by Daniel Black
“Oh my Lawd!” Miss Mary declared woefully once the commotion ended. A porch full of dead white men was a problem she had never encountered.
She knelt and touched Jeremiah as though he were fragile glass.
“I’m all right, honey,” he said, but didn’t move. “Get me up off dis flo’.”
Miss Mary and Ella Mae lifted the old man and sat him in the rocker. Enoch was taken to the kitchen table.
“Lawd have murcy,” Miss Mary mumbled as she walked onto the porch and tiptoed between the dead bodies.
“What we gon do?” Ella Mae cried.
“Jes stay calm,” Miss Mary admonished nervously. “We gon figure somethin’ out.”
For an instant, the women studied each other’s faces, unable to imagine how the family would survive this horror.
“It’s gon be all right,” Miss Mary said as she and Ella Mae began tending their husbands’ wounds. “Y’all know we jes killed de sheriff’s brothers, don’t chu?”
Enoch and Ella Mae nodded.
“We know,” Jeremiah murmured. “But they wunnit ’bout to kill nobody up in here. Not if I could help it.” Miss Mary massaged his side in order to locate the bullet. “Ow!” he cried.
“It ain’t bad, thank de Lawd. I feel it right here.” She touched his flesh a few inches below his left armpit. He winced in pain. “I can cut it out,” she said and moved to place a knife on top of the stove.
“Better get two,” Ella Mae said.
“Is it bad?” Miss Mary asked.
“Naw. Just barely penetrated his arm. He’ll be fine.” She rubbed Enoch’s head. “Y’all some lucky men.”
“Ain’t got nothin’ to do wit luck, baby,” Miss Mary said, shaking her head. “God settin’ somethin’ up. Y’all know who comin’ now, don’t chu? And don’t neva thank he ain’t comin’.”
“We ain’t gon worry ’bout dat right now,” Jeremiah huffed with his eyes closed. “Yeah, Billy comin’, and others, too, probably, but we’ll have to be ready for them jes like we wuz ready for his brothers.”
The women went to work on their respective husbands, slicing just enough flesh to extract the bullets. Trying not to scream, Enoch held onto the kitchen table and moaned while Jeremiah squeezed the handle of the rocker.
Once their wounds were cleaned and bandaged, Jeremiah said, “Now y’all listen to me, and listen good. We gotta stick together. Ain’t no two ways ’bout it. We did what we had to, and if I had to do it ova again, I’d do de same thang.” He was trying hard to maintain his confidence, but it was slipping fast. “Ella Mae, you go for de chillen and hur’up ’bout it. Bring ’em back hyeah and we’ll decide what to do next. Take de light and de gun.” Tears hurried down her yellow face, leaving red streaks behind, but they did not deter her.
“We gotta get dese bodies outta hyeah, son,” Jeremiah groaned as he lifted his frame from the chair. “Momma, tie dis rag ’round me again tight as you can get it.”
Miss Mary obeyed and Enoch asked, “What we gon do wit ’em, Daddy?” He hadn’t heard that childhood voice in years.
“I ain’t sho, son, but they cain’t stay in hyeah. We’ll put ’em in de wagon and I’ll think o’ somethin’ by then.”
One good arm wasn’t very good alone, but Enoch managed to drag the first body off the porch. Miss Mary helped him load it onto the wagon.
“De Lawd gon do somethin’, son. I feel it,” she huffed. “Git ready. I’m tellin’ you, I feel it.” With closed eyes, she reached toward heaven, sensing something very real though obviously intangible. “This ain’t gon be like de otha times.”
Enoch didn’t have time to press for clarity. His most immediate concern was the disposal of the bodies. Miss Mary, whose physical strength now exceeded his, assisted in loading the others, tossing corpses vindictively, like one releasing putrid garbage bags into a Dumpster. She was acting rather callously, Enoch thought, for one who had always preached kindness and compassion, even for her enemies. It wasn’t that she hated white people, for Miss Mary would have been horrified had anyone believed she carried such trash in her heart. Rather, Enoch concluded that she was simply finishing the grieving for Jerry that the demands of cotton crops each year had inhibited. Whatever the source of her obstinacy, she kept repeating, “It’s gon be diff ’rent dis time. I’m tellin’ you, boy. It’s gon be diff’rent this time,” until a smile of certainty beamed across her face.
