They Come in All Colors

by Malcolm Hansen

  Nestor, the other day I had my nose broken by a mob who lumped me in with those wackos that came down on that damned bus. Before that, I had to send Huey home early from Herb’s threshing. Now I have to listen to you suggesting that I might be next. Which is it, Nestor? What have I got to do to win a little respect around here?

  You can’t win back what you never had, Buck!

  Not you, too, Nestor?

  People may fight for love, Buck, but they don’t do it knowing they’re gonna lose.

  I love her, Nestor. For me she’s just Pea. Not colored. Not some “high yellow” or “mulatto.” Just Pea. But everyone’s always tried to make it so that I can’t have one without the other. And all I got to say to that is, if anyone comes to my house tonight—so help me God—I’m ready. I’ll be there waiting for them. And I’m gonna fire back.

  Nestor fell back, speechless. Across the street, tiles of cardboard had been fitted over several busted-out front windows. Dad and I pretended not to see those, either. Dad pulled forward, and we continued past the sign that read MOUNT ZION TABERNACLE OF THE SECOND COMING. Main Street appeared war ravaged amid a trail of broken glass and debris. Farther down, Mister Rinkel was quietly picking up trash from around a busted-out window of a car parked in front of his shop. The shade was thick and cool. I was thankful for it. The Thronateeska appeared next to the low-rise redbrick building that was the bank, disappeared behind the hardware store, and reappeared out from behind the thin, creaking wrought-iron sign hanging over Missus Henniger’s flower shop. I asked Dad to stop. He pulled over. The plate-glass door and front window were busted out, and the register was tipped over. Vases lay broken and flowers were strewn everywhere. Dad shook his head. He remarked that Missus Henniger was just a poor old spinster who had done nothing to nobody. Poor old lady. She deserved better. So what if she clutched onto archaic beliefs that were a holdover from a time that made sense to her? Wasn’t her fault, was it? She just got carried off down life’s fast-moving waters, only to end up in a swirling eddy that went nowhere, just like everyone else. We all can’t be Plato.

  Dad tsked, and we continued on. We inched our way past the sandstone brick facades and sheet-glass storefronts that I identified with. They lay in shambles. Dad stopped at the blinking yellow light at Third Street. Five colored women stood on the corner in a balding patch of grass situated between the sidewalk and curb, patting their brows as they stood in the bright sunlight, leafleting.

  Dad drove slow through town. Three doors down stood a group of colored fellas. They’d all been to the service. But even if I recognized them, I didn’t recognize Main Street. Dad looked over and sighed. He said that you can only go to a petting zoo so many times before you start to lose interest in the goats, llamas, and ostriches. He told me to ignore them.

  Cherry to Maplewood, Maplewood to Donner, and Donner all the way up three miles to Frontage Road. Dad stayed left at the fork, and we clattered up to his turnoff.

  Mind if I drop you off here?

  Now that I’m eight?

  Now that I’m late.

  I grinned. Fine.

  I hopped down onto dirt and gravel and looked down at Roy Rogers. He was practically waving at me.

  Glue dry?

  I nodded.

  Be sure to mention that it has more than two hundred pieces. Edna will appreciate that. Oh, and if she asks how long it took you, don’t tell her it took you all summer. She’ll think you’re stupid. Just say it took you the weekend.

  • • •

  THE CUT COTTON stalks covering the field came up to my knees, and every now and again a wispy white thread of cotton floated past. A black gambrel roof stuck out over the tree line up ahead. The almost flat slope of its top half appeared first, and then the lower, steeper slope of the bottom half. There was no sign out by the road or anything. I never did understand how people could tell what it was just by looking at it. I guess you just had to know it was there.

  A hundred yards down, the cotton burrs and thin filaments scattered over asphalt gave way to a gravel lot in which stood my school. I pushed up my sleeve to make my cast stand out. It didn’t hurt anymore, and I’d begun to even identify with it. As I headed around the far side of the stone foundation and clapboard siding in search of Derrick, I turned at a sound coming from somewhere up the road that was so faint I might have been imagining it. Either I was hearing voices in my head or people were singing. I cupped my hand over my eyes and strained back toward the bright sun just now blossoming over the road. A bunch of people were inching over the horizon in silhouette.

