Three Days Before the Shooting ... (104 page)

Thank the Lord, he thought, that we’re still able to laugh at things intended to intimidate and insult us. It’s been a harsh discipline but without it, how could we hope to face up to even the routine, everyday insanity of folks like this captain? Where any reasonably sane person would look at our age and attitude and see that we’re law-abiding, he insults us by treating us like criminals. And simply because we came here to speak with a senator. And not to accuse or rebuke him, or ask for favors, but in order to help him. But hardly do we open our mouths than we’re in a struggle of words with that woman who’s so wrapped up in the white folks’ games of Who’s in Charge, and Keep the Nigger in His Place that she can’t get our message for worrying about the blackness of the messengers. And it didn’t help that we’d learned to deal with that kind of game so long ago that we politely ignored it, she still jumps salty and calls for the guards—so we end up down here being pawed over by a gang of flunkies loaded down with blackjacks, pistols, and billy clubs!

And yes, he thought with an inward smile, with sawed-off Gatling guns! And seeing the captain squat with a grunt and begin slapping him about his calves and his ankles he looked down at the white, recently shaved neck and saw traces of talcum.

Hickman, he thought, it seems that no matter whatever a man’s brain orders his body to do out of vanity it can only obey according to its condition and structure. And sometimes the result is ridiculous. Just look at the position it’s put this one in! So busy showing off his power that he can’t see that he has to get down on his knees to do it!

But now with a grunt, the captain arose and moved to where his men were examining lunch boxes and baskets and finding nothing more lethal than Southern-fried chicken, hard-boiled eggs, store-cheese, soda crackers and bologna, peanut-butter and pork-chop sandwiches, and desserts consisting of chocolate cakes and fried sweet-potato pies. And warmed by the members’ good humor he thought, Hickman, maybe this clown has a bit of truth going for him after all, because a bad fried pie can be deadly!

And with a blank expression he watched two of the older ladies making light of the situation by responding to one of the guards’ orders with coquettish smiles and spinning on the floor in their flat-heeled shoes. A gesture which caused their ankle-length skirts to whirl flirtatiously as they giggled as gaily as green young girls. And now, a bit farther down the line, Brother Matt Smith was sharing their mockery.

With shoulders braced and head erect, Brother Matt was high-stepping in place and performing a straight-faced put-down of the guards’ military manners by barking, “Yas, suh! Right, Suh! Very good, Suh!” and punctuating the guard’s commands by stamping his foot on the floor.

I guess that’s as good a way as any of reminding a youngster that you fought and survived a couple of wars, Hickman thought. But now, seeing a guard step close to Brother Provo, he recalled the reputation which the old man had acquired during his days on the Galveston docks and prepared for trouble.

Wearing a black felt hat and standing far back in his knees with his slanting shoulders relaxed and arms hanging loosely, Brother Provo’s flat-nosed, lean-jawed head looked as though it had been squashed into the collar of his shirt by the weight of a boulder. In profile he appeared to be dozing—but now as the guard bent forward and gave a command, it was as though a warning signal had flashed in the path of a highballing train. For now in a flurry of movement, Brother Provo’s outstretched arms were pumping the air as though he intended to clasp the guard to his bosom. But instead, leaping backwards, he assumed the crouch of a veteran street fighter—from which, balancing lightly on the tips of his nob-toed shoes with hands at the ready, he watched the guard out of fierce narrow eyes. And as Hickman moved to intervene he saw the guard’s hand fly to his holster and froze, looking on.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the guard said. “You hard of hearing or something?”

“What do you think
you’re
doing,” Brother Provo said, “coming up on a man like that! And never mind my hearing, my ears is as good as yourn—yeah, and a heap more experienced!”

“Then you know that I told you to remove your hat, not show me your combat moves!”

“Yeah, and that’s what I thought you said.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“Because I like to think a bit before I take off my hat to
any
man, that’s why. Especially when he giving me orders like I got no choice except to obey him. But in case you don’t know it, a
man
can always choose when to die!”

And in the sudden hush Hickman’s voice boomed as though shouted through a bullhorn, “BROTHER PROVO!”

