“I want to see the nigger that’ll chunk
a brick at a white man,” says Gus. He
has the pistol in his belt and is patting
the stick of dynamite steadily in his
left hand.“Gus wants to see that boy.”
The car moves fast. The men pass the
bottle around. Nillmon describes the
last party he attended in Huntsville.
They all listen, devouring with fear and
a dark relish the exaggerated details that
pour out of Nillmon. They all tremble
inside as the cars turns off onto a dirt
road along the levee. All except Gus.
Nillmon drives the car within a few
feet of the first shack. The lights
illuminate every weather-worn line
in the warping boards.
“Alfonso!”Nillmon shouts, standing
near the broken step.
There is a silence over the whole night.
The car stalls and cuts off.Gus jumps
out of the car, walks up on the porch,
pushes once, twice, on the rickety door
which falls as if the light from the
headlights had struck it.Dust travels
across the plane of light like legions of
insects.The shack is empty.
The car backs out and then spins out of
its own dust. At the second shack they
find the same thing.Nillmon snatches
up the oily rags. The two younger men
light them and hurl them in and under
the shack.
18
“Where’d this nigger chunk that rock
from?” asks Gus. He lights up a
cigarette. The car races down the road.
Nillmon spits out the window.
“Back up the road by that signboard.”
He feels his hands tighten around
the steering wheel.
“Lights down the road,” says Ed
Frickerson.
“Hell, I know niggers live up here cause
I saw about five or six herdin cows.”
“What this nigger look like?”
“Like any nigger. Had a nasty tongue.
I gotta get me some of him.”
They reach the third shack. The outline
of the second shack a quarter-mile down
the road slowly rises in the flames that
leap out of its windows. “Ain’t that a
crowd of niggers in front of that church
yonder?” asks Ed Frickerson.
Nillmon does not look. The headlights
of the car strike the doorway of the
third shack. A figure stands illuminated
there, his hands behind his back as if he
is contemplating the situation. It is Fon.
“All right, boy!” shouts Nillmon. “I’m
back to settle that business tween us.”
Gus is out of the car, advancing toward
Fon in rapid strides. He holds the
pistol in his right hand and the empty
bottle in the other. Fon steps off the
steps before Gus reaches the shack, and
heads toward Nillmon, who is now
standing right in front of the headlights.
Lighted rags fly through the night.
The other men surround Fon. All of a
sudden a series of flashes comes from
the area of the church. It practically
blinds Nillmon.Gus aims the pistol at
Fon’s head. They shove Fon into the
rear between the two younger men.
Gus sits in front. Ed Frickerson, who is
sitting behind Nillmon, has collected
pieces of glass in an oily rag and
tosses the mass in Fon’s lap. The bright
light continues to shine and the men
instinctively turn away. Nillmon slows
as he approaches the structure which
seems like an old church. “What you
niggers think you’re doin out here?”
Ed Frickerson asks Fon.
“Those are my brothers,” says Fon.
“What I want to know,” says Nillmon,
“is who threw that rock.”
“It came from the sky.”
Gus whirls and strikes at Fon with the
bottle, which breaks on the door frame
and the glass falls in Fon’s lap. “You
are a smart nigger.” He japs the bottle
neck at Fon, and the sharp edges dig
deeply into Fon’s side.
Nillmon slows the car in front of a
column of black people. They murmur
and stare inside the car.
“Keep goin!” shouts Gus.