  Mae and Darla Pendleton were etching boxes into the dirt with twigs we’d foraged from the adjacent wood. Little puffs of dust were billowing out around them.

  Who died now, Darla?

  She shrugged.

  My uncle Theaster died last week. But that was in his sleep. I’d be surprised if anyone would be eulogizing him. He farted at the dinner table.

  Missus Mayapple came around from the back side of the schoolhouse holding Daniel Raiford by the hand with Bobby Buford, Marcy McEllen, and Riley Daniels in tow. Marcy’s face was beet red. Missus Mayapple had probably caught them being gross in the wood. School hadn’t even started yet, and those hornballs were at it again.

  A mailbox stood where the gravel lot, the field, and Frontage Road all met. I headed over to it and just stood there. I liked the way that wooden post felt in my armpit when I leaned on it.

  Will ya look at that?

  Holy moly.

  Sweet Jesus.

  It’s got something of the Second Coming to it, wouldn’t you say?

  It was the most solemn spectacle I’d ever seen. I was waiting for Jesus to turn up scantily clad and dragging that wooden cross the size of a small cedar tree over his shoulder, like when he went to his crucifixion. It broke my heart to see all those grown-ups walking in procession like that—like they were following Moses to the Promised Land, except without the caravan of wagons filled with goats and chickens and sundry livestock bringing up the rear. Theo Krasinski and I exchanged a quick glance. All those colored people marching past so dignified—the intertwining chorus of their voices deep and rich, like I could reach out and touch it. Their backs were erect and heads high. Their boot heels rasped and canes knocked. Birds fluttered from a stand of nearby trees.

  I checked overhead for some sort of sign like a bright shaft of light cutting through the sky, or something of the coming Revelation or Passion or some such, like a crow or something circling overhead, then rolled my eyes and laughed. Theo cracked up, too.

  Missus Mayapple jerked me around and wagged her finger in my face.

  But it’s just a parade.

  This is no parade!

  She snatched at my arm like she didn’t trust me to go back inside on my own, then tossed it down at the sight of boys playing stickball in the field behind me. Which was a no-no. We didn’t own that field; Mister Wainwright did. And the grisliness of the scorched and half-burnt scarecrow he left sitting in the middle of it was all the proof I needed that it was best to stay out. She headed after them.

  I dragged my feet on my way to the schoolhouse, kicking at the limestone, wondering what I’d done wrong.

  Hugh! Burt! Over here!

  I turned around. I cupped my hand over my eyes, squinting in the sun. Standing in the middle of the crowded road was a boy waving his arms. Whoever it was, I could only make him out in silhouette. He was running toward me. The road was filled with so many people they even spilled over it edges. He was zigzagging around them.

  The boy emerged from the crowd marching past and just stood there looking at me, breathing hard, with that gap-toothed mouth spread wide over his face. I almost didn’t recognize him without his ball cap on.

  Evan?

  I heard you got sick.

  I couldn’t tell if it was a smirk or a look of concern on his face. I wanted to be mad at him and hate him, but for some reason I just couldn’t. I decided that he was concerned about me. Be
cause he put a hand on my shoulder.

  Why ain’t you over there with us?

  A crowd of kids flocked around. They pushed and shoved to get a good look at one of our own local colored boys, done up real fancy in a suit and tie. Someone shoved me before I had a chance to explain. I tumbled ass over end into the gully.

  Go on with your nigger!

  Who you calling a nigger?

  Bruce Levitwerner was staring down at me with those deeply set pig eyes of his. I wanted to get right up in his face and tell him that I wasn’t afraid—even if he was two grades older, he wasn’t boss of me. I brushed the cockleburs from my shirt and climbed out of the gully, but before I was able to kick Bruce in the nuts, he pushed me right back down square on my ass. Which shocked the hell out of me. Once was forgivable, but twice was all out war. I turned around. Evan was running back down the road, chasing after a casket being carried away on the shoulders of eight colored men bringing up the rear.

