by Miller, Tony
“Thank you, Jimbo, but this is America and a fair trial and all that.”
“That little girl didn’t get a fair trial.”
“You’re right, Jimbo, it is a waste of money and time, but it would take a better man than I to, uh, how do I say it, speed up justice.”
“I know some likely volunteers.” Jimbo laughed.
“Well, good luck with that, Jimbo.” He winked at him.
They arrived at the door to the foyer that faced the cells. “Okay, Paul, just stay against this far wall. It’s ten feet from the cells, so they can’t reach you, but it’s close enough to talk.”
“Got it,” said Paul.
The deputy opened the door, and Paul stepped into the foyer and leaned against the back wall. The deputy relocked the door and returned to his desk.
Sam and Colton bolted from their bunks at realizing who had just entered. Colton’s hair fell into his face as he shook the bars of his cell. His eyes blazed as he set his jaw and hissed, “I will get you, Paul, if I have to come back from hell to do it!”
“I plan to send you there, Colton,” Paul responded in a calm and bored way.
“You’ll not get away with this, Paul. Rational minds will prevail at the trial,” Sam added.
Paul smirked. “I somehow don’t believe you’ll make it to trial. You have made some good folks pretty angry. They may take justice into their own hands.”
“You can only hope for that, Hawthorne, but eventually Tillie will be believed, and it’ll be you those angry people will seek,” Sam responded with the same calm and certainty as Paul.
“Who would believe a white saddle tramp and his nigger, and little nigger whore against the good word of a prominent citizen like me?”
“I’LL CUT YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT, YOU FUCKING CHILD RAPIST!” Colton screamed from his cell. Paul looked bored and responded to Colton’s outburst with a lackadaisical tone.
“You’re a lowlife, Colton. You’ve far out-stepped your place. You’re a servant, nothing more. Here to serve the upper class, like me. We permit you to enjoy our presence only because you can serve us. An example of just how low you are is the disgusting language you just used. I would never use such language! You’re of inferior breeding, Colton. You should know that from the horses. A plow horse can never become a race horse.”
Colton’s eyes blazed. “A race horse would never fuck a colt,” he said with gritted teeth. “I hope you will forgive my fucking language, fucking pervert!”
Paul turned to Sam, ignoring Colton. “Well, Sam, I thought you might like to hear the treatment Ludwig and I have in store for Tillie.”
Sam gripped the bars and stared fiercely at Paul.
“My, my, Sam, I believe you do not like me.”
Sam’s eyes bored into Paul’s. Paul looked away uncomfortably. He then looked upward as though in reverie.
“Yes, I can see it now, in a few days they’ll bring Tillie for her next treatment, and Ludwig and I will take turns treating her. Were I as crude as Colton I would lower myself to use the lowlife ‘f’ word. However, I am educated and a professional and will not sink to Colton’s level.”
Paul suddenly laughed, then continued. “I will give her your best during treatment, Sam.” Sam’s fingers were beginning to swell from his intense grip on the bars, and his eyes didn’t blink as they continued to bore into Paul.
Paul calmly looked at Sam. “How do you feel, Sam, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it? The funny thing is I will get paid for it.”
“As a matter of fact, my friend, we’ve set up a foundation named after you and your lowlife friends. It is called SCAT. That stands for Sam, Colton and Tillie. Isn’t that an ultimate great idea? I get to, okay; I will lower myself to your standards. I get to fuck Tillie.” He looked toward Colton. “And I get to fuck Anne, too, Colton.”
He paused for effect until Colton kicked the bars.
“The beautiful part is I will become rich while doing it, while you lowlifes rot in the grave. That’s why servants should never try to match wits with their master. You will lose, because you are losers!”
“Game’s not over yet!” Sam replied with a steely voice.
Paul banged on the door and, after a moment, the deputy unlocked it, letting Paul out into the office.
“How did it go, Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Sadly, not well. They show no remorse and told me they’ve concocted a foolproof story to get them off. I’m afraid they just may be successful.”
