in front of the stove and eat with his fingers.
Mr. Boatwright grunted and nodded. “That’s what he get for shootin’ Brother Nelson’s boy like he done.” Mr. Boatwright paused long enough to grab a bottle of beer on the table next to his plate and take a long swallow. When he set the bottle back on the table and let out a great belch, I frowned. “I knowed sooner or later it was gwine to catch up with him. Everybody oughta know by now God don’t like ugly, and you gwine to reap what you sow,” he announced, his head tilted to one side.
Pee Wee confirmed this information with a nod.
“So true,” I said levelly, looking Mr. Boatwright straight in the eye.
He turned away immediately. “Pee Wee, go turn on the TV. The wrestlin’ matches is about to come on,” Mr. Boatwright said.
I was curious as to how Rhoda had reacted to the policeman’s death. I didn’t even finish dinner. As soon as Mr. Boatwright and Pee Wee left the kitchen, I jumped up from the table and ran to the phone on the wall and dialed her number.
“Uh…hi, Uncle Johnny. Um…Pee Wee just told us about that policeman that killed your nephew getting himself killed,” I said.
“And may he burn in hell!” Uncle Johnny roared.
“Can I speak to Rhoda?” Rhoda must have been sitting on Uncle Johnny’s lap because she got on the phone seconds later. “I just heard about that policeman that killed your brother getting killed,” I told her.
“Uh…huh.” She sounded disembodied. I could still hear her uncle in the background cussing the dead policeman’s soul.
“Are you OK? You don’t sound like yourself,” I said. Even though I was using the phone in the kitchen, I had to talk loud. Pee Wee and Mr. Boatwright were in the living room in front of the TV yelling at the screen.
“I’m fine. I’m just havin’ a hard time absorbin’ this news,” Rhoda admitted.
“I bet.” I let out a long, deep breath. “I’m surprised your daddy is handling the body. The man did kill his firstborn son.”
“My folks forgave him. They’re even goin’ to attend his funeral.” Rhoda sighed with disgust. “But Muh’Dear’s all depressed about it anyway. She’s been in the bed on the verge of a nervous breakdown ever since we heard the news. I’m goin’ to help Daddy prepare the body because Uncle Johnny won’t help. He’s still mad about what happened to David.”
“Rhoda, have you forgiven that man for killing your brother?” I asked.
“I’ll never forgive him,” Rhoda hissed. I heard some muffled sounds on her end, and then she excused herself.
Martin Luther King was assassinated the same day as the policeman’s funeral. I was glad they closed the schools for two days to honor Dr. King because his death hit me hard, and I got so depressed I couldn’t eat. I removed a picture of him from my bedroom wall because I cried every time I looked at it. I had no way of knowing, but I was sure that wherever my daddy was, he was crushed. Long before I’d heard of Dr. King, I’d heard Daddy make public speeches similar to the ones Dr. King had made.
“Nobody is going to fight as hard for civil rights as Dr. King did,” I said to Mr. Boatwright on the couch, watching the TV’s coverage of the shooting.
“As if colored folks ain’t got enough of a cross to bear,” Mr. Boatwright commented. He sat next to me fanning his face with a rolled-up copy of Ebony magazine. He had actually shed a few tears. “We fightin’ in them wars white folks started and still can’t eat and live where we want to. It wasn’t enough devilment for them white devils to blow up that church in Birmin’ham and kill them four little colored gals and lynchin’, beatin’, shootin’ at, and turnin’ dogs loose on them civil rights workers down South every time I look up. If killin’ Dr. King don’t satisfy ’em, nothin’ will.” He wiped tears from his face with his sleeve.
His words moved me. He was showing a side I’d never seen before.
“You want me to get you a beer?” I asked, patting his shoulder.
He shook his head and rose. I watched until he disappeared up the stairs.
A minor riot broke out in Richland. By the end of the third day after the assassination, two local Blacks had been killed and several people had been arrested for looting.
Muh’Dear still had to work, but because of