Tulsa Burning (9 page)

We didn't get far into Tulsa when we saw the roadblock ahead. "Get down in the floorboard," I told Lester, "and put that blanket
over you. They won't let me through with you in the car."

I was plum amazed to see Lester dropping down. I never had any real notion that he would do a thing I asked him to. I slowed
down the truck when I saw a soldier holding up his hand. "Stop," he shouted, and I did. He walked over to my window. "No access
to this area." He pointed back toward the way I had come. "You've got to turn around."

My mind was spinning. I should have thought of something to say on the ride, but somehow I had just got all caught up in Lester
and not really done any planning. Mama, I thought. Pert near everybody had a mama somewhere, and pert near everybody loved
their mama. "It's my mama," I said. "She went down to visit a colored woman." I took a breath and thought I'd better explain
why my saintly mama went down to colored town at night. "See, this here woman is sick, and she's got a passel of kids"—I looked
down at the black bundle in the floor—"and she's got a no-good husband," I added. "Anyway, Mama went before the trouble started,
and we ain't seen hide nor hair of her since. My little sister, she's crying up a storm."

"Well," said the soldier. "I don't like letting a kid like you through. I doubt your judgment's as good as a grown man's.
Say, don't you have a daddy?"

"Why, yes," I said. "But my pa's in the National Guard, so of course, he got called up just like you did. He don't know Mama
hasn't made it home, or he'd be worried sick. Maybe you know him—Melvin Chase," I said. "He's a big fellow with a black beard."

"Can't say I do." The soldier scratched his chin. "Do you know where this colored woman lives, just exactly?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "Don't know as I could come up with an address exactly, but I can drive there quick as a wink."

"You get your mama, and you skedaddle out of that mess." He waved me on.

"Much obliged," I yelled as I drove off. Lester popped up right off. "I think you ought to stay down," I said, but Lester
was done taking my advice.

We made it through a couple of blocks without any trouble, but then we saw a line of men stretched across the street in front
of us.

"Don't slow down," Lester said. "They'll move all right as soon as they see you're serious."

I stepped on the gas, but the line up front didn't move. "They ain't budging," I yelled, and at the last minute I slammed
on the brakes.

"Now you've done it. I thought you were white, but now I know you're yellow," Lester said, but he didn't have time to say
anything else. A man jumped on the running board. Before either of us could say a word, an arm had reached in to grab Lester.

"Out of there, nigger!" the man yelled. "You got no call to be riding around with no white man." He yanked at Lester's arm.
"Come on over here, boys. I found us a darky to hang, sure enough."

I was shocked because Lester didn't fight back. "Don't hurt me, boss," he said, and I almost passed out with surprise, but
then suddenly I knew why he was acting so meek. The other men broke their roadblock formation and headed toward the truck.
Just at that second, I gunned the gas pedal.

"Help," yelled the man on the running board. At first he was able to hold on, but I got up my speed and turned a corner fast.
The man fell backward, taking the sleeve of Lester's blue chambray shirt with him.

"Damn cracker tore my shirt," Lester said.

"Reckon he'd done a sight worse than tear your shirt if I hadn't thought to speed up," I said, but if I expected any thanks
from Lester, I sure didn't get any.

"I wasn't worried," he said. "I figured even a fool like you would see what to do if I bought you some time."

The preacher had last seen Isaac down in front of the courthouse, where all the trouble started. He was able to give me directions:
After you get into town, just keep going east till you see a big building.

Lester didn't make no comments, and he sure wasn't any help in finding downtown. Finally I found the right place and pulled
the truck over to park. Right off, I saw a man with a gun, keeping guard. "Get down," I told Lester, and he did. I jumped
out of the truck. "I'm looking for my pa," I said to the man. "They told me he got hurt down here." I walked over to where
he was standing, but all the time my eyes were darting around looking for Isaac.

"Ain't no injured whites left down here," he said. "Likely he's been took to the hospital already."

Just then I saw him. Isaac was laying between two other men. One of the men rolled over, and I got a view of Isaac in his
new blue shirt. His eyes were closed, and he did not move. "Isaac," I yelled, and I ran to him.

The guard was right behind me. "You know this fellow?"

he asked.

