Any Known Blood

by Lawrence Hill

  Roberta, his wife, ran down the stairs. “Eric’s out, Langston. What’s wrong?”

  “The Klan!”

  “The what?”

  “The Klan.”

  “Langston, honestly, what are you talking about?”

  “The Ku Klux Klan. At my house.”

  “The Klan? In Oakville? You’re kidding!”

  “After I leave, lock your door. Hide my kids in your basement. Call the police.”

  “The police, Langston, is Bob Phillips. That’s the only police we have. And he’s out. Bob is with my husband in Burlington. Church business.”

  “Stay with my children.”

  “Don’t go out there,” Roberta said.

  “I have to. My mother-in-law is in my house. So is Aberdeen Williams. So is Evelyn.”

  “Don’t go out there, Langston. I forbid you.”

  “Take good care of my kids, and don’t let them out.” He ran outside.

  She called after him. “You have a family, Langston. Don’t be a hero.”

  He turned back to her. “Call neighbors. Call someone in Burlington. Someone, anyone. Get them to help you track down the police chief.”

  Langston stole between houses, over fences. He cut east, slightly, and crept into his backyard. He could see nothing by the west side of his house. He lay in the cold, wet grass. On the east side, he saw the five cars stopped in the street. He saw the hooded men. He tried the back door. Locked. Shit. He kicked in the pane, reached his hand in, cut his arm, turned the knob, opened the door. He saw a shadow move in the kitchen. He walked that way. The kitchen was in the middle of the house. Visible neither from the front, nor from the back. He heard breathing. “Hazel, it’s me. Langston.” She stepped out to face him. She was holding his gun. She pointed it at him. “Hazel, put that gun down. Hazel. Put it down.” She was shaking. He strode up to her, brushed the gun to her side, and then lifted it from her hand.

  “You cut your arm,” she said. “Did they do that?”

  “No. I did that. Breaking through the back door.”

  “What is the Klan doing here? You never told me they were in Canada.”

  “They never told me they were coming.”

  “Where are the children?”

  “They’re safe. They’re with friends of mine.”

  “White friends?” “Yes.”

  “That’s good.”

  Langston crept to his study and looked out the window. All five cars had stopped on the street. The men in white hoods stood in a semi-circle, facing the house. Three men were carrying a wooden cross onto the lawn. Another man brought a stepladder from the back of a car. He opened and climbed up the ladder and used a ham-sized mallet to bash the cross into the grass. It stood. It wobbled. He bashed it down some more. It was a good eight feet high. It had been mild and wet for a week. If regular winter weather had been upon them, Langston mused, these men would never have been able to hammer the cross into the earth. And they wouldn’t have been as comfortable in a wicked January wind.

  “Where’s Ab?”

  “I sent him and the girl downstairs. Told them not to come up.”

  The stairs to the basement were located behind the kitchen. Out of sight from the street. Langston climbed down there. “Ab? Evelyn? It’s me. Langston.”

  Aberdeen Williams held an ax in his hand.

  “That won’t do you much good, Ab, there’s twenty of them outside.”

  “My mother sent them,” Evelyn said.

  “Stay down here,” Langston said. “Don’t move and don’t make a sound.”

  “What are you going to do?” Ab asked. “Tell them you’re not here.” “They won’t believe you,” Evelyn said. “Hide in the corner. And hang on to that ax.”

  Langston telephoned the police station. No answer. The mayor wasn’t home, either. He called Ab’s sister. Renata worked for the Turner family, and he reached her there.

  “Why’s the Klan pickin’ on little bitty Oakville?” she asked.

  Langston told her to bring Bob Turner. They needed a white businessman to talk some sense into these folks.

  Renata said she’d bring him right over. “How’s Rose? she asked.

  “Rose?”

  “Wasn’t she going to have her operation today?” Langston dropped the receiver. He had forgotten about the X-ray treatment. He picked up the phone. “Renata, I wouldn’t come if I were you. Just send Turner.”

  “I’m comin’ over, Reverend. You been taking care of my soul for seven years. Now I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna git me a gun and send those men to the fires of Hell.”

