Something about the man transfixed Frank, but he couldn’t say what. The voice returned, deeper, richer. Words, but a language he didn’t know. He didn’t understand them, tractor talk, machine blabber, white noise. He covered his ears, but they penetrated his flesh, ruthless, all-powerful. This enchantment, this spell, this haint.
Frank watched the frightening vision from the chair, trembling, shaken to the very core of himself. He was drunk but not so drunk that he now saw things with his eyes open. The buzzing continued in his ears, filling his head and moving down into his chest. Was this a devil, one of those haints his grandmama used to talk about when he was a boy? Whatever it was, Frank felt it knew him, knew all about him—his thoughts, his secrets, and his sins.
The voice came again, louder and louder. Frank noticed that the face never changed, the lips never moved. The emptiness around the man peeled back with a deafening roar. The trance embraced Frank and wrapped him in its arms. All sensations invaded him as the voice echoed with a sound much like the scratchy music of birds’ wings beating fast. Then there was a smell, a smell he recognized, the scent that came after a heavy rain. Frank felt his heart stop, then continue. The man in white sat motionless, like stone, shutting his eyes until there was only the fluttering of the lids. Jacob and the angel, Moses and the burning bush, the two divine beings of vengeance at Sodom and Gomorrah.
Frank watched the man produce two large green seeds in the palms of his hands, his fingers outstretched and flat. The man smiled knowingly. The seeds took root into Frank’s dark flesh and huge leafy flowers—light orange with gold trim—pushed up toward the ceiling. He could hear the song of their sprouting and knew then that he only understood life to a point. He was insignificant. Soon the flowers vanished and a blue-white beam of light replaced them. The man smiled again and his eyebrows lifted, his white suit glowing. Frank watched him for a moment while the beams of different colors now flowed into a triangle, each hue separated, collecting in a cube shape, dividing in half, and finally swirling in a circle.
Frank sensed the hair on the back of his neck rise as he pitched forward and fell on the floor. He shivered again and again, unable to resurrect himself. There was nothing but fear within him. For a minute, his mind filled with sinful, bleak thoughts. He imagined his own death. He would have rather driven a dull knife through his pitiful heart or sent it in a crimson crease across his throat. The vision departed from him just before the earth got light. Suddenly his body went stiff and bitter tears came to his eyes. Staggering, he hoisted himself, shuddering in a coughing fit, then wiped the foam from his lips.
His body was covered with strange marks, odd burns and markings, as if he had been branded. Frank’s fingers hovered over the marks, afraid to touch. At the window, he saw something outside, floating, like vapors, whirling lights in the open field near the parking lot. Lights that glowed like those in his room, then vanished in air.
All that next day, Frank thought about what he had seen. When he went to the colored diner for breakfast, folks were talking about flying saucers, people from outer space, men from Mars, and odd happenings all through the Delta the night before. People said they saw spaceships land, cattle gutted, pigs turned inside out, two men hauled up into the air and vanished, large stretches of field scorched by something, and a known Klansman found naked and babbling like a fool behind his cabin in Sunflower County.
“Frank, do you believe any of this outer space mess?” Cephus asked the sharecropper in earnest. “Any fool can see that ain’t nothing in the Good Book about no damn flying saucers. Where is any of that junk in the Book of Revelations or the Song of Solomon? No way.”
Frank heard Isaac guffaw at the four black men sitting along the counter, dressed in their field clothes. “Hey, somebody say the Russians sent a monkey up there and brought it back. Say the ape got more sense than most people.”
Frank didn’t say a thing. He picked at his breakfast, his spoon unsteady in his rough, trembling hands.
“Satellites, Sputnik, robots, spacemen… hah!” Cephus roared, his bass voice booming throughout the tiny diner. “Let me tell you something. My old Aunt Cat say this space stuff ain’t nothing but some Hollywood jive, ’cause we all know they can do anything out there. Change a man into a wolf or a bat, make things disappear, bring back ancient times… anything. Saw some foolishness on Mr. Tim’s teevee the other night where this great big lizard tore up the whole world and here I woke up today and the world still here.”
The quartet burst into knee-slapping chuckles. “Ain’t nothing but white folk magic,” Isaac said with a smirk. “And weak magic at that. We see right through it like we did those Greek fellas come through here with that carnival last year, when they was supposed to make that narrow-ass olive woman be gone and she got caught in some trapdoor. She screamed so loud they had to send Isaac out yonder to get her out. Just phony all the way around.”
Frank nervously watched the men chuckle, knowing most colored folks laughed because they’d been to the picture show and knew the white man can make anything seem real. Hollywood magic.
Isaac slapped him on his back, saying that he only believed what he saw with his naked eyes and nothing more. Frank laughed weakly, forcing down a spoonful of grits, his hand wavering. Not long ago he would have agreed with Isaac, but now everything seemed suspect. How could he explain that something had visited him overnight and taken two toes from each of his feet and left no wound? And the bizarre markings on his chest and thighs? Something was up in that blasted room with him and it wasn’t something he conjured out of corn whiskey. Something unnatural, something unearthly. What was the answer to that riddle?
