“Hoalo!”
“Hoalo!”
“Wheres yuh?”
“Over here on Bullards Road!”
“C mon over!”
“Awright!”
He heard footsteps. Then voices came again, low and far away this time.
“Seen anybody?”
“Naw. Yuh?”
“Naw.”
“Yuh reckon they got erway?”
“Ah dunno. Its hard t tell.”
“Gawddam them sonofabitchin niggers!”
“We oughta kill ever black bastard in this country!”
“Waal, Jim got two of em, anyhow.”
“But Bertha said there wuz fo!”
“Where in hell they hidin?”
“She said one of em wuz named Big Boy, or somethin like tha.”
“We went t his shack lookin fer im.”
“Yeah?”
“But we didnt fin im.”
“These niggers stick tergether; they don never tell on each other.”
“We looked all thu the shack n couldnt fin hide ner hair of im. Then we drove the ol woman n man out n set the shack on fire…”
“Jeesus! Ah wished Ah coulda been there!”
“Yuh shoulda heard the ol nigger woman howl…”
“Hoalo!”
“C mon over!”
Big Boy eased to the edge and peeped. He saw a white man with a gun slung over his shoulder running down the slope. Wuz they gonna search the hill? Lawd, there wuz no way fer im t git erway now; he wuz caught! He shoulda knowed theyd git im here. N he didnt hava thing, notta thing t fight wid. Yeah, soon as the blood-houns came theyd fin im. Lawd, have mercy! Theyd lynch im right here on the hill… Theyd git im n tie im t a stake n burn im erlive! Lawd! Nobody but the good Lawd could hep im now, nobody…
He heard more feet running. He nestled deeper. His chest ached. Nobody but the good Lawd could hep now. They wuz crowdin all round im n when they hada big crowd theyd close in on im. Then itd be over… The good Lawd would have t hep im, cause nobody could hep im now, nobody…
And then he went numb when he remembered Bobo. Spose Bobod come now? Hed be caught sho! Both of em would be caught! They’d make Bobo tell where he wuz! Bobo oughta not try to come now. Somebody oughta tell im… But there wuz nobody; there wuz no way…
He eased slowly back to the opening. There was a large group of men. More were coming. Many had guns. Some had coils of rope slung over shoulders.
“Ah tell yuh they still here, somewhere…”
“But we looked all over!”
“What t hell! Wouldnt do t let em git erway!”
“Naw. Ef they git erway notta woman in this town would be safe.”
“Say, whuts tha yuh got?”
“Er pillar.”
“Fer whut?”
“Feathers, fool!”
“Chris! Thisll be hot ef we kin ketch them niggers!”
“Ol Anderson said he wuz gonna bringa barrela tar!”
“Ah got some gasoline in mah car ef yuh need it.”
Big Boy had no feelings now. He was waiting. He did not wonder if they were coming after him. He just waited. He did not wonder about Bobo. He rested his cheek against the cold clay, waiting.
A dog barked. He stiffened. It barked again. He balled himself into a knot at the bottom of the hole, waiting. Then he heard the patter of dog feet.
“Look!”
“Whuts he got?”
“Its a snake!”
“Yeah, the dogs foun a snake!”
“Gee, its a big one!”
“Shucks, Ah wish he could fin one of them sonofabitchin niggers!”
The voices sank to low murmurs. Then he heard number twelve, its bell tolling and whistle crying as it slid along the rails. He flattened himself against the clay. Someone was singing:
“We’ll hang ever nigger t a sour apple tree…”
When the song ended there was hard laughter. From the other side of the hill he heard the dog barking furiously. He listened. There was more than one dog now. There were many and they were barking their throats out.
“Hush, Ah hear them dogs!”
“When theys barkin like tha theys foun somethin!”
“Here they come over the hill!”
“WE GOT IM! WE GOT IM!”
There came a roar. Tha mus be Bobo; tha mus be Bobo… In spite of his fear, Big Boy looked. The road, and half of the hillside across the road, were covered with men. A few were at the top of the hill, stenciled against the sky. He could see dark forms moving up the slopes. They were yelling.
