Three Days Before the Shooting . . .

by Ralph Ellison

  “I think so, although I’m finding it a bit confusing. But I’m still with you.”

  “Good,” Love said. “So let’s backtrack a bit: The goggle eyes rolled into town that Friday afternoon right after it was struck by thunder and lightning. For a while it seemed like a cloudburst, but it didn’t last. Then all day Saturday they were out hustling in the streets. The black-white one stopped in at the theater and had the manager announce the contest during the break between the movie and the newsreels. Then he talked to the businessmen and got them all excited. And when I saw him talking a mile a minute to the fellow who ran the Elite, which was a social club for young men and women, I could feel how it was going. Because the fellow who ran the club was so flattered by his being considered important enough to take up more time than it takes to say ‘Howdy.’ Those goggle-eyed fellows were running around all day, talking with folks and looking at the buildings and the dance halls and lodge rooms and churches.

  “Then to sweeten the pot they unleashed that camera and started training it on the streets and on the buildings like they were surveying the town. But mainly they shot at the people. They’d shout orders back and forth to one another, and then consult among themselves and argue back and forth and go back and point that one-eyed man some more.

  “So with that the boy wanted to know which of the fellows was one-eyed, and when I explained that I meant the camera, he laughed. Said, ‘You make it sound like Polypheman’—or maybe he said ‘Polyphemus.’

  “‘I never hear of him,’ I said, ‘but you should have seen what that one-eyed thing was doing. He collected such a crowd that soon you’d have thought that folks had nothing to do except follow those strangers and that three-legged contraption around the streets. It was like it had stirred up a storm and folks couldn’t run for watching it. And those fellows treated the damn thing like some kind of totem.’

  “With it standing on those three wooden legs one of them would squint through its eye and wave his arms to warn the crowd against getting too close. Then one of the others would have his head down looking through it, and his buddies would have the crowd walking in front of it or crossing the street and doubling back. Sometimes it looked like they were having a roundup and the folks were the cattle.

  “First the goggle eyes were polite about it, but when they saw how fascinated folks were by what they were doing in front of that one-eyed bastard and how pleased they were in doing it they started ordering them around in a pretty round way. In fact, I’ve seen men killed just for using the tone of voice they were using.

  “But not this time—hell, no! Folks were not only taking it, but liking it. And when the goggle eyes finished working on one end of the street one of them would pick up that contraption and carry it to another spot on his shoulders. And when he sat it down it was like he was settling a pregnant woman on a cot or a child on a potty. Then they’d spread its legs and start aiming it again and giving folks orders.

  “Then they took out a little slate like the kind used by children and a piece of white chalk. And after they’d aimed the one-eyed contraption at the crowd and cranked it a while they’d write something on the slate and hold it in front of it and crank it some more like they were feeding it something rare and special.

  “Hickman, now-a-days that kind of fiddling wouldn’t mean much even to country folks, but back then it was heap big magic. So those fellows were causing no end of excitement because nothing like it had ever hit town. Folks were getting so drunk from just looking at them fiddling that pretty soon they began to act like they were no longer themselves. It was like the whole bunch had et a meal of loco weeds. Even old folks, and folks you’d have thought would know better got to making excuses for going out into the street to walk in front of that damn hunk of glass mounted on stilts.

  “At first they’d walk natural, but then they’d double back and give it another try. They’d walk fancy and they’d walk lame. They’d strut and they’d creep. They’d walk tall and proud and then low and beat down. It was something to see. Verily, it was something to witness.

  “And then it began to affect the kids. Because when those fellows would look through the one-eyed man they always had the bills of their caps turned to the rear, so pretty soon all the little boys—and a few of the grown ones too—they went in for the new style of cap-wearing. So that now they were walking around looking like somebody had cut their heads off and stuck them on backwards.

  “Hickman, before those goggle eyes showed up only some of the pool sharks and hustlers went for that kind of style, and if a respectable woman was to see her boy wearing his cap that way she’d break his neck. Yao! But now they were glad to let the younguns get away with it. You’d have sworn that every cap-wearing boy in town was walking around backwards. Never in my life have I seen a hunk of glass cause so much confusion.

  [CYCLOPS 1]

  “DAMN NEAR EVERYBODY WAS talking about this movie. I stood in Speed’s place listening to Jonas Ironwine going on about how it would benefit the community. According to him it would win nationwide attention and develop young actors who’d end up in Hollywood making movies with stars like Pearl White, William S. Hart, and Hoot Gibson. He said, ‘Hell, gentlemen, this thing’ll inspire the entire country!’

  “So with that Editor looked at me and I looked at him. Because let something new come along, Ironwine’ll grab it and try to promote it. And he’ll do it even though he knows nothing about it or the folks behind it. In other words, he’s a self-promoter. And true to form, when Editor asked him to describe the movie the goggle eyes had in mind he comes up empty. So then Editor asks him if he didn’t think it a good idea to find out before things went any further.

  “‘Not with such experts as these behind it,’ Ironwine said. ‘They’re gentlemen of vision who know what they’re doing. Besides, what’s important is that they’re making a movie right here, in our part of town, with our people doing the acting.’