  I lay there on the ground in disbelief. There was no mistaking it. The shroud of purple flowers covering it were spilling over the sides as it hobbled off down the road atop their shoulders. I knew that casket. Knew who was inside that casket. I hollered out for it to wait, but it was too late. It disappeared around the bend.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran so goddamned fast I couldn’t feel anything below my waist. I flew up the short flight of steps and into the schoolhouse. I ducked into the first door I came to. Damn it all if it wasn’t the broom closet. The door was off-kilter. I slammed it several times before it finally closed. Someone was creeping around in the hallway. The door rattled. The floor moaned. I jumped out of my socks at the realization that someone was on the other side of the door, peeking beneath it.

  Hubert Francis Fairchild, I know you’re in there. Now get out here right this second.

  Go away!

  Hubert, I know that’s you. Now come out.

  I said, go away!

  You come out of there right this instant, young man.

  I’m never coming out. Now go away!

  I’m standing here with a straightedge in one hand and King James in the other, young man. Do you know what that spells?

  I undid the latch. Missus Mayapple was bluffing, but before I could slam the door in her face, she staggered to her feet and dragged me out the front door. We stood at the top of the steps, overlooking a loose tangle of forty-odd kids. Missus Mayapple’s voice echoed out.

  And on the first day of school! For shame!

  A sea of white faces were all crowded together right in front of me, angled my way. Some stood with their mouths hung open, others had their lips pressed tight. My heart was knocking around in my chest like a sledgehammer. Her thick hand squeezed mine so tight her ring bit into my fingers.

  Let this serve as a lesson to all of you! Never do anything that you haven’t the courage to take responsibility for!

  A chainsaw buzzed from deep within the adjacent wood. There echoed out the creaking sound of a limb being felled. Then all went quiet.

  Now, who wants to tell me just what happened out here?

  I’ll tell you what happened!

  Me! Pick me! I’ll tell you exactly what happened!

  Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Pretty please!

  We’ll start with you.

  Huey’s a nigger!

  Bruce Levitwerner!

  But it’s true!

  Mister Levitwerner, you watch your mouth!

  But I’m telling you, that nigger—!

  Now you listen here, young man. I’ve got enough Scripture to keep you reading for a lifetime. Do you hear? I simply will not tolerate my students casting aspersions of that sort in this school. Do I make myself perfectly clear?

  Yes, ma’am.

  Thank you. Now, please. Anyone else?

  Aw, c’mon!

  Get off it, Missus M!

  Rats!

  Bull crud!

  Yeah. No fair!

  I swear on the holy Bible—it’s true.

  Yeah. Another nigger practically said so himself!

  Did not!

  Did so!

  Shut up, you ninny!

  Yeah.

  Am not!

  You weren’t even there.

  What do you know?

  I heard it!

  Me, too!

  May as well have!

  Was so!

  Aw, what’s the difference?

  Mister Levitwerner, keep your hands to yourself! I’m warning you, I do believe I’ve heard just about enough out of you for one day. Good Lord, is it that difficult for you to be a gentleman six hours of the day?

  No, ma’am.

  Now, you may not like it, but continence is still a greater virtue than candor. Especially where slander is concerned.

  Yes, ma’am.

  Good. Now just who in the Lord’s name is this colored boy you were talking to?

  Goolsbee’s boy!

  Goolsbee’s boy? Good Lord! And you believed him?

  Who’s ever heard of a nigger lying about that?

  Besides, Huey ain’t allowed in Mister Abrams’s pool no more.

  Yeah!

  And my mama says that’s why.

  So does mine!

  Mine, too!

  We all know it!

  Stop pretending like you don’t know!

  We all know!

  Yeah!

  Just like you’re doing right now.

  Yeah, Missus M.

  Aw, she’s just putting us on! Playing dumb like all the rest.

  Stop pulling our leg, Missus M! We don’t like it!

  She knows!

  Of course she does!

  Just look at her!

  Just like you’re doing right now.

  Even that other nigger practically said so, too!

  I snatched my hand from Missus Mayapple.

  I already know all that!

  There was an eruption of laughter. Then everything went quiet. Derrick took off his glasses and started wiping them. Theo was wide-eyed. Everyone else seemed to be pointing at me.

  It’s all his fault!—Get him!!

  Stop right there!

  Dontcha get it?