“I’m hearing you, Reveren’,” Brother Provo said. “What is it?”

“Look at me, Brother….”

With eyes still fixed on the guard, Brother Provo shook his head.

“Reveren’, I
said
I’m listening, ain’t that enough at a time like this?”

“Very well, I understand,” Hickman said, “but listen carefully: I sympathize with how you feel, but since our business here is important, don’t you think you ought to take your hat off so that we can end this foolishness?”

For a long interval Brother Provo remained silent, but just as he started to repeat his question Hickman saw the brother’s narrow eyes shift to his own.

“Revern’, maybe you’re right,” Brother Provo said, “but this fellow’s coming up on a man all of a sudden and telling him to off with his hat raises some questions. This here’s supposed to be Washington, D.C., ain’t it?”

“Right! And if this was down home he wouldn’t
tell
you to remove your hat,
he’d knock it off. Otherwise everything you’re signifying is true. But when you remember that this man is only following orders you can afford to indulge him….”

“All right, so I’ll do it. But some day I hope you’ll explain why it is that
we’re
always the ones who have to do the indulging!”

Glancing away to catch sight of the captain’s reaction, Hickman saw him looking over the shoulder of a sister who had stepped out of line for a better view, and looking back he saw Brother Provo removing his hat from his bald, battle-scarred head. And now slowly turning the black hat upside down Brother Provo was extending it toward the guard.

Careful now
, Hickman thought,
because if I heard him right he’s changed his strategy but still resisting—
and saw Brother Provo wait until the guard’s fingers reached out, and reaching inside the hat and flipping out its leather sweatband he turned the crown upright and gave it a tap which sent a small green wad to the floor in a flash.

“Would you look at that,” Brother Provo said with mock surprise as the guard dropped to one knee in retrieving the green object.

“You really are full of tricks,” the guard said as he pulled erect. “Now, what is it this time?”

“You the one who has holt to it,” Brother Provo said. “Why don’t you look and see?”

Staring at Brother Provo as he fingered the object, the guard hesitated.

“Oh, man, go ‘head on!” Brother Provo challenged. “I know they say it’s the root of all evil, but shucks, it ain’t goin’ to hurt a tough fellow like you.”

Shaking his head, the guard replied with a shrug. And patiently smoothing the tightly folded wad he held it toward the lights in the ceiling. And realizing that he was holding a badly creased banknote he gave Brother Provo a blank-faced stare.

“Does
all
of this belong to you?” the guard said with a grin.

“What do you want me to say,” Brother Provo said as he looked at Hickman with a bland expression, “you just seen it fall outta my hat, and this not being a game of finders-keepers, what can I do but admit that it does. But hey! Take a look at who’s picture is on it! Man, that’s General Tee-cumseh Sherman, the very same General who told the world that war is hell and went on to
prove
it! Yes, suh! Somebody in your line of work could learn a heap from a man like that!”

Suppressing a smile, Hickman watched the guard drop the banknote into Brother Provo’s outstretched palm as though it were flaming.

“Got you that time, didn’t I,” Brother Provo said, grinning at the guard. “So now I guess you want to look inside my shoes….”

But before the guard could answer the captain rushed forward and pushed him aside. “That’ll be enough of that,” he said and whirled angrily toward Hickman.

“Listen,” he said, “didn’t you say that these were church people?”

“Yes, sir,” Hickman said, “I did, and they are. But that doesn’t mean that they can’t be provoked into acting devilish—and even enjoy it. After all, they’re also Americans….”

“Well, if that’s what you preach you’d better not bring it in here again because we go strictly by the book—the
law
book!”

And stepping back, the captain swept his eyes along the line of blank watching faces, then down to the clutter of luggage at their feet.

“That’ll do it,” he said, “and now I want you people to shut these bags and get the hell out of here!”

As the group spilled onto the sidewalk smiling and shaking their heads, Hickman beckoned and they assembled around him.