“To hell they’re getting off. No way. These foreign devils will die for what they did to that little girl,” the deputy said angrily as a vein in his forehead rose into a pulsing snake.
“Hope you’re right, Jimbo, but my dad’s a judge, and he well knows how juries can be manipulated.” Paul sighed and continued. “It’ll be troublesome using any of the money we’re raising for SCAT to pay for their lawyer. It should all go to help Tillie, but I gave my word.” Paul sighed heavily. “Well Jimbo, thanks for your help, and perhaps you’re much wiser than I.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Paul. You’re a good man, and I’m sure I can promise you they won’t get off. I’ll personally see to that.” Jimbo paused with his eyes still on Paul. “And Paul,” he said with an intense resolve.
Paul didn’t move. “What is it, Jimbo?”
“I’m a man of my word, too!” Paul smiled and shook Jimbo’s hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Colton sat heavily down on his bunk. He put his face into his hands and his elbows on his knees. His hair hung down, obscuring his hands. He let out a small sob. He sat there for several moments, finally raised his head, and looked toward Sam with a hollow, apathetic mask upon his face. “He’s right, Sam. There is nothing we can do to help Tillie, Bessie or even ourselves.” His voice was devoid of emotion.
Sam stood in his cell and walked to the bars facing Colton’s cell. “It is not over Colton. Even though it seems hopeless, that is only an illusion. We must look for opportunity. It will come.”
“I wish I could believe in a hope like that.”
“I have had a bit more practice as a black man. Sometimes it is only hope that a black man clings to, that keeps him facing each day. The hope to one day rise above the oppressor and the key to that rise is opportunity.”
Colton’s apathy began to fade as he pondered Sam’s words.
Sam knew his story would inspire Colton, so he continued. “My descendants, the Zulus, are historically considered, the most formidable force Africa has ever produced. Not because of physical stature or skill with weapons, but because of ancestral wisdom passed down through history. The basis of that wisdom is to set a course and then look outward, and the thing to look for is opportunity. The wisdom is, that all opportunity is outward.”
Colton let out a sigh. “It’s hard to look outward when you’re in a cell.”
“That’s true, but Zulus train like a boxer to be constantly alert for any opportunity to defeat an enemy or to acquire food or any other of life’s necessities. Envision the end result, then put all efforts in looking outward for opportunity, and none on one’s self. Just get the end result or die.”
Sam stood and leaned against the bars. He relished the coolness of the steel in the sweltering cell. He had to give Colton hope. He drew in a breath and continued.
“They became acutely aware of their environment and were fearless. Their history had shown them conclusively that the answers are outward, in the environment and never inside one’s head. They knew it was opportunity and the courage to take it that insured success.
“According to ancient history, this wisdom was acquired by the Zulu’s original leader, Zulu’s grandson, Shaka. He built a kraal, or village, called Bulawayo, which means the persecuted one. This referred to his father, Senzangakhona. It was Zulu’s expulsion from Zululand. His father was a peaceful and spiritual leader, and much loved by his people. Shaka’s determination to avenge this outrage resulted in development of superior weapons an
d more important, an idea.
“This idea was to set a goal and accept nothing but the goal envisioned. He described to all under his charge the Zululand he planned to create. He got them to envision it, too. He then swore a blood oath to achieve that or die. He got all his charges to swear to such an oath as well.”
Colton piped up. “I’d like to swear an oath, all right. Right in Paul’s face as he dies at my hands.”
Sam smiled at his friend and continued as though uninterrupted.
“He conquered all his enemies, including the British, and did create his Zululand. His warriors were fearsome. He, however, became a tyrant. His wholesale slaughter of his enemies soon spilled over into his killing anyone who displeased him. It got so bad that at his mother, Nandi’s, funeral he ordered some people put to death just as a show of respect. The devotion to Shaka was such that seven thousand mourners set upon each other to prove their devotion. A year later Shaka’s half-brothers assassinated him to stop the bloodshed.”
