Tulsa Burning (8 page)

Cinda shook her head. "Daisy won't mind, and you know I worked hot before." She reached out and grabbed my hand. "Hurry!"

She pulled me after her. I opened my mouth to warn her about Lester, who was baking for tomorrow, but it was too late. We
was in the kitchen, and Lester was glaring at us, his face all twisted into an ugly expression.

"Who's she?" He used his head to point to Cinda.

"This is my friend, Cinda," I said, "and she's going to help me do these dishes."

"Just like some puny white boy, getting a girl to do your work."

I opened my mouth to say something to him, but I didn't get a chance. Cinda was already talking. "Look, here, mister," she
said. "I don't know why you're up on your high horse just because I want to help Nobe a little. Me and him are friends, and
friends help each other. Seems like a man your age would know all about that." She turned to me. "Let me wash. I'm fast. You
dry."

We made quick work of them dishes, and then we went scooting out the back door. It was two miles to Widow Carter's place.
We hoped someone would come along to give us a ride, because if we had to walk all the way, we might not be there to see the
plane come in.

Sure enough Preacher Jackson came along in his truck. The preacher has to work at different things too besides preaching because
he has a bunch of kids, and I guess preaching don't pay real well. During the winter, he cuts down trees and sells firewood
to folks who don't want to cut it their-selves. In summer, if he's able, he works in the fields, baling hay and doing whatever
else he can.

First he went right on by us, and that made Cinda real mad. "You'd think a man of God would take pity on folks trying to see
an airplane!" she said.

But the preacher stopped just a ways down the road. "I reckon he didn't see us right off," I said.

"Want a lift?" he yelled, and we ran up to climb in the back of the truck. He had his wife and two or three little kids in
the front. A girl who looked about ten and a boy just a little older were in the back.

"Hi, Cinda," the girl said. The preacher's kids know Cinda on account of her and her folks going to church every Sunday.

Cinda said hello, and we climbed in back. The boy didn't say a word, just stared off to the side of the road like he was watching
for something. The girl was real interested in us, though. "What's your name?" she said to me.

"Nobe Chase," I said. "What's yours?"

"Puddin' Tane," she said, "ask me again, and I'll tell you the same."

"Her name's Mildred," Cinda said.

Mildred turned her attention to Cinda. "Is Nobe your beau?" she asked.

Cinda's face turned as red as her hair. "He most certainly is not," she said. "Me and Nobe, we've been friends since we first
started to school. We like to sort of hang around with each other, that's all."

I sort of looked down because, of course, I
was
wanting to be Cinda's beau. It seemed like, though, the thought never crossed her mind. Maybe if a fellow and a girl have
been friends since they lost their first teeth, the rules can't change after all that time. I was sure wishing they could.

The Jacksons was going to Widow Carter's just like me and Cinda was. I was kind of surprised that a preacher would want to
see a barnstormer, but he was real excited about it.

Cinda and me thanked the preacher for the ride, and we raced off across the pasture to where a crowd had already gathered.
We had just got to the crowd when someone yelled, "Look!"

We did, and there was the plane. It buzzed down so low over Widow Carter's barn that the crowd made an "ah" sound almost all
at once, like we was just one big person instead of a whole bunch of different people.

"They'll go up again now and do some stunts," a fellow behind us said, and he was right. When they were back above the barn
again, the plane started to circle. Me and Cinda kept our eyes on it, and we almost held our breath. Then one man climbed
out on the wing, and we really were afraid to breathe. When he was just barely on the wing he leaned back, and the pilot handed
him a baseball bat and a small bag. With the bat under his arm, he stood up on the wing.

"There'll be a ball in that bag, sure as you're alive," said the man behind us, and sure enough he was right again. The man
on the airplane opened the paper bag, took out a red ball, and let the bag go in the wind. Then he held the ball up in front
of the bat, dropped it, and hit it hard. The crowd went wild, but I didn't spend any time clapping or shouting.

"I'm going to go find that ball," I told Cinda, and I tore off in the direction it had landed. Cinda came right along. We
didn't pay any mind to the stunts even though the crowd was oohing and aahing. When we got to the general area where we thought
the ball had come down, we split up and looked for it.

Pretty soon Cinda yelled, "Here it is," and she held it up for me to see. The stunts were over now, and by the time we ran
back to the crowd, Basil and Willie was landing. Cinda and I stood near the edge of the up-front group.

