Chapter XXVIII

XXVIII.

THEY WERE LIKE dogs. All grunt and growl. A pack of wolves ready for the take. Yellow-teeth-filled grins as they hollered. They jumped and raised their rifles and pistols in the air, arms stretched high like a praise toward a god they believed would one day welcome them, but there was no god here, not for this. They shouted yes and woo-boy and even hallelujah, some of them, grateful they could stop their chase.

These were the men Mira had feared her whole life. They were what her mother had tried to warn her of, to keep her away from. They were the dangerous ones, the ones who would slip into your room at night to inflict their terror. They were the cross burners, the ones who turned the magnolias and the oaks Mira loved into lynching trees. They were the ones who haunted her nightmares. She watched as they gathered, this mob of men full of ecstatic anger, as they came for Jesse.

“We got him!”

“Is this the one who did it? We need the one who did it.”

“There was another one, wasn’t there?

“Must have went toward the river. Maybe we can catch them before they get to the swamps.”

“Let’s deal with this one first!”

The men stretched their necks and cracked their knuckles for what was next. One held a rope, his fingers stroking the fibers that had been twisted together. His hands were at the ready, and at the first signal the rope would be tied into a noose, tied around a neck, and tied around the base of a tree.

“What’ll we do with this one? Take him back?”

“Not yet, I say we should do what we like.”

They soon would perform what’d been done hundreds of times.

Thousands. The ritual this country perfected. They would take this body apart, limb from limb, each of them marking their own pieces to keep.

Twenty-five cents for a fragment of bone. Ten cents for the bit of liver.

How much for the heart? How much? they would cry, their greedy hands grabbing, each of them wanting their choice. They would touch and fondle the flesh as it was bartered and sold. They would yank the teeth from the jaw, laughing at the crack of bones. They would take. They wanted to devour. They wanted to consume. When they were done, they would set what remained on fire.

No need to count the ways a body had fallen, how many contorted expressions appeared on the face of a body whose soul had passed. No need to count the number of crows that circled a burning carcass after the flames had smoldered, ready to peck on what these men had left. No need to count because Mira knew, the number haunting her bones like it did so many, like it did all who’d lived on.

Somewhere was a bridge where bodies were hung. Somewhere a tree, its branches twisted in the form of an ache. Somewhere grass grew from land soiled with death. Somewhere was a house built from blood, its prominent columns once a sign of wealth, of prominence, now become an altar. Oh, how beautiful. Oh, how lovely.

Somewhere were other men just like these.

A rumbling came that none of the men recognized. Slack-jawed, their bodies frozen, they stared out toward the darkness ahead, leaning to see the shadows stir. Beyond the trees something lurked for them, whispered just for them.

“What are you waiting for? Quit pussyfooting around. Let’s get this over with.”

“Wait—did you hear that?”

“Do you see something? Something’s moving in the woods.”

One man stepped forward, going ahead of the others. He was tall and lumbering. Arrogance made him unafraid, or maybe it was impatience, but after a few steps, even he stopped. He heard a sound that made him pause.

“Who’s there?” he shouted, voice hoarse but booming. Hidden in the loudness was a slight tremble of unease because he too recognized that just beyond their reach was something lurking in the dark, a threat, one worthy of their attention. “Show yourself,” he dared, and he raised his rifle toward the unseen, ready to fire.

He would count to three before firing his shot, and shoot he would. He wouldn’t be the only one; his fellow men would soon follow. Together, they

would blast ammunition into the night, not caring who they maimed or murdered. They stood waiting in hungry anticipation for their moment, their thick fingers grazing the triggers as he called out each number.

“One! Two! Three! ”

A shot bristled through the trees. Everyone listened for the sound of pain, for a howl or a moan, but nothing could be heard.

“Jimmy, let’s just take him and go. ”

“No!” Jimmy shouted back, his face reddened from fury. He wouldn’t be made a fool of, not this night, and not wanting any more seconds to pass for them all to change their minds, he ventured in the direction of his shot.

The others watched him as he went into the dark.

“Is he coming back?”

“How long we going to wait here for him to come back?”

“He’s got to come back, right?”

“Who’s going after him?”

“We can’t leave him, can we?”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

The minutes passed by as the men decided what to do, hoping he’d return, their decision made for them, and they could continue. Fear made them shift their weight from foot to foot, some of them paced, some of them spit out the watery gobs that had accumulated in their mouths from their chew. Pfff, they each went, taking turns moistening the ground with their tobacco-flecked saliva.

“What was that?”

“Was that him?”

“Could have been an animal.”

“Sounded human to me. Sounded like Jimmy.”

“What do you think happened?”

“You want to be the one to go and find out?”

Would they do it? Would they go after one of their own? The men stood uneasy. They kept their focus on the darkness before them, listening for another sound that would help guide them in what to do, but they were surrounded by the quiet stillness of the night. They were afraid, somehow knowing if they followed, they would not come back.

“To hell with it.”

“This ain’t worth dying over.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

One after the other they turned in the opposite direction, leaving it all behind. Each and every one disappeared into the darkness. Mira watched until they faded from view.