“So, what’s the point of that story, Sam?”
“The point is, Colton, we must decide the end result we desire, and set our resolve to achieve it by constantly looking for the opportunity. Then have the courage to take it at all costs. But we must never lose sight of the underlying positive reasons for why we wish to succeed in the first place.”
Colton had seemed almost angry for a moment as he listened to Sam. That anger subsided into boredom at the ideas Sam was impacting. Now he was becoming interested.
“What possible, positive reason could there be before all of this? I didn’t want it.”
“What did you want, Colton?”
“I just wanted Anne. I just wanted to love her!” His head lowered and tears fell to the floor.
“Then that should be the positive goal for you in all we do. This it the true purpose and is the foundation of all other efforts.
“In my Zulu history, it is Zulu, the founder, who set the goal of creating a civilization where each individual was free to create their own positive goals. He had the idea that freedom was heaven. That is what Zulu means, heaven.
“The original Zulu was oppressed for his positive desire for freedom of the individual. Slave masters considered such an idea of course a threat to their aspirations. It was from that oppression that Shaka was born, a warrior, the grandson of Zulu, a king of peace.”
Sam walked over to his bunk and sat down. He paused to let Colton consider the irony of a king of peace creating a future of fearsome warriors.
After a moment he continued.
“In my later education in England, I learned of the duality of the physical universe. The positive must have a negative. The yin and yang of existence, I pondered until I realized that oppressing the positive resulted in the strengthening of its opposite, the negative. It also works the other way. To oppress the negative, strengthens the positive.
“From my studies of many religions and science I realized the first idea, whatever it was, is considered to be the truth. That first idea had to be to create something, because the opposite is destruction, and no one can destroy anything that hasn’t been created. The positive will eventually win.”
Colton was riveted to Sam’s words. Sam paused a moment and continued.
“It’s why my ancestors are known as Zulus, not Shakas. It was Zulu’s creative and positive goal of freedom that had to exist before Shaka could fight for it. His mistake was to forget Zulu’s goal of individual freedom. That was the goal on which his goal depended. Shaka became an oppressor, for to forget the original goal is to become the thing one opposes.”
“You’re an amazing person, Sam. I’m glad I know you.” Colton let out a long breath of air.
“My positive goal, Sam, is simply to freely love Anne.”
“That is a good and understandable goal, Colton. It is a Zulu goal, freedom, and who or what prevents you from creating that goal?”
“Paul.”
“Then you must call him master, Colton, for you are saying Paul controls you.”
Colton looked puzzled and frowned. “I don’t understand, Sam. What is it, if it isn’t Paul?”
“What about Paul prevents you from freely loving Anne?”
“His lies.”
“Good, what else?”
“My own cowardliness, I guess.”
“What is at the basis of your fear?
“My social status I guess.” Colton sighed.
“Are you inferior to Paul, Colton?”
“No!”
“Then what holds you from freely loving Anne?”
Colton’s brow furrowed and he put his head in his hands. Sam patiently sat silently and waited. He continued to wait.
Finally, Colton abruptly stood and with a fierce determination and eyes flashing, he faced Sam. “Lies, lies, my own, Paul’s, and any others that say I can’t freely love Anne. I can love her, I do love her, and I can do all I can to earn her love.”
“Remember that goal, Colton. That’s where your strength is. Only lies are the enemy.”
“How about you, Sam? What is your goal in all this?” Sam smiled.
“My goal is to fulfill Zulu’s quest. It’s why I came to America. Freedom for the individual is the idea or goal I seek, freedom from lies and ignorance. To be Zulu is to be free, and my enemies are the oppressors of freedom. Paul is an enemy to Zulu, and he is an enemy of your love for Anne.”
“So what do we do, Sam?”
“We do what Shaka Zulu did. We become warriors and kick some ass. We will just be a bit smarter and not lose sight of the purpose of our war.”