  “For God’s sake, don’t bring any weapons. These men are looking for provocation.”

  “They already got plenty of provocation. They got that fool brother of mine sleeping with white trash. Stand back, Reverend. I’m coming over.”

  Langston hung up the phone and turned to his mother-in-law. “We’ve got to get to Rose,” he said.

  “She will have to wait,” Hazel said.

  “Her treatment is in three hours.”

  “One thing at a time. We’ll get there soon as we can.”

  “I could get you to safety, if you’d like to go now,” Langston said.

  “I’m not stepping out of this house with the KKK there. Those men are looking for colored blood. They’re looking for any known blood they can find.”

  Langston saw them light the cross. It had been soaked in gasoline, and it caught like kindling. He scribbled down three telephone numbers. This is the mayor’s residence, he told Hazel. This is the police station. This is the baker’s number. They’re all good men. Good white men. Call them. Keep trying.

  Langston dressed before going outside. He dressed for a sermon. He put on his collar. He checked to make sure that his.45 automatic had a bullet in the chamber and all six in the magazine. The pistol went under his belt. He stepped outside once the burning cross had settled into quiet flames.

  “I am Reverend Langston Cane. What do you want?”

  The tallest hooded man — the one who had pounded down the cross — said, “Clear out of here, Reverend. Stick around and you’ll burn down with the house.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We want the nigger Aberdeen.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Bring him out or we’ll burn the house down with you and him in it.”

  “I’m telling you he’s not here.”

  “We’re going to burn a second cross on your lawn. Time enough for you to think about bringing out Aberdeen.”

  Renata Williams, all two hundred and twenty pounds of her, came puffing along the sidewalk. Bob Turner, a man of seventy years, trailed behind her. He slowed down as he eyed the crowd; she sped up.

  The ringleader climbed up on his stepladder. He lifted his ham-sized mallet. He pounded the second cross once. He pounded it twice. He raised the mallet to pound again, and found himself rattling and shaking and tumbling to the ground.

  “What do you think you’re doing, you wooden-headed fool?” Renata Williams fell on the man as he tried to get up. Two Klansmen tried to pull her away. They couldn’t budge her. One grabbed her arm and twisted it. She punched him in the nose. A third punched her in the nose with a thud that Langston heard. She fell to the ground. The man who punched her drew back his boot. “Kick me, you dog. You’d do it, wouldn’t you? Kick a woman. Go ahead. Do it.”

  An audible click made the man turn around. “Touch her again,” Langston said, “and I’ll shoot you through the head. I was a second lieutenant in the American Army and I’m still a good shot. I’ll put a bullet through your forehead if you touch her again.”

  Renata Williams climbed to her feet. It took her thirty seconds. No one moved. “Thank you, Reverend.”

  “Stand back or we’ll kill you and your sweetheart,” the tall leader said.

  Renata walked up to Langston. She was holding her face in her hand. “He broke my nose, Reverend. That coward broke my nose.”

  “What
do you fellows want?” This time it was Bob Turner. He’d walked right up to the Klansmen.

  “We want Aberdeen Williams,” the tall one said. “He’s not here,” Langston said.

  “The girl’s in there, and he’s in there, too,” the tall one said. “Her own mother told us they were in there.”

  “How about if we bring the girl out?” Turner said. “Would that satisfy you? Fellows, there’s no point hurting anybody here.”

  “We ain’t got all day,” another Klansman shouted. He threw a rock at the door. It missed. He threw another. It hit the door. He threw a third, and it shattered a pane of glass in the living room window. Others started throwing rocks. Every pane was shattered.

  “Hey, you,” Renata shouted. “You, the young one, who threw that first rock. I know you. I know your voice.”

  “You don’t know nothing,” he said, and threw another rock.

  “I know your voice. You’re John Mitchell. I delivered you. I diapered you. I know your family. I’m gonna tell your momma you’re here. You oughta be ashamed, consorting with these hoodlums. What got in your head, boy?” “You don’t know me,” the rock thrower said. His voice caught in his throat.

