by W. S. Fuller
She stood up suddenly, walked to the pantry in the kitchen and returned with a box. I’ll put the Godiva chocolates Paul and Sandy brought us from Brussels on the coffee table. Maybe someone will ask me where they came from. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. In five minutes the members of the Ladies Missionary Guild from the First Baptist Church would begin to arrive.
“I do think we need to plan the bazaar early this year, don’t y’all? I’ve had just scads of people come up to me and ask when it’s going to be and if they can bring things. I just know it’s going to be the best one we’ve ever had. That new lady whose husband is a teacher at the high school, well she told me she blows glass.
Can you imagine how hard you must have to blow? I’ve never. I think her name is Christian. Sort of a funny name, particularly for a lady.”
“Kristin, Evelyn, Kristin is her name.” Lila May was quick to correct her.
“I think we need to finish up the quilt we’re going to send to Ron and Janet Black before we do or plan anything else. They’ll have spent their two years in New Guinea doing missionary work and be back before they get it if we don’t hurry.”
“You’re right, Esther. Who hasn’t finished their work on the quilt? You’re the only one, Irene?”
“Well, I know June hasn’t finished her section either, but of course she isn’t here. My eyes are so bad, my goodness, I just can’t do that detailed handwork any more without my big magnifying glass...Herbert calls it my cheater...and the bulb went out. But I’ll promise you, Lila May, I’ll get it fixed and I’ll get finished by this weekend coming up and I’ll get June to finish hers too.”
“Let’s have some coffee and tea cakes before we try to get too much accomplished,” Lila May said as she stood and motioned for the ladies to go into the dining room. “And I’ve got something else I think we’re going to want to spend some time talking about.”
“Good gracious these are wonderful. Are you ever going to tell us your recipe for these tea cakes? Lila May, there just isn’t anything I’ve ever had to compare to these.”
“Evelyn, I’ll be glad to tell you what’s in them. Flour, sugar, shortnin, and eggs.”
“What about the liquid, Lila May?”
“Well, maybe I’ll tell you almost all the things in them.”
“That’s not fair, Lila May, and what about how much of each thing?” Evelyn asks.
“Well, maybe I better keep that a secret too. My Paul and Sandy keep telling me I could be rich if I’d start selling them. I just might do that some day. Let’s go back and sit down in the living room. I’ve got some pretty interesting news.”
The four ladies sat down, their coffee cups perched daintily on their laps. Silence. “This is the quietist I believe I’ve ever seen this group,” Margaret said as she looked at the others in the room. Her eyes stopped on Lila May. “Well, tell us. You know there isn’t a one of us can wait long to hear interesting news.”
“Well, it seems that three of the black families in the church are taking yoga classes at the recreation center.”
“Where on earth did you hear that?”
“Janice Myers’ daughter takes gymnastics there and when she was picking her up yesterday she saw the Johnsons, the Cunninghams, and the Hogans standing around in their sweat clothes. She couldn’t think of any class they could be taking there at the recreation center so she went to the office and asked her friend, Elaine Adams, who works there in the office, what class they were in and she said the yoga class.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all. Yogas kinda weird, aint it? That’s what they do in Japan and China, don’t they?”
“Weird, you can say that again. It’s what the Hindu religion does. It’s a form of devil worship. It’s demonic.”
“I don’t know anything about Hindus. How do you know so much, Lila May?”
“My sister Mabel went to Bombay one time, it’s a city in India you know, and she said the people walked around in a fog, like they were all possessed by devils. And all the people in India, of course, they’re all Hindus.”
“Oh, heavens, Lila May, you don’t mean it”
“My Word”
“Why, if that don’t beat all”
“Gracious Goodness”
“Are the people in Bombay black?”
“Yes”, said Lila May, “but I think they’re not quite like the blacks here.”
“Well, all blacks are different than whites. We all know that. The Bible says so and it also says that we shouldn’t mix. I think we all feel the same, don’t we? We don’t have anything against them, but we’d feel better if we didn’t have to mix, wouldn’t we?” Irene asked.
“Do y’all know anything about what you wear when you do yoga?” Evelyn’s eyes twinkled with excitement as she spoke.
“Leotards or gym clothes, I suppose,” replied Lila May.
“Well, I saw this book one time,” Evelyn said. “You have to understand it was about massage and meditation and I would have never, ever looked if I had any idea. It was in the bookshelf where I take my Taffy, my cat, to have a bath and get groomed. It had a picture of this man sitting with his legs crossed, you know kinda like the Indians used to. I think it’s the same way you sit for yoga and he was naked! I mean of course you couldn’t see anything because he had his feet in front, crossed like, you know what I mean. Do you suppose they’re doing their yoga naked?”
“Oh, Evelyn, not in the recreation center.”
“Margaret, I’m sure no one is doing yoga in the recreation center naked. They could be getting together at their homes, though, I suppose.”
“It just makes me sick to death to even think of such a thing.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“I think we need to talk about what we should do about this.”
