by Paul Beatty
"Then, according to you," I said, "the Wild West can't hold a candle to the Savage South any more."
"Not even on TV," said Simple. "The Savage South has got the Wild West beat a mile. In the old days adventures was beyond the Great Divide. Today they is below the Color Line. Such adventures is much better than the Late Late Show with Hollywood Indians. But in the South, nobody gets scalped. They just get cold cocked. Of course, them robes the Klan sports around in is not as pretty as the feathers Indians used to wear, but they is more scary. And though a Klan holler is not as loud as a Indian war whoop, the Klan is just as sneaky. In cars, not on horseback, they come under cover of night. If the young people of the North really want excitement, let them go face the Klan and stand up to it.
"That is why the South will make a man of you, my son,' I would say. 'Go South, baby, go South. Let a fiery cross singe the beard off your beatnik chin. Let Mississippi make a man out of you.'"
"Don't you think white adults as well as white youth should be exposed to this thing?" I asked.
"Of course," said Simple. "If the white young folks go as Freedom Riders, let the white old folks go as sight-seers—because no sooner than they got down there, they would be Freedom Riders anyhow. If I owned one of these white travel bureaus arranging sight-seeing tours next summer to Niagara Falls, Yellowstone Park, the Grand Canyon, and Pike's Peak, I would also start advertising sight-seeing tours to Montgomery with the National Guard as guides, to Jackson with leather leggings as protection against police dogs, to the Mississippi Prison Farms with picnic lunches supplied by Howard Johnson's, and to the Governor's Mansion with a magnolia for all the ladies taking the tour—and a night in jail without extra charge.
"Negroes would be guaranteed as passengers on all tours, so that there would be sure adventures for everybody. My ads would read:
SPECIAL RATES FOR A WEEK-END
IN A TYPICAL MISSISSIPPI JAIL.
Get arrested now, pay later. Bail money not included. Have the time of your lives living the life of your times among the Dixie White Skins. Excitement guaranteed. For full details contact the Savage South Tours, Inc., Jesse B. Semple, your host, wishing you hell."
GARY BELKIN (WRITING AS MUHAMMAD ALI)
clay comes out to meet liston
1963
In august 1963, Cassius Clay recited this blow-by-blow description A of the final round of his February 1964 championship fight against Sonny Liston.
Clay comes out to meet Liston
And Liston starts to retreat,
But if Liston goes back an inch further
He'll end up in a ringside seat.
Clay swings with his left,
Clay swings with his right;
Look at young Cassius
Carry the fight.
Liston keeps backing
But there's not enough room.
It's a matter of time
Ere Clay lowers the boom.
Now Clay lands a right—
What a beautiful swing!
The punch raises Liston
Up out of the ring.
Liston's still rising
And the ref wears a frown
For he can't stop counting
Till Sonny comes down.
Now Liston disappears from view:
The crowd is getting frantic.
But our radar stations have picked him up—
He's somewhere over the Atlantic.
Who would have thought
When they came to the fight
That they'd see the launching
Of a human satellite?
Yes, the crowd did not dream
When they put down their money
That they would see
A total eclipse of the Sonny!
I AM THE GREATEST!
HENRY DUMAS
double nigger
1965
Yreaah!" said grease. ". . . and evah time I grunt, that damn peckerwood, he say to hisself, 'Damn if you ain't the workinest nigger I ever seed.'"
We laughed at Grease, but we won't payin him no mind. He was the onliest one who done taken his shoes off tryin to keep off that hot pike.
We was makin it back to New Hope, Grease, Blue, Fish and me. We had just got done with bustin up some road for a white man, helpin out his constructin gang.
We was feelin good, headin back home with four dollars apiece. We'd all take out them bills evah mile or so, count 'em and match 'em up to see whose was the newest. They was the prettiest damn dollar bills we evah made. Totin rocks and stumps for that white man almost busted out natural backs.
