“Yeah. Ahll go.”
“C mon!”
He climbed out and followed the boy to the end of the platform.
“Where are we sending em, General?” the officer asked.
“Shoot the first twenty to the Red Cross Hospital!”
“O.K.!” said the officer. “Whos the driver here?”
“Ahm the driver!” said the boy.
“Can you really handle a boat?”
“Yessuh!”
“Is he all right?” asked the general.
“Ah works fer Mistah Bridges,” said the boy.
“We dont want too many niggers handling these boats,” said the general.
“We havent enough drivers,” said the officer.
“All right; let him go! Whos next?”
“Yours is the Red Cross Hospital, boy! Get there as fast as you can and get as many people out as you can and take em to the hills, see?”
“Yessuh!”
“You know the way?”
“Yessuh!”
“Whats your name?”
“Brinkley, suh!”
“All right! Get going!”
They ran to a boat and scrambled in. Brinkley fussed over the motor a minute, then raced it.
“All set!”
“O.K.!”
The boat swung out of the wide gate entrance; they were the first to go. They went fast, against the current, fronting the rain. They were back among the houses before Mann realized it. As they neared the hospital Mann wondered about the boy at his side. Would he help him to get away? Could he trust him enough to tell? If he could only stay in the boat until they carried the first load to the hills, he could slip off. He tried to see Brinkley’s face, but the rain and darkness would not let him. Behind him the siren still screamed and it seemed that a thousand bells were tolling. Then the boat stopped short; Mann looked around, tense, puzzled.
“This ain the hospital,” he said.
“Yeah, tis,” said Brinkley.
Then he understood. He had been watching for the steps up which he had carried Lulu. But the water had already covered the steps and was making for the first floor. He looked up. The same white soldier who had let him in before was standing guard.
“C mon in!”
They went in. The hospital was in an uproar. Down the hall a line of soldiers pushed the crowds back, using their rifles long-wise. The colonel came running out; he carried an axe in his hand.
“How many boats are coming?”
“Bout twenty, suh,” said Brinkley.
“Are they on the way?”
“Yessuh.”
“Theyll have to hurry. That water is rising at the rate of five feet an hour!”
The colonel turned to Mann.
“Come here, boy!”
“Yessuh!”
Mann followed the colonel up a flight of stairs. They stopped in a hall.
“Listen,” began the colonel. “I want you…”
The lights went out, plunging them in darkness.
“Goddamn!”
Mann could hear the colonel breathing in heavy gasps. Then a circle of yellow light played over a wall. The colonel was standing in front of him with a flashlight.
“Get two of those tables from back there and pile one on top of the other, right here,” said the colonel, indicating a spot just left of the stairway.
“Yessuh!”
When the tables were up the colonel gave Mann the axe.
“Get up there and knock a hole through that ceiling!”
“Yessuh!”
He scampered up and fumbled for a hold on the rickety tables. When he was on top the colonel set the beam of the flash-light on the ceiling.
“Work fast, boy! Youve got to cut a hole through there so we can take people out if that water beats the boats!”
“Yessuh!”
He whacked upward; with each blow the axe stuck in the wood; he set his feet wide apart on the tables and jerked downward to pull it out. He forgot everything but that he must cut a hole through this ceiling to save people. Even the memory of Lulu and Heartfield was gone from him. Then the lights came back just as suddenly as they had gone. He knew that that meant that the electric plant at the South End was threatened by water. As he swung the axe he felt sweat breaking out all over his body. He heard the colonel below him, fidgeting. The lights dimmed and flared again.
“Keep tha light on me, Capm!”
“Awright; but hurry!”
He had six planks out of the ceiling now. He used his hands and broke them off; his fingers caught splinters. He heard someone running up the steps. He looked down; a soldier was talking to the colonel.
“Its above the steps, Colonel! Its traveling for the first floor!”
“Any boats here yet?”
“Just three, sir!”
“Order everybody to this floor, and keep them quiet even if you have to shoot!”
“Yessir!”
Mann heard the soldier running down the steps.
