Night on Fire

by Ronald Kidd

  Graham set his jaw, and Dr. King led him back up the aisle. A moment later they were gone.

  Muttering, the people settled in for the night. Some of them tried to sleep. It wasn’t easy, because the pews were crowded, the sanctuary was sweltering, and the smell of tear gas hung over the place. Someone got the idea of taking the children to the basement where there was a cool floor and more room.

  Dr. King disappeared into the church office for a while and finally came out, relinquishing the phone to a line of people who wanted to call home. Afterward he circulated through the church, encouraging the people and offering kind words. Through it all, Gus played—hymns of encouragement, then quiet chords and softer songs, music to sleep by.

  During one of the songs I slid in next to Gus on the organ bench. “Are you all right? You look so tired.”

  She smiled at me, her fingers never leaving the keys. “Honey, I’m past tired. I’m in another place. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I looked up at the organ pipes and stained-glass window. The church certainly was beautiful, but I had a feeling that it wasn’t the place Gus had in mind.

  When I got up from the organ I didn’t see Jarmaine. Then I looked down and spotted her sleeping under the bench, clutching a hymnal to her chest. I made my way around her, slipped off into the narthex, and climbed the stairs to the attic and the ladder to the tower. I closed the trapdoor behind me, then moved to a window overlooking Ripley Street.

  The moon was rising in the west—half-white, half-black, not so different from the world I was learning to live in. Below, the National Guard was spread out along the front of the church, rifles ready, helmets glinting in the moonlight. Some of the crowd was gone, leaving a smaller group gathered outside the line of guardsmen.

  I spotted Lavender and my parents, with Mr. McCall next to them. Grant handed them bottles of Coke and took a sip from his own as I watched. When he tilted his head, I waved.

  “Grant!” I yelled. “Up here!”

  Lowering the bottle, he stared, then pointed and excitedly told the others. They called to me, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Watching their lips, though, I could make out one word. Through all the confusion, Daddy mouthed it: Billie, Billie, Billie, over and over again like a silent kiss.

  I stayed there most of the night. I didn’t sleep. I just wanted to see my parents and let them see me.

  The air was still. The night was hot. The moon, climbing in the sky, turned pink and orange. As the sun rose, a convoy of jeeps and trucks drove up Ripley Street. The first driver got out and spoke with General Graham, who nodded and barked out orders to a nearby soldier. The soldier hurried up the steps and threw the church doors wide open, the way they were meant to be.

  The long night was over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I hurried down to the open doors, where I watched the people streamed outside, like water over a dam. They laughed and cried and praised God, breathing in fresh air and tasting a kind of freedom.

  Jarmaine, wide-awake now, was among them. I watched from the doorway as she ran down the steps. Lavender, waiting at the bottom, gave her a fierce hug, then grabbed her and shook her. I remembered that shake. It was no fun.

  I hurried down after her, looking for my parents. Before my foot hit the street, something hit me. It was big and lanky, and there was a camera dangling around its neck.

  “Billie! You’re all right!”

  Grant wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. I squeezed back, thinking of Forsyth’s Grocery, baseball cards, Top 40 records, and the long road I had traveled.

  I stepped away and looked up at Grant. “Get any good pictures?”

  “A few. My dad let me come. He said it might be dangerous, but it was important.”

  Mr. McCall stood nearby. “We’re glad you’re safe,” he told me.

  Mama came running. “Oh, Billie.”

  She threw herself at me and hugged so hard that it could have been a greeting or a punishment. Maybe it was a little of both.

  She held me at arm’s length. “Never ever run off again, you hear?”

  I wasn’t sure I could agree to that. I did know I was happy to see her.

  Beyond her, holding the baby, stood Daddy. His eyes were red and puffy. He looked me up and down, drinking me in the way he had gulped a Coke the night before. I had always thought of him as strong, but that morning he looked small and sad.

  “We were worried,” he said. “We didn’t know where you’d gone. Then Grant spotted you on that bus. He told us about the meeting in Montgomery, and we decided to follow you.”

  Mama added, “I called Lavender to watch the baby. She said Jarmaine was gone too.”

  “I told them you and Jarmaine were friends,” said Grant. “We figured you must have gone together. Yesterday afternoon we drove to Montgomery in two cars. Lavender came with us.”

  “Why did you leave?” Daddy asked me, almost pleading.

  “I was tired of watching. I wanted to do something.”

  Someone touched my arm. I looked around and saw Jarmaine with Lavender beside her.

  I noticed Mama and Daddy staring at Jarmaine, and I realized the only time they had ever seen her was at the spelling bee, a thousand years ago. Lavender had cooked my meals and held me when I was sick, and they had never even met her daughter.

  “This is Jarmaine Jones,” I told them. “She’s my friend.”

  “Jarmaine is an intern at the Star,” said Mr. McCall. “She helps me with research.” He turned to Jarmaine. “I hope you took good notes. We have a story to write.”

  “We saw the Freedom Riders,” I said.

  Daddy sighed.

  I turned to him and said, “We saw their leader. Her name is Diane Nash. You know what? You’d like her.”

  “Lord help us,” said Mama.

