Black Angels (19 page)

He realized it was a Black man, and he let his breath out so fast it made him dizzy. His head was swimming. Then he heard the whistle—the tune to “John Brown's Body.” Soft and low like nobody was supposed to hear it. The man came closer to him, but he didn't seem to really look at him. “Red is dead,” Luke breathed out. He took a breath between each word. “Sunrise on the left.” That was all. Oh, Lordy, he thought, did I get it right?

The man turned and then he was gone, like he had never been there. Just melted into the dark, didn't walk, just melted and was gone. So it was done. Luke stood there in the dark, amazed to be alive and still breathing. In his mind he kept seeing the eagle's dark shadow flying over his head like an angel. The eagle is nearby, he thought, always nearby.

Suddenly he was so hungry he could barely stand it. But it was too spooky out there to eat the rest of his bread, and he needed to pee badly before he started out for Betty's cabin. Right here next to the corn would be fine since nobody was around.

I did it, he thought. I did it! He felt like letting out a big holler, just cause he was still alive! But he was fastening his trousers one minute, and the next minute he was dangling from someone's arm and yelling bloody murder.

CHAPTER 27

JOHN BROWN'S BODY

What is it, Mr. Simpson? Is it a nigger?” said a voice that might as well have come from the devil himself.

“Boy, what are you doing way out here by yourself?” said the man who was holding him.

Luke just struggled to get himself free.

“Well, Corporal, we'll just have to see him in the light of the fire cause we can't see his face in this here moonlight, now can we? Be still, boy, and stop that thrashin.”

“This is a dark young'un, sure enough, Mr. Simpson. What you say we roast him for dinner?”

“Naw, he'd be too tough,” the other one laughed. “And I'll be damned if he isn't armed too, a nigger boy with a rifle!” They took his gun and his water.

By that time Luke was fighting with all his might. “That's mine,” he screamed. “Give that back!”

One of them held his arm so he couldn't hit them, but Luke still kicked as wildly as he could.

“Well, now, we just gonna have to put him outta his misery if he continues to kick, won't we, Corporal? Boy, you know you stole this here gun. You want me to knock you silly?”

Luke stopped kicking. There was no telling what these men would do to him. At least they were Union, he figured because of their blue caps. Their trousers were filthy and their shirts were some muddy color. Maybe they would really kill him if he didn't obey them. If he had just left there right away! If he had just not stopped to pee! He could hear his own breathing in the space between their words.

“You coming with us,” one of them said. “We gotta take you in. Quick march! One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four.” They held him by the arms and made him march with them.

They were headed in the direction of the soldiers. Then Luke saw them, what looked like thousands of white tents in the moonlight, just around the bend from the river, and thousands of little cooking fires, and it would have been a beautiful sight if he hadn't been scared senseless by the two men who had captured him.

Then he remembered Betty had told him they'd tie him up and put him in jail, or worse. “Oh, Jesus,” he prayed silently, “please don't let them kill me. Please don't let them hang me.”

“Well, Mr. Simpson,” said one of the men as they got near the camp, “I'm thinking we better let the boys know about our prize. Just what was you doin out here in that field in the night anyway, young'un?”

Luke shook his head. He wasn't telling them. Never.

“Don't wanna talk,” the corporal said. “OK, we'll see about that.” They dragged him to a tent and tied his arms and legs together so he couldn't walk or move around much.

“Now you'll stay put. Come tomorrow's battle you can carry water for us. We'll be needin plenty to fight them Johnny Rebs, nasty as they be. And maybe we'll let them eat you too, if you don't tell us what you was doing in that cornfield.”

Praise the Lord, they hated rebs, but they still weren't letting him go. And then he remembered that Betty had said, “Don't tell nobody else.”

They were talking right outside the tent flap. Their captain was with them. Now Luke see could only their shadows through the tent, but he could hear them clearly.

“Somebody here been carrying tales, you understand me, Captain?” said one of the men who'd captured him. “They always seem to know where we gonna be ahead of time. I hear the rebs been using women and children, anybody they can get lately. Could be this boy's one of them. You know darkies. Give em a piece of biscuit, and a warm place to sleep, and they'll do anything for you.”

“Right strange, ain't it,” said the captain through his teeth. Luke saw the glow of his cigarette through the tent flap. “He was out there alone at night, nobody with him, no house in sight except that abandoned barn and farmhouse. What's he say he was doing?”

“Don't open his mouth, Captain. Want me to beat it out of him?”

“Not yet. Let me think on it awhile. See what the other boys dug up while they was on watch. It might be we can use him if we can scare him good enough. Give em something, they'll change sides just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Ain't got sense enough to know it's in their best interest to work with us.”

Somewhere a shot rang out. In the tent, Luke jumped. But nothing happened. After a while, he went to sleep, exhausted with worry and fear.