“C mon, boy! Get that hole bigger than that! Youve got to cut a hole through that roof yet!”
“Yessuh!”
When the hole was big enough he pushed the axe through and pulled himself into the loft. It was dark and he could hear the rain pounding. Suddenly the siren stopped. He had been hearing it all along and had grown used to it; but now that he could hear it no longer the silence it left in his mind was terrifying.
“Ah need some light up here, Capm!”
“Keep cutting! Ill get somebody to bring the flashlight up!”
The roof was easier to cut than the ceiling. He heard someone climbing up behind him. It was a white soldier with a flash-light.
“Where you want it, boy?”
“Right here, suh!”
Quickly he tore a wide hole: he felt a rush of air: rain came into his face: droning water filled his ears: he climbed onto the roof and looked below. Opposite the hospital a bunch of motorboats danced in the current. He stiffened. There was a loud cracking noise, as of timber breaking. He stretched flat on the roof and clung to the wet shingles. Moving into one of the paths of yellow light was a small house, turning like a spool in the wild waters. Unblinkingly he watched it whirl out of sight. Mabbe Ah’ll never git outta here… More boats were roaring up, rocking. Then he stared at the water rising; he could see it rising. Across from him the roofs of one-story houses were barely visible.
“Here, give a lift!”
Mann caught hold of a white hand and helped to pull a soldier through. He heard the colonel hollering.
“All set?”
“Yessuh!”
“Send the boats to the side of the hospital! We are taking em from the roof!”
Boats roared and came slowly to the wall of the hospital.
“Awright! Coming through!”
On all fours Mann helped a white woman struggle through. She was wrapped in sheets and blankets. The soldier whipped the rope around the woman’s body, high under her arms. She whimpered. Lawd, Lulu down there somewhere, Mann thought. Dead! She gonna be lef here in the flood…
“C mon, nigger, n give me a hand!”
“Yessuh!”
Mann caught hold of the woman and they took her to the edge of the roof. She screamed and pulled back.
“Let her go!”
They shoved her over and eased her down with the rope. She screamed again and hung limp. They took another, tied the rope, and eased her over. One woman’s face was bleeding; she had scratched herself climbing through the hole. Mann could hear the soldier’s breath coming in short gasps as he worked. When six had been let down a motor roared. A boat, loaded to capacity, crawled slowly away. The water was full of floating things now. Objects swirled past, were sucked out of sight. The second boat was filled. The third. Then the fourth. The fifth. Sixth. When the women and children were gone they began to ease the men over. The work went easier and faster with the men. Mann heard them cursing grimly. Now and then he remembered Lulu and Heartfield an
d he felt dizzy; but he would urge himself and it would pass.
“How many more, Colonel?” asked a soldier.
“About twelve! You got enough boats?”
“Just enough!”
Mann knew they had gotten them all out safely when he saw the colonel climb through. Brinkley came through last.
“Heres one more boat, without a driver!” a soldier called.
“Thas mah boat!” said Brinkley.
“Then you go next!” said the colonel.
Mann looped one end of the rope around a chimney and tied it. Brinkley caught hold and slid down, monkey-like. The colonel crawled over to Mann and caught his shoulder.
“You did well! I wont forget you! If you get out of this, come and see me, hear?”
“Yessuh!”
“Here, take this!”
Mann felt a piece of wet paper in his fingers. He tried to read it, but it was too dark.
“Thats the address of a woman with two children who called in for help,” said the colonel. “If you and that boy think you can save em, then do what you can. If you cant, then try to make it to the hills…”
“Yessuh!”
The colonel went down. Mann was alone. For a moment a sense of what he would have to face if he was saved from the flood came to him. Would it not be better to stay here alone like this and go down into the flood with Lulu? Would not that be better than having to answer for killing a white man?
“Yuh comin?” Brinkley called.
Mann fumbled over the roof for the axe, found it, and stuck it in his belt. He put the piece of paper in his pocket, caught hold of the rope, and crawled to the edge. Rain peppered his face as he braced his feet against the walls of the house. He held still for a second and tried to see the boat.