Colton stepped closer to the bars that separated him from Sam.
“Sam, let’s agree never to look inward, only outward, and find that opportunity that will set us free!”
“Zulu style,” replied Sam.
<><><>
There was a click, and the door from the office to the cells opened. The deputy stepped through, followed by three burly guys with shotguns. The deputy gestured toward the wall opposite the cells. His burly buddies lined up and leaned against the back wall. The deputy then stepped back into his office and retrieved his own shotgun.
They all lined up across from the cells and faced Sam and Colton. With his eyes still on the gun-toting visitors, Colton said to Sam out of the side of his mouth, “I hate to be a pessimist, Sam, but I fail to see an opportunity shaping up here.”
“I’m starting to doubt the validity of Zulu wisdom myself,” Sam replied.
The deputy stepped forward and cocked his shotgun while glaring at Sam. “So, you boys making up a good story to fool the jury with?”
“Nope,” Sam replied without flinching.
“Well, I aim to see justice is done for that little girl’s sake. I think there’s nothing lower than a snake that would have his way with a kid. It ain’t right!”
“I agree,” Sam replied once more, while holding his gaze steady.
“Don’t try to con me, nigger, no one fools Jimbo!” He said this last part slowly and with emphasis.
“Evidently, Paul Hawthorne did!”
The boom of the shotgun discharge was deafening in the closed space. Sam reeled back as chunks of shirt and flesh splattered on the back of the cell. His body spun and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Colton was in a momentary daze as he realized his friend had just been shot to death. He grabbed the bars between his and Sam’s cell. A desperate cry choked out of him. He looked at his friend lying face-down on the floor and a growing pool of blood creeping over toward him. His mind started to play all the stored images he had of Sam and his patience and wisdom, his humor, all the way back to that day when he’d hired Colton as a wrangler.
The scene he was in now was unreal. This couldn’t be happening. He willed himself to wake up. He was caught in a nightmare.
“Well, nigger lover, aren’t you sorry you hooked up with this piece of shit, now?”
The deputy’s voice pulled Colton out of his horror to the focu
sed moment. The deputy stepped down to the front of Colton’s cell and gestured for his buddies to line up with him.
“Okay, boys, we all pull the trigger on this one, and then we know no one will talk.” Jimbo glanced down the line to make sure he got agreement.
Colton saw the opportunity and lunged forward, shoving his leg through the bars with all his might. His aim was perfect, and he felt Jimbo’s knee snap and bend backwards. He heard the scream of pain, and then the three shotguns discharged with a deafening blast. Colton felt his body flying backwards, and the last thought he had was, Zulu style. His last bodily gesture was a small smile as he followed Sam.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Charlie opened his eyes. He was disoriented at first. Is this heaven, he thought? He focused his eyes, and the cobwebs seemed to clear. He was looking at the window of Anne’s bedroom, and he dropped his gaze and sat suddenly upright. There was Stanley snoring lightly in the chair where he sat the night before.
It was light outside. He checked his watch; it was 7:30 A.M. He jumped to his feet.
“Wake up, Stanley.” He tapped Stanley’s leg with his toe.
“Wake up; we’ve got to get out of here!”
Stanley opened his eyes and looked around, blinking.
“Huh?”
“We’ve got to get going, Anne evidently didn’t show up.” He busied himself with picking up his camera and putting his shoes back on. They quickly headed down the stairs and Charlie mumbled as he gently eased open the door.
“The dream I had was unbelievable. You can’t imagine how disappointed I was when I woke up and realized it was just a dream.”
They headed across the yard to the van and soon were headed down Tulare Street to the freeway. Charlie looked at Stanley. “You’re awfully quiet. Sleep well?”
“I was just thinking about your dream. I’m glad it wasn’t true, the one where I get shot to death.” Stanley said.
The van swerved a bit and Charlie instinctively tapped the brake peddle, then resumed his pace down the freeway.
