Such Sweet Thunder

by Vincent O. Carter

  Harvard and Yale!

  “I’ve been to two colleges.”

  “Man!” Harry Bell exclaimed.

  “No — three!” Principal Powell smiled and scratched his head and then fit his glasses to his eyes and peered into the grayness beyond the window, as though to check his calculation. “As a matter of fact” — he turned his bright expression upon the class — “all in all I’ve been to four colleges!”

  “Hot dog!” Amerigo cried.

  “And I have the feeling every day that I’ve hardly scratched the surface. And not — not of what there is to be known, for who can know all there is to be known? But of what I am capable, with all my limitations, of knowing! Do you understand what I mean? Can you follow me? I — I still don’t know the simplest things — like what time it is.” Four o’clock! ticked the Big Ben clock, as Amerigo sat upon the clean white floorboard staring into the brilliant sunlight flooding the screen door and against the window shade, causing it to look like a veined leaf spangled with …

  “What time it is,” Principal Powell was saying, “like — what is really real and what is not really real? What is really true? and what is false? what is the meaning of life, and why — why was I born? Where do we go from here? when we die?

  “Do you know how many stars are in the sky?” he was asking. Amerigo stretched himself to his full length, as if to count them with his toes.

  “More than there are grains of sugar in the sugar bowl!” Principal Powell exclaimed with a childish grin. “More than there are grains of sand in the deserts of the world!”

  Aw!

  “Yes! Plus all the grains of sand on the bottoms of all the oceans! And each little star is a world, and each little world is much bigger than the one in which we live. Just think of that! The Milky Way is just one little constellation of whirring worlds. But there are numberless constellations of whirring worlds! Myriad constellations of whirring worlds!”

  A million of them!

  “More than we can ever hope to see. And somehow we are all a part of that. Isn’t that beautiful?”

  “Sure is!” said Chester with a satirical smile.

  Tee! hee! hee!

  “Doesn’t that make life interesting? Worth living to the full? Every instant, every day, eternally new! A new world eternally new! A new sky eternally illuminated by a new light! Moving! Changing! All the time!”

  A subtle fear tinged with anticipation thrilled through his consciousness.

  “This is the world,” Principal Powell continued, “of which you are a part, like a drop of water in the sea, like a little cloud floating in a b-i-g sky. Live! and …”

  “Aaaaw, I almost forgot!” Viola exclaimed.

  “Live! — and …”

  “What?” Rutherford asked.

  “The reverend’s dead.”

  “Naw! Unh! When?”

  “This afternoon. Allie called an’ told me!”

  “What did he have?”

  “A heart attack. He just up an’ died. Just like that!”

  Amerigo closed his eyes and watched the constellations of stars whirring in the sky. More than is in the sugar bowl or the Sahara Desert.

  “Why did he die?”

  “Who?” Rutherford asked.

  “The reveren’?”

  “The reveren’! What you mean — why did he die? Ever’body dies!”

  “How come?”

  “How come? ’Cause they do, that’s all!”

  “But there are some people who are dead that haven’ died.”

  “What’s this little joker talkin’ about, Babe?”

  “That’s your son!”

  An’ there’s some that are alive that are dead like Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington … and Jesus.… An’ some that’s alive but asleep … like Boodah … Sorta dreamin’-like, but not really dreamin’ …

  Amerigo gazed into the depths of his father’s troubled eyes. The soft blue light of evening mellowed the yellow light that filled the kitchen. The alley hummed like a seashell.

  “I think the funeral’s gonna be next week.…” Viola said. “He preached last Sund’y as hard as ever, Allie said. He was even makin’ plans to go to the Baptist Convention. They gonna have a big shin-dig in Chicago this year.”

  “Well, he’s gonna miss this ’un,” said Rutherford.

  “I guess so,” said Viola.

  Come to Je-sus, come to Je-sus, come to Jeee-sus, just now! He felt the reverend’s eye upon him as his body contracted within his shrinking skin. He will save you He will save you. He will save you, just now …

  “I did it!” his voice whispered. “I did it!”

  “He died for you!” cried the reverend: “Alone! Amid the jeers of the Roman soldiers. Alone! On the cross that you might live!”

