The Big Book of Modern Fantasy

by The Big Book of Modern Fantasy (retail) (epub)

  The terms are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child.

  Often the young people go home in tears, or in a tearless rage, when they have seen the child and faced this terrible paradox. They may brood over it for weeks or years. But as time goes on they begin to realize that even if the child could be released, it would not get much good of its freedom: a little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no doubt, but little more. It is too degraded and imbecile to know any real joy. It has been afraid too long ever to be free of fear. Its habits are too uncouth for it to respond to humane treatment. Indeed after so long it would probably be wretched without walls about it to protect it, and darkness for its eyes, and its own excrement to sit in. Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible justice of reality, and to accept it. Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the acceptance of their helplessness, which are perhaps the true source of the splendor of their lives. Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there sniveling in the dark, the other one, the flute player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.

  Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible? But there is one more thing to tell, and this is quite incredible.

  At times one of the adolescent girls or boys who go to see the child does not go home to weep or rage, does not, in fact, go home at all. Sometimes also a man or woman much older falls silent for a day or two, and then leaves home. These people go out into the street, and walk down the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth or girl, man or woman. Night falls; the traveler must pass down village streets, between the houses with yellow-lit windows, and on out into the darkness of the fields. Each alone, they go west or north, toward the mountains. They go on. They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back. The place they go toward is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.

  Henry Dumas (1934–1968) was born in Arkansas, moved to Harlem, joined the U.S. Air Force, attended Rutgers University, worked for IBM, and taught at Hiram College in Ohio and Southern Illinois University. Music was a huge influence on his writing, most notably the music of John Coltrane and James Brown, as well as the gospel music of his youth. He studied jazz with Sun Ra, a composer and musician known for cosmic interpretations of music. Dumas was only thirty-three years old when a white Transit Police officer shot him to death on the platform of the 125th Street subway station in circumstances that will never be clear, as no witnesses came forward and Transit Police records were destroyed. He published little during his lifetime, but after his death, his friend and colleague Eugene Redmond edited a collection of Dumas’s poetry for Southern Illinois University Press that gained the attention of Toni Morrison, then working as an editor at Random House. Morrison published the book of poetry as well as Ark of Bones and Other Stories (1974) and a novel, Jonoah and the Green Stone (1976). Morrison said of Dumas, “He was a genius, an absolute genius.” In 2003, Coffee House Press published Echo Tree: The Collected Short Fiction of Henry Dumas, and in 2014, Jeffrey B. Leak published a biography, Visible Man: The Life of Henry Dumas.

  ARK OF BONES

  Henry Dumas

  HEADEYE, HE WAS FOLLOWIN ME. I knowed he was followin me. But I just kept goin, like I wasn’t payin him no mind. Headeye, he never fish much, but I guess he knowed the river good as anybody. But he ain’t know where the fishin was good. Thas why I knowed he was followin me. So I figured I better fake him out. I ain’t want nobody with a mojo bone followin me. Thas why I was goin along downriver stead of up, where I knowed fishin was good. Headeye, he hard to fool. Like I said, he knowed the river good. One time I rode across to New Providence with him and his old man. His old man was drunk. Headeye, he took the raft on across. Me and him. His old man stayed in New Providence, but me and Headeye come back. Thas when I knowed how good of a river-rat he was.

  Headeye, he o.k., cept when he get some kinda notion in that big head of his. Then he act crazy. Tryin to show off his age. He older’n me, but he little for his age. Some people say readin too many books will stunt your growth. Well, on Headeye, everything is stunted cept his eyes and his head. When he get some crazy notion runnin through his head, then you can’t get rid of him till you know what’s on his mind. I knowed somethin was eatin on him, just like I knowed it was him followin me.

  I kept close to the path less he think I was tryin to lose him. About a mile from my house I stopped and peed in the bushes, and then I got a chance to see how Headeye was movin along.

  Headeye, he droop when he walk. They called him Headeye cause his eyes looked bigger’n his head when you looked at him sideways. Headeye bout the ugliest guy I ever run upon. But he was good-natured. Some people called him Eagle-Eye. He bout the smartest nigger in that raggedy school, too. But most time we called him Headeye. He was always ways findin things and bringin em to school, or to the cotton patch. One time he found a mojo bone and all the kids cept me went round talkin bout him puttin a curse on his old man. I ain’t say nothin. It wont none of my business. But Headeye, he ain’t got no devil in him. I found that out.

  So, I’m kickin off the clay from my toes, but mostly I’m thinkin about how to find out what’s on his mind. He’s got this notion in his head about me hoggin the luck. So I’m fakin him out, lettin him droop behind me.

  Pretty soon I break off the path and head for the river. I could tell I was far enough. The river was gettin ready to bend.

  I come up on a snake twistin toward the water. I was gettin ready to bust that snake’s head when a fox run across my path. Before I could turn my head back, a flock of birds hit the air pretty near scarin me half to death. When I got on down to the bank, I see somebody’s cow lopin on the levee way down the river. Then to really upshell me, here come Headeye droopin long like he had ten tons of cotton on his back.