“Mary, baby, you git dis flo cleaned up. Don’t leave one drop o’ blood nowhere,” Jeremiah instructed, after Enoch confirmed that the bodies were loaded and ready to go. “Now, let’s do somethin’ wit this worthless white flesh.”
Enoch handed Jeremiah his hat. “Git dat ole tarp we use to cover de hay when it rain and put it over—”
“I already did, Daddy,” Enoch said.
“Then let’s go.”
Stepping off the front porch cautiously, Jeremiah yelled over his shoulder, “Tell Ella Mae to put dem chillen back up in de barn loft ’til I git back.” He knew Miss Mary would do exactly as he had instructed.
When their grandmother told them to run, the children fled swiftly into the thick, dark night. Chop moved faster than he ever thought he could, assisted tremendously by a big brother pulling him along. In fear, the four moved stealthily among the high moody grass until they reached the bank of the turbulent Tallahatchie River.
“Jes follow me,” Ray Ray whispered anxiously as he waded into the viridescent current. Sarah Jane was holding his right hand with her left as though gripping a skillet of hot grease. Her attempt to maintain bravery was crumbling with every step she took, yet she had no choice but to follow. The clear, hot, windless night only intensified matters as nature held its breath to see if the children would make it. The reflection of the moon on the river’s surface provided just enough light for Ray Ray to see his way and to determine that, so far, everyone was all right.
“I’m sssssscared,” Chop murmured, sitting aupon Clement’s shoulders.
“Be quiet, boy,” Ray Ray mumbled virulently. “We gon be all right.”
Chop tried to hold his tears, but in their mutiny, the salty ones marched proudly down his small cheeks and fell upon Clement’s bushy afro.
“I got chu, Chop,” Clement assured quietly when Chop’s hold around his neck became unbearable. Clement loosened Chop’s grip a bit and squeezed the latter’s small hand comfortingly.
“Okay,” Chop repeated, more to himself than to Clement.
“Stop!” Sarah Jane cried next. The water had reached her chest, and all of her resolve was gone. “I can’t go no farther!” Her and Ray Ray’s hand had become one tight fist of fear.
“It’s okay, Sarah Jane,” Clement breathed soothingly. “We ain’t gon let you drown.”
By “we” Sarah Jane knew he meant him and Ray Ray since Chop was absolutely dysfunctional.
“You jes gotta trust us,” Clement pleaded.
“But I cain’t swim!” she admitted sadly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ray Ray said. “I ain’t gon let nothin’ happen to you.” Her shadow reminded him of the story of Jesus and John in the River Jordan. “You gon be fine. Trust me.”
Sarah Jane didn’t remember Ray Ray being so nurturing, so loving, so protecting, but she saw that, when called upon, he could rise to the occasion.
“We gon make it, Sarah Jane. Hold on to my shoulders, and if the water gets too deep, I’ll carry you.”
Ray Ray took another step forward and lost his balance. His head submerged beneath the river, and Sarah Jane knew she’d never see her grandparents again. Yet, instantly, Ray Ray resurfaced, and said, “There’s a deep hole right behind me, so step this way.”
He led her gently to the left as the water rose to her neck. Sarah Jane sighed. “Come on. Easy, easy,” Ray Ray said.
Clement and Chop followed obediently. Both wondered what they’d do when the water reached Clement’s neck. The chattering of Chop’s teeth kept Clement’s nerves on edge, and Sarah Jane’s fl
oating form ruined their confidence.
“It’s ’bout to get deep now, y’all,” Ray Ray warned. “But we gon be all right. Jes stay real close together.”
Only their heads were visible now. The children took deep breaths simultaneously, then Ray Ray prepared to lead them into five feet of rushing, dark water.
“Clement, you grab Sarah Jane’s shoulder, and Chop you hold on real tight. We cain’t let go o’ one another ’cause the water is movin’ too fast fu me to save you. Jes don’t let go!”
And with that, Ray Ray stepped boldly into the deep. He had to lean his head all the way back in order to keep his face above water. Clement was on his toes, barely touching bottom, while Sarah Jane was floating between the two. Chop hadn’t meant to leave fingernail prints in Clement’s neck, but he was far too scared to be considerate.
“Jes come on,” Ray Ray coached, and slithered through the swarthy river.
The children looked like a band of runaway slaves, eager to touch freedom’s soil. They were determined to survive, not only for themselves, but also for a family that had just risked everything to assure their future. At one point, Sarah Jane swore she saw a snake. Something raised its small head a few feet away, but then disappeared, so she thanked God and kept the sighting to herself. She was just scared and seeing things, she noted, for had she truly believed a snake was in the water, she would have relinquished Ray Ray’s shoulders and given up the ghost.