Both men came climbing out of the plane, and the crowd went to cheering real loud. First Basil and Willie walked to the widow
and her brother, who were standing in the front of the crowd. Willie shook Olly's hand, and Basil gave him a big hug. The
crowd cheered again, and I expected Oily to bolt and run on account of him being so shy, but he didn't.

The flyers went back to the plane, and Basil climbed back up on the wing. Then he started to yell out, "Who wants a ride?
Only five bucks for the ride of your life! I can take three at a time, folks, because Willie here wants to stay on the ground
and look for him a gal. Me, I'm a married man, so I can keep my mind on the flying. Now who will be first?"

No one stepped up. "Come on," shouted Basil. "Don't be nervous about going up! Why, I tell you what I'll do! You give Willie
here the five dollars, and if we crash and you get killed, you can have your money back!"

The crowd laughed, but no one stepped up to buy a ride. Cinda still had the ball in her hand. "Go give the ball to Basil,"
I said to her.

"I sort of thought I'd keep it, you know, as a souvenir." She turned the ball over in her hands. "I don't reckon they know
we've got it, and I bet they've got another one."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, I was thinking they might give you a free ride if you was to give it back to them."

Cinda sucked in her breath. "Oh, do you think so?"

"It's worth a try," I said.

Cinda stepped toward Basil, but she grabbed my hand and sort of pulled me after her. When we was close to him, he said, "You
two want rides?"

Cinda shook her head no. "We ain't got no money," she said. "But here's your ball we found."

"Well, now, that's real neighborly of you, bringing back my ball. I'm real fond of that particular ball." He took the ball
and held it up for everyone to see. "This here young lady brought back my ball," he yelled. "I figure maybe she ought to get
a free ride."

"Sure thing," yelled Willie. "You climb right on up there, darling."

Cinda didn't move. "It was Nobe's idea," she said. "I never would of thought to go look for the ball, but right off that's
what he thought of. Nobe ought to be the one to get the ride instead of me."

"No," I said. "You found it fair and square. You go."

"Well, looks like we've got us a pair here, huh, Willie?" he called. "It appears we'll have to take them both."

Cinda squeezed my hand so hard I thought she might break my fingers off, but she dropped my hand real quick when Basil said,
"Climb on in." She was up in that plane in nothing flat, like she'd been scrambling up into airplanes for all her life. Basil
Bailey pointed us to the backseat.

About the time we got settled, Preacher Jackson joined us, and Basil started up the engine. My stomach felt real strange when
we took off, and I reckon I was holding my breath pretty tight. Cinda grabbed my hand. Her fingernails were cutting into my
skin, but I didn't try to get loose. It wouldn't have done me any good to try anyway. Cinda wouldn't have let go of that hand
no matter what.

As soon as we was off the ground, the preacher started shouting out a prayer so loud you'd think he thought God had to hear
him over the roar of the airplane. "Oh, Lord," he prayed, "forgive me my sins. You know I started swearing a blue streak this
morning when that old cow took to kicking me because I forgot to put the kicker chains on her. And forgive me for being so
interested in worldly things as to make me spend five dollars on this ride. And dear, God, if you can see your way to spare
our lives, I'll be a better man, and Lord, I think Nobe, who is in the backseat, will be a better man, too."

I wanted to say to the preacher that God sure ought to know who it was in the backseat without being told. I also wanted to
say I wasn't making any promises about being a better man. Not that I wouldn't like to do better, but see, Cinda was leaning
against me while she held on to my hand with one hand and clutched my knee with the other. There I was up above the world,
where any fool would have his mind on dying and trying to get into heaven. Not me, though. I started having impure thoughts
right there in that airplane. I reckon I would have impure thoughts even if one of them clouds parted and I was to see the
face of God. I reckon I've just got one of them kind of minds. I just had to hope God knew what it was like to be a boy who
tried to keep a pure mind, but just couldn't.

"This is as high as we go, folks," Basil yelled. I was too scared to look down until then, and I just had to look. Boy howdy!
I never had any notion how beautiful our plain old Oklahoma really was. I could see the widow's barn, and her pretty fields
of corn and wheat. One field had just been plowed, and the brown looked so pretty there in the middle of the growing things.
Over in her pasture, two jersey cows was standing in a pond so as to cool off. The cows was real small from up there, but
they looked so beautiful. I could see Wekiwa over to my left. For a minute I didn't think it was our town on account of how
pretty it was, but then I looked at the lay of the buildings, the bank building on one corner being the tallest and all. I
knew for sure it was Wekiwa.