  He’s why they closed Mister Abrams’s pool in the first place!

  No one ever broke into it!

  He done it!

  It was all him!

  In broad daylight!

  And with us all around!

  While we was there!

  Looking on!

  He broke in!

  Right under our nose!

  In front of our own eyes!

  My mama even said so herself!

  Goddamnit if he ain’t the culprit!

  It was him all along!

  Quiet! Mister Levitwerner, you come up front here, where I can see you.

  Bruce Levitwerner begged pardon and excused himself like a gentleman on his way to the front. He stopped at the foot of the steps and stood there with his mackinaw buttoned up to his neck, in his stiff dungarees, holding a grubby red ball cap in both hands, mouth hanging open.

  Much better. Now, Mister Levitwerner—is it true your mother said all that?

  Bruce Levitwerner narrowed his eyes. He pressed his lips tight and scrunched his face up like an old person. That pig-faced son of a bitch. He took one look at me, then turned back to Missus Mayapple and crossed his heart and hollered out.

  Yes!

  My heart felt like I was squeezing it in my fist. Missus Mayapple stood in silence. We all stood in silence. She waved Bruce Levitwerner and the others inside. I looked down as Derrick brushed quietly past. Theo, too. Darla was the last to shuffle past. She had a terrible limp. She was always clunking around with that metal hardware thing attached to her shoe buckled and strapped to her ankle and halfway up her calf. You could hear her coming up the road from half a mile away, like a tank. Darla clunked past and slammed the door shut behind her. Nigger!

  She spit the word out. I found it difficult to accept that she was talking to me. I
told myself that she was talking about Evan. I remember that being very important to me as I stood there, beside Missus Mayapple.

  Missus Mayapple sat down atop the stoop and gazed out over the open field, cut down and empty. It was shrouded in a gauzy haze of morning sunlight. I sat down beside her. The crud caked between the planks beneath me had little openings poked through here and there where the occasional ant maneuvered dexterously in and out. I jammed the edge of my thumbnail into one of those creases. Missus Mayapple’s hair was tucked and folded atop her head, and she was fidgeting with a fingernail as she sat there in silence, listening to the gently twisting wind chime above.

  For your information, ma’am, my daddy is white, so I’m white. You know that, right?

  XXV

  I KICKED THE WILTED BLUEBELLS scattered along Cordele Road on my way into town and wondered what it meant that all that time that I’d thought I’d known Toby, he had kept his wife and son all to himself. What kind of friend was I that I hadn’t known about them?

  The same five colored ladies were standing on the corner handing out leaflets in town. Why I hadn’t recognized Missus Bleecker among them, I do not know. She must have had her back turned to me.

  Afternoon, Missus Bleecker.

  Afternoon, darling.

  Missus Bleecker—today, I’m a Christian. But tomorrow, who knows?

  Missus Bleecker frowned. She belonged to some fringe religion called the Apocalyptic or Apostrophic or Apologetic Overcoming Holy Church of God or something. She always left our house smelling like jasmine whenever she stopped by with a case of ointments that Mom would spend half the morning leisurely picking through. So I figured she would understand. She looked up and down the street, as if to see if anyone was looking, then held out a flier.

  They teach you that at school?

  I shook my head no.

  Missus Bleecker fixed my hair, straightened my shirt, wiped off my cast, brushed the remaining cockleburs from my shoulder and said, Good. You stay in school, then. Colored ladies always seemed to like me. Colored men, not so much. Toby was the exception. I had no idea why that was. Anyway, the street was still in shambles. I folded the pamphlet and tucked it into my pocket and continued down the sidewalk.

  Two blocks down, I avoided the eyes of the colored man standing in front of Ivey’s, holding up a placard stenciled with the words I AM A MAN. No kidding. It’s not like he had titties or anything. I took out Missus Bleecker’s handbill and held it up to the side of my face and walked right past him—then did it again to the colored man walking back and forth beneath the mortar and pestle hanging from a thin, creaking sign over the front stoop of the Rexall. His placard said FREEDOM NOW. And then again to the group of people sitting on the curb in front of S&W, Indian-style, with their placards in their laps, drinking sodas and fanning themselves.