Part 10 (1/2)

”They want me stop him, Jane,” he said.

”You mean kill my boy?” I said.

”If they say do it I must do it, Jane.”

”Raise your head, Mr. Albert,” I said.

He wouldn't.

”Mr. Albert?” I said.

He raised his head slowly and looked at me. Great killer he was and scared of me. I didn't say a thing, I just looked at Albert Cluveau. Gray beard all over his old wrinkled face. Watery old blue eyes. That old felt hat, sweat-stink, torn at the top. An old man who ought to be sitting in the sun-here talking about killing.

”Speak. Mr. Albert,” I said.

”I tell them me, you, we all time fish there in the St. Charles River,” he said. ”I tell them I eat at your house. I tell them you make Albert good Creole coffee. I tell them, I say: *Jane good n.i.g.g.e.r woman just like you see me there.' I say. *If he must stop, let Maurios stop him. Not Albert. Albert and Jane, side by side, fish there in the St. Charles River.' They say: *Albert Cluveau, this your patrol. Maurios patrol farther down the river. If we say, Albert, stop that n.i.g.g.e.r, Albert, you stop him. If you don't, Albert-.' ”

”Can you kill my boy?” I asked him.

”I must do what they tell me,” he said.

”Can you kill my boy?” I asked him.

”Yes,” he said.

I looked at Albert Cluveau a moment, then I felt my head spinning. I made one step toward the house, then I was down on the ground. I heard somebody way off saying, ”Jane, Jane, what's the matter, Jane?” I opened my eyes and I saw Albert Cluveau with his ugly face kneeling over me. And I thought I was in h.e.l.l, and he was the devil. I started screaming: ”Get away from me, devil. Get away from me, devil. Get away from me, devil.” But all my screaming was inside, and not a sound was coming out. I heard from way off: ”You sick, Jane? You sick?” I was screaming, but I wasn't making any noise. I was struggling to get up, but I couldn't move.

”Get away,” I said. ”Get away from me.”

I could hear myself, so I knowed he could hear me too. I saw him standing up, looking funny, like I shouldn't be talking to him like that. Looked like he wanted to say, ”Jane, what I said to make you act like that?” I pushed myself up off the ground and started toward the house.

”You need a doctor, Jane?” he said. ”Jane?”

I went in and laid down on the bed. That evening I went to Ned. I didn't tell him I had fell, but I told him to beware of Albert Cluveau. All he said was, ”I will build my school. I will teach till they kill me.”

I went to Vivian.

”They'll kill him if he keep on,” I said. ”Why don't you take them children back to Kansas. He'll have to follow you if you go.”

”He told me when he was coming here he could get killed,” she said. ”But I came with him anyhow. I have to stay now.”

The Sermon at the River.

Two weeks before Ned was killed he gathered us at the river. It was on a Sunday, a beautiful, blue-sky day. No, you had a few clouds, way up high, paper thin. A little breeze stirred on and off. You could see it moving the willow leaves down near the water.

The people was at the river when I got there, but Ned hadn't started his talk yet. He was sitting on the gra.s.s with Vivian and the children. When he saw me he told me to come down there and sit with them. One of his students took my arm and helped me down the hill. The bank wasn't that steep, I had gone down them steeper than that, but he wanted to help me and I couldn't tell him no.

I had my head rag on under my straw hat, and I took the head rag off to sit on. I used my straw hat to fan with. Ned was there in his Army uniform looking serious serious. I asked him what was the matter. He told me nothing. But Jane, the oldest girl, told me that white people had been pa.s.sing by there ever since they came down to the river. She pointed at two men fis.h.i.+ng in a boat now. They was close enough for me to see who they was-two of the Lec.o.x brothers from Bayonne. They made their living on seine boats running up and down St. Charles River.

”Maybe you ought to not talk today,” I said.

”That's what they want,” he said.

When everybody had come there Ned got up and turned his back to the river and to the men out there in the boat. He told us to kneel while he prayed. After the prayer he told us to sit down. I looked back at the people who was there. Mostly children. The old people had stayed home.

I can't remember everything Ned said to us that day, I can't even remember half of what he said, but I can remember some. I can remember it because Ned believed in it so much-and his talk at the river that day definitely hurried him to his grave.

”This earth is yours and don't let that man out there take it from you,” he said. ”It's yours because your people's bones lays in it; it's yours because their sweat and their blood done drenched this earth. The white man will use every trick in the trade to take it from you. He will use every way he know how to get you wool-gathered. He'll turn you 'gainst each other. But remember this,” he said. ”Your people's bones and their dust make this place yours more than anything else.