  “‘I understand,’ Editor said, ‘but acting what roles? Because after what happened with The Birth of a Nation that’s also important.’

  “Well, that got Ironwine hot under the collar. Said, ‘Let me tell you something, Editor, you’re running true to form. Let something good come along which you don’t have a hand in and you’ll try to kill it. Oh, yes! You’re a great one for badmouthing another man’s ideas, but this time I’m putting you on notice: You interfere with this once-in-a-lifetime chance that’s come to this town and I’ll see to it personally that the entire community boycotts that crummy paper of yours!’

  “Well, at this Editor shook his head and grinned.

  “‘Ironwine,’ he said, ‘I’ve always taken the knocks that come from expressing my opinions, both editorial and otherwise, so don’t worry about me—unless you’re making this personal.’

  “And with that Ironwine draws in his neck. Because like I told the boy, Editor was both a man of words and a man of action.

  “Hickman, I once saw a bully twice his size go after him, but instead of backing off he bent the man double with a butt in the belly and then pistol-whipped his head with a Colt forty-five.

  “So, knowing all this, Ironwine rushes out of Speed’s like he has an urgent appointment. Then when he’s halfway up the hill he starts yelling and giving Editor hell. Called him everything but a child of God.

  “But Editor just laughed and said to the rest of us, ‘Gentlemen, I thought I was asking a sensible question. Because while the picture these strangers have in mind might be a good one, I think it’s reasonable to consider what might happen if it’s not.’

  “So that’s the way it went, with folks laughing at Ironwine talking low but forgetting about Editor’s question. So things kept building.

  “All day Saturday those three fellows were driving around pointing that one-eyed contraption at everything from churches to outhouses. They didn’t even miss the animals—I know because they pointed that thing at my mare with me in the saddle and she up and bolted.

  “
Everywhere you turned they’d be there, and with folks falling over one another asking questions and getting in the way. This went on until it got too dark for the three-legged bastard to see, and even then they hung around under an arc light which used to hang over the center of Bailey and Giles, pointing that bug-eyed sonofabitch at the shadows. Then they slipped a leather hood over its head and disappeared downtown in that Franklin.

  “That evening after supper, I went down to Speed’s to get me a plug of tobacco, and there was Tom Jornigan carrying on about how this movie would help business, and how lucky we were to have the goggle-eyed fellows pick our town for a movie. So I asked him if anyone had found out what kind of picture they had in mind, but that he couldn’t tell me. And neither could anybody else.

  “Well, the next day was Sunday, and since I’d promised to let Janey drag me to church I figured that except for the usual yelling and singing it would be more or less peaceful. Now don’t get me wrong: Being of the People I know how powerful religion can be. But Hickman, I swear, the uproar which some of the State Negroes set off in church on Sunday sounds like all hell is erupting. So thanks to Janey I’m prepared for that, but I’m dead wrong in thinking that otherwise things would be peaceful—which I began to discover when I pick up Janey and we start walking to church.

  “By the time we head uphill the service had already started—which is how Janey likes it. Because with folks yelling their heads off and the organ blasting she can grandstand a bit by marching down to her pew in step with the music. And if it’s ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers,’ she likes it even better. Because then she takes a grip on my arm and pretends she’s captured a heathen and means to convert him. So since I’d been through it before I’m prepared to go along—only this time things take a turn I least expected.

  “Hickman, as you know, those steep stone steps which lead up to the church have three landings with railings….”

  “Yes, and I’ve climbed them.”

  “Well, just as we round the corner and head for church I see what looks like a big bundle which some ornery coyote—be he laundryman, hobo, or thief—has dumped square in the middle of the topmost landing. And as we draw closer folks heading for church are squeezing past it and looking back with puzzled expressions. Then, as Janey and me reach the steps and start up, I see that this bundle is silk and a deep tone of purple, and I know right away that I’m staring at trouble—Yao! But since it’s too late to escape from Janey I have to keep climbing. And just when we’re about to reach it the damn thing moans and relaxes and I’m looking at the form of a man!

  [CYCLOPS 2]

  “A MAN?”

  “That’s right, and from the signs on the steps and the landing he’d been so hell bent on making it to church on time that after being knocked to his knees he kept going by crawling….”

  “What led you to such a conclusion?”

  “The signs, Hickman, which are always around to be read. Like the cigarette ash on his elbow, the dust on the hem of his robe, and the black shoe polish scraped on the steps behind him. So I figured that at the point where he fell whatever hit him the first time backtracked and knocked him colder than a well-digger’s butt in December.

  “Anyway, when we reach him he’s all doubled up with his head under his arms like he’s hiding, and he’s clawing toward the church with his long white hand. So, seeing State folks high-stepping and frowning like he’s something contagious, I’m reaching down to help him when Janey—your good Christian friend and mine—jerks me away. So either I land on top of the man or let her drag me up the steps beside her. Which I do.

  “But while this is happening folks behind us go into action, and when I look back they’re rolling him over. And Hickman, when you hear who he turns out to be you won’t believe me.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but what do you mean?”