"Shet up, nigger," Blue said to Grease. "Your mouth runnin like a stream." Blue was walkin along on the other side of the road even with me. We were fanned out a bit. Fish was ahead. Grease, he was behind him, jumpin off and on to the hot pike to cool his feet.
"Yeaah!" I said. "Put your shoes on. Ain't you got no civilization?"
"Yeaah!" said Grease, wavin his greens back at me and Blue. "He say, 'Niggah,' and yall know what it mean when a white man call a nigger a niggahhh, don't you?"
"Naw," said Blue. "What it mean?"
Old Grease, he half fell over laughin, but then he straightened up and posed hisself like he was a preacher givin us a lesson.
"Nigggahhh. That mean whatever you can do, it take two niggers to keep up with you. Then you a Double Nigger," and he fell to laughin again.
We moved on, payin Grease little mind, but glad he wasn't gettin tired.
He funny sometime, but he nevah know when to stop clownin.
We come to a hill. The road turned around the hill. It was really hot. Your spit almost boil. We stopped under a shade tree. "I'm so damn thirsty," said Fish, "I could drink my own spit."
We all agreed.
"If yall come on," said Blue, "we be in Rock Hill less'n hour."
Grease said, "I bet that peckerwood there'll let us buy soda water with money look this pretty."
"Naw," said Fish, lookin over the hill. "I think we oughta cut yonder ways, hit the Creek and be home fore dark."
"Boy, you crazy!" shouted Grease. "Tired as my feet is, and full of snakes as that creek is . . ."
"What you say, Tate?" Fish asked me.
"All I want is one bucket of water now," I said.
"What bout you, Blue?"
"It don't matter one way t'other," he said. "We done come this far, we might as well walk the rest."
"Well, yall go ahead," said Grease, pretendin he wasn't payin us no mind. "I'll be drinkin soda water and snatchin on that black gal Lucille as soon as I gets to Rock Hill, and then I catch a bus or a ride with some niggers comin through."
"Yeah," said Blue, "you little squiggy nigger, and you get home tomorrow mornin too. Ain't no more bus comin through Rock Hill."
"Yes it is."
"Naw," said Fish.
"Yeah," I added. "If you do get home messin round down there, you have a rope around your neck. Ain't no colored people livin out here."
"The hell there ain't."
"Come on," said Fish. Blue and me broke off with Fish cross the field. We knew that Greasemouth was only playin, but he had worked over this way once with some white man sawin lumber. It was just before school started. I member, cause Grease ain't come to school hardly that whole year.
We climbed through the barbed wire fence settin way off the road. There was a creek over that way somewheres. If we went this way, it would cut off five miles, goin over the hills stead round them.
"Creek is yonder way," Blue said. We stood lookin over the area. We hadn't looked back to see if Grease was followin. We didn't much care. He had stopped laughin at us, and when we turned around, we didn't see him.
"Let that greasemouth nigger go," said Blue. "One of them razorback peckerwoods'll catch him sniffm round down over yonder and they'll saw that nigger's lips off."
"If the grease don't stop 'em," said Fish.
We laughed. We always had fun with Grease when he was with us or not. We called h
im Grease cause whenevah he ate anythang, he let the grease pile up in the corners of his mouth and all over, like he nevah chewed his food but just slide it down with grease and lard.
We all come together now, walkin down the slope, watchin for bulls, dogs, wild hogs, crazy peckerwoods, devils and anything that moved. We might be trespassin. After a while we got deep into the trees. All we saw was a few birds and a rabbit.
"As ugly as Grease is," said Fish, "them peckerwoods'll wind up sending for us and then they pay us to take that nigger outa their sight."
We doubled over laughin. I tripped on a rock and sat there, catchin up on my wind. Blue was just ahead of me. He walked under a shade tree. He was so black that everybody called him Blue. Fish, he wasn't too much lighter. He was about my complexion and they called him Fish cause he could stroke good. Natural fish, he was. They called me Tate cause my head shaped like a potato. I nevah could find no damn potato on my head, but they just keep callin me that anyway, and so I do like everybody else and tease ole crazy Greasemouth. Then I can stand them better teasin me. I stopped laughin and got up. I picked up a stick and thought about throwin it at Blue, but kept it and went runnin on down to catch up.