“By Gawd, we got im!”
“C mon!”
“Where is he?”
“Theyre bringing im over the hill!”
“Ah got a rope fer im!”
“Say, somebody go n git the others!”
“Where is he? Cant we see im, Mister?”
“They say Berthas comin, too.”
“Jack! Jack! Don leave me! Ah wanna see im!”
“Theyre bringin im over the hill, sweetheart!”
“AH WANNA BE THE FIRS T PUT A ROPE ON THA BLACK BASTARDS NECK!”
“Les start the fire!”
“Heat the tar!”
“Ah got some chains t chain im.”
“Bring im over this way!”
“Chris, Ah wished Ah hada drink…”
Big Boy saw men moving over the hill. Among them was a long dark spot. Tha mus be Bobo; tha mus be Bobo theys carryin… They’ll git im here. He oughta git up n run. He clamped his teeth and ran his hand across his forehead, bringing it away wet. He tried to swallow, but could not; his throat was dry.
They had started the song again:
“We’ll hang ever nigger t a sour apple tree…”
There were women singing now. Their voices made the song round and full. Song waves rolled over the top of pine trees. The sky sagged low, heavy with clouds. Wind was rising. Sometimes cricket cries cut surprisingly across the mob song. A dog had gone to the utmost top of the hill. At each lull of the song his howl floated full into the night.
Big Boy shrank when he saw the first tall flame light the hillside. Would they see im here? Then he remembered you could not see into the dark if you were standing in the light. As flames leaped higher he saw two men rolling a barrel up the slope.
“Say, gimme a han here, will yuh?”
“Awright, heave!”
“C mon! Straight up! Git t the other end!”
“Ah got the feathers here in this pillar!”
“BRING SOME MO WOOD!”
Big Boy could see the barrel surrounded by flames. The mob fell back, forming a dark circle. Theyd fin im here! He had a wild impulse to climb out and fly across the hills. But his legs would not move. He stared hard, trying to find Bobo. His eyes played over a long dark spot near the fire. Fanned by wind, flames leaped higher. He jumped. That dark spot had moved. Lawd, thas Bobo; thas Bobo…
He smelt the scent of tar, faint at first, then stronger. The wind brought it full into his face, then blew it away. His eyes burned and he rubbed them with his knuckles. He sneezed.
“LES GIT SOURVINEERS!”
He saw the mob close in around the fire. Their faces were hard and sharp in the light of the flames. More men and women were coming over the hill. The long dark spot was smudged out.
“Everbody git back!”
“Look! Hes gotta finger!”
“C MON! GIT THE GALS BACK FROM THE FIRE!”
“Hes got one of his ears, see?”
“Whuts the matter!”
“A woman fell out! Fainted, Ah reckon…”
The stench of tar permeated the hillside. The sky was black and the wind was blowing hard.
“HURRY UP N BURN THE NIGGER FO IT RAINS!”
Big Boy saw the mob fall back, leaving a small knot of men about the fire. Then, for the first time, he had a full glimpse of Bobo. A black body flashed in the light. Bobo was struggling, twisting; they were binding his arms and legs.
“THE BASTARDS GOT IT!”
There was a sudden quiet. Then he shrank violently as the wind carried, like a flurry of snow, a widening spiral of white feathers into the night. The flames leaped tall as the trees. The scream came again. Big Boy trembled and looked. The mob was running down the slopes, leaving the fire clear. Then he saw a writhing white mass cradled in yellow flame, and heard screams, one on top of the other, each shriller and shorter than the last. The mob was quiet now, standing still, looking up the slopes at the writhing white mass gradually growing black, growing black in a cradle of yellow flame.
“PO ON MO GAS!”
“Gimme a lif, will yuh!”
Two men were struggling, carrying between them a heavy can. They set it down, tilted it, leaving it so that the gas would trickle down to the hollowed earth around the fire.
Big Boy slid back into the hole, his face buried in clay. He had no feelings now, no fears. He was numb, empty, as though all blood had been drawn from him. Then his muscles flexed taut when he heard a faint patter. A tiny stream of cold water seeped to his knees, making him push back to a drier spot. He looked up; rain was beating in the grass.