“C mon!”
He slumped into the seat; the boat lurched. He sighed and shed a tension which had gripped him for hours. The boat was sailing against the current.
“Heres somebody callin fer hep,” said Mann, holding the piece of paper in front of Brinkley.
“Take the flash-light! Switch it on n lemme see ef Ah kin read it!”
Mann held the flash-light.
“Its Pikes Road!” said Brinkley. “Its the Pos Office! Its Miz Heartfiel…”
Mann stared at Brinkley, open-mouthed; the flashlight dropped into the bottom of the boat. His fingers trembled and the wind blew the piece of paper away.
“Heartfiel?”
“Ahma try t make it!” said Brinkley.
The boat slowed, turned; they shot in the opposite direction, with the current. Mann watched the headlight cut a path through the rain. Heartfiel?
V
“Watch it!”
Mann threw his hands before his eyes as though to ward off a blow. Brinkley jerked the boat to the right and shut off the motor. The current swept them backwards. In front the head-light lit a yellow circle of wet wood, showing the side of a house. The house was floating down the middle of the street. The motor raced, the boat turned and sailed down the street, going back over the route they had come. Behind them the house followed, revolving slowly, looming large. They stopped at a telegraph pole and Mann stood up and held the boat steady by clinging to a strand of cable wire that stretched above his head in the dark. All about him the torrent tumbled, droned, surged. Then the spot of light caught the house full; it seemed like a living thing, spinning slowly with a long, indrawn, sucking noise; its doors, its windows, its porch turning to the light and then going into the darkness. It passed. Brinkley swung the boat around and they went back down the street, cautiously this time, keeping in the middle of the current. Something struck. They looked. A chair veered, spinning, and was sucked away. An uprooted tree loomed. They dodged it. They heard noises, but could not tell the direction from which they came. When they reached Barrett’s Pasture they went slower. The rain had slackened and they could see better.
“Reckon we kin make it?” asked Brinkley.
“Ah don know,” whispered Mann.
They swung a curve and headed for Pikes’ Road. Mann thought of Heartfield. He saw the woman with red hair standing in the lighted window. He heard her scream, Thats our boat, Henry! Thats our boat! The boat slowed, swerving for Pikes’ Road. Mann had the feeling that he was in a dream. Spose Ah tol the boy? The boat rushed on into the darkness. Ef we take tha woman t the hills Ahm caught! Ahead he saw a box bob up out of water and shoot under again. But mabbe they didn’t see me good? He could not be sure of that. The light had been on him a long time while he was under that window. And they knew his name; he had called it out to them, twice. He ought to tell Brinkley. Ahm black like he is. He oughta be willin t hep me fo he would them… He tried to look into Brinkley’s face; the boy was bent forward, straining his eyes, searching the surface of the black water. Lawd, Ah got t tell im! The boat lurched and dodged something. Its mah life ergin theirs! The boat slid on over the water. Mann swallowed; then he felt that there would not be any use in his telling; he had waited too long. Even if he spoke now Brinkley would not turn back; they had come too far. Wild-eyed, he gazed around in the watery darkness, hearing the white boy yell, You nigger! You bastard! Naw, Lawd! Ah got t tell im! He leaned forward to speak and touched Brinkley’s arm. The boat veered again, dodging an object that spun away. Mann held tense, waiting, looking; the boat slid on over the black water. Then he sighed and wished with all his life that he had thrown that piece of paper away.
“Yuh know the place?” asked Brinkley.
“Ah reckon so,” whispered Mann.
Mann looked at the houses, feeling that he did not want to look, but looking anyway. All he could see of the one-story houses were their roofs. There were wide gaps between them; some had washed away. But most of the two-story houses were still standing. Mann craned his neck, looking for Mrs. Heartfield’s house, yet dreading to see it.
“Its erlong here somewhere,” said Brinkley.
