum, and his face swells and swells. His eyes appear to pop from his head.

God, it is terrible! There has never been anything so terrible as this.

But we do nothing, only stand and stare. Then Shomake whimpers like a baby.

And Blackbelly continues to kick, his lips working frantically. Now his kicks are lessening.

A moment more, we stare; then we bolt and run.

Some of us are screaming. We run in every direction. I have forgotten everything, except that I must get away from this place.

I have forgotten Shomake. I scramble down the bluff, whimpering.

THIRTY-ONE