Dr. Kasim’s sudden intensity caused Martin to draw back, like he was avoiding a blast of heat from a roaring fire. He saw the other men nod in agreement.
“The screams of our ancestors haunt every black man’s soul,” Dr. Kasim said, with sorrow in his voice, “a constant reminder that the white man not only conquered our forefathers but robbed them of their humanity. And because of this burden of shame and humiliation, deep down every man of African descent, no matter how rich or powerful, harbors a poisonous seed of doubt that he is truly equal to the white man. Even worse, a fear of the white man.”
Martin was quiet a moment. “I don’t feel that way,” he said at last, with deep thought. “I do not feel inferior to white people.”
Dr. Kasim gave a dismissive grunt. “Of course you’d deny it. What kind of man would admit that he’s inferior to another man? But if your mind was truly open, you’d see that what I’m telling you is true. The black noise is very real. Working in the background, holding you and every other black man back like an invisible leash. Only once you recognize it, only then can you learn how to quiet it.”
Martin pondered this a moment. “And how do you do that?” he asked.
“That is what I had stumbled upon when I made Junior my slave,” Dr. Kasim said. “My tiny act of revenge had appeased the black noise. Now whenever I faced a white man, I could look him dead in the eye, because I’d taken an action to avenge my race. I wasn’t a victim any longer, groveling at the feet of my conqueror. Suddenly, I could stand toe-to-toe with the white man on the same playing field because now I was his equal. Those screams of my ancestors were replaced by the pleas of that white man chained up in my barn.” Dr. Kasim leaned closer and laid a fatherly hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Brother, until you quiet the noise in your head, you will never be able to look a white man in the eye with genuine pride. And because of that, you will never achieve your full potential.”
Damon, Solomon, Tobias, Kwame, and Carver all blew smoke and threw back drinks. “Amen to that,” Tobias said.
Martin turned his gaze back to the doctor. It still didn’t make sense. “You’re saying that in order for a black man to reach his true potential, he has to keep a white man prisoner in his basement?”
Dr. Kasim made a face. “Come now. Think about it, brother. Could men such as these, men under constant scrutiny, get away with something like that?”
“No,” Martin replied, detecting a disingenuous tone in the doctor’s voice. “That would be crazy.”
“Indeed it would,” Dr. Kasim whispered.
“But according to your theory, it takes an act of vengeance to get rid of the black noise. An act of vengeance against a white man.”
“Oh, it’s not a theory, brother.” Dr. Kasim gestured to the surrounding books in his library. “I could show you countless published studies on the ill effects of abject injustice on the human psyche. Depression, diminished self-worth, lower IQs, suicide, even erectile dysfunction. I could show you a dozen more papers by esteemed psychologists on how revenge is an essential human trait. A primal instinct as innate and necessary as reproduction. It’s even in the Bible. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” Dr. Kasim shook his head. “No, Martin. What I teach is not a theory. It’s a fact.”
Martin glanced around at the other men. They were all staring at him expectantly. Martin wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt afraid to ask his next question.
“So if you guys are not keeping slaves in your basements or attics, how did you do it? How did you get rid of the black noise?”
In perfect unison Damon, Solomon, Tobias, Kwame, and Carver all turned to Dr. Kasim, as if they would not dare answer without his permission. To see such powerful men behave so obsequiously toward the enigmatic old man filled Martin with dread. Dr. Kasim simply nodded to Damon, then Damon turned to Martin and smiled. It was a smile full of anticipation. And that smile scared Martin to the core. It scared him because even before Damon uttered a word, Martin knew without a shred of doubt that there was something really wrong at Forty Acres. Something so wrong that they had to hide it way out in the middle of nowhere and protect it with a private army. Suddenly Martin did not want to know the answer to his question. But it was too late.
CHAPTER 43
We get rid of the black noise by coming here,” Damon said, spreading his hands in a welcoming manner. “By spending time here, at Forty Acres.”