“What do you think, Lila May? If we say anything people will think we’re prejudiced.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with being prejudiced,” Lila May said, “First Baptist is a fundamentalist church and we’re dedicated to serving the good Lord and I think we have an obligation to put a stop to any kinds of practices that are against everything we believe in, and anything that has to do with devil worship and demons is sure against those things. Just think of the influence on our young people.”
“You’re right Lila May, we’ve got to do something.”
“I agree. My Heavens, what a mess.”
“I don’t think we should make any kind of announcement or anything. I think we should just tell a few people, you know, that would be concerned, and we can see how they feel.”
“I know how Lillian will feel when I tell her...whew, why she’ll have a conniption.”
“Lila May, do you think we should tell Pastor Morrison?”
“I do, I mean he should know what’s going on,” Margaret said.
Lila May was silent for a moment before she spoke. “He should know but I think we should see what other people think first. I mean we don’t want him to think we’re being too nosy or spying on people or anything. I think we should tell a few people at the pot luck supper tomorrow night and see what they think. It’s lucky that tomorrow’s Wednesday and we can tell people in person at the supper. It looks better than calling them on the phone.”
“Gracious, what a mess.”
“Lila May, where on earth did you get these? Godiva chocolates. They’re the best in the world, aren’t they. I mean all the movie stars and all eat them. I hate to even ask but could I try one?” Evelyn asked.
“Go ahead, all of you have some. My Paul and Sandy brought them to us from Brussels. They were just there, you know. Paul was at a conference and he took Sandy with him. They said it was just wonderful.”
“John, do you know any of those boys involved in the shooting the other night? I heard a couple of them go to Central.”
“Yeah, Dad. One of the guys that got killed was in one of my classes last year. And Horace Wilson, they arrested him, he played on the team last year. Pretty ba
d stuff. He was a nice guy.”
“Nice guy. My god! What’s happening to our town? And then we hear what we did last night at the church supper.”
“What, Mom?”
“It seems some of the black families in the church may be secretly practicing devil worship. Why is it always the blacks? We didn’t have these kinds of problems before. I’m worried for you. You’ve got to be very careful who you associate with. Anything can happen. We’ve got to do something.”
John Champion wondered again about his parents, about prejudice, and about Horace Wilson.
“Come on, boy, get dressed. You remember that whuppin you got last time you made me late? I’ll damn sure do it again if you ain’t ready in five minutes. Can’t none of us be late for this. Too important. The niggers give us a real good reason to march this time. Shooting up the town over drugs and devil worshippin. Even the big shot do gooders oughta be upset about devil worshippin in their own church. We’re gonna’ make the white folks in this town see what’s happenin here.”
Everett Milligan went to the closet and took the robe from the hangar and the hat from the shelf. “Sons of bitches.” He wondered if he should carry the .357 magnum. He decided he would, but he’d leave it under the seat, in case he got arrested.
“Come on son,” he said, “I might even let you march with us today. Would you like that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hurry up, woman, damn you. Get the little one and let’s go.”
Everett felt the excitement building. Felt edgy. Putting his arm around Everett Junior’s shoulder, they walked out and climbed into the truck. His wife and six month old daughter squeezed into the cab alongside them and they headed for the heart of the city.
“Everett, all right, we’re gonna’ have us a time today.”
“Buddy, hey man,” Everett shouted back.
“Hey, ya’ll, ol Randy’s bringin five guys from Hopewell. You better let the boy march, Ev, mine’s gonna’. We need lots of folks today, show em our unity.”
“He’s a gonna’, Biggun, he’s a gonna’,” Everett replied as he looked down at his eight year old son and smiled. The boy’s face lit up with a grin, and he pressed tight against his father’s side.
Everett felt good. He always did when he’s with them. Everyone liked him. He knew he belonged here, maybe the only place he ever felt he really belonged, and he knew he was part of something important. Something that people looked up to, or hated, or feared...but he knew it was something important.
He put on the robe and hood knowing he would stand out, that people would look on him with respect. Tall anyway, they made him look huge. He knew because Buddy told him he looked huge when he wore them. And Everett was glad the robe hid his skinny, narrow body, and the hood covered his face - gaunt, craggy, with a long, thin, crooked nose. A face he never liked. There weren’t many times any more that he could wear the robe and hat. He wished there were more. His Daddy, and his Granddaddy, had worn their robes and hats often. But times had changed. Mostly for the bad, thought Everett.
He remembered the times in school when the other kids made fun of him, how he would sometimes fight back, but would usually lose. He wished they could see him now. There was that one horrible day when he came home with a swollen lip and black eye from a fight and his daddy took him to the boy’s house and made him fight again. He fought as hard as he could because he knew his daddy would beat him if he didn’t win. He lost again, but his daddy didn’t beat him...he just didn’t speak to him for a week except for calling him a pussy. As soon as he could, he quit school and went to work at the auto parts store Mr. Hyde owned. Anything about cars interested him, and he became the tire department manager before he was twenty-five. His parents didn’t seem to mind when he quit school. Daddy always said all the learning I really needed I could get outside of school, and he sure taught me right about the niggers. Mama too. Now I’ll teach little Ev. They’re like animals...killin and rapin and takin drugs. But they’re smart like foxes. They get lots of important white folks, folks that like communists and Jews too, to like them. They fool em so they can’t see it’s the niggers, and now the homos too, what’s makin this country weak, why there’s so much crime and famiies are fallin apart. It’s the white man that God chose to be in his image and being homo is worse than stealing and cheating in his eyes. Gay Pride march in this town…just after the nigger kids shot up each other. We’ll show em we won’t put up with it. We got to take our country back. The Klan ain’t nearly as big as before, but now we got the skinheads and the Ayrian Nation with us, and websites all over the internet have lots of smart folks that thinks like we do. More groups forming all the time. More than ever. Folks are fed up.