  “John Mitchell, I’m gonna lift that hood right off your head. I’m gonna lift it off for all the world to see.”

  “You stay right there, woman, or we’ll hit you so hard you won’t wake up,” the ringleader said.

  Renata Williams started walking toward the man she’d identified. The ringleader stopped her. She bounced him with her chest. He hit her with a blow to the cheek. She tried to grab his hood. He cocked his arm back. A gun went off. The ringleader froze. Then he turned. Langston was pointing his revolver straight up. “The next one’s right into you, mister.”

  Renata kept walking. Langston called her back. She ignored him and kept walking toward the young man she’d identified. He was fifteen paces from her. Ten. Five. He turned and ran. He ran to Reynolds Street, turned south, and disappeared.

  “Who else do I recognize around here?” she called out. “Anybody else I’ve diapered? You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You. What’s your name?”

  The Klansman stepped back. “Let’s burn it down, fellows, and clear out of here.”

  The men advanced toward the house with burning torches. One threw a torch on the porch. Langston ran up to it, and managed to kick it onto the grass. “I shoot the next person who throws fire this way.”

  “Aiiieee,” Renata shouted. She jumped the ringleader, bounced him right over, ripped through the cloth until she found a face. She sat on the man. Sat right down on him and smacked him.

  “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!”

  Bob Phillips, Oakville’s police chief, stepped out of his car.

  The mayor and the Presbyterian Church minister got out, too. They were all holding guns.

  “I am the chief of police of the town of Oakville. I’ve sworn these two men in as deputies. Reverend Cane, do you agree to be my deputy?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good. He’s sworn in, too. You fellows got here four officers of the law, and if any harm comes to them, or to anybody else around here, you’re in hot water. You’re already in hot water, but it’s going to get hotter if you start acting foolish. You. The Negro woman. Get off that man! Stop slapping him about or I’m gonna have to charge you, too.”

  Renata got up slowly. “My nose is broken.”

  “We’ll deal with that later,” the police chief said. “You hooded men. Put down them torches. I say put ‘em down and stomp on ‘em. Stomp ‘em right out. And take off those God-awful masks.” Langston studied each white face as it was unmasked. He didn’t see anyone he knew. Renata, however, recognized three of them, and cussed at them until Langston touched her arm.

  The police chief kicked over the burning cross. “I never seen such a bunch of plain fools in all my life. What’s the matter with you men? You got no respect? You’re gonna make a laughingstock out of Oakville. People are gonna talk about us across the country. Oakville? Oakville. Isn’t that the town where the Ku Klux Klan burned a cross? Ain’t you men got a drop a sense in your heads?”

  “One of them already ran off,” Renata said. “He was John Mitchell, of the Mitchell family on Dunn Street. I knowed his voice. I oughta know. I changed that boy’s diapers.”

  “We’ll deal with him later,” the chief said. “You fellows line up, hands behind your backs.”

  “Come on, now,” the ringleader said. “You’re not taking us in, are you? Do you know what’s going on inside that house? A colored man is in there, shacked up with a white woman.”

  “So I hear. So I hear. Bring her out, Reverend.”

  Langston entered his house. He came out moments later, with Ab, Evelyn, and Hazel.

  “You better get yourself home, woman,” the police chief said to Evelyn. “Where’s your self-respect? Go on home and face your mother.”

  “What about him?” a Klansman said, pointing to Aberdeen.

  “What about him?”

  “This is his home,” Langston said, “and he’s broken no law.”

  “We’re gonna get you,” the Klansmen called out to Aberdeen. “We’re gonna get you, nigger. And if it’s not us, it’s gonna be our friends. We’re gonna hunt you out and we’re gonna —”

  “You’re gonna get charged with uttering threats,” Phillips said. “So shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

  The police chief ordered the men into a single line. “You’re gonna walk to the police station, and if any of you try to run, I’m gonna shoot off your legs,” he said.

  “What about our vehicles?”

  “Impounded, as of now,” the chief said. “Used in the commission of an offense.”

  “What offense?”