Chop looked across the glistening river and wondered, if he fell, could he walk on the water like Miss Mary said Jesus had done. Doubting himself, he gripped Clement’s eye sockets hard enough to gouge the balls out, having determined that he wasn’t going to die at five if he could help it.
“Easy, easy,” Ray Ray muttered to the rushing waters. “We gon make it. We gotta make it.”
The best Ray Ray could do was to take microscopic steps since he carried the weight—and the fear—of all four of them. The inconsiderate river flowed past them carelessly, like a buffalo stampede, totally unconcerned about anything in its path.
“I cain’t see!” Clement screamed to Chop.
Ray Ray stopped. He swiveled his head to see what was wrong with Clement and discovered Chop’s fingers buried in Clement’s eyes. “We ain’t gon let you drown, boy!” he stated passionately. “Now move yo fingers so Clement can see.”
Chop was too afraid to move anything. He was willing to take whatever punishment ensued later if it meant he had survived.
“Chop!” Ray Ray roared.
“Just go on,” Clement conceded in frustration. “I got Sarah Jane’s shoulders.”
Ray Ray moved the group another inch forward. Suddenly, he felt Sarah Jane release hold of him.
“Sarah Jane!” he hollered, reaching for her hand.
“Ray!” she cried, and reached back rapidly.
Their hands clasped just in time for Sarah Jane not to be swept away by the swift current. Ray Ray’s heart pounded against his narrow, flat chest.
“You all right, girl?” he inquired.
She nodded frantically. Chop was so glad Sarah Jane had survived that he sobbed as though she hadn’t.
“Hook back up, y’all,” Ray Ray instructed. “We almost there.”
The children moved two or three feet forward and felt the riverbank rise beneath their feet.
“It’s okay now,” Ray Ray announced meekly. The children stepped onto the bank. “We made it.”
Clement lowered Chop, who then apologized, “Sssssssorry ‘b-b-bout yo eyes.”
“You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, Chop. You did fine.” Clement smiled and patted Chop’s small head.
Sarah Jane collapsed upon the earth, relieved. Never had she faced anything so frightening, especially with no grown-ups around. She thanked God for her cousins because now she knew that if they could cross a river in the middle of the night, with only a bright full moon to guide their way, they could survive anything.
“Come on, y’all,” Ray Ray called after catching his breath. “We gotta git to de ole shack.”
Once again, the children held hands and bounced like rabbits across the field until they found the shack by the pecan tree. Inside, they made a womb of themselves, with Chop huddled in the middle, and they waited.
Four
“YOU RRRRRRECKON THTHTHTHEY C—C—COMIN’ FOR US?” CHOP whispered to Sarah Jane, who was in no mood to entertain doubt.
“They comin’, boy!” she responded thickly, sorry her nerves had caused her to be so callous. “They comin’.”
The old shack had once been the home of Bull Black—that was the man’s name—and his seventeen children. He got the name because he wrestled an old, black brimmer bull for five dollars and won. He was always stout, Jeremiah said, and when his older brothers challenged him, at thirteen, to tame the old breeding bull, he laughed, and said, “Where’s yo money?”
“I was standing right there,” Jeremiah bragged, “’cause Bull was my best friend and we used to play together every chance we could. I tried to talk him out of doin’ it ’cause dat ole cow was mean and ornery, but Bull was the most bullheaded somebody de Good Lawd ever made.”
The children laughed along with their grandfather, whose favorite pastime was reminiscing about the old days. As he spoke, his chest swelled.
“So Bull told me to hold his glasses—he never could see—while he handled that old cow.”
“Stop lyin’, man!” Miss Mary instigated. “Bull was jes as sweet as he could be. He ain’t neva fought no cow, and you know it!”
“You wunnit there! I wunnit stuttin you yet,” Jeremiah teased as he filled his pipe with tobacco. “You was still skinny and ugly. You didn’t get pretty ’til de next summer.”
Roaring gleefully, the children looked at their grandmother to make sure her feelings weren’t hurt. The wave of her hand and sucking of her teeth confirmed that she was simply doing her part to make the story funnier.