  “Headeye, what you followin me for?” I was mad.

  “Ain’t nobody thinkin bout you,” he said, still comm.

  “What you followin long behind me for?”

  “Ain’t nobody followin you.”

  “The hell you ain’t.”

  “I ain’t followin you.”

  “Somebody’s followin me, and I like to know who he is.”

  “Maybe somebody’s followin me.”

  “What you mean?”

  “Just what you think.”

  Headeye, he was gettin smart on me. I give him one of my looks, meanin that he’d better watch his smartness round me, cause I’d have him down eatin dirt in a minute. But he act like he got a crazy notion.

  “You come this far ahead me, you must be got a call from the spirit.”

  “What spirit?” I come to wonder if Headeye ain’t got to workin his mojo too much.

  “Come on.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed his sleeve.

  He took out a little sack and started pullin out something.

  “You fishin or not?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, but not for the same thing. You see this bone?” Headeye, he took out that mojo, stepped back. I wasn’t scared of no ole bone, but everybody’d been talkin bout Headeye and him gettin sanctified. But he never went to church. Only his mama went. His old man only went wh
en he sober, and that be about once or twice a year.

  So I look at that bone. “What kinda voodoo you work with that mojo?”

  “This is a keybone to the culud man. Ain’t but one in the whole world.”

  “And you got it?” I act like I ain’t believe him. But I was testin him. I never rush upon a thing I don’t know.

  “We got it.”

  “We got?”

  “It belongs to the people of God.”

  I ain’t feel like the people of God, but I just let him talk on.

  “Remember when Ezekiel was in the valley of dry bones?”

  I reckoned I did.

  “…And the hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit to the valley of dry bones.

  “And he said unto me, ‘Son of man, can these bones live?’ and I said unto him, ‘Lord, thou knowest.’

  “And he said unto me, ‘Go and bind them together. Prophesy that I shall come and put flesh upon them from generations and from generations.’

  “And the Lord said unto me, ‘Son of man, these bones are the whole house of the brothers, scattered to the islands. Behold, I shall bind up the bones and you shall prophesy the name.’ ”

  He walked on pass me and loped on down to the river bank. This here old place was called Deadman’s Landin because they found a dead man there one time. His body was so rotted and ate up by fish and craw dads that they couldn’t tell whether he was white or black, just a dead man.

  Headeye went over to them long planks and logs leanin off in the water and begin to push them around like he was makin somethin. “You was followin me.” I was mad again.

  Headeye acted like he was iggin me. He put his hands up to his eyes and looked far out over the water. I could barely make out the other side of the river. It was real wide right along there and take couple hours by boat to cross it. Most I ever did was fish and swim. Headeye, he act like he iggin me. I began to bait my hook and go down the bank to where he was. I was mad enough to pop him side the head, but I shoulda been glad. I just wanted him to own up to the truth. I walked along the bank. That damn river was risin. It was lappin up over the planks of the landin and climbin up the bank.

  Then the funniest thing happened. Headeye, he stopped movin and shovin on those planks and looks up at me. His pole is layin back under a willow tree like he wan’t goin to fish none. A lot of birds were still flyin over and I saw a bunch of wild hogs rovin along the levee. All of a sudden Headeye, he say:

  “I ain’t mean no harm what I said about you workin with the devil. I take it back.”

  It almost knocked me over. Me and Headeye was arguin a while back bout how many niggers there is in the Bible. Headeye, he know all about it, but I ain’t give on to what I know. I looked sideways at him. I figured he was tryin to make up for followin me. But there was somethin funny goin on as I held my peace. I said “huh-huh,” and I just kept on lookin at him.

  Then he points out over the water and up in the sky wavin his hand all round like he was twirlin a lasso.

  “You see them signs?”

  I couldn’t help but say “yeah.”

  “The Ark is comin.”

  “What Ark?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Noah’s Ark?”

  “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  And he went back to fixin up that landin. I come to see what he was doing pretty soon. And I had a notion to go down and pitch in. But I knowed Headeye. Sometimes he gets a notion in his big head and he act crazy behind it. Like the time in church when he told Rev. Jenkins that he heard people moanin out on the river. I remember that. Cause papa went with the men. Headeye, his old man was with them out in that boat. They thought it was somebody took sick and couldn’t row ashore. But Headeye, he kept tellin them it was a lot of people, like a multitude.

  Anyway, they ain’t find nothin and Headeye, his daddy hauled off and smacked him side the head. I felt sorry for him and didn’t laugh as much as the other kids did, though sometimes Headeye’s notions get me mad too.

  Then I come to see that maybe he wasn’t followin me. The way he was actin I knowed he wasn’t scared to be there at Deadman’s Landin. I threw my line out and made like I was fishin, but I wasn’t, cause I was steady watchin Headeye.