”I'm not telling y'all men own the earth,” he said. ”Man is just a little bitty part of this earth. When he die he go back in the earth just like a tree go back in the earth when it fall, just like iron go back in the earth when it rust. You don't own this earth, you're just here for a little while, but while you're here don't let no man tell you the best is for him and you take the sc.r.a.p. No, your people plowed this earth, your people chopped down the trees, your people built the roads and built the levees. These same people is now buried in this earth, and their bones's fertilizing this earth.”

I was listening to Ned, but I was keeping my eyes on the Lec.o.x brothers out there in the boat. They pretend they wasn't listening, but they was listening. Each time they whipped out the lines they was looking over where he was.

”You got some black men,” Ned was saying, ”that'll tell you the white man is the worst thing on earth. Nothing horrible he wouldn't do. But let me tell you this,” he said. ”If it wasn't for some white men, none of us would be alive here today. I myself probably'll be killed by a white man. I know they following me everywhere I go.”

When he said this everybody looked at the men out in the boat.

”Look at me,” Ned said. ”Not at them.” When the people turned their heads toward him he went on. ”But even when he raise the gun or the axe or anything else he might use I won't blame all white men. I'll blame ignorance. Because it was ignorance that put us here in the first place. Ignorance on the part of the black man and the white man. Because the white man didn't have to go in Africa with guns to get us. The white man came with rum and beads. And why? Because we was already waiting for him when he came there in his s.h.i.+ps. Our own black people had put us up in pens like hogs, waiting to sell us into slavery. He didn't tell the white man how to treat us after he got us on his s.h.i.+p, the white man made up them rules himself. It was just his job to hand us over, and he did that. And that he did.”

Ned went on: ”I wish I could stand here and tell y'all our African people fought and fought the white man. And there was war and war and war. But that's not true. Our people fought each other, and the white man bought the captives for a barrel of rum and a string of beads. I'm telling ya'll this,” he said, ”to show ya'll the only way you can be strong is stand together. The white man never would have brought us here if we was together. He never would have separated a nation. But little tribes beat each other, and all the white man had to do was wait.”

Ned was sweating, standing there in the sun, and Vivian got up to wipe his face. He told her to sit down, not to come close to him. If the people in the boat shot at him now, he didn't want her to get hit.

”I don't know how old I am right now,” he said. ”I can be thirty-nine, I can be forty or forty-one. But I've seen a lot in this world, and I know this: ”I'm much American as any man; I'm more American than most. And what is this American? I'll tell you what he is. Because they didn't have no such thing as American till we got here. The Indians was the first ones here and they never called themself Americans. Matter of fact they didn't even call themself Indians till Columbus came here and started that. After him, then here come Vespucci with his stuff.”

When Ned said Vespucci the children looked at each other and started giggling. Ned had to smile at that too. The funniest name any of us had ever heard-Vespucci.

After the children had quieted down, Ned went on: ”Columbus had a black man with him when he came here and called these red men Indians. By the time Vespucci came here and called this place America you had black people running every which a' way. America is for red, white, and black men. The red man roamed all over this land long before we got here. The black man cultivated this land from ocean to ocean with his back. The white man brought tools and guns. America is for all of us.” he said, ”and all of America is for all of us.

”I left from here when I was a young man, but most people thought that was the best thing to do then. But I say to you now, don't run and do fight. Fight white and black for all of this place. You got black people here saying go back to Africa, some saying go to Canada, some saying go to France. Now, who munks y'all sitting here right now want be a Frenchman and talk like they do? Let me see his hand in the air.”

The children started laughing. Ned had said that to make them laugh.

”Be Americans,” he told the children. ”But first be men. Look inside yourself. Say, *What am I? What else beside this black skin that the white man call n.i.g.g.e.r?' Do you know what a n.i.g.g.e.r is?” he asked us. ”First, a n.i.g.g.e.r feels below anybody else on earth. He's been beaten so much by the white man, he don't care for himself, for n.o.body else, and for nothing else. He talks a lot, but his words don't mean nothing. He'll never be American, and he'll never be a citizen of any other nation. But there's a big difference between a n.i.g.g.e.r and a black American. A black American cares, and will always struggle. Every day that he get up he hopes that this day will be better. The n.i.g.g.e.r knows it won't. That's another thing about a n.i.g.g.e.r: he knows everything. There ain't a thing on earth he don't know-till somebody with brains come along.

”I'm telling you all this because I want my children to be men,” Ned told us. ”I want my children to fight. Fight for all-not just for a corner. The black man or white man who tell you to stay in a corner want to keep your mind in a corner too. I'm building that school so you'll have a chance to get from out of that corner.”

One of the children raised his hand, and Ned told him to stand up. The boy was way in the back and we couldn't hear him too good and Ned told him to speak louder. Ned told him not to pay any mind to the people out in the boat because if we had anything to hide we wouldn't be out there in the first place. The boy came closer to the water.