The meaning of Damon’s words took a moment to crystalize. Martin knew that there was something off about Forty Acres and he had braced himself for a shock, but nothing could have prepared him for the terrible truth that finally crashed down on him. He gasped. He was so stunned that he felt dizzy. He set his drink down and buried his face in his hands.
“You okay, son?” Solomon asked.
Martin ignored Solomon. Instead, he lifted his head and turned to face Dr. Kasim. Stared at the old man with a tempest of disbelief in his eyes. Martin tried to ask the question that had to be asked next, but the words just wouldn’t come. Perhaps it was because he already knew the answer.
Dr. Kasim raised a hand, gently silencing Martin, then in a proud voice said, “Yes, brother. Here at Forty Acres black men are the masters . . . and the whites are our slaves.”
Martin did something that surprised even himself. He laughed. He laughed at the insanity and impossibility of that moment. He laughed because it was too absurd to be true. Martin glanced at the other men, hoping that they’d start laughing too. Waiting for Damon to slap him on the back and tell him that this madness was just another one of Dr. Kasim’s dark jokes.
“We know how you feel right now,” Dr. Kasim said. “Your first reaction will be horror. Outrage. Maybe even hatred. But you now have to think past all that. You have to see the bigger picture. What we do is not personal or about individuals. It’s about making the white race pay for its unpunished crimes against the black race. For too long the modern black man has let his ancestors down. We live in comfort upon the graves of our forefathers who suffered unspeakably and were never avenged. What we do here at Forty Acres isn’t for selfish reasons. It is a duty that we are privileged to bear. A duty to free our minds of that noise by any means necessary, and to use that freedom to become strong black men. Men who can lead our people out of the trash heap of human history that we have been tossed in. And maybe one day all black men will be able to quiet that terrible noise in their minds and hold their heads up with true pride. Don’t just react, my brother. Remember, you’ve been programmed by the white man to ignore the black noise. But I’m telling you to listen now. Really listen to them!” Dr. Kasim leaned forward and gripped Martin’s shoulder. His voice was soothing. “Are you going to ignore the screams of millions of your ancestors, or will you join us?”
Martin did not respond. The shock and confusion he felt had the effect of short-circuiting his mind. Everything Dr. Kasim said made sense in a strange way. And even though Martin felt that what they were doing was wrong, he had to ask himself, Do I feel it’s wrong because, like Dr. Kasim said, I’ve been programmed? By not seeking vengeance, am I really betraying my ancestors? Damon, Solomon, Tobias, Carver, and Kwame were all smart men and they followed Dr. Kasim’s philosophy. They had to be seeing something that Martin couldn’t see. Was it really programming that caused him to hesitate, or was it just common sense?
Damon and the other men began to lay comforting hands on Martin’s shoulders. “This is the toughest part,” Damon said. “The doubt that you are feeling now is almost impossible to deny. The brainwashing is so deep that you can’t see past it.”
Then Solomon spoke. “That’s why you have to trust us. You will never stop thinking it’s wrong until you accept it. Once you accept it and the noise is gone from your head, then you will see the good of it.”
Each encouraging squeeze of the shoulder, each lulling word, tugged at Martin’s will, coaxing Martin deeper and deeper into their arcane brotherhood. And it would be so easy to go along, so easy to allow himself to
be drawn into the fold. He’d be a member of a wealthy and powerful fraternity bound by a secret so great that the loyalty they shared would be limitless. The life-changing benefits of such a relationship were incalculable. Not just for him but for Anna and their future children as well. And the price of membership was equally seductive. All he had to do was embrace Dr. Kasim’s ideology. It shouldn’t be difficult, since Martin believed there was some truth to the old doctor’s “black noise” idea. Did Martin’s self-esteem whither every time he was around white folks? Absolutely not. But sometimes, when in the presence of Caucasian men, he did feel something. A hint of self-consciousness similar to the way one feels when standing before a person you highly respect. A fleeting, unwarranted desire for approval. Martin had no idea if other black men shared this experience, but for him it was real. Indeed, the more Martin pondered it, the more certain he became that Dr. Kasim might be onto something important—a poltergeist in the African American psyche that should be discussed and studied. But the old doctor, infected with hatred, wasn’t interested in research, only revenge in the name of overdue justice. And that’s where Martin drew the line. Kidnapping and enslaving innocent people because of ills committed by their forefathers seemed a greater crime than the original offense. Martin was proud to be a member of the black race, but first and foremost he was a member of the human race. What was true hundreds of years ago was still true today and will forever be true.
