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The Natural Selection. Ona Russell
Читать онлайн.Название The Natural Selection
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781611393316
Автор произведения Ona Russell
Издательство Ingram
Infamous was more like it. Down the street they strode, one, two, one two. Sarah stood up abruptly, twisting her rings to the beat, pressing firmly on the garnet with each complete turn. Bold, aggressive, determined, a self-appointed army shrouded in flowing white robes and topped in cone-shaped hoods. As they came closer, Sarah spotted a few holding similarly garbed babies. Brainwashing the innocent before they even could speak. Realizing it was the Klan, some in the crowd waved, a few clapped and hooted but most just went back to talking. They had seen it before. Sarah had seen them before too, but her gaze remained fixed, unblinking. The scene was strangely fascinating to her, like a horrible accident from which she could not turn away. Perhaps they would march by and be done with it. After all, this was America. It was their right to assemble. And to speak freely, she thought, when they started their thundering “white power” chant. But at that moment, a few Negro boys who apparently had been watching the parade from a distance, had ventured closer when it started to wind down. No one had seemed to mind, until now. “Stay off the white man’s streets, boy!” a Klan member yelled. “Go to your nigger parade!”
Lena grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Relax,” she whispered in her ear.
“I’m tired of relaxing.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
Sarah watched the entire group slow down as the boys backed away, but didn’t leave.
“Hey boy, I said git!” The speaker now broke step with his troop, running toward the boys, who, fortunately, were quicker on their feet. “Git out,” he yelled, breathing hard. “Git out and stay out!” He waited until they were out of sight, filed back in line and continued to march. Sarah looked around in amazement. Nobody tried to stop him. A few shook their heads. “Don’t pay ‘em no mind,” one woman said. “Leave ‘em alone,” said another, as the ghostly figures turned the corner and disappeared from view. What could they do anyway? After all, it was the Fourth of July. They had hot dogs to cook, fireworks to ignite.
Sarah, though, could think of nothing else. The KKK. Again, the loathsome group had entered her sphere. The ignorance, the hate, even more menacing as a collective force. Lena certainly hadn’t seemed so affected, though. If only a look had the power to transform, her cousin’s bemused smile would have turned their venomous performance into the lowest form of parody. Sometimes Sarah longed to be more like her. A couple of days ago, Lena seemed ready for the Cure. Now, even with the loss of a colleague and the murder investigation looming, she could take this ominous display with a grain of salt. Sarah knew better, however. These people might look like clowns, but they were more than adept with a gun and a rope.
Sarah sat back in her seat and tried to relax as Lena talked with one of her students. But her mind wouldn’t stop. Her pledge to enjoy the day ended at the sight of those white robes. So did her promise not to think about the professor’s murder. The KKK. His notes—”Convince M to publish” . . . and to join the Brotherhood. The KKK. Also known as the Brotherhood. Was there a connection?
Perhaps, Sarah thought. Perhaps, also, she was beginning to discern her own inexplicable behavior. Yes. Wasn’t it because she knew precisely what the Klan and its kind were capable of that she hadn’t said anything to Lena about the nature of the professor’s list? At first it seemed a stretch in logic, a forced attempt to make herself feel better about her decision. But the more she considered the idea, the truer it felt. Whatever his reasons, this Manhoff fellow clearly had held some disturbing views. Caucasian—finally the highest type of all. All men are created unequal. She and Lena both knew deep down they weren’t notes for a novel or any other kind of story. Even the officer understood that. What they could suggest, however, is a motive for murder. Few obviously knew this side of the man. Lena certainly didn’t. But say someone did, someone not a member of his “favored” race. That is surely how the police would see it. Even now they probably were rounding up suspects. And if they’d read even slightly between the lines, that would mean only one thing.
At the time, she hadn’t consciously reasoned it out, but now she was certain. Her reaction had been one of instinct, of the emotions rather than intellect. The race was so often wrongly accused, so often scapegoated. Even back home, for no good reason, that poor colored woman sent to prison. And then, the lynching in Columbus of all places. Wasn’t that why she worked for the NAACP? How could she knowingly then throw them to the wolves? How could she admit that these notes could be critical evidence, suggesting that the professor’s killer was quite probably black? So she had said nothing. Let someone else figure it out.
When Sarah later explained this to Lena, her cousin nodded, but still wasn’t convinced that the professor held the opinions Sarah accused him of. “I wouldn’t want someone to judge me based on one measly piece of paper. I make lists that out of context could be construed as grounds for commitment. There must be something we don’t know,” she said. “I worked with the man. If he were that extreme, wouldn’t I have sensed it? Why would he be so good to me? A Jew, a woman?”
“Some bigotry is narrowly focused,” Sarah said. “Certainly he wouldn’t volunteer the information. Maybe he was even using you as a front. “
“Oh come on, Sarah. As an English teacher I can tell you that’s not a very credible plot.”
“Of course, you know your stuff. But books are one thing. Believe me, the courts are filled with stories that would make even that volume of Edgar Allen Poe you sent me seem like the dullest history.”
“Well, let the police take care of it, then. If they find something, so be it. Be sensible, Sarah. According to what you just said, there’s nothing you can add now anyway.”
Be sensible. Sarah thought that a bit self-deceptive. Of course, it was best not to worry about something over which one has no control. But Lena tended to avoid problems altogether, a strategy that worked as long as one’s unconscious had enough room. When over-burdened, all hell could break loose. If Sarah’s experience with Obee had taught her anything, it had taught her that much about human psychology. But as usual, Lena did have a point. What could Sarah tell the police that they hadn’t figured out? She already imagined that every Negro in town would be questioned in a matter of days. To take her belief to the police now would make Sarah seem like a racist herself. Better to wait at least to see if her assessment was correct. And why involve herself at all? Wouldn’t that be doing precisely what she had come here to escape? A man had been murdered. With luck, his killer would be found.
•••
The fireworks lent a lambent glow to the night sky, each new burst of light bringing the holiday one step closer to its end. Sarah stood at the window, watching a sparkling diamond-like cluster trickle softly to the ground. Stiff competition for the fireflies. Silly as it was, she loved these brilliant, celestial explosions. A magical union of man and nature.
Thankfully, the morning papers recorded no serious accidents. Reformers were apparently successful in making the devices safer down here, too. Yet fire is a tricky thing, Sarah thought. Its purposes are varied, its effects dependent on the intent of the user. When shaped for good, it can be, as it was last night, a light in the heavens. But in the hands of evil, it can instill fear and dread, can read like a message from the underworld.
Sarah clenched her jaw to the point of pain as she read the headline recorded on the next page. “Six-foot wooden cross set ablaze in Negro’s front yard.” A burning cross, the Klan’s latest calling card. The first ever in Edenville. Why did they choose this symbol anyway? She couldn’t figure it out. From what she knew of Jesus, she didn’t think he’d have endorsed it either. As she read of the incident to Lena, she felt herself grow warm, her eyes burning as if feeling the heat of the flame. A vicious act. Vicious, but as cowardly as their ridiculous disguise. They really were a bunch of cowards, and yet, as she well knew, quite capable of inspiring fear. In her case, paralyzing fear. When she finished reading the article to Lena, her cousin shook her head. “Horrible,” she said, “still, there’s nothing we can do.”