  “How kin somebody die for somebody?” he asked suddenly.

  “Can’t nobody die for nobody!” Rutherford exclaimed.

  “Jesus did.”

  “He’s got you there, Rutherford!” said Viola.

  “That’s somethin’ different.”

  “Kin-Can somebody be born for somebody?”

  “Eat, boy!” said Viola. “Your food’s gittin’ cold!”

  Three days and three nights of singing and preaching, animated by the ringing bells in the towers in the town and along the long black wires swooping from pole to pole along all the known ways in the land of Eleven Years, and beyond:

  “He looked so natural!”

  “Yeah — just like he was asleep.”

  “How much did the funeral cost, honey? You heard?”

  “Naw, but it must a cost a fortune!”

  “Did you hear what I heard?”

  “Naw, what did you hear?”

  “Well, I ain’ supposed to tell nobody, but if you promise not to tell —”

  “You know you kin count on me to keep my mouth shut!”

  “Well, it wasn’ told to me directly, mind you, but I got it from somebody who got it from somebody else who was there when his wife told it!”

  “Naw!”

  “Yeah, girl!”

  “What was it all about?”

  “About Sister B. P. I ain’ mentionin’ no names — an’ Deacon J. J. H.”

  “I knowed it! I figured one a these days she’d git to switchin’ an’ git caught with ’er pants down.”

  “Well, that’s just what happened, honey. His wife caught ’um at it.”

  “You mean doin’ the thing, honey?”

  “I mean they love was comin’ down!”

  “These big shots, honey, they the biggest devils in the church! An’ did you see the way they was carryin’ on at the funeral! All that cryin’ an’ carryin’ on ain’ natural, honey!”

  “But it was kinda sad, though,” said Viola. “That candidate spoke so nice, an’ the music an’ the flowers an’ all were so lovely. I tried to hold myself back, but girl, I got to cryin’ an’ blowin’ my nose! I thought I never would stop!”

  “Did you git some a the flowers?” Miss Allie Mae asked.

  “Unh-huh. Pressed ’um in the Bible — where the text was.”

  “Well, that was one a the biggest doin’s this town’s ever seen!” said Miss Allie Mae. “Shoulda seen the white folks lookin’ when we rode through town in them long black limousines, honey! All togged down to the bricks!”

  “You tellin’ me! I wasn’ lookin’ so bad, myself! I had old Amerigo sparklin’ to beat the band!”

  “He spoke so n-i-c-e!” said Miss Allie Mae. “I was as proud as I could be!”

  “G-i-r-l — I was scaired! He was up there in front a all them people — an’ my knees was shakin’ all the time he was recitin’.”

  “Ain’ that a shame!” Rutherford’s voice broke in. “Ol’ Viola don’ never go to church unless somebody kicks the bucket! Ha! ha!”

  “RUTHERFORD JONES!”

  “Yeah! gits all togged down — an’ c-r-i-e-s — up a breeze!”

  “Don’t you believe ’im, Amerigo!�
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  “He knows! Boy, when’s the last time your momma been to church?

  Not since Sue’s mother died. An’ she didn’ even know ’er!”

  Tears accompanied by embarrassed laughter rolled down Viola’s cheeks.

  “I don’ know,” she said in a confused voice. “I can’t explain it but all that beautiful music an’ the beautiful flowers an’ all. An’ the reveren’ spoke so nice. An’ then the daughter started cryin’ — an’ the family an’ all. You understand what I mean, don’t you? How you kin feel sorry for people that’s died that you don’ even know? It seems like to me … It seems like ever’body oughtta have somebody to stand up for ’um when they die. It — it oughtta be somethin’ beautiful. Aw — I don’ know. It ain’ somethin’ that you kin just explain just like that. But it don’ even have to be no funeral, sometimes I just cry ’cause I feel sad about somethin’. An’ even if you don’ know what it is — it makes you feel better.”

  Sunday morning blasted out like a clarion:

  “Boy!” Viola cried, “what you doin’ home from church so early. You been fightin’? Somebody after you? Hold on there, an’ catch your breath. Now, what happened?”

  “N-n-no’m!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The church burned down!”

