"This
meeting is hereby called to order," he said solemnly. He
waved his arms for attention, but was met with jeers and laughter.
Allen nodded and waited. The setting sun dyed his face a deep
bronze color. Here and there on neighboring roofs, Allen could
see knots of people standing and talking. A breeze came up from
the east and Allen's old-fashioned dashiki ruffled and flapped.
It was getting cooler.
"What time is
it? Allen asked. The people were startled. No one paid much attention
to the time anymore. To show concern for the time had fallen out
of fashion. There was simply never a need to worry about the time.
"About 7:30, brother,"
someone finally called. The people grew quiet and began to watch
Allen. He nodded his thanks and started to talk.
"I'm not going
to say, Nobody has a job,' because no one cares to work.
I'm not going to say, No one that's retrieved ever comes
back,' because we all know that, but we act like the only solution
is to stay in line and we won't get in trouble."
A commotion was boiling
up in the rear of the crowd. "What are you supposed to be
getting at?" a man called, and he was pushing his way to
the front of the crowd. Allen could see as the man came closer
that he was Franklyn. His mouth was twisted on a piece of hard
candy. Franklyn always had a piece of hobby candy in his mouth.
He made it. Allen folded his arms and waited. Franklyn's manner
was threatening, and Allen knew it would be best to let him talk.
"Let him pass!"
he called, and Franklyn elbowed his way to the front.
"What are you
getting at?" Franklyn demanded. He stood close to Allen's
face and Allen caught the vague odor of lemons on Franklyn's breath.
He could hear the candy rattling on his teeth as he spoke, and
he could not help smiling. Franklyn became furious. "Don't
laugh, brother," he screamed. "You're a troublemaker,
do you know that? You're not satisfied unless you're making waves."
The crowd murmured
appreciatively. Conflict. So soon. Variety. Drama. They ate it
up. Allen wet his lips. Frank was taking rope, warming to the
crowd. He pushed his finger at Allen's chest. "Someone should
set you up to get retrieved," he said menacingly. "Then
we'd have you out of our hair." Franklyn turned his back
on Allen and began to address the people.
"They retrieved
my only sister because of his mouth," he shouted. "If
we pay attention to this fool, we'll all be in trouble."
Frank's voice was rising. "This is the fool that got Irene
to interfere with the police." He sobbed suddenly, but forced
himself to go on. "They retrieved her . . ." His voice
broke and he could not continue. Frank waved his arm at Allen,
who stood quietly behind him. He hid his face in his hands and
stood helplessly immobile.
"I was with Irene,"
Allen said at last. "I believe in what we did."
Franklyn whirled. "But
they took her, and you got away." He shook with emotion,
and Allen put his hand on Frank's shoulder.
"You pretend you
don't care, we all pretend we don't care, but we do. You see,
we do." He raised his voice in the fading light and, hand
still on Frank's shoulder, addressed the rest of the crowd . "We
eat the meals the roach coach dispenses," he said. "And
we don't dare act strange for fear the hand outs won't come back.
If the vans came to retrieve, we'd go along quietly for fear there'd
be H. R.."
The mention of Heavier
Retribution sent a shuddering wave through the silent crowd. Heavier
retribution was a reference to the eduvision tapes they had been
shown after the riots in Bedford Stuy. No one could forget the
films of people doped and gassed, rounded up and herded into the
vans.
Mass reclamation. All
those people, never to return to their hobbies, their families,
their community. A white voice intoning off camera while the horrible
scene was enacted: "This is the fate of the greedy, the destructive,
the ignorant . . . "
H. R.. The thought
of it brought to mind those nightmare tapes, purposely designed
to be unforgettable, obviously intended to keep the ghetto in
line.
The black people on
the roof of Pigeon City that summer evening had gathered there
for entertainment Allen looked from one face to another. Everyone
was quiet and fearful. The breeze gently moved Allen's dashiki
about him like a flag. At last he said, "Tonight, we will
all fight."
There was no response.
Franklyn stood with his shoulders bent and the people avoided
Allen's eye. "Who will we fight, brother?" Curtiss called
from the back of the roof, and his question hung in the air unanswered.
Allen's head was bowed,
and he did not respon directly. "What time is it?"
he asked again, quietly. He seemed mildly disappointed about
something. Now, no one answered him, and there were some who stood
to go.
Haroooom!
A tremendous explosion suddenly lit up the night sky with a flash
that caught everyone by surprise. It was followed by two more
explosions and flashes, and the crowd stood out clearly with each
brief, stupendous gush of light.
Whistling fragments
of metal, pieces of building and shards of glass shot through
the air. The people's mouths hung open, and Allen looked around
craftily from under his brow.
There was fire, bright
and hot. The abandoned buildings on the other side of the street
had somehow burst into flame and where their shells had stood,
there was now a wall of undulating red and yellow flame. The people
got to their feet. They could see everyone turning in this direction
for blocks. This was history. The biggest explosion and fire in
the city anyone could remember.
Click
HERE for Part V
|