Tulsa Burning Read online

  At the preacher's house, I didn't even turn off the truck, just helped the preacher to the door, hurrying him as much as I could. Then I ran back to the truck and jumped in. I was afraid Lester would be leaving the Café, and I didn't have no idea in the world where the man slept at night.

  I was just about to get back in the truck when the preacher's wife came running after me. "Edwin says take this blanket and the water." She pushed a blanket and a jug at me. For just a minute I wondered who Edwin was. I had never heard anyone call the preacher that before, but I reckon he had to have a given name. It wasn't likely that his ma and pa called him "preacher" when he was born, or that his teacher said "Brother Jackson" when she wanted him to recite.

  I got back to the Café just in time. Lester was just reaching for his old felt hat when I busted through the back door. "Don't leave," I shouted. Then I remembered the sheriff was likely still out front. I lowered my voice. "You've got to go with me," I said, "but we can't let anyone know."

  "I ain't going nowhere with some crazy white boy in the middle of the night." He shoved me away from the door and started out it.

  "Please," I begged. "It's for Isaac. It's for your son. He needs us."

  He whirled back, and his face was full of hate. "What are you talking about? I ain't got me no son. You just ask his mama. She'll tell you. I got one boy killed, and she took the other one away from me. I ain't got no son."

  I didn't know what to say to that, so I ignored the comment. "Step outside with me," I said, "and I'll show you Tulsa burning."

  "Huh?" he said, but he stepped out, and I followed him.

  I pointed to the east. "See that glow. That's Black Wall Street. That's where Isaac works and lives. There's been trouble between the coloreds and the whites, and the whites are burning out the whole colored section. The preacher was there. He seen it all start, and he seen Isaac get hit hard with a gun."

  Lester made some sort of sound way down deep in his throat. "Will you come with me?" I said. "I'm driving the preacher's truck." He didn't answer me, just headed for the truck.

  I wondered what it would be like driving through the night with Lester beside me. I wondered if he would talk, but he didn't. We drove that whole twelve miles without a word passing between us. Lester just set over there, hating me. I could feel him hating me like I was the one that hurt his son instead of the one trying to help. I wanted to ask why, but I didn't. I just figured hate like Lester's couldn't ever be shrunk down to words.

  The glow in the sky got brighter and brighter as we got closer to Tulsa. My fear got brighter and brighter too. Finally Lester said something, but what he said didn't make me feel any better. He said, "I reckon this is the night I kill me some whitey. It's a thing I've known was coming my whole life."

  I figured Lester was just as likely to pick me to be his dead whitey as any other fellow, but I just kept driving. I did start to wonder if maybe I'd made a mistake. Maybe I'd have been smarter to bring along poor addled Preacher Jackson than this hate-filled colored man.

  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 h
ard 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."