“ ‘Well, it all started Thursday or Wednesday, I ain’t sure, but it seems like all the black folks up in Sutton got it into their heads they just won’t stand for it no more. It ain’t worth fighting because things ain’t getting any better for us here. Even the colored folks in Mississippi got it better and that’s going some. Seems like if this state had really got its ass whipped in the War Between the States we colored folk’d be better off. But this state was the only one in the Confederacy what the Yankees didn’t beat up on.’ At least that’s what Hilton told me this colored man up Sutton way said. He, Hilton that is, he says that there was this colored man up in Sutton who told the Negroes all about it, all about history and all that stuff, and that he said besides that the only way for things to be better was for all the colored folks to move out, to turn their backs on everything we knowed and start new.”

Reverend Bradshaw turned slightly to me. “Thus begins a legend, Mister Willson.”

I understood.

“So anyways, after I talks to Hilton, I runs on home, and tells my wife here to pack up because we leaving tomorrow, that is today, and I don’t want no fooling.” He turned to his wife, forgetting completely about us. “Don’t you see, baby? We got to go. It’s the only way because if…”

“We’ve seen enough, Mister Willson.” Reverend Bradshaw took my arm and we cut diagonally through the crowd until we had reached the sidewalk. Then we started back toward the car, past a group of whites. I could hear them whispering about me. “He’s a mulatto, that blond one. Why else he with a nigger? He ain’t white, that one, he’s got to be a nigger. But he could sure fool me.” I flushed all over, and then, strangely enough, I felt a bit proud.

When we made our way back to the roadblock, through which Negroes still streamed, Reverend Bradshaw said, “Well, Mister Willson, it’s unbelievable, but true.” He couldn’t stop shaking his head. “I never would have…” He let it die away. We reached the car, got in, and Reverend Bradshaw bent to the microphone. “Clement, take us back to Sutton.”

The chauffeur started the car, moved slowly until he found a small alley, took it, cruising cautiously past the garbage cans and debris, until at the other end we could see the darkening sky. We followed small alleys and streets north until the crowds thinned, and by that time were in the Northside, about to turn out onto the Highway and the black bridge.