"Yes," I said. "He was my neighbor out in Wekiwa!" I dropped beside Isaac and put my hand on his heart. I could feel him breathing,
but the movement of his chest didn't seem very strong to me. "Isaac," I said. "Open your eyes. It's me, Nobe. Please, Isaac."
I started to cry.

The guard took my arm and jerked on it hard until I stood up. "Look, here, kid," he said. "You ain't supposed to be down here
a'tall. What are you doing crying over some darky?"

"I want to take him to a doctor," I said. "You got to let me take him to a doctor."

I knew right off that I had used the wrong word. He gave me a shove. "I don't got to do anything except die some day. Now,
sonny, if it is that you ain't exactly ready to die, I suggest you hightail it out of here."

"But he's hurt," I pleaded. "So are these other men."

"A truck will come and take them to be seen about," said the man.

"When?" I asked. "It's been hours since he was hurt."

My answer was a rifle in my ribs. "I said go. Now you best go."

Just then I heard Lester's yell. "Eenie meenie miney moe, catch a stupid whitey by the toe." It took me a second to spot him
over by an alley.

"Halt and surrender," yelled the guard.

"Make me, fatso. You couldn't move your white rear fast enough to catch a turtle." He took off down the alley, and the guard
headed after him. I knew I had to get Isaac in the truck, and I knew it had to be fast. I was running for the blanket when
I heard two shots from the direction of the alley.

Lester? I wanted to yell out, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. I knew I had to move fast. If Lester caught them shots,
he did it to save Isaac. I couldn't be the one to mess up. I grabbed the blanket and ran back to spread it at Isaac's head.

"Can you get me a drink, boy?" It was the man beside Isaac. He had opened his eyes, and they pleaded with me.

"I can't," I told him, and I pulled hard on Isaac. "I've got to hurry before the guard comes back." I had Isaac on the blanket
then. I rolled him up in it and started to pull with all my might. "Isaac," I said, "I'm sorry about the bumps." There was
no sound from him. When I was a few feet away, I thought about the man who was thirsty. "I'm sorry about the water," I called.
He didn't answer either.

What happened next was the biggest surprise of the night. I was at the back of the truck, trying to lift Isaac up, when a
dark shadow popped up from behind the truck. I almost screamed. "Lester," I said when I could talk, "how in the world did
you get here?"

He laughed. "Climbed a building and ran across a few roofs. It doesn't take much to outwit some stupid cracker, thinks he's
smart because he has a gun." When we got Isaac settled in the back, Lester climbed up beside him. "I'll ride back here with
him," he said. "You get up front, get this thing moving, and don't you slow down till we get to Wekiwa."

"Don't you reckon we ought to take him to a doctor here somewhere?"

"No, not in this town, not tonight. Too dangerous."

I started to get in the truck, but instead I grabbed the jug of water and ran toward the thirsty man.

"What the devil are you doing?" Lester shouted, but I didn't take time to answer.

I dropped down, pulled the man's head up, and held the jug up to his lips. He got a big long drink. "I've got to run," I told
him, and I did, with the jug in my hands.

"Give me that jug, you little fool," Lester said when I was back at the truck. Then I jumped inside and started it up.

Just before I started it up, I heard Lester shout, "If anyone stops us, I'll be stretched out beside Isaac. You just claim
you've got two dead niggers."

I started wondering if maybe Lester was telling how it would be. Maybe they would both be dead and me too before the light
of day would come to Tulsa, Oklahoma. I saw some awful things that night. It was strange knowing folks was dying right around
me. There was fires everywhere, and it was like you could smell death in the smoke. It all seemed like some awful dream.

At one corner, I slowed down and saw a black man on his knees with three white guys standing over him with guns. The night
air carried his words to me, and I wished I had never heard them. "Don't kill me," he pleaded. "I wasn't anyplace around that
courthouse. Please, I got a wife and five children depending on me."

I wanted to cry out, but I didn't. I just gave that truck the gas and went on by. My tires had barely rolled over when I heard
three shots. All three of them white guys had shot at once. I wanted to stop and vomit, but I didn't, just fought the sickness
down. I thought about Preacher Jackson. No wonder he was so shook up. He's shell-shocked, I thought, just like poor Oily.

We was almost out of town when I saw a wooden road block up in front of me, and I had to slow down. I glanced back to see
Lester lay down on his back beside Isaac. I had to smile just a little when I saw Lester cross his hands over his heart. I'll
bet you ain't never looked that peaceful in your whole life before, Mr. Lester Cotton, I thought.