I don't recollect what I thought it was at first. But all of a goddamn sudden! there comes this wild-buck thang chargin at us from behind a bunch of trees, yellin.
Blue broke in front of me, screamin somethin I ain't nevah heard, and before all three of us knew anythang, ole Greasemouth was doubled over laughin at us.
Fish was the first to holler at him, cause Fish probably saw him fore any of us, and he wasn't taken aback by him jumpin out like that.
"Get up, boy. You ain't scared nobody but yourself," Fish said to Grease.
But he kept wallerin there on the ground, laughin.
"Scared all of you!" he hollered. He began rollin down the hill, still laughin.
"You should a seen that . . . " And he pointed at Blue, who was standin just shakin his head as if to signify on Grease for makin a fool out of hisself But Blue was really scared a little bit. Me too, a little.
". . . that nigger get ready to run. Did yall see that?"
Blue swung his arm on a limb and chunked some leaves at Grease.
"Ah, get up, boy. As ugly as you is, the trees leanin over away from you."
Grease got up and kept on teasin us. We moved on now through the patches of trees and washed out ditches and holes. Grease had put on his shoes now and was way up front, call hisself singin.
Then he hauled off and stopped singin.
"Hey, yonder's a well!" We all ran over and looked where he was pointin.
"Ah, now damn!" said Blue. We stood there lookin.
"Told yall niggers live up here," Grease said.
It was a house sittin beside a busted-in barn and a old wellshed. About half an acre of shale dirt full of weeds was behind that house. Nothin grow on dirt like that but scorpions and mean peckerwoods.
"Dammit, Grease," hollered Fish, "you know it ain't no niggers livin there . . ."
"That's right, and I can't drink that damn house," said Blue.
"Hell," I said, "don't think a peckerwood mind givin four niggers some water."
"Who's gonna ask?" said Grease.
"You, nigger," said Fish. "Didn't you find the place?"
"Yall said I was ugly," he said, "and I don't want to scare nobody, as thirsty as I is."
"Just whoever do the askin, leave the gate open and watch for nigger-eatin dogs," I said.
As we moved toward the house, Blue said, "Ain't nobody livin there.
Look, ain't no smoke in the chimney."
Nobody said nothin to that, but we didn't trust it for gettin us water.
We moved in slow, waitin for a dog to smell us and start to barkin.
When we had come off the hill into a ditch that run up longside a little dirt road that run in front of the house, sure nough a damn dog caught scent of us, and come runnin. But it wasn't nothin to get scared of. That dog was a sissy-puppy, a fool dog, we called them. It was still a pup, but it was jumpin and switch-tailin round, lickin at strangers so fast it look like it was chasing its tail.
"Toe fleas got that damn dog," said Blue.
"Hey, get away, dog!" Grease stomped his feet. "Toe-fleas got 'im itchin to beg." We headed for the well. "Up his ass and down his legs."
The place did look like nobody was home. We ran to the well. Fish hollered for somebody and then went round back. Me and Blue snatched that rope and let the well bucket down. Grease was throwin sticks for the fool dog to run after. "Sic 'em," he was shoutin, "sic 'em!" But the dog liked us too much. She just wiggled her tail, lickin Greasemouth's feet.
"Look here!" said Grease. "I found somethin worse'n a nigger."
"What's that?" Fish said, comin back.
"A nigger's dog."
"Shet up, boy," Blue grunted. We were pullin up the bucket. The well was old, and the rope was so rotten it shot dust tween our fingers. One of the boards under us squeaked and then that sissy-puppy come up waggin its tail under our feet too.
"Peckerwoods live here," said Blue.
"Ain't nobody home, though," said Fish.
"Les drink and git," I said.