THE SPACE TRADERS
Derrick Bell
(1992)
1 January. The first surprise was not their arrival. The radio messages had begun weeks before, announcing that one thousand ships from a star far out in space would land on 1 January 2000, in harbors along the Atlantic coast from Cape Cod to North Carolina. Well before dawn on that day, millions of people across North America had wakened early to witness the moment the ships entered Earth’s atmosphere. However expected, to the watchers, children of the electronic age, the spaceships’ approach was as awesome as had been that earlier one of three small ships, one October over five hundred years before, to the Indians of the island of Santo Domingo in the Caribbean.1
No, the first surprise was the ships themselves. The people who lined the beaches of New Jersey where the first ships were scheduled to arrive, saw not anything NASA might have dreamed up, but huge vessels, the size of aircraft carriers, which the old men in the crowd recognized as being pretty much like the box-shaped landing craft that carried Allied troops to the Normandy beachheads during the Second World War.
As the sun rose on that cold bright morning, the people on the shore, including an anxious delegation of government officials and media reporters, witnessed a fantastic display of eerie lights and strange sound—evidently the visitors’ salute to their American hosts. Almost unnoticed during the spectacle, the bow of the leading ship slowly lowered. A sizable party of the visitors—the first beings from outer space anyone on Earth had ever seen—emerged and began moving majestically across the water toward shore. The shock of seeing these beings, regal in appearance and bearing, literally walking on the waves was more thrilling than frightening. At least, no one panicked.
Then came the second surprise. The leaders of this vast armada could speak English. Moreover, they spoke in the familiar comforting tones of former President Reagan, having dubbed his recorded voice into a computerized language-translation system.
After the initial greetings, the leader of the U.S. delegation opened his mouth to read his welcoming speech—only the first of several speeches scheduled to be given on this historic occasion by the leaders of both political parties and other eminent citizens, including—of course—stars of the entertainment and sports worlds. But before he could begin, the principal spokesperson for the space people (and it wasn�
�t possible to know whether it was a man or woman or something else entirely) raised a hand and spoke crisply, and to the point.
And this point constituted the third surprise. Those mammoth vessels carried within their holds treasure of which the United States was in most desperate need: gold, to bail out the almost bankrupt federal, state, and local governments; special chemicals capable of unpolluting the environment, which was becoming daily more toxic, and restoring it to the pristine state it had been before Western explorers set foot on it; and a totally safe nuclear engine and fuel, to relieve the nation’s all-but-depleted supply of fossil fuel. In return, the visitors wanted only one thing—and that was to take back to their home star all the African Americans who lived in the United States.
The jaw of every one of the welcoming officials dropped, not a word of the many speeches they had prepared was suitable for the occasion. As the Americans stood in stupefied silence, the visitors’ leader emphasized that the proposed trade was for the Americans freely to accept or not, that no force would be used. Neither then nor subsequently did the leader or any other of the visitors, whom anchorpersons on that evening’s news shows immediately labeled the “Space Traders,” reveal why they wanted only black people or what plans they had for them should the United States be prepared to part with that or any other group of its citizens. The leader only reiterated to his still-dumbfounded audience that, in exchange for the treasure they had brought, they wanted to take away every American citizen categorized as black on birth certificate or other official identification. The Space Traders said they would wait sixteen days for a response to their offer. That is, on 17 January—the day when in that year the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr., was to be observed—they would depart carrying with them every black man, woman, and child in the nation and leave behind untold treasure. Otherwise, the Space Traders’ leader shrugged and glanced around—at the oil slick in the water, at the dead gulls on the beach, at the thick shadow of smog that obscured the sky on all but the windiest days. Then the visitors walked back over the waves and returned to their ships.
Their departure galvanized everyone—the delegation, the watchers on the beach, the President glued to his television screen in the White House, citizens black and white throughout the country. The President, who had been advised to stay in the White House out of concern for his security, called Congress into special session and scheduled a cabinet meeting for the next morning. Governors reconvened any state legislatures not already in session. The phones of members of Congress began ringing, as soon as the millions of people viewing the Space Traders’ offer on television saw them move back across the water, and never stopped till the morning of 17 January.
There was a definite split in the nature of the calls—a split that reflected distinctly different perceptions of the Space Traders. Most white people were, like the welcoming delegation that morning, relieved and pleased to find the visitors from outer space unthreatening. They were not human, obviously, but resembled the superhuman, good-guy characters in comic books; indeed, they seemed to be practical, no-nonsense folks like regular Americans.
On the other hand, many American blacks—whether watching from the shore or on their television screens—had seen the visitors as distinctly unpleasant, even menacing in appearance. While their perceptions of the visitors differed, black people all agreed that the Space Traders looked like bad news—and their trade offer certainly was—and burned up the phone lines urging black leaders to take action against it.
But whites, long conditioned to discounting any statements of blacks unconfirmed by other whites, chose now, of course, to follow their own perceptions. “Will the blacks never be free of their silly superstitions?” whites asked one another with condescending smiles. “Here, in this truly historic moment, when America has been selected as the site for this planet’s first contact with people from another world, the blacks just revert to their primitive fear and foolishness.” Thus, the blacks’ outrage was discounted in this crisis; they had, as usual, no credibility.