  “WHAT!”

  “Yes’m! I saw it burned up. I saw it. An’ it was on the radio, too, an’ don’ nobody know how come!”

  “Unh!” Viola exclaimed.

  I did it, he thought, as the reverend stared up at him from the coffin: He died for you!

  Sunday was suddenly illuminated by a great flame that had sent St. John’s crashing to the ground. On his way to the Gem and the Lincoln he stopped and stared at its charred remains. He looked at the space where the Sunday school room used to be, where Sister James used to sit, in front of what used to be the wall beyond which the parallel crevices between the floorboards ran. He peered into the basement filled with smoldering ashes. Like bones! he couldn’t help thinking, surprising himself, while his thoughts ran on against his will: Like white bones with no meat on them … flesh … He stared dumbly at the great tangle of charred beams that sprawled grotesquely on the floor of the great auditorium. A rush of free air issued from his lungs. A subtle joy filled his heart: I did it!

  Who among you here — in God’s house taday! said the voice, and he fled, terrified, through the redeeming light of Sunday afternoon.…

  Upon his return at dusk he stared at the monstrous shadow. He listened to the gentle breezes whispering through the summer night.

  The sun that shone Monday morning shone like a great fire. A star searching the skies.

  Sparkling pieces of ice frosted his iced-tea glass at supper. He sucked a piece into his mouth. It burned his tongue. He bit into the burning flame. It chilled his teeth to the bone.

  Water isn’t anything but fire! He laughed aloud.

  “What you laughin’ at?” Rutherford asked.

  “Nothin’.”

  “I wonder what they gonna do now?” Rutherford asked Viola.

  “I was just thinkin’ ’bout that, myself. I was just talkin’ to Aunt Nancy this evenin’. She was sayin’ what a shame it is for the new preacher. Here it is his first week a bein’ elected to pastor an —”

  “They choose one yet? I thought this one was just temparary.”

  “No, he’s the pastor, all right, but now he’s gotta build a new church to pastor in. Allie said they talkin’ about rentin’ the Municipal Auditorium — the Little Theater — till they git it built.”

  “Unh!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Won’ that be a killer!”

  “Right smack dab in the middle of town!”

  “That joker’s got class, you hear me!”

  “An’ educated, too!” Viola said. “You know, they had preachers from all over the country tryin’. They preached an’ shouted an’ jumped up an’ down till the times got better, but he won out. An’ that’s somethin’! They say he’s good-lookin’, tall an’ dark, with a deep mellow voice an’ a quiet way.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “The Reveren’ Doctor John Phillip King.”

  “Hey! hey!”

  “An’ sing!” Viola continued. “Allie said, he got to singin’, Oh when I come to the end of my journey, an’ almost had her shoutin’!”

  “I’d sure like to see that!” Rutherford exclaimed, shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “Old Allie shoutin’!”

  Throughout the summer Sunday mornings he made his way to the heart of the great city on his way to the Municipal Auditorium. He sat within the plush interior of the Little Theater and saw the great stage when the reverend looked down upon his proud congregation.

  “It pleases me!” he said in a well-modulated voice that flowed through the loudspeakers overhead, “to look down into tha faces of my people an’ see ’um sittin’ in the front row of the Municipal Auditorium!”

  “A-MEN!” shouted the congregation.

  “AN’ on the third row, in the middle, an’ in the balcony — ever’where!”

  “Tee! hee!”

  “Speak, Je-suuus!”

  “Truly, truly,” said the reverend, “the Lord works in mysterious ways! He burned down His own house an’ built His temple in the devil’s stronghold! He made it His temple! Where ever’body’s welcome! Where ever’body kin walk right in the front door! Follow me, now, I don’ want no misunderstandin’, but it … it seems to me that things, maybe things, help me, Jesus, that things haven’ turned out so bad, after all … when you try to look at it through God’s eyes. In order that somethin’ kin be born agin — somethin’s got to burn!”

  “A-MEN!”

  “Yeah! you don’ git somethin’ for nothin’ in this world! You gotta go through the fires of hell! to git to heaven! Moses beheld the burnin’ bush and was amazed that though it burned, it was not consumed! Saint John’s Baptist Church is more alive right now than it ever was!”