“Like I was sayin’, Bull stepped over into the corral and jumped on dat bull’s back and they went to tusslin’. De bull throwed Bull at first, but he got up and jumped right back on him ’til he wrestled him to de ground.” Jeremiah gazed at the children in wonder. “Bull was strong as a ox. He wunnit but thirteen years ole, but he was whippin’ dat bull’s black ass.”
“All right, man!” Miss Mary admonished. “We don’t talk like dat ’round no chillen.” Jeremiah sighed his consent and continued the story.
“Bull grabbed dat bull by de horns and twisted his head”—Jeremiah stood to demonstrate his friend’s exact movements—“and dat old bull bellowed out a holla dat scared all of us. He fell on his back like this.” Jeremiah fainted into the rocker like a dead man. “But de bull wasn’t dead. He was just unconscious.”
“De lies you tell gon send you straight to hell, man,” Miss Mary said as she rose to check on dinner.
“Dat bull was unconscious!” Jeremiah screamed heartily. “It was layin’ on de ground breathin’ real hard, but it wasn’t movin’. We thought he was dead at first, but after a few minutes he rolled ova and stood up and walked away.” Jeremiah lit his pipe and nodded confidently. “Dat’s right!”
“D-d-d-did Mr. B-b-bull get thththe ffffive d-d-d-dollars?” Chop asked enthusiastically.
“Naw.” Jeremiah feigned disappointment. Then he smiled, and said, “They gave him ten.”
The house shook with laughter. Even Miss Mary, who usually frowned at her husband’s stories, chuckled along.
“What happened to Mr. Bull, Granddaddy?” Sarah Jane asked.
“He growed up to be the stoutest little man anybody ever met. The muscles in his arm was bigger than yo grandma’s thighs.”
“All right, fool!” Miss Mary hollered.
Jeremiah smiled playfully and continued: “He married a girl named Isadore and they had seventeen kids. They lived in the old shack down by the river, sharecroppin’ like everybody else did back then.”
“Where ththththey at n-n-now?”
Jeremiah and Miss Mary caught each other’s eye, and the children knew something had gone wrong.
“They moved,” Jeremiah said quickly.
“No, they didn’t, man. Ain’t no use in you lyin’ to dem chillen. If you gon tell de story, tell it right. They old enough to know.”
“Alrighty,” Jeremiah sighed. “They killed ’em.”
Ray Ray’s brow furrowed. “Who killed ’em, Granddaddy?”
“White folks,” Enoch interrupted. “They always killin’ colored people. Dat’s why I can’t stand—”
“All right, boy. Dat’s enough o’ dat,” Jeremiah cooed before things got out of hand.
“I bet it was white folks, wasn’t it, Daddy?”
“Yeah, it was. Don’t nobody know exactly what happened though. Different folks said different things, but it was white folks for sho.” Jeremiah looked at Miss Mary to see if he should go on, and since she didn’t stop him, he proceeded: “They say Bull had challenged a white boy to a arm wrestle. A whole crowd o’ folks gathered to see who was the strongest man in Money, and Bull beat dat white boy so bad he broke his arm. He wasn’t tryin to break his arm; dat’s jes how strong he was. Well, de white boy left, promisin’ Bull he was gon pay for showin’ out. Didn’t nobody think too much about it though. They said the white boy was jes mad cause Bull had beat him so bad. Kinda like how mad white folks wuz when Jack Johnson beat Jim Jeffries in nineteen ten.”
“Who was Jack Johnson, Granddaddy?” Sarah Jane asked.
“Who was Jack Johnson?” Jeremiah returned in surprise. “You chillen don’t know nothin’ ’bout y’all’s history. Jack Johnson was the first Black heavyweight champion boxer in de world. He fought a white boy everybody said wuz gone beat him, but he outsmarted dat cracker and knocked his ass out in the fifteenth round. White folks been mad ever since.” He paused.
“Anyway, Black folk threw a party dat night to celebrate Bull’s victory, and it was so loud the white folks miles away could hear us. Dat’s what really got ’em mad, I think. We was rubbin’ it in. Really, we was jes havin’ a good time. We didn’t need to rub nothin’ in ’cause colored folks already knowed we was stronger than white folks. Hell, we did all the work.” Jeremiah looked at his grandchildren seriously. “But a few days later, Nub Harris came runnin’ by our house ’bout six o’clock in de mornin’ screamin, ‘de done killed ’em all!’ We didn’t know what he was talkin’ ’bout, but Daddy told me to hurry and throw some clothes on so we could find out what had done happened.