And it was a time of crisis. Not only because of the Space Traders’ offer per se, but because that offer came when the country was in dire straits. Decades of conservative, laissez-faire capitalism had emptied the coffers of all but a few of the very rich. The nation that had, in the quarter-century after the Second World War, funded the reconstruction of the free world had, in the next quarter-century, given itself over to greed and willful exploitation of its natural resources. Now it was struggling to survive like any third-world nation. Massive debt had curtailed all but the most necessary services. The environment was in shambles, as reflected by the fact that the sick and elderly had to wear special masks whenever they ventured out-of-doors. In addition, supplies of crude oil and coal were almost exhausted. The Space Traders’ offer had come just in time to rescue America. Though few gave voice to their thoughts, many were thinking that the trade offer was, indeed, the ultimate solution to the nation’s troubles.
2 January. The insomnia that kept the American people tossing and turning that first night of the new century did not spare the White House. As soon as the President heard the Space Traders’ post-arrival proposition on television, his political instincts immediately locked into place. This was big! And it looked from the outset like a “no win” situation—not a happy crisis at the start of an election year. Even so, he had framed the outline of his plan by the time his cabinet members gathered at eight o’clock the next morning.
There were no blacks in his cabinet. Four years before, during his first election campaign, the President had made some vague promises of diversity when speaking to minority gatherings. But after the election, he thought, What the hell! Most blacks and Hispanics had not supported him or his party. Although he had followed the practice of keeping one black on the Supreme Court, it had not won him many minority votes. He owed them nothing. Furthermore, the few black figures in the party always seemed to him overly opportunistic and, to be frank, not very smart. But now, as the cabinet members arrived, he wished he had covered his bases better.
In the few hours since the Space Traders’ offer, the White House and the Congress had been inundated with phone calls and telegrams. The President was not surprised that a clear majority spontaneously urged acceptance of the offer.
“Easy for them to say,” he murmured to an aide. “I’ll bet most of those who favor the trade didn’t sign or give their names.”
“On the contrary,” the assistant replied, “the callers are identifying themselves, and the telegrams are signed.”
At least a third of the flood of phone calls and faxes urging quick acceptance of the offer expressed the view that what the nation would give up—its African American citizens—was as worthwhile as what it would receive. The statements accurately reflected relations at the dawn of the new century. The President had, like his predecessors for the last generation, successfully exploited racial fears and hostility in his election campaign. There had been complaints, of course, but those from his political opponents sounded like sour grapes. They, too, had tried to minimize the input of blacks so as not to frighten away white voters.
The race problem had worsened greatly in the 1990s. A relatively small number of blacks had survived the retrogression of civil rights protection, perhaps 20 percent having managed to make good in the increasingly technologically oriented society. But, without anyone acknowledging it and with hardly a peep from the press, more than one half of the group had become outcasts. They were confined to former inner-city areas that had been divorced from their political boundaries. High walls surrounded these areas, and armed guards controlled entrance and exit around the clock. Still, despite all precautions, young blacks escaped from time to time to terrorize whites. Long dead was the dream that this black underclass would ever “overcome.”
The President had asked Gleason Golightly, the conservative black economics professor, who was his unofficial black cabinet member, to attend the meeting. Golightly was smar
t and seemed to be truly conservative, not a man ready to sing any political tune for a price. His mere presence as a person of color at this crucial session would neutralize any possible critics in the media, though not in the black civil rights community.
The cabinet meeting came to order.
“I think we all know the situation,” the President said. “Those extraterrestrial beings are carrying in their ships a guarantee that America will conquer its present problems and prosper for at least all of this new century.”
“I would venture, sir,” the Vice President noted, “that the balance of your term will be known as ‘America’s Golden Age.’ Indeed, the era will almost certainly extend to the terms of your successor.”
The President smiled at the remark, as—on cue—did the cabinet. “The VP is right, of course,” the President said. “Our visitors from outer space are offering us the chance to correct the excesses of several generations. Furthermore, many of the men and women—voters all—who are bombarding us with phone calls, see an added bonus in the Space Traders’ offer.” He looked around at his attentive cabinet members. “They are offering not only a solution to our nation’s present problems but also one—surely an ultimate one—to what might be called the great American racial experiment. That’s the real issue before us today. Does the promise of restored prosperity justify our sending away fifteen percent of our citizens to Lord knows what fate?”
“There are pluses and minuses to this ‘fate’ issue, Mr. President.” Helen Hipmeyer, Secretary of Health and Human Services, usually remained silent at cabinet meetings. Her speaking up now caused eyebrows to rise around the table. “A large percentage of blacks rely on welfare and other social services. Their departure would ease substantially the burden on our state and national budgets. Why, the cost of caring for black AIDS victims alone has been extraordinary. On the other hand, the consternation and guilt among many whites if the blacks are sent away would take a severe psychological toll, with medical and other costs which might also reach astronomical levels. To gain the benefits we are discussing, without serious side effects, we must have more justification than I’ve heard thus far.”
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