"I want to drink but that dog got to git," said Grease, and he kept tryin to sic that pup off.
Then we heard a loud crashin sound come from inside the well. Blue stopped pullin on the bucket. He leaned over. "I got it," I said.
"What's goin on?" asked Grease. "Hurry and get me some water."
I began pullin again. I could feel the ground shakin under me. The well was fallin, crashin in and givin away. But the bucket was almost up.
"Wait!" shouted Grease. "This is it. Blue, you right!"
I kept on pullin. "Right about what?" Blue asked.,
Grease waved us all quiet and he began runnin around the well, lookin at it real close and pointin. Then he ran over near the house and began to study it. He looked dead serious. He almost tripped over a fruit jar, but he kicked it as if he knew it was there and didn't have to look.
He came back to us. I had the bucket up to the top. Grease began pointin at the well. "Don't drink this here maggot water, boys. I know I'm tellin you the truth."
"What's in here, Grease?" Blue asked.
"Look round here. Can't yall smell this place stinkin like a beaneater?"
"Hurry, yall," said Fish. "That nigger's lyin." But nobody was gettin ready to take the first drink.
"Naw, naw, Fish," Grease said. "It's somethin that woulda clear skipped my mind, cept for this here fool-dog. He was a pup then . . . Yall member back last year when I was workin for Tulsom Lumber?"
We ain't say nothin. I pulled the big dirty bucket up and sat it there. Cool water was shootin out the holes. I was gettin ready to plunge my mouth in when Grease said, "Go head, Tatehead. Your head swell up bigger'n a punkin, and when it bust you member my words. Go head."
We ain't say nothin. Then Blue asked him what he knew. He started tellin a long tale about how he was passin by with a white man who knew the peckerwoods that lived there. That's what he meant by Fish bein right, right that white people lived there, not colored. Fish walked off and spit. He nevah believed nothin Grease said.
When we looked in that bucket, we saw pieces of wood in there, dirt and a couple of dead bugs floatin around. Blue smelled it and frowned. I smelled it and Fish came over. The fool-dog was jumpin all over Fish now, and he was wavin it off.
"And here's the thang I couldn't help . . . " Grease lowered his voice.
"That white man woulda killed me sure as hell is below high water if he find out what I done to his well. But it won't my fault."
"What happen?" asked Blue.
"It was night, see. That damn fool-dog's mama was a mean bitchhound, then. I was waitin in the truck for this here white man to come out. But he wouldn't come. It started gettin dark. I had to go bad. So I ain't want to bother nobody cause I knowed what he was up to in that house. There was a little ole skinny
peckerwood gal in there. I was headin out past the well, see, and no sooner I got jumpin distance from the well, here come that fool-dog's mama towards me, growlin like she wanted some nigger leg. Hell, I ain't have no place to run. I jumped up on the well cover and must've busted it then, cause it's gone now as yall can see, and jist bout time I got up, the bitchhound was snappin at me, mean as a peckerwood's dog wants to be.
"I had to go bad, and that damn dog wouldn't let me down. And that sucker inside wouldn't get off that gal and come out, to help this nigger.
"So, brothers," he said, as if we woulda all done the same thing, "I had to crap in that man's well."
"Get this lyin nigger!" Fish shouted, and we all grabbed Grease. He started shakin his head, but I come right up to him with my fist drawed back, while Fish locked that devil's arms. Grease, he started tryin to shake us off. Blue got a hold on his legs and we started swingin that nigger all round.
"Hold him, yall!" I said, and we all was laughin, but we wanted to teach him a lesson.
"Go head, Tate," Fish said to me, "git your drink."
I cleared the dirt off the top of the water and got me some. That water was good.
Then I got a new hold on Grease who was still hollerin. "Come on now, can't yall take a tale?"
"Yeah, yours," Blue said.
After Blue and Fish got their drink, we drug Grease long towards the road. He was yellin. That damn sissy-dog got scared of us and started to bark, tuckin her tail under and peepin from under that raggedy house.