I didn't have time to enjoy the thought long. A soldier stuck a lantern in my face, and another one flashed one across the
back of the truck, and yelled, "Two coloreds back here. Look dead."

"What you doing with dead coloreds in the back of your truck, son?" said the soldier.

I swallowed hard, trying to think what to say. "They ain't mine," I said, sort of stuttering. "A-aa soldier f-fellow, he stopped
me and told me to take them to the edge of town. Said there'd be fellows there to get rid of them. I didn't k-kill n-nobody."
I acted like I was about to cry.

The soldier reached in and sort of slapped my back. "Well, now, I never thought you did nothing wrong, but son, you got to
toughen up. This here life ain't always pretty." He stepped down from my running board, and waved me on. "You're doing right,"
he yelled.

"I sure am," I said to myself. "I most surely am doing the Tightest thing I ever done in my life."

When we was finally out of town, I pulled over, stuck my head out, and yelled. "How is he?"

"Still breathing," yelled Lester, "but just barely. The doctor at Wekiwa? Will he treat Isaac?"

For just a second I didn't know what Lester meant, but then I realized he wanted to know if Doc Sage would treat colored folks.
"Sure he will," I yelled. "He's a good man."

"Then step on that pedal," he yelled, "and don't stop again until you're at the doc's place." I did. I made that old truck
of the preacher's go as fast as it could go. We bounced down the road at an amazing speed. I worried about giving Isaac such
a rough ride, but I figured rough was better than dead.

Chapter 7

MOST OF WEKIWA was dark when we drove in, but at the sheriff's house, a light was shining up in Ma's room. I knew Ma was walking
that floor, wondering where I was and worrying about me. I felt bad about that, but it couldn't be helped. If I had told her
where I was going, she'd have tried to stop me. I drove on by the house and turned down the next street to get to Doc Sage's
place.

The doctor always had a light on in his front room because he expected visitors in the middle of the night. "Let me see if
he's here," I told Lester when I jumped out. "He could be birthing a baby or something."

He was home, and he helped us get Isaac inside. We put him on the doctor's big examining table, and Doc turned on a big electric
light above the table. We helped him take off Isaac's clothes, so he could look at every part of his body. The room was quiet.
Lester walked off to stand by the window, like he wasn't really part of what went on. I stayed near the table, watching everything
the doctor did.

Finally, Doc looked up at me. "No other marks," he said. "It's the bump on the head that's causing the trauma. How long has
he been like this?"

Lester had turned back toward us, and Doc looked at Lester when he asked the question. Lester just shrugged his shoulders.
I spoke up. "The preacher saw him get hit with a gun hours and hours ago."

"Here in Wekiwa?"

"Over in Tulsa. They've got bad trouble there between the whites and the coloreds. Isaac was just trying to stop it." I said.

"Isn't this Mrs. Mitchell's son?" Doc asked.

I looked at Lester, thinking he might say he was the father, but he just kept quiet. "Yes," I said.

"Take him to his mother," the doctor said. "I have a bed here in the house I could keep him in, but he'd be better off with
her. Tell her she can squeeze a drop of water from a cloth into his mouth once in a while, but not to give him food or drink."

"Thanks, Doc," I said.

Lester surprised me by taking out his billfold. "How much?" he asked. It was the first time he had spoken.

"I won't charge Mrs. Mitchell's son," he said. "The woman is a saint on earth, teaches children all day after sitting up with
the sick half the night. She's going to take this real hard, sets a lot of store in that boy, she does." I looked over at
Lester and wondered how much store he set in Isaac.

The doctor helped us get Isaac back in the truck, and I fired it up before I thought about Ma. I got out and went to the back
to explain to Lester that I had to stop at the sheriff's house. I took off my boots at the door, and I was real quiet going
up the stairs on account of the sheriff and his wife and not wanting to deal with his attitude toward what I was doing. Ma
was in her room.

"Praise God," Ma said when she saw me, and she come over to me and touched my face. I couldn't remember the last time Ma had
touched me with warm feeling inside her, and I figured she must have been real worried about me.

"I had to go over to Tulsa," I said.