  By and by the clouds started to get thick as clabber milk. A wind come up. And even though the little waves slappin the sides of the bank made the water jump around and dance, I could still tell that the river was risin. I looked at Headeye. He was wanderin off along the bank, wadin out in the shallows and leanin over like he was lookin for some-thin.

  I comest to think about what he said, that valley of bones. I comest to get some kinda crazy notion myself. There was a lot of signs, but they weren’t nothin too special. If you’re sharp-eyed you always seem some-thin along the Mississippi.

  I messed around and caught a couple of fish. Headeye, he was wadin out deeper in the Sippi, bout hip-deep now, standin still like he was lis-tenin for somethin. I left my pole under a big rock to hold it down and went over to where he was.

  “This ain’t the place,” I say to him.

  Headeye, he ain’t say nothin. I could hear the water come to talk a little. Only river people know how to talk to the river when it’s mad. I watched the light on the waves way upstream where the old Sippi bend, and I could tell that she was movin faster. Risin. The shakin was fast and the wind had picked up. It was whippin up the canebrake and twirlin the willows and the swamp oak that drink themselves full along the bank.

  I said it again, thinkin maybe Headeye would ask me where was the real place. But he ain’t even listen.

  “You come out here to fish or fool?” I asked him. But he waved his hand back at me to be quiet. I knew then that Headeye had some crazy notion in his big head and that was it. He’d be talkin about it for the next two weeks.

  “Hey!” I hollered at him. “Headeye, can’t you see the river’s on the rise? Let’s shag outa here.”

  He ain’t pay me no mind. I picked up a coupla sticks and chunked them out near the place where he was standin just to make sure he ain’t fall asleep right out there in the water. I ain’t never knowed Headeye to fall asleep at a place, but bein as he is so damn crazy, I couldn’t take the chance.

  Just about that time I hear a funny noise. Headeye, he hear it too, cause he motioned to me to be still. He waded back to the bank and ran down to the broken planks at Deadman’s Landin. I followed him. A couple drops of rain smacked me in the face, and the wind, she was whippin up a sermon.

  I heard a kind of moanin, like a lot of people. I figured it must be in the wind. Headeye, he is jumpin around like a perch with a hook in the gill. Then he find himself. He come to just stand alongside the planks. He is in the water about knee deep. The sound is steady, not gettin any louder now, and not gettin any lower. The wind, she steady whippin up a sermon. By this time, it done got kinda dark, and me, well, I done got kinda scared.

  Headeye, he’s all right though. Pretty soon he call me.

  “Fish-hound?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You better come on down here.”

  “What for? Man, can’t you see it gettin ready to rise?”

  He ain’t say nothin. I can’t see too much now cause the clouds done swole up so big and mighty that everything’s gettin dark.

  Then I sees it. I’m gettin ready to chunk another stick out at him, when I see this big thing movin in the far off, movin slow, down river, naw, it was up river. Naw, it was just movin and standin still at the same time. The damnest thing I ever seed. It just about a damn boat, the biggest boat in the whole world. I looked up and what I took for clouds was sails. The wind was whippin up a sermon on them.

  It was way out in the river, almost not touchin the water, just rockin there, rockin and waitin.

  Headeye, I don’t see him.

/>   Then I look and I see a rowboat comm. Headeye, he done waded out about shoulder deep and he is wavin to me. I ain’t know what to do. I guess he bout know that I was gettin ready to run, because he holler out, “Come on, Fish. Hurry! I wait for you.”

  I figured maybe we was dead or somethin and was gonna get the Glory Boat over the river and make it on into heaven. But I ain’t say it aloud. I was so scared I didn’t know what I was doin. First thing I know I was side by side with Headeye, and a funny-lookin rowboat was drawin alongside of us. Two men, about as black as anybody black wants to be, was steady strokin with paddles. The rain had reached us and I could hear that moanin like a church full of people pourin out their hearts to Jesus in heaven.

  All the time I was tryin not to let on how scared I was. Headeye, he ain’t payin no mind to nothin cept that boat. Pretty soon it comest to rain hard. The two big black jokers rowin the boat ain’t say nothin to us, and everytime I look at Headeye, he poppin his eyes out tryin to get a look at somethin far off. I couldn’t see that far, so I had to look at what was close up. The muscles in those jokers’ arms was movin back an forth every time they swung them oars around. It was a funny ride in that rowboat, because it didn’t seem like we was in the water much. I took a chance and stuck my hand over to see, and when I did that they stopped rowin the boat and when I looked up we was drawin longside this here ark, and I tell you it was the biggest ark in the world.

  I asked Headeye if it was Noah’s Ark, and he tell me he didn’t know either. Then I was scared.

  They was tyin that rowboat to the side where some heavy ropes hung over. A long row of steps were cut in the side near where we got out, and the moanin sound was real loud now, and if it wasn’t for the wind and rain beatin and whippin us up the steps, I’d swear the sound was commn from someplace inside the ark.