“Folks,” he said, “I can see that none of you are discouraged by what happened in there, otherwise you wouldn’t be in such good humor. And I don’t think I have to explain the reason I couldn’t tell that secretary any more than I did, because that you already know. Neither do I have to explain that I had to do what I did…. Maybe she felt the same way. The point for us now is to find some other way of getting to this man, and if what we’ve been through is any indication it’s going to be even harder than we anticipated….”

“… It sure is, Revern’,” Sister Rogers said, “because these old folks around this town don’t seem to understand
anything!
We come to try to help the man, and that white gal secretary starts acting like some kind of one-chick hen. And if
that
wasn’t enough, those guards back there has to jump in and start
searching us
like criminals! So if these are the kind of folks that’s helping to run this so-called government I tell you we’re up against a powerful lot of ignorance! Why, if we was the kind to depend on the sword instead of the Lord we’d a-been too long gone to even think about it—ain’t that right, Sister Arter?”

“Girl,” Sister Arter said, “we’d have been in the grave and done long finished moldering!”

“Amen!”

“Sister Arter,” Sister Dawkins said, “I’d like to see their faces if they was to search you after you come from performing some of your midwifing duties. And especially for some of our fancy white families.”

“Me too,” Sister Arter said, “because it might teach them some of the facts of life. And I mean both those guards and that snippy secretary. It would teach them something about the connectedness of folks and things.”

[HOTEL]

“Y
OU’RE RIGHT
,” H
ICKMAN CALLED
through the laughter, “but for now we’d better find that hotel which a friend of Deacon Wilhite recommended and get us some rest.”

“Now that I could use,” Sister Bea said, “but from the way things are going it’ll probably be a case of no room in the inn.”

“Oh, no, Sister Bea,” Hickman said, “we’ll be accepted because this is the hotel where our top gospel singers stay when they’re performing in Washington.”

“I hope you’re right, ‘cause for today I’ve had my fill of white folks’ foolishness! What’s the name of this place?”

“The Hotel Longview—whatever that means—but like I say, that’s where we’re headed.”

Arriving at the hotel, Hickman climbed from his taxi and gazed at its façade and surroundings while the members assembled on the sidewalk. So now, he thought, we’ll see how these Longview folks react to us strangers from Georgia….

As expected, the lobby was crowded with whites, none of whom appeared disturbed by their entrance except one young man on his way out who paused and stared at his face with a startled expression.

“A.Z.,” Wilhite said, “he reacted as though he recognized you….”

But as Hickman turned and stared he was interrupted by a squad of bellmen rushing to help his group with their luggage. And now as he moved through the crowd he was pleased by the sight of several young brown-skinned young women and a famous black athlete. And in passing a party of convivial white couples he was surprised when one of the men bowed with an eye-twinkling smile and turned out to be a famous politician from Harlem. And upon reaching the reception desk he noted that the clerk’s reaction to the group was routine but friendly.

Good, he thought, good! This is how it should be: impersonal but gracious. So now, after getting some rest, we’ll get on with the business at hand.

Having seen that the sisters and brothers were comfortable he inspected his room, returned to the lobby, and bought a newspaper. And making his way to an area in which a scattering of men sat lounging and talking, he found a chair and began scanning the paper for news of the Senator.

Which proved unsuccessful, and with a sigh of relief he began reviewing the strategic mistake he’d made in going to the Senator’s office, and was suddenly aware that even the whites sitting nearby seemed undisturbed by his presence.

So, Hickman
, he thought,
it appears that while some patterns have changed, others remain as they were in the old days. Here you’re made welcome by a popular hotel and greeted by a powerful black congressman, but back at his office a prejudiced secretary prevented you from seeing a Senator
.

Which means that you’ve stayed away from Washington so long that you’ve lost some of your skills in interpreting its signs and its symbols. And maybe much too long for dealing with a booby-trapped town where you’ve always needed a map and a scenario for guiding your conduct. Yes, and an expert in D.C. double-talk to tell you what to do when words say one thing and mean their exact opposites
.

So perhaps it was a mistake to persuade the members to come along with you, even though most of them have shared your quest from the beginning and are eager to be in on its outcome. Still, you gambled, and now they’re frustrated, and it’s all due to your eagerness
.