"Thanks to Daisy I happened to discover that." She was over her worrying now, and real riled. "When you didn't come home,
I went over to see Daisy, and she told me you left with the cook." She pressed her lips together like she always did when
she was about to bust with being mad. "Poor Daisy. She had so many dirty dishes stacked up, and her without no cook, either.
I stayed and helped out some. A person would think you might consider your job even if you don't mind leaving your own mother
worrying till she's half out of her mind."

"Ma," I said, "they had bad trouble over in Tulsa."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Wasn't your trouble to mix in. Sheriff Leonard told me that the coloreds were going
wild."

"Seems to me it was the whites that went wild. Isaac Mitchell got hit in the head, and all he done was try to get people to
calm down."

"Isaac Mitchell and his mother ain't yours to tend to."

"Ma," I said, real tired and low. "He might die."

She softened a little. "Now, I am right sorry to hear that. I wouldn't wish that kind of heartbreak on no mother."

"I got to go now, and take Isaac home."

I was almost to the door when Ma reached out her hand to grab my arm. "Be real quiet coming and going. I don't want Dudley
to know you was mixing in with the coloreds. He don't see things like you do, and we got to live here."

I looked at her for a minute before I answered. I thought about the fire and the awful smoke. I remembered the man on his
knees begging for his life. I knew I wasn't never going to be the same after what I had just seen.

"Yes, Ma," I said, " I'll be quiet. I know how the sheriff sees things, and I know we got to live here." I started out the
door, and then I turned back. "But I'll tell you one thing more. I'm glad you've decided to help Mrs. Leonard, but still,
I ain't living here long. I done promised myself that." I closed the door behind me and tiptoed down the stairs.

On the second floor, I could hear Sheriff Leonard snoring. I stopped and listened for just a minute, hating him. It was different
than yesterday. I thought about how I couldn't turn loose of the hating even if I had wanted to, but it sort of scared me
too, thinking how hating was what caused all that burning over in Tulsa. It started to turn around in my head that hate was
a killer, even when the person doing the hating was on the right side.

Mrs. Mitchell's house was dark. She was in there, sleeping peaceful and not knowing what awful thing had happened. I was glad
Lester was with me. He could go knock on the door and tell her, but that's not how he had made it up in his mind to happen.

I got out and went back to them. Lester was getting out too, but he turned to me. "Go wake her up," he said.

"Me?"

"She'd rather hear it from you than from me. Besides, I don't know as she knows I am in these parts. The shock of seeing me
would just confuse the news about Isaac. You tell her I'm out here before she sees me." I didn't move, and he gave me a little
shove. "I said go."

If he'd done that any other time, I'd have laid into him. "You ain't any better than Sheriff Leonard or them white people
that hurt Isaac," I said, "you're all just alike." With a sad heart, I went up to pound on the back door. I saw a lantern
light come on in the house.

"I'm coming," she called.

I knew she'd figure it was some colored person with a sick one at home, asking for her help. I stepped up close to an open
window and said real loud, "It's me, Nobe. I got to talk to you."

I should of told her then, I said to myself, got it over with before she come to the door, before I had to look in her face.

"Let me throw on a dress," she said, and she didn't even sound rattled. She was used to trouble in the night, but the trouble
usually belonged to some other poor soul. This trouble would be staying right here in Mrs. Mitchell's own little house, right
along with all the flower beds and window boxes.

When she opened the door, I didn't try to break it easy, just blurted out, "It's Isaac. He got hurt over in Tulsa."

She didn't scream, just sucked in her breath real hard. "How? How's he hurt?" She leaned out around me, trying to see what
I come in.

"He got hit in the head, real hard. He ain't awake. The doc says it's a concussion of the brain."

"He's unconscious? Oh, no! Where is he?"

"He's out in the truck. Doc said he might as well be here with you." She started to step around me, going to the truck.

"Wait a second, ma'am. I got something else to tell you. Isaac's pa, he's out there too. He wanted me to tell you."

She made that surprised sound with her breath again, but she went right on out to the back of the truck.

"Martha," Lester said when we got to the back.

"Don't talk to me, Lester Cotton," she said. "You don't come around your son for years and years, and when you do, you get
him hurt."

I thought Lester would explode into how he didn't get Isaac hurt, but he didn't. He didn't say nothing to defend his-self,
just said, "Let's get him into the house." He did something then that surprised me. He lifted Isaac up in his own arms.