The funny thing is that I stopped having them impure thoughts, and I went to talking to God too, not out loud like the preacher,
but just quiet inside my head. I told him that I never did know how beautiful his world was, and I sort of thanked him for
letting me live in it.

I think Cinda was feeling the same way. "Oh, Nobe," she said. "Just look down there. The world's so wonderful and so big.
It's just so big, and I want to see it, Nobe, I want to see it all, Noble. Oh I do."

We started down then, and we buzzed real low over that barn again. When we landed, Basil said, "I hope you three will urge
the others to go up too. We'd like to make some money today."

"I surely will do that," Preacher Jackson said, but when we stopped, he didn't get much of a chance.

Even before Basil Bailey had a chance to get out, Cinda popped out of that seat. Quick as a wink, she was up on the back of
that plane. "You got to go up," she yelled. "Even if you've got to get a mortgage on your farm to do it, you've got to go
up. There ain't nothing like seeing our world from way up there, the way God sees it."

We climbed out of the plane then. People was crowding up to pay their five dollars. Cinda and I pushed our way through the
crowd to stand up and watch. Then she did the most amazing thing. She leaned right over and kissed me. The kiss landed half
on the side of my lips and half on my chin. "Thank you, Nobe," she said. "If you hadn't thought of getting that ball, we might
never have had a chance to see." I felt like I was purely flying again!

Chapter 6

I JUST NEVER DID FEEL the same inside after we went up in that airplane with Basil Bailey. I'd walk around Wekiwa looking
at things like the street or the blacksmith shop, and I got to studying about how pretty things looked from up there. And
then, of course, there was that kiss. I spent me some real nice times thinking about that kiss.

Sure. I had not forgot what Cinda said about me not being her beau. But that kiss was real, and it was her idea. There was
flyers around town about how Basil was aiming to be back in town on June 2. I'd have me a payday by then, and I knew what
I'd do with the money. I forgot all about saving for my escape. I'd use the money for an airplane ride for Cinda. I might
ask Daisy about an advance on my wages, so that I'd have enough for me too.

It had been three days since the ride, and I was still feeling like I was walking in high cotton. The Café was open late on
the last night of May because it was Tuesday, and the railroad men always came in for supper on Tuesday night.

As soon as I got out the front door of the sheriff's house, I started to whistle, "You Are My Sunshine." Most times I went
around to the back door of the restaurant, but I just went in the front, sort of wanting to see the folks who were eating
from the dishes I'd be washing in a few minutes.

My whistling stopped when I opened the front door and saw Sheriff Leonard. He had been at his house having his supper with
Mrs. Leonard just a few minutes earlier, but now he was having pie while Charlie Carson from the bank ate roast beef. There
was another man with them, but I didn't know him.

I just nodded to Daisy and was about to go through the swinging doors when Preacher Jackson busted through the front doors.
His face was red, and his hair was wild.

"War's broke out in Tulsa!" he yelled, and he leaned against the counter like he'd run the whole twelve miles from there.

"Mercy," said Daisy. "Don't tell us the Germans have attacked Tulsa!"

The preacher shook his head, but he didn't say anything for a minute, just breathed heavy. Finally he was able to talk. "It
wasn't the Germans," he said. "It's the colored people and the white people fighting each other. They're burning the town."

Sheriff Leonard jumped up, and he had his hand on his gun. "The damn coloreds are setting fire to Tulsa?" he yelled.

"No," said the preacher. "It's the whites that are doing the burning."

"Well," said the sheriff, "they're bound to have good reason. The coloreds must of got out of hand, else the whites wouldn't
have to put them in their place."

The preacher wiped his face with a bandanna. "I was there when it started. A colored boy was arrested yesterday because a
white woman claimed he grabbed her in the elevator where she worked. The newspaper had an article that got people to saying
the boy ought to be lynched."

Daisy brought the preacher a glass of iced tea, and he took a big drink before he went on. "Well, sir, a crowd of white men
gathered down by the jail, talking up the lynching. Then the coloreds, they start to gather too, wanting to protect the boy."
He wiped his hand across his eyes. "There was some of us, both white and colored, who were a trying to calm people down. I
was standing right where the whole thing started, could have reached out to touch the fellow that got killed. That's exactly
what I should have done, should have reached out to stop him." He stopped to get another drink. I noticed how his hand shook,
holding the glass.