Enslaving another human being was an unredeemable act of evil.
It couldn’t be justified by wrapping it up in some easily swallowed philosophical claptrap. Dr. Kasim and his followers had become the very thing they professed to hate.
And with that conclusion came a rise of anger inside Martin. Anger because men he held in such high esteem had revealed themselves to be criminals. And criminals of the lowest sort. Criminals of hate. Anger because they offered to make him a coconspirator in a crime against humanity as if they were doing him some great favor. But most of all, he felt anger because Damon and his fucked-up friends believed that he was like them.
Martin glared at Damon. A glare that screamed, Where the hell have you brought me?
Damon’s response was a patient smile. “It’s all right, Martin. You’ll see.”
It’s all right? Martin had an urge to leap up and strangle him, but Dr. Kasim reached out and squeezed Martin’s hand. “Brother, please do not allow this decision to cause you any undo stress. Whatever you decide will be perfectly fine.”
The other men nodded.
Martin clenched his jaw and looked the old doctor square in the eye. Martin was about to reject their insane offer flat out when he was startled by a voice behind him.
“Of course, Mr. Grey, if you choose not to accept, we assume that you can be trusted to protect our secret.”
Martin turned and saw Oscar looming behind him. With all the strange turns the evening had taken, Martin had forgotten that Dr. Kasim’s right-hand man was even in the room. But now Oscar’s frigid gaze struck Martin like a bucket of ice water, effectively dousing Martin’s anger. In that eye-opening instant another emotion began to take hold. Fear. Is this what happened to Donald Jackson? Did Jackson reject Dr. Kasim’s mad philosophy? And in order to keep Jackson quiet did they—?
With shock, Martin realized that his life was in grave danger. There was no way that they would let him return home with this secret. Not these men. He realized that no matter what he thought about Forty Acres, there was only one answer that would get him back home to Anna alive.
Oscar’s impassive eyes remained fixed on Martin’s face. Reading him. Looking for any cracks. “We can count on your discretion, yes, Mr. Grey?”
“Of course,” Martin said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. To keep down the panic that he felt rising inside him.
“Of course he will,” Dr. Kasim said to Oscar in a dismissive tone. “I never doubted that for a second.” Dr. Kasim then turned back to Martin. His smile was so relaxed and inviting that it was almost hypnotic. “So tell me, brother, will you join my little country club or not?”
Martin knew that his answer had to be completely convincing. If they even suspected a little that he was faking it—
“You belong here, brother,” Kwame said. “Join us.”
“Kwame’s right,” Tobias said. “You must be a part of this.”
Damon looked sympathetic. “I know all this is freaking you out, Martin, but like Solomon said, you just have to trust us.”
Could it really be that simple? Martin wondered. If he told them that he wanted in, would they simply believe him and issue him a membership card? It couldn’t be that easy.
Carver was out of patience. “Quit being so dramatic, Grey. You know you want in. Just spit it out already.”
While the others glared at Carver, Dr. Kasim maintained his grandfatherly guise. “Don’t let Carver influence you,” he said to Martin. “Whatever you decide will be fine. Just tell me your answer.”
Martin glanced at Carver, who was wearing his usual callous smirk. He nodded at Martin, urging him to answer. In fact, Carver almost appeared too eager. This told Martin everything he needed to know.