  Daddy shook his head. “Those people are trouble.”

  Lavender shot him a look I’d never seen before, proud and angry at the same time. It occurred to me that this was a different person from the one who worked at our house.

  “Those people are heroes,” she said. “The world is changing, Mr. Sims. You’d best get used to it.”

  He stared at her. After all those years, they were meeting for the first time. I wondered if the real Lavender would disappear again behind the mask. I hoped she wouldn’t.

  The world was changing. I was changing. Maybe Daddy could too. It wouldn’t have to be a big change—just a little adjustment here and there. He might give Lavender a day off. Maybe he would let her park in the driveway. A thousand little changes—in my neighborhood, across my town, around my country—might equal a big change.

  Mama, who had been studying me, took the baby from Daddy. “I’m tired. Let’s go.”

  “Not yet,” I said, glancing at Jarmaine. “There’s one more thing we need to do.”

  Jarmaine nodded, and the two of us climbed the front steps of the church. The bricks, glowing in the sunrise, seemed redder than ever. We moved through the crowd and into the sanctuary, which was nearly empty. Light filtered through the stained-glass window, throwing colors onto the church wall.

  Among the colors, at the front of the room, Gus gathered up her music.

  “Hey,” I said to her.

  Gus looked around and saw us. “Hello, my dears.”

  “How long did you play?” I asked.

  She checked her watch. “Fifteen hours, give or take forever.”

  “Did you reach that place you were going?”

  “Honey, I live in that place.”

  Jarmaine leaned over and, ever so gently, kissed Gus on the forehead.

  “You are a rock,” Jarmaine told her.

  Gus closed her eyes, as if enjoying a cool breeze. “I’m a very small rock. Maybe a pebble.”

  “I rang the bell,” I told her proudly.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  I flexed my fingers, remembering the roughness of the rope and the sound of the chime. I told her, “
Thank you for helping us. Thank you for showing us the tower. Thank you for the bell.”

  Gus said, “That old bell doesn’t need help from me. It speaks for itself. You listened, that’s all.”

  Jarmaine picked up her basket, and we left First Baptist Church for the last time. Outside, our parents were waiting in an awkward group. The baby yawned, and I did too.

  Mama chuckled. “Now it’s time to go.”

  “Hey,” said Grant, “we need a picture.”

  He lined us up—Daddy and Mama with the baby, Lavender with Mr. McCall, Jarmaine and me in front. Behind us the church stood tall, its tower pointing toward heaven.

  “Okay, smile,” said Grant. “At least, don’t fall asleep.”

  The camera flashed, and we turned to leave. We walked up Ripley Street, past worshipers and news reporters. In the dim morning light, it was hard to tell who was black or white. I wished the world were like that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Believe it or not, I went to school that day. Word had spread about my trip to Montgomery, and people in the hallways had some things to say. I ignored them. I was too tired to listen.

  That afternoon, I sat on the front porch waiting for Arthur the Arm, and he showed up right on time. Giving the paper a neat twirl, he tossed it at my feet. I waved my thanks and opened it up.

  Capital Quiet, Tense

  MONTGOMERY – Downtown Montgomery is quiet today—but it is an uneasy quiet, and there is a strong feeling of tension in the air.

  There is no crowd at all around a Negro church where bloody rioting broke out last night, resulting in a proclamation of martial law by Gov. John Patterson.

  The story went on to describe the events of the long night. Mr. McCall had been as good as his word, because at the top of the story were two names: Tom McCall and Jarmaine Jones. Beside it were Grant’s photos. Seeing the pictures was like being there—hearing the crowd and ringing the bell.

  “Want to toss the football?”

  I looked up and saw Daddy, back from work early. He had loosened his tie and slung his coat over one shoulder. I tried to measure his mood but couldn’t.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He dropped his coat on the swing and fetched the ball.

  “Go long,” he said.

  I dropped the paper and headed across the yard, running fast, the way Daddy had taught me. He waited, then sent the ball spinning in a long arc, over my shoulder and into my arms. Then he jogged across the front of the house, and I hit him with a spiral.

  Later, we sat on the porch steps and drank some iced tea. I’d been thinking all afternoon about what to say. When I opened my mouth, it spilled out.

  “Here’s the thing,” I said. “Jarmaine’s smart. She’s strong. You should talk to her sometime.”

  He sipped his tea and gazed out across the yard.

  I said, “Her mother helped raise me, but you never set foot in her house. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  He took another sip of tea.

  “You watched the bus burn and didn’t do a thing,” I said.

  He eyed me for a minute, then looked away. Mrs. Wilson, a neighbor, walked down the street with her dog, Buster, on a leash. She waved, and Daddy waved back.

  “That’s true,” he said.

  “I watched too. It was wrong.”

  “Some people in town would disagree,” said Daddy.

  “They’re crackers,” I said.

  His head swiveled around, and he stared at me. “Where did you hear that word?”

  “Different places.”

  “Am I a cracker?” he asked.

  “You’re my father. You’re good. Aren’t you?”

  “You tell me. You’re the expert. You run away from home, and you come back talking like this.”