Everett moved through the crowd of twenty or so men and boys, standing tall, straightening his back, holding his head high. Greeting each one, he shook hands, slapped backs, patted the younger boys on the head. He was proud. He was somebody to be reckoned with.
2000
RONDONIA, BRAZIL
Jorge gently laid his daughter onto the tattered mattress in the bed of the rusted truck and covered her with a blanket. Maria curled up beside her and encircled the small, slender body with her arms. Jorge quickly jumped into the cab, and while his five other children stood and watched, the wheels spun madly, spewing dirt and rocks, as they pulled away from the small, unpainted wood house and headed down the heavily rutted path. He drove the old truck as fast as he could and its wild, bouncing dash enveloped it in a cloud of dust as Maria banged on the back window and motioned for him to slow down. When he reached the paved road he turned to the right, again slammed the accelerator pedal to the floor, and they slowly picked up speed until the heavy shaking of the steering wheel warned him he should go no faster. He was on B.R. 364, headed north towards Porto Velho.
The hospital waiting room was filled. Babies cried, old people slept, and most everyone else fanned themselves against the heat. Jorge tried desperately to find someone who would look at Gabriella. He knew she was very sick and they could not wait their turn. After the first few nurses he pleaded with ignored him, he picked up his daughter and quickly dashed through the large double doors. A doctor standing in the hall turned and asked, “What are you doing in here, Senor?” his eyes and voice at first hard with aggravation, but softening immediately when his eyes fell on Gabriella. “I need a cart here, quickly,” he said, in a commanding tone, to no one in particular.
A nurse arrived pushing a gurney, they laid the child on it, and then they all disappeared quickly around the corner.
Jorge and Maria waited throughout the afternoon and into the night, speaking hardly at all. Everyone in the room seemed to be moving very slowly, as if they were sick. The same blank stares covered each of their faces, and Jorge wondered if these people would give him and Maria their diseases...if he might die soon after they left. This was the first time Jorge had ever been in a hospital, and he felt very uncomfortable. He wondered what they were doing to Gabriella, why they had not come to tell them what is wrong with her. Each time he stopped a nurse and asked, they either ignored him or told him to sit and wait, that someone would call him when they needed him or had information.
The nudge on his shoulder awakened him. Sitting up straight in his chair, he looked into the eyes of the same doctor who had taken Gabriella from him. He motioned for Jorge to follow him. They walked through the doors leading to the wards, and as soon as they were in the hallway the doctor stopped and turned to him.
“I am Doctor Malanga. Your daughter has Malaria and she is very ill.”
Jorge felt his heart pound in his chest. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry, and words would not come.
The doctor continued. “When your daughter arrived here she was near death. She may still die, but she is stable now and has been breathing somewhat easier this morning.”
Again Jorge wanted to speak but he was not sure what to say. Only fully understanding the words “near death”, he stammered, “Whhhen will
you know if she will live?”
“It may be some time. You should go and get some sleep if you can and then come back. You can not see you daughter now anyway. We will do everything we can for her.”
Jorge nodded and watched the doctor’s face blur as his eyes began to fill. “Please try to make her well.”
“Yes, we will do everything we can. I promise you. Now, I must ask you some questions and then you must give the nurse at the desk down the hall some information. Where do you live?”
“To the south, off BR364, about twenty kilometers from Ariquemes.”
“Did you burn and clear the forest? Are you a farmer?”
“Yes.”
“How many other people are in your family besides yourself and your daughter?”
“My wife Maria and our three sons and two other daughters.”
“Is anyone else in your family ill now? Does anyone else act like Gabriella did when she first became ill?”
“No.”
“You must bring your other children and your wife into the hospital so we can give them medicine to keep them from also getting Malaria. It is a very dangerous disease and it is common for people who burn and clear the forest to become ill with it.
There are many mosquitoes and animals where you live that carry the disease and can give it to you. Is your wife here?”
“Yes. She is out there.”
“Go get her and then go down this hall to the desk and give the nurse the information she asks you for. Then go try to get some sleep and come back. When you come back you may come to the desk and ask for me. And pray for your daughter.” Another poor campesino, left the slums for his dreams in the forest. Doesn’t realize the soil won’t support crops for any period of time, that he’ll have to move again, and again. So many thousands of acres of one of nature’s and the environment’s most precious resources is being wasted, eradicated, each day. The rain forest scrubs the air we breathe, absorbs so much carbon dioxide through photosynthesis. And the burning puts much more carbon dioxide back into the air. Incredible ignorance. Incredible consequences.