Martin stood up and turned to Dr. Kasim. “My answer is no! Hell no! This whole place is insane and all of you are out of your fucking minds!”
CHAPTER 44
When Martin saw Dr. Kasim and the other men react with smiles and laughter to his rejection, he knew that he had chosen the correct response. Any rational man who would so readily agree to enlist himself in such a drastic and illegal conspiracy had to be lying or a fool. Martin had to let the script of their seduction run its course. Allow them to believe that they had drawn him into their cabal with persuasion; then they would be convinced. Just as Martin had expected, Dr. Kasim and the other men assured him that his reaction was perfectly normal. Martin put up a small show of resistance, but finally he allowed himself to be cajoled into retaking his seat.
“You must understand that the conflict you feel is just a result of the programming,” Dr. Kasim said. “It’s the fear the white man put into your mind of your own blackness.”
Martin shook his head wearily. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”
“The question is how does it make you feel. The story I told you about the Zantu, about how you are a direct descendant of an extinct tribe. How did that make you feel?”
“Terrible, of course. And yet special too.”
“What about angry? Did it make you feel angry?”
“Yes, a little.”
“A little? Do you think that’s a normal reaction to finding out that your family has been slaughtered? A little anger?”
“But that was so long ago.”
“When Jews talk about their people being murdered in Nazi ovens, do they sound just a little angry?”
“No,” Martin replied.
“You’re right about that.” Solomon jumped in. “The Jews are so furious that they’re still hunting down Nazis to this very day. And I don’t blame them.”
“Only the black man is brainwashed to bury his anger,” Dr. Kasim said to Martin. “That’s why you resist what we offer you, because you’re brainwashed by the white man not to hate him. To let bygones be bygones while they and their children benefit from the exploitation of our ancestors. They smile at us and do business with us but behind our backs they’re laughing at us.”
“No. I don’t believe that, and even if I did, we can’t just do what we want. Inflict our own punishment.”
“Why the hell not?” Tobias asked. “Everything you are has been stomped on and thrown away by white people, yet you’re content to live by their rules? Where were their rules when they were raping our mothers and whipping our fathers?”
Dr. Kasim nodded at Oscar, who withdrew a leather-bound photo album from a nearby shelf and handed it to Martin. Inlaid gold lettering on the cover read Family Photos.
Martin wrinkled his brow at the doctor.
“Open it
,” Dr. Kasim said.
Martin turned the cover over and shuddered at what he saw. An old black-and-white photograph from the 1920s of a gruesome lynching. Four brutally beaten black men hanging dead from a tree. The surrounding well-armed white mob cheering as one man used a large bowie knife to make a trophy of one of the victims’ genitals. Martin had seen old photos of lynchings before, but nothing like this.
“And where were their rules when they did that?” Tobias said.
Martin shook his head in disgust and shut the photo album.
“Don’t stop there,” Dr. Kasim said. “There’s much more. Burnings, mutilations, disembowelment, it’s all in there. Everything evil that can be done to the human body they did to our people. I want you to witness it, brother. Keep turning the pages.”
“No,” Martin said with genuine revulsion. He thrust the album onto the coffee table as if it were suddenly too hot to hold. “I know the history. I don’t need to see it.”
Dr. Kasim wagged a finger at him. “But do you see what you just did?” he said. “Instead of facing the anger and pain that those images inspire inside you, instead of facing the terrible truth, you’d rather just close the book on the past. Exactly what every black man has been conditioned to do since the so-called emancipation. That’s the noise working on you. Making you doubt your self-worth, doubt your humanity, doubt your right to justice. Infecting your soul with fear.”
Martin could feel their stares. The room suddenly felt smaller, as if the men around him were converging. He could sense that they were waiting for something. Looking for a sign that they were reaching him. But what sign?
“It’s time for you to stop fearing the white man,” Damon said. “It’s time to stop thinking he’s better than you.”
“But I don’t feel that way,” Martin insisted. “I don’t.”
Forty Acres: A Thriller Page 15