  I set my iced tea on the porch. “That day at Forsyth’s Grocery, people did terrible things. You watched, and so did I. That makes us part of it.”

  He sighed and shook his head. There were lines around his eyes and mouth. Suddenly he looked older.

  “We were wrong,” he said. “But they were wrong too.”

  “The Freedom Riders?”

  “So-called,” he said.

  “Daddy, they just wanted to ride the bus.”

  “They knew what would happen, and they came anyway. Of course they got hurt. When you stir up a hornet’s nest, you get stung.”

  I picked up my iced tea and took a gulp. I wanted it to make me strong.

  “I’m a Freedom Rider,” I said.

  I told him what Jarmaine and I had done on the bus and at the Birmingham Greyhound station. I expected him to be angry, but he surprised me.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he said.

  When I was six, I decided one day that I would climb the big tree in our front yard. I shinnied up the trunk, edged out onto one of the big branches, and stood. It was beautiful up there. Then Daddy saw me and came running out of the house. The look on his face that day was the look I saw now.

  “You could have been hurt,” he said.

  “Maybe. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “Look, Billie, I don’t know what you think or what you did. Just be careful. I need you safe.”

  “You love me,” I said.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Like Lavender loves Jarmaine.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Jarmaine doesn’t believe in safe. She wants freedom.”

  Daddy shrugged. “Don’t we all.”

  Maybe that was how it worked. You see things happen. You watch. You shrug. Then you move on. It seemed hopeless. But the Freedom Riders disagreed.

  “Why are we like this?” I asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Scared of Negroes.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “We hold them down. We build separate schools. We send them to the back of the bus. What are we afraid of?”

  He shook his head. “What did they tell you in that church?”

  “Answer my question.”

  He shot me a look. The last time I had talked back to him, he’d given me a whack and sent me to my room. This time he just watched me.

  “Black and white don’t mix,” he said. “Around here, they never have.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Tradition. Culture. A way of life.”

  I said, “Tradition is Mama’s corn pudding. This is more than that. People suffer. You saw that mob at the church. Someone could have been killed.”

  “It’s the way things are.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “What do you want me to say, Billie? It’s wrong to have slaves. It’s horrible. It’s evil. But we did it. Haven’t you ever done something you were ashamed of? You hide it, you push it down, and pretty soon it becomes part of you, like your arm or leg.”

  I tried to think of what Jarmaine would say.

  “Cut it off,” I told him.

  “You have the answers, don’t you? Cut it off. Repeal the law. Run away from home. Why did you leave?”

  “I had to.”

  “I was worried,” he said.

  “I met Dr. King. I talked to a woman named Gus. They’re just people.”

  “Don’t run away,” he said. “I want you safe.”

  “It’s not about me.”

  But I was wrong. I saw it in his eyes and the hunch of his shoulders. He wanted to keep the world the way it was. For me. For Mama. The thing he was afraid of was the thing I dreamed of.

  Change.

  It was a road, and I wanted to take it. It scared me, but that was okay. I would change, and someday maybe Daddy would. Maybe the others would too.

  A mosquito buzzed in my ear. Crickets chirped in the distance. I slipped my hand into Daddy’s, and we sipped our iced tea.

  After supper I went to Grant’s house. His photos had run in the afternoon paper but there must have been more, because he was in his darkroom, working. Mrs. McCall led me back there, and I knocked.r />
  “Grant, it’s me.”

  “Just a minute.”

  A moment later he opened the door and motioned me inside. Closing it behind me, he switched off the light, and the room turned red.

  “Are you doing black and white?” I asked.

  He nodded and turned back to his work.

  Pinned across the wall in front of him were strings with photos clipped to them. There was First Baptist Church. There was the mob. There was the overturned car, with people holding bats and bricks. There was the shot of us in front of the church—Mr. McCall and Lavender, Mama and Daddy, Jarmaine and me. In the dim red light, we appeared to be covered with blood.

  I shivered. “What do you think about all that?”

  He shrugged. “I think the world is a strange and beautiful place.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Maybe at first. Then I got busy.”

  I nodded. “It’s what you were put on this earth to do.”

  “Huh?”

  “Taking pictures. Showing people the truth. You’re only thirteen, but you’ve already got your life’s work.”

  He poured some chemicals into a tray. That’s the thing about your life’s work. When you’re doing it, you’re more or less oblivious to other people.

  Looking around the room, I noticed a photo pinned to the wall. It seemed to be from another time. It was me, standing in front of the Anniston bus station.

  The picture showed a girl with a determined grin. She didn’t know where she was going or what her life’s work would be. Wherever she went, she would try to do what was right. She would be hard on herself and learn to forgive others. She would welcome change. She would dream it, then build it.

  Grant stood beside me, lost in his work, dreaming his own dreams, tongue sticking halfway out of his mouth. Watching him, I had a funny thought. Maybe he would build it with me.

  In the darkroom, I could imagine anything I wanted. Hands touched. Images appeared, as if by magic. The world was developing right before my eyes.

  If I thought about it, dreamed about it, worked on it, maybe I could get a picture I liked. The picture would show a better place—Anniston or Montgomery or a city in the sky. And I would be there.