Brinkley turned the boat sideways and let the spotlight play over the fronts of the two-story houses. Mann wanted to tell him to turn around, to go back, to make for the hills. But he looked, his throat tight; he looked, gripping the sides of the boat; he looked for Mrs. Heartfield’s house, seeing her hair framed in the lighted window.
“There it is!” yelled Brinkley.
At first Mann did not believe it was Mrs. Heartfield’s house. It was dark. And he had been watching for two squares of yellow light, two lighted windows. And now, there it was, all dark. Mabbe they ain there? A hot wish rose in his blood, a wish that they were gone. Just gone anywhere, as long as they were not there to see him. He wished that their white bodies were at the bottom of the black waters. They were now ten feet from the house; the boat slowed.
“Mabbe they ain there,” whispered Mann.
“We bettah call,” said Brinkley.
Brinkley cupped his hand to his mouth and hollered:
“Miz Heartfiel!”
They waited, listening, looking at the dark, shut windows. Brinkley must have thought that his voice had not carried, for he hollered again:
“Miz Heartfiel!”
“They ain there,” whispered Mann.
“Look! Somebody’s there! See?” breathed Brinkley. “Look!”
The window was opening; Brinkley centered the spot of light on it; a red head came through. Mann sat with parted lips, looking. He leaned over the side of the boat and waited for Mrs. Heartfield to call, Henry! Henry!
“Miz Heartfiel!” Brinkley called again.
“Can you get us? Can you get us?” she was calling.
“We comin! Wait a…”
A deafening noise cut out his voice. It was long, vibrant, like the sound of trees falling in storm. A tide of water swept the boat backwards. Mann heard Mrs. Heartfield scream. He could not see the house now; the spot-light lit a path of swirling black water. Brinkley raced the motor and jerked the boat around, playing the light again on the window. It was empty. There was another scream, but it was muffled.
“The
watahs got em!” said Brinkley.
Again the boat headed into the middle of the current. The light was on the empty window. The house was moving down the street. Mann held his breath, feeling himself suspended over a black void. The house reached the center of the street and turned violently. It floated away from them, amid a sucking rush of water and the sound of splitting timber. It floundered; it shook in a trembling grip; then it whirled sharply to the left and crashed, jamming itself between two smaller houses. Mann heard the motor race; he was gliding slowly over the water, going toward the house.
“Yuh reckon yuh kin make it? Reckon we kin save em?” asked Brinkley.
Mann did not answer. Again they were ten feet from the house. The current speeding between the cracks emitted a thunderous roar. The outside walls tilted at an angle of thirty degrees. Brinkley carried the boat directly under the window and held it steady by clinging to a piece of jutting timber. Mann sat frozen, staring: in his mind he saw Mrs. Heartfield: something tickled his throat: he saw her red hair: he saw her white face: then he heard Brinkley speaking:
“Ahll hol the boat! Try t git in the windah!”
As though he were outside of himself watching himself, Mann felt himself stand up. He saw his hands reaching for the window ledge.
“Kin yuh make it? Here… Take the flash-light!”
Mann put the flash-light in his pocket and reached again. He could not make it. He tip-toed, standing on the top of the boat, hearing the rush of water below. His legs trembled; he stretched his arms higher.
“Kin yuh make it?”
“Naw…”
He rested a moment, looking at the window, wondering how he could reach it. Then he took the axe from his belt and thrust it into the window; he twisted the handle sideways and jerked. The blade caught. He leaned his weight against it. It held. He pulled up into the window and sat poised for a moment on his toes. He eased his feet to the floor. He stood a second in the droning darkness and something traveled over the entire surface of his body; it was cold, like the touch of wet feathers. He brought out the flash-light and focused it on the floor. He tried to call out Mrs. Heartfield’s name, but could not. He swept the light: he saw a broken chair: a crumpled rug: strewn clothing: a smashed dresser: a tumbled bed: then a circle of red hair and a white face. Mrs. Heartfield sat against a wall, her arms about her two children. Her eyes were closed. Her little girl’s head lay on her lap. Her little boy sat at her side on the floor, blinking in the light.
Uncle Tom's Children Page 11