  “Arson. Assault. Mischief. Using a mask unlawfully. Give me some time, and I’ll think up some more. Get hiking, fellows. We’ve got paperwork to do.

  “Git yourself cleaned up, Langston. Someone will be back to pick you up. I’m told you gotta get into Toronto to see your wife. One of my deputies will get you to the train in fifteen minutes. Someone else will watch over your house, clean up for you. Don’t worry about a thing. You’ve got enough on your mind. We’ll take care of things for you. You’re good folks, Reverend Cane. This should not have happened to you. And I happen to know that ninety-nine people outa a hundred in Oakville would agree with me.”

  Langston nodded. He thanked the police chief and stepped inside, after Ab, Hazel, and Renata.

  “Your hand is still bleeding,” Hazel said. “You’ll need stitching.”

  “We’ll take care of it at the hospital.”

  Renata spoke up. “Aberdeen Williams, you’re still my little brother, and I oughta whip your behind, consorting like that with white trash. Look what you done. Look what trouble you brought on the Reverend.”

  Aberdeen said nothing. His head was down. He would look at no one and his shoulders were shaking. “Leave him alone, Renata,” Langston said. “He’s done no wrong. Get yourself together, Ab. Go see the kids. I left them with the Smalls, on Randall Street. Stay there with them. I wouldn’t come back to this house for a day or two. Don’t let any suspicious-looking person see you enter the Smalls’ house.”

  Ab began to shake uncontrollably.

  “For God’s sake, brother,” Renata said. “I got a broken nose. What are you so worked up about?”

  “Renata,” Langston said, “I love you. You did great things out there, and I thank you. But you’re not helping now. So please go home.”

  “Yes, Reverend. Regards to Rose, Reverend. Tell her she’s going be all right. Tell her I broke my nose protecting her property. That’ll make her day, Reverend. Good-bye, Mrs. Bridges. You look like your daughter, you know that? You’re even fairer, though. You’re so fair you’re almost one of them. But don’t mind me. Pleasure meeting you. You got a daughter with a will of steel. I didn’t like her at first, but I respect her now. I respect a will of steel.”


  At the hospital, they were two hours behind schedule. When they were finally ready to conduct the first treatment, Langston had still not arrived. “Let’s go ahead and do it,” Rose said. “If my husband’s not here, it’s for a good reason.”

  They bombarded Rose with radium X-rays. They had warned her that it would burn her throat. It would leave her with the sensation of a throat on fire. It would leave her with a permanent burn scar. But if it worked, it would save her life. I don’t care about the scar, Rose had said. Just do what you have to do.

  It was over by the time Langston and Hazel got to the hospital. Rose was asleep in the recovery room. Langston had time to get eleven stitches put into his hand. He didn’t mind the stitches. It helped pass the time. He wanted desperately to look into the eyes of his wife. All he asked for was for Rose Bridges Cane to open her eyes.

  Langston fell asleep in the waiting room. Hazel finally nudged him.

  “She’s up. She wants to see you.” “You saw her already?”

  “She’s fine, Lang. She’s fine. Go on in there.”

  Rose was told she would spend a month in the hospital. She would have many more treatments. Tests were run. Langston went back and forth between Oakville and Toronto. He knew every bend in the train tracks. Hazel stayed home with the kids.

  A party of fifteen volunteers cleaned up the Canes’ home and filled the kitchen with food. Aberdeen Williams fixed the broken windows within twenty-four hours of the incident. The next morning, he kissed the children, left them with Hazel, and walked out the door. He didn’t come back.

  Evelyn Morris duly went home. Her mother wasn’t there. Evelyn cleaned out a drawer, took a suitcase, stole twenty-five dollars from her mother’s purse, and left town. She didn’t come back either.

  Rose recovered. She had a square scar that covered most of her throat, from just under her chin to an inch beneath her Adam’s apple. The scar was a mass of bumpy red flesh. Strangers could not meet Rose without staring at her scar. It stayed with her for the rest of her life. She was also left with a hoarse, rasping voice. She didn’t care. It was a small price to pay for living.