I didn't see how he could do that, being pretty scrawny and all. "Let me help you," I said, but he shook his head.

"I can carry my boy," he said.

Mrs. Mitchell ran ahead and pulled back the cover on the bed in Isaac's little room. I had been in that room before, but it
looked different now, sort of lonely. It had nice flowered wallpaper. There was a desk with some books on it, and on the wall
was a picture of an important-looking colored man in a suit. I never had asked who he was.

After Lester laid Isaac down, he turned and walked out of the house. Didn't say a word to Mrs. Mitchell or to me. I stayed
while Mrs. Mitchell washed Isaac's face, and I told her what the doctor had said about the drops of water. Then I told her
that if there wasn't anything I could do to help, I'd be going on my way.

On the way out, I thought about explaining that Lester didn't get Isaac into trouble. I stopped at the door and opened my
mouth, but I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say. Instead I said, "Who's that in the picture?"

"Booker T. Washington," she said, but she didn't look up, just kept wiping at Isaac's face. "He was an educator and a leader
of our people." Her voice got real sad, and she said, "Isaac always looked up to him."

Truth be told, I wasn't much interested right then in Mr. Booker T Washington, but I was stalling for time. "Is he dead now?"
I asked.

"Yes, Booker T Washington is dead," she said, and she sort of moaned.

"There's something else, Mrs. Mitchell, ma'am, something else I got to say to you."

She looked up at me then. "Say it, Noble."

I took a deep breath and started. "Well, Lester, he didn't get Isaac into any trouble. There was terrible trouble between
colored people and white people in Tulsa. Preacher Jackson saw it all start. He saw Isaac get hurt, but he didn't see him
after. The preacher come into Daisy's and told us about it. I borrowed his truck, and Lester went along to help. He sure was
a help, got a guard to chase him so I could take Isaac to the truck. He took lots of chances, him being colored and all. He
could have got killed. There was a lot of colored folks killed and the whole colored section burned."

She nodded her head. "I was wrong," she said, "and I will apologize to Mr. Cotton. However, you shouldn't trouble yourself
over his being unjustly accused. Mr. Lester Cotton is far from an innocent man in the great scheme of things."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and I went on out. When the lights from the truck hit the side of the house, I saw Lester. He had taken
a chair from Mrs. Mitchell's front porch. He was setting in it, leaned back against the wall, right under Isaac's window.
I figured he'd set there until daylight, and I wondered if he'd sing.

On the trip back to the sheriff's, I kept thinking about how Isaac and me met up the first time. It was before I started selling
milk to Mrs. Mitchell. I was pretty little, maybe eight or nine, and Pa had just given me a licking with his belt. I had places
on my back that were still bleeding and stinging something awful.

I went down to the creek, took off my overalls, and got in the water, even though it was just spring, and the water was still
cold. I had climbed out and put back on my overalls. I was setting on a rock in the sun, trying to make my teeth quit chattering,
when Isaac showed up.

He had walked up behind me without me knowing it until he said, "Hello." I whirled around to look at him, standing there with
a fishing pole in his hand and a big smile on his face.

I must have kind of jumped when he spoke to me, because he said, "Don't be afraid. I won't eat you or anything."

"I ain't scared," I said, sort of tough like. "I ain't scared of nothing."

"Wow," said Isaac, "is that right? You're a lot braver than I am. I'm scared of lots of things." He laid his pole on the grass
and set right down on the big rock beside me.

Isaac had just finished high school, and he was fixing to go to college somewhere off in another state, but he told me that
his mother had just moved in down the road to be the new teacher at the colored school, and that he was spending some time
with her.

Isaac made me laugh with a funny story about a bear named Fuzzy Wass He, and then he asked me what happened to my back.

At first I didn't want to tell him, but he had such a kind face. "My pa used a belt to give me a licking," I said.

A sort of angry look came to Isaac's face, and he said, "He shouldn't be allowed to do that."

I shrugged. "I reckon pas can do whatever they've a mind to with their own young'uns."

"I'm afraid you're right," he said, "but it shouldn't be that way. What does your mother say when he beats you?"

"Ma don't say much to hinder what Pa sets his mind to," I said.

Isaac just shook his head. "Say," he said, "is this a good fishing place?"

"Never tried it," I said. "Don't know how to fish."