“Its rainin!”
“C mon, les git t town!”
“…don worry, when the fire git thu wid im hell be gone…”
“Wait, Charles! Don leave me; its slippery here…”
“Ahll take some of yuh ladies back in mah car…”
Big Boy heard the dogs barking again, this time closer. Running feet pounded past. Cold water chilled his ankles. He could hear raindrops steadily hissing.
Now a dog was barking at the mouth of the hole, barking furiously, sensing a presence there. He balled himself into a knot and clung to the bottom, his knees and shins buried in water. The bark came louder. He heard paws scraping and felt the hot scent of dog breath on his face. Green eyes glowed and drew nearer as the barking, muffled by the closeness of the hole, beat upon his eardrums. Backing till his shoulders pressed against the clay, he held his breath. He pushed out his hands, his fingers stiff. The dog yawped louder, advancing, his bark rising sharp and thin. Big Boy rose to his knees, his hands before him. Then he flattened out still more against the bottom, breathing lungsful of hot dog scent, breathing it slowly, hard, but evenly. The dog came closer, bringing hotter dog scent. Big Boy could go back no more. His knees were slipping and slopping in the water. He braced himself, ready. Then, he never exactly knew how—he never knew whether he had lunged or the dog had lunged—they were together, rolling in the water. The green eyes were beneath him, between his legs. Dognails bit into his arms. His knees slipped backward and he landed full on the dog; the dog’s breath left in a heavy gasp. Instinctively, he fumbled for the throat as he felt the dog twisting between his knees. The dog snarled, long and low, as though gathering strength. Big Boy’s hands traveled swiftly over the dog’s back, groping for the throat. He felt dognails again and saw green eyes, but his fingers had found the throat. He choked, feeling his fingers sink; he choked, throwing back his head and stiffening his arms. He felt the dog’s body heave, felt dognails digging into his loins. With strength flowing from fear, he closed his fingers, pushing his full weight on the dog’s throat. The dog heaved again, and lay still… Big Boy heard the sound of his own breathing filling the hole, and heard shouts and footsteps above him going past.
For a long, long time he held the dog, held it long after the last footstep had died out, long after the rain had stopped.
V
Morning found him still on his knees in a puddle of rainwater, staring at the stiff body of a dog. As the air brightened he came to himself slowly. He held still for a long time, as though waking from a dream, as though trying to remember.
The chug of a truck came over the hill. He tried to crawl to the opening. His knees were stiff and a thousand needle-like pains shot from the bottom of his feet to the calves of his legs. Giddiness made his eyes blur. He pulled up and looked. Through brackish light he saw Will’s truck standing some twenty-five yards away, the engine running. Will stood on the runningboard, looking over the slopes of the hill.
Big Boy scuffled out, falling weakly in the wet grass. He tried to call to Will, but his dry throat would make no sound. He tried again.
“Will!”
Will heard, answering:
“Big Boy, c mon!”
He tried to run, and fell. Will came, meeting him in the tall grass.
“C mon,” Will said, catching his arm.
They struggled to the truck.
“Hurry up!” said Will, pushing him onto the runningboard.
Will pushed back a square trapdoor which swung above the back of the driver’s seat. Big Boy pulled through, landing with a thud on the bottom. On hands and knees he looked around in the semi-darkness.
“Wheres Bobo?”
Big Boy stared.
“Wheres Bobo?”
“They got im.”
“When?”
“Las night.”
“The mob?”
Big Boy pointed in the direction of a charred sapling on the slope of the opposite hill. Will looked. The trapdoor fell. The engine purred, the gears whined, and the truck lurched forward over the muddy road, sending Big Boy on his side.