"What happened?" Banker Carson was up by then, and he pulled at the preacher's arm.

"Well, sir," said the preacher, "there was this colored fellow had a gun, and the white man said, 'What are you doing with
that gun?' The colored man, he says, 'I'm fixing to use it if I have to.' The white man says, 'No, you're not,' and right
off he starts to wrestle the colored man for the gun. The gun goes off, and the white man falls right there at my feet, dead.
The shooting starts then. I ran." A terrible wounded look come across his face, and I was afraid he might start to cry, but
he went on. "What was I to do? I couldn't talk sense to men who were shooting at one another. They brought in a truckload
of white fellows with guns, gasoline, and matches. They started burning everything in sight! Churches! They even burned churches."
He shook his head, and despair seemed to take over his whole body. He sort of fell into a chair near the counter. "Why would
they burn churches? I never thought I'd see the day!"

Sheriff Leonard pulled himself up to stand real tall. "Reckon I'd better be rounding up me some deputies," he said. "The coloreds
could be attacking us next, but we'll be ready."

The preacher lifted his head. "Didn't you hear anything I said, man?" he asked. "It's the whites that are doing the attacking,
burning homes with women and children right there inside. It's a shameful day," he said, "a shameful day." He put his head
back down.

"Little children," said Daisy, "little children like Lida Rose seeing such awful things." She went over to put her hand on
the preacher's shoulder.

Sheriff Leonard wasn't satisfied. "I don't know," he said. "Seems to me like we ought to be taking precautions against trouble."
He folded his arms across his chest, and his red face seemed lost in thought.

"Dudley," Charlie Carson said, "what do you think is about to happen here in Wekiwa? We don't have a colored family here in
town. Now we do have a few families out south of town, nice, peaceful folks they are. You think they're likely to go crazy
and start a war, do you?"

"A lawman's got to be ready," said the sheriff. "You can't never tell what the coloreds will do if they get all hot under
the collar. I'm getting some men together."

"Sit down, Dudley!" said Charlie Carson. He hit the table he stood beside with his fist. "I'm telling you, you are not deputizing
a bunch of fools and starting some kind of trouble here."

I never knew anyone had the nerve to talk to Sheriff Leonard that way, but he took it. Charlie Carson pulled back a chair,
and the sheriff set down in it. Then Mr. Carson set down across from him. When he talked next, his voice was quieter.

"Think about it, Dudley. You get a bunch of guys together with guns, and there's bound to be trouble. The preacher just told
us what happened in Tulsa on account of hotheads."

Daisy was still looking at Preacher Jackson. "Could I get you a plate of food, Brother Jackson?" she asked. "It would be on
the house, of course."

The preacher raised his head. "That's kind, but thank you, no." He wiped at his face again. "I couldn't eat a bite." He put
his head back down. "I should have stayed," he said, real soft. "That's the thing that's eating at me. I should have stayed.
Maybe there was some little thing I could have done, some little thing to help those suffering people. All I did was run.
I started up my truck, and I got out of there fast as I could." He looked right at me then. "Most any man would have stayed
and tried to help."

"No." I shook my head. "I suspect most any fellow would have done what you did. You got a wife and kids to think about too,
Preacher. What would have happened to your wife and kids was you to get yourself shot or burned up in Tulsa?"

The preacher didn't say anything. He just stared at me like he wasn't sure where I had come from or who I was. "Nobe,"

said Daisy, "why don't you see Brother Jackson home?"

It was just a block over to the church, and the preacher lived right next door. "Sure," I said. I took hold of the preacher's
arm. "I'll walk with you." I helped him up, but he seemed sort of shaky on his feet. I didn't figure he could walk even to
his house. "Is your truck out front?" I asked.

He looked at me, sort of dazed like. "Yes, I believe it is. Yes, I must have driven it back from Tulsa."

"Come on." I steered him toward the door. I did not look at Sheriff Leonard. Somehow I just plumb could not stand to see that
man's face one more time that night.

I was helping the preacher into the car when he pointed off to the east. "See the flames?" he said. "The flames of hatred.
God forgive us," he whispered.