  “A-MEN!”

  “But we won’ stay in the devil’s house. We don’ need it! The Lord done proved His point. Where His spirit dwelleth there dwelleth He also!”

  “A-Men!”

  “Now, we’re gonna pray to God for courage, an’-an’ strength-an’ faith-aaaan’ money. We’re sure gonna need a lot of it —”

  “A-Men!”

  “— an’ build the Lord a new temple — a new Saint John’s Baptist Church!”

  “Help’im, Je-sus!”

  “A place of worship that we kin all be proud of!”

  Like the art gallery, Amerigo thought, as he followed the stream of black, brown, and beige faces, flowing west until the white faces gradually faded away and a gray, reddish, sweaty, pungent, rhythmic, dusty, blood-spattered, gold-spangled, laughter-ridden, pain-ridden, teary-eyed humor filled the sky: heel over toe, toe over heel: east to west, west to east, and then south, along the shining rails come Sunday, animated by a burning sense of pride, because the Municipal Auditorium’s not far from the Muehlebach Hotel and the Southern Mansion and it’s on the way to the art gallery, where everything’s so pretty — an’ clean! Different from the North End, from the slums!

  “I see where Saint John’s gonna buy the old Fifteenth Street dance hall,” said Rutherford at the end of a day when the wind had blown warmer, and he had spread out the pages of the Voice and waited for Viola to finish frying the fish.

  “Unh — unh!” she exclaimed, “what a time we usta have there!”

  “In a couple a months,” said Rutherford.

  “In a couple a months it’ll be spring!” Viola said.

  “Yeah, an’ old Amerigo’ll be graduatin’!”

  Amerigo watched the bar of sunlight advance toward the foot of the table.

  “He’s gonna need a new suit,” said Viola, emptying the boiled potatoes into a bowl.

  “With long pants!” said Amerigo.

  “I don’ know about that.”

  “Vi-ola, you
can’t have that boy graduatin’ in no short pants! He’s almost as big as you!”

  “Ever’body’s supposed to have long pants!” Amerigo declared, “— and a navy-blue suit with a white shirt, and a tie, blue or black, an’ … d white shoes. Hot dog!”

  “That’ll be my black ruin!” Rutherford exclaimed.

  “What?” Viola asked, lifting the fish carefully onto the platter.

  Buffalo, Amerigo thought, anticipating the hot salty crisp taste of the first mouthful. She set the plate of corn bread on the table.

  “Well,” Rutherford said, “he’s wearin’ my socks, my ties, my drawers an’ shirts. Now he kin almost wear my pants!”

  “That’s what you git for havin’ me!” Amerigo said, and burst into a fit of laughter that infected Viola and Rutherford, who shot swift subtle glances at each other.

  Suddenly the fish had disappeared, all but the bones.

  Like a leaf, he thought, looking at the skeleton that he had carefully spread out along the edge of his plate. He stuck his fork into the blind eye.

  I did it! He sipped his buttermilk.

  “An’ then next year,” Rutherford was saying, “next year he’ll have to git up early to go all the way out on Nineteenth Street to school.”

  “I know!” Amerigo declared. “It’s like on the way to Aunt Rose’s.”

  “An’ you gonna have to work hard!” said Rutherford. “None a that foolin’ around, ’cause if you don’ make it there, you can’t go to high school, an’ then college is out!”

  “Your daddy’s sure tellin’ you right!” said Viola. “Just think, you’ll be graduatin’ in June! An’ here it is April already! Ever’body’s comin’, Aunt Rose, Ardella, your daddy an’ me, an’ Aunt Lily an’ Unc, Flat Nose. An’ even old T.’s gonna git all dressed up, just to see you graduate!”

  One day, during the busy-bee lull of a lazy afternoon in the beginning of June when the heat of the sun melted his eyelids and his chin sagged upon his chest, a penetrating voice shocked him into a state of fearful awareness:

  “Amerigo Jones!” It was Principal Powell.

  “Yessir.”

  “Would you come up here, please?”

  He half walked, half stumbled up to the great man’s desk.

  “Sit down.”