On a Summer season Evening in Selma, an Eerie Carnival Involves City
The rope fell heavy on his head and was tied around his neck, breaking his sign. Beau McConlin turned and pulled her behind him, out of the field and back into the street toward the whites who were shooting and shooting at night. They had picked up Sissy’s favorite lovers and pulled them back to their photos.
The wax cut off his knees and palms as he crawled after Beau, eyes on the road. He thought, “This time my children and my mother would be sitting in the living room while Mr. Macy or Duke Benny or Pastor Spinner stood on the other side of the door, wearing a hat in their hands. How many times did one of them stand in the doorway with their mouths full of evil they could say? There was not a single person in Dallas County who had never received this or submitted it. They would not have had a proper funeral. There will be no body for burial. Sissy frowned and cried. Her throat was so swollen she could not swallow. He shook with a rope. He wants to shoot him and deal with it. There were no cells in his cells, nothing Beau and his men did to the women he took with them there.
He closed his eyes and prepared to be beaten in the ribs, or to shoot. Nothing. The cable was low. He raised his eyes. In front of them are cars, a gold lamp blasting, a cloud of wood. A Negro man dressed in an old-fashioned and brigged way came out of the light. Hundreds frozen like a statue of Nathan Bedford Forrest always lying in a tomb. Now they were as motionless as he was. Their mouths were open in the O’s, here is a purple line running down the dark, flame and white cheek in the pits. Beau had fallen to the side with his eyes open like a dead cow. He is the only one who breathes with difficulty and fear.
His chest opened at night. What a comfort, his taste fell on him, like a hand on his cheek.
Sissy stood up. Every part of its pain. Down the road, his twelve men stood up from the edge of a log. No one spoke, though the crickets settled down. The adornment cloud over which the visitor descended penetrated the golden egg and shone on its side like the sun. It followed him as he walked from the car bed to the car bed, freeing people. Sissy raised her beautiful hand as if you knew her friend. For the rest of her life, she couldn’t describe how she was like her brother and lost father, and how her mother was waiting at home with her grandparents who had died before Sissy was born – all generations of the lost, back and forth. Everywhere he goes, his arm hurts a little. His chest opened at night. What a comfort, his taste fell on him, like a hand on his cheek. The others heard it, too, and removed the net as if it were a stumbling block.
Macy and Jordeen criticized Duke and others behind the scenes. He screamed for a stop, ready to shoot or be shot. The stranger got out of the last car of the car and waved to the white men on their knees, swaying between them like cotton bags. Duke Benny, who always has a word to say, especially when he shouldn’t, shouts, “Who are you?” But the stranger had already turned and was walking down the road to Sissy.
“Mother,” he said. “You’ve got to get the thing off,” pointing to the string.
He was a slow-moving and old-fashioned speaker, with deep, difficult voices like Uncle Jonah, who died as a child in Sissy, who is said to have been 110 years old and had lived a very successful life. The visitor took a black cabinet from his pocket and sat on the sidewalk a little in front of it. “This will make everyone feel good. You just need dill, ”he said. He passed so close that he must have seen his face, but he did not remember, even though he passed by immediately.