I looked back to the east, and sure enough, I could see the light in the darkness. "I am right glad I ain't in Tulsa tonight,"
I said, and it was just that second that I thought of Isaac Mitchell.

The preacher thought of Isaac too. Before I could ask about him, the preacher started to talk. "Isaac Mitchell was there.
Trying to talk his people into going home, saying the law would protect the colored boy. He wanted to get both sides to just
go home." His voice broke. "I saw them strike him with the butt of a shot gun. I saw him fall, but he got up." He shook his
head. "I believe I saw him get up. No, I can't be sure. Isaac may well be dead by now. He was such a good young man, a blessing
to his dear mother."

My heart took to thumping like it was fixing to break out of my chest. I looked again at the bright spot on the night horizon.
Tulsa was on fire, and Isaac was there. He was there, and he was injured.

I shoved the preacher in and fired up the truck. Driving that old truck wasn't as easy as Isaac's new automobile. At first
I had trouble keeping it on the street. I remembered how Isaac had said I wasn't exactly ready for city driving, but it sure
looked like I would be driving in a city. By the time I had it headed down the preacher's street, I had my mind made up. "Preacher,"
I said. "Can I borrow your truck? I got to go to Tulsa. I got to try to find Isaac and bring him home."

"Oh, my boy," he said. "It won't work. I tried to turn back. After I came to myself, I tried to turn back for that very reason.
No, they won't let you in. The National Guard has that part of downtown blocked off."

"I've got to try," I said.

"Well, then, turn the truck. I'll go with you. You've got to have help."

"No, Preacher," I said. "You're done in for tonight. I can get me someone else to help." While I was saying that, I knew who
I'd get. Lester. He was my only choice.

At the preacher's house, I didn't even turn off the truck, just helped the preacher to the door, hurrying him as much as I
could. Then I ran back to the truck and jumped in. I was afraid Lester would be leaving the Café, and I didn't have no idea
in the world where the man slept at night.

I was just about to get back in the truck when the preacher's wife came running after me. "Edwin says take this blanket and
the water." She pushed a blanket and a jug at me. For just a minute I wondered who Edwin was. I had never heard anyone call
the preacher that before, but I reckon he had to have a given name. It wasn't likely that his ma and pa called him "preacher"
when he was born, or that his teacher said "Brother Jackson" when she wanted him to recite.

I got back to the Café just in time. Lester was just reaching for his old felt hat when I busted through the back door. "Don't
leave," I shouted. Then I remembered the sheriff was likely still out front. I lowered my voice. "You've got to go with me,"
I said, "but we can't let anyone know."

"I ain't going nowhere with some crazy white boy in the middle of the night." He shoved me away from the door and started
out it.

"Please," I begged. "It's for Isaac. It's for your son. He needs us."

He whirled back, and his face was full of hate. "What are you talking about? I ain't got me no son. You just ask his mama.
She'll tell you. I got one boy killed, and she took the other one away from me. I ain't got no son."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I ignored the comment. "Step outside with me," I said, "and I'll show you Tulsa burning."

"Huh?" he said, but he stepped out, and I followed him.

I pointed to the east. "See that glow. That's Black Wall Street. That's where Isaac works and lives. There's been trouble
between the coloreds and the whites, and the whites are burning out the whole colored section. The preacher was there. He
seen it all start, and he seen Isaac get hit hard with a gun."

Lester made some sort of sound way down deep in his throat. "Will you come with me?" I said. "I'm driving the preacher's truck."
He didn't answer me, just headed for the truck.

I wondered what it would be like driving through the night with Lester beside me. I wondered if he would talk, but he didn't.
We drove that whole twelve miles without a word passing between us. Lester just set over there, hating me. I could feel him
hating me like I was the one that hurt his son instead of the one trying to help. I wanted to ask why, but I didn't. I just
figured hate like Lester's couldn't ever be shrunk down to words.

The glow in the sky got brighter and brighter as we got closer to Tulsa. My fear got brighter and brighter too. Finally Lester
said something, but what he said didn't make me feel any better. He said, "I reckon this is the night I kill me some whitey.
It's a thing I've known was coming my whole life."

I figured Lester was just as likely to pick me to be his dead whitey as any other fellow, but I just kept driving. I did start
to wonder if maybe I'd made a mistake. Maybe I'd have been smarter to bring along poor addled Preacher Jackson than this hate-filled
colored man.