For a while he lay as he had fallen, on his side, too weak to move. As he felt the truck swing around a curve he straightened up and rested his back against a stack of wooden boxes. Slowly, he began to make out objects in the darkness. Through two long cracks fell thin blades of daylight. The floor was of smooth steel, and cold to his thighs. Splinters and bits of sawdust danced with the rumble of the truck. Each time they swung around a curve he was pulled over the floor; he grabbed at corners of boxes to steady himself. Once he heard the crow of a rooster. It made him think of home, of ma and pa. He thought he remembered hearing somewhere that the house had burned, but could not remember where… It all seemed unreal now.
He was tired. He dozed, swaying with the lurch. Then he jumped awake. The truck was running smoothly, on gravel. Far away he heard two short blasts from the Buckeye Lumber Mill. Unconsciously, the thought sang through his mind: Its six erclock…
The trapdoor swung in. Will spoke through a corner of his mouth.
“How yuh comin?”
“Awright.”
“How they git Bobo?”
“He wuz comin over the hill.”
“Whut they do?”
“They burnt im… Will, Ah wan some water; mah throats like fire…”
“Well git some when we pass a fillin station.”
Big Boy leaned back and dozed. He jerked awake when the truck stopped. He heard Will get out. He wanted to peep through the trapdoor, but was afraid. For a moment, the wild fear he had known in the hole came back. Spose theyd search n fin im? He quieted when he heard Will’s footstep on the runningboard. The trapdoor pushed in. Will’s hat came through, dripping.
“Take it, quick!”
Big Boy grabbed, spilling water into his face. The truck lurched. He drank. Hard cold lumps of brick rolled into his hot stomach. A dull pain made him bend over. His intestines seemed to be drawing into a tight knot. After a bit it eased, and he sat up, breathing softly.
The truck swerved. He blinked his eyes. The blades of daylight had turned brightly golden. The sun had risen.
The truck sped over the asphalt miles, sped northward, jolting him, shaking out of his bosom the crumbs of corn bread, making them dance with the splinters and sawdust in the golden blades of sunshine.
He turned on his side and slept.
II
Down by the Riverside
I
EACH STEP he took made the old house creak as though the earth beneath the foundations were soggy. He wondered how long the logs which supported the house could stand against the water. But what really worried hi
m were the steps; they might wash away at any moment, and then they would be trapped. He had spent all that morning trying to make them secure with frayed rope, but he did not have much faith. He walked to the window and the half-rotten planks sagged under his feet. He had never realized they were that shaky. He pulled back a tattered curtain, wishing the dull ache would leave his head. Ah been feverish all day. Feels like Ah got the flu. Through a dingy pane he saw yellow water swirling around a corner of the barn. A steady drone filled his ears. In the morning the water was a deep brown. In the afternoon it was a clayey yellow. And at night it was black, like a restless tide of liquid tar. It was about six feet deep and still rising; it had risen two feet that day. He squinted at a tiny ridge of foam where the yellow current struck a side of the barn and veered sharply. For three days he had been watching that tiny ridge of foam. When it shortened he had hopes of seeing the ground soon; but when it lengthened he knew that the current was flowing strong again. All the seeds for spring planting were wet now. They gonna rot, he thought with despair. The morning before he had seen his only cow, Sally, lowing, wagging her head, rolling her eyes, and pushing through three feet of water for the hills. It was then that Sister Jeff had said that a man who would not follow a cow was a fool. Well, he had not figured it that way. This was his home. But now he would have to leave, for the water was rising and there was no telling when or where it would stop.
Two days ago he had told Bob to take the old mule to Bowman’s plantation and sell it, or swap it for a boat, any kind of a boat. N Bob ain back here yit. Ef it ain one thing its ernother. When it rains it pos. But, Lawd, ef only tha old levee don break. Ef only tha ol levee don break…
He turned away from the window, rubbing his forehead. A good dose of quinine would kill that fever. But he had no quinine. Lawd, have mercy!
And worst of all there was Lulu flat on her back these four days, sick with a child she could not deliver. His lips parted in silent agony. It just did not seem fair that one man should be hit so hard and on so many sides at once. He shifted the weight of his body from his right foot to his left, listening for sounds from the front room, wondering how Lulu was. Ef she don have tha baby soon Ahma have t git her outta here, some way…
Uncle Tom's Children Page 7