  “Because this man, this poor weary pilgrim, is the head man of the strangers in goggles and leggins …”

  “… Now wait! Do you mean the moving-picture man?”

  “Right! He’s the black-white one! And not only is he dressed in a purple silk robe and fancy black gaiters, around his neck there’s a heavy gold chain—Yao!— and dangling from the chain there’s this figure in ivory of a white man who’s nailed hands and feet to a heavy black cross …”

  “… A what?”

  “A crucifix, Hickman, a crucifix! And when the boy hears about it he falls back in his chair with a ‘Well I’ll be damn!’—which is how I felt when I saw it. So if you want to join us you have my permission.”

  “That’s considerate of you, Mr. New, but no thank you. Then what happened?”

  “So naturally the boy wants to know what this fellow was doing dressed like that on the steps of a church—which was the question on everybody’s mind, including folks inside the church who’d passed him before Janey and me arrived. Anyway, now he’s lying on his back with his eyes closed, and as folks gather around he begins mumbling what sounds like a prayer in the unknown tongue—you getting the picture?”

  “I get it, so then what happened?”

  “So while Janey hustles me up the steps and into the church, four men lug this fellow inside behind us. With folks on their feet singing ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow’ they’re trying their best not to disturb them, but as it turns out they have no more chance than a snowball in hell. Because just as they stretch the white-black one on a bench in the rear his foot bangs the floor, and when folks whirl and see him lying there dressed in that long purple robe it’s the start of a strange Sunday morning.

  “Not that it stops the singing, but with some of the squaws—old, young, and in between—having seen this fellow and his friends working that one-eyed contraption, they start itching to get back there to nurse him. And now folks all over the church are asking themselves whether he’s dead or just ailing, and how come he’s dressed in that purple costume—Yao! And what the hell was he doing stretched on the steps in the first place, and how he managed to get there without being noticed? But whether it was by trick or by whirlwind, the white-black one was there, and even lying flat on his back he’s taking them over.

  “Meanwhile, up in the pulpit the minister, Reverend Caruthers, is still in control and means to stay in control, no matter what the hell’s brewing back in the rear. So to make sure everybody keeps their eyes on the pulpit and their minds on the service he takes over the singing. And pretty soon he’s damn near busting a gut yelling ‘Amazing Grace.’ Which was a good choice, because being an old favorite everybody except me joins in and goes hymning away like they’re seeing a vision.

  “So now Caruthers is standing in the pulpit with the choir and the organ roaring behind him. To his left the sun is beaming through the big stained-glass windows, and especially through the clear pane they were forced to install after some rock-throwing boys knocked out the section with the heads of Saint Paul and John the Baptist on it. And as he leads the singing and waves his arms in time with the music he’s keeping his eyes on the rear like he’s mapping a strategy. And it seems to be working. Because even though folks have to be wondering what’s happening behind them they’re looking straight ahead and getting on with the singing.

  “But the tension keeps rising. So then the head deacon steps up to Caruthers, buzzes his ear, and gets told to get lost. Then, with folks fidgeting and turning to see what’s happening behind them, another deacon steps up to offer Caruthers some assistance.

  “This time it’s a tall, lanky fellow who looks like a grasshopper with frost in his bones who comes tiptoeing across the platform in his swallow-tailed coat, gambling-striped britches, moleskin vest, and rimless glasses. But without missing a beat or turning his head Caruthers waves him away and keeps sweating and singing.

  “Meanwhile, with everybody’s eye on Caruthers, the tension keeps building. And that’s where being both an outsider and a heathen works to my advantage. Because while everybody else is looking forward and stewing I’m sneaking looks to the rear
to see what’ll happen when the white-black one makes his next move. I’m also beginning to respect the way Caruthers is handling his problem, because even though he hasn’t yet come up with a solution it’s clear that come hell or high water he means to stay in command.

  “So now he turns and whispers to the head deacon, no doubt telling him to get that movie-making fellow into his study, which is in a room just back of the choir and the organ. Or maybe it’s to get him the hell anywhere, as long as it’s out of his sight.

  “And he damn well needs to do something, because by now all those women dressed in beaded dresses and wide-brimmed hats have gone to waving their fans so hard and fast that it sounds like a storm blowing in from the prairie. Even the organist sitting with his back to the pews is feeling the tension, because once or twice he loses control of his fingers and something which ain’t exactly church music reels from the organ. But Caruthers keeps singing, and with that mule-driver’s voice of his getting stronger and stronger I’m beginning to think he’ll come out the winner.

  “But I’m wrong, because now the tune runs out of verses. Then as he stands waving his arms there’s a pause which ends with the organ easing into a high, smoke-curling tune that’s dream-like and peaceful. But there’s no peace for Caruthers.

  “Because by now he’s so frustrated by what’s been brewing back in the rear that instead of getting on with his sermon he’s dabbing at his face with a big white handkerchief and looking desperate. And that’s exactly when one of the old ladies down front on the mourners’ bench goes into action.