He was dreaming of home—of Aunt Eugenia, and somehow Betty and Daylily and Caswell were in the dream too. Then someone was pushing and shaking him. “Hey, wake up, boy, wake up, you! Captain wants to see your black behind.”

A man with a thin nose and a stubbly beard took the ropes off his arms and legs, which were really sore now. “Come with me, you.”

Luke blinked, getting used to the glare of the rising sun. He had a terrible headache. His mouth was sour and dry. All he wanted to do was go back to Betty's, but something was happening.

It was barely dawn. Soldiers were sitting, standing, walking around, but not lounging. They were alert, as if waiting for something. The man dragging Luke along by the wrist stepped in front of another and said, “Captain, here's the Negro you wanted to see.”

“Boy,” said the captain, “I could use me a good runner during the battle.” Luke looked up at the tall, thin White man with a brown mustache. He held up something that gleamed in the light. “See this coin? It's yours if you tell me just what you were doing out there in the dark. And if you don't tell me, I just might feed you to them rebs over there across the way. So what do you say? What's it to be? Me or them?”

On the whole, Luke thought, lying wasn't worth the trouble it caused later. Plus, Aunt Eugenia said it was a sin. But this was a special case. Saying a little prayer that God wouldn't mind, he looked innocently at the captain and said, “Sir, I was just trying to get to the Union side to join up.” And that wasn't exactly a lie. “I always wanted to fight for the Union, suh, and I was following my Unc Steph, cause he done left home to join up. So I got lost, Captain, suh.”

“So I see. And you weren't by any chance trying to give special information to our enemies? And you weren't by any chance sent here so you could tell the rebs where we were? Boy, how long you been following my boys to get the food they left behind? You been stealing?”

He fired the questions so fast that Luke was afraid to answer any of them. “No, suh,” he said, because he thought that was the safest thing to do. Just say no to all questions.

Suddenly it looked like the army was on the move. “Oh, hell, what am I doing questioning a Black boy the size of a turnip?” said the captain.

A few guns rang out. Someone yelled, and they were in it. A battle was about to start. Luke heard the rattle-tapping of the drummers, and everyone and everything around him started to change position. Wagons of cannonballs were being pulled by horses, men were running everywhere, and some were yelling orders. Through the dust Luke saw huge cannons being drawn up by mules and then men would push them into position for firing.

“Here, boy,” the captain said as he flipped the coin to Luke. “It's yours. Now, see that gentleman on the brown and white horse?” He pointed through the trees. “Run over there, and tell him you're a new runner for the lines. He can use you to do anything he needs doing. Try to stay with him while the battle's going on.” It was getting so noisy that Luke could hardly hear the captain. “Tell him your name, boy,” the captain called out in all the confused mass of men and noise. “Tell him your name!”

Amazed at himself, Luke was obedient. He forgot for a moment how scared he was, and how he wanted to be with the others at Betty's cabin. He was caught up in the flags and yells, and the colors and smoke coming together. If Unc Steph could just see him now! They wouldn't think he was too young. They'd never think it again!

He was running, trying to catch up with the man who was too busy even to know he was there, and called out. “I'm a runner for the lines! Luke, suh, it's Luke!” He was running alongside the horse as best he could, but the soldier never heard him. And just as he looked back to ask the captain with the mustache what to do, everything broke loose.

Men and horses were running pell-mell in all directions, and suddenly some men ran into him, knocking Luke down. A soldier howled, and bits of bone covered in blood were on Luke's arms and something grainy was in his hands. He scrambled up and ran again into the dust and mud.

He was not able to see where he was headed because of the smoke and always the noise, the noise that was everywhere bigger than anything he knew, bigger than the whole sky. The noise was unbearable, and then he fell headlong into rough brown grass. Just then he saw the captain.

A thundering sound hit Luke, the captain's face exploded, and he fell heavily into the dust. Luke's mouth was opened with the explosion, so that he swallowed smoke and something vile went under his tongue. He saw bright orange cannon fire exploding through the smoke. Someone let out a piercing scream, and he wondered who was working his arms and legs. He only knew he had to get away from the noise, and oh, God, the captain's face was there and then it was gone. He ran forward in the direction those who were around him seemed to be going.

These were his arms, he thought. These were his legs, and it was not his face that had been blown to bits, not his face. Now the noise was not so terrible. He touched his face. He shut his eyes, praying, praying, afraid to see, afraid he had landed in a place worse than before, afraid the noise would start again.

The battle raged. The noise hit again. Men swayed forward in confusion. Luke found himself on the ground, and someone ran over his legs. He struggled up, and his legs seemed to move on their own. He stumbled over a man who was clutching his stomach, and the man's blood sprayed into Luke's face. He ran ahead again. He didn't know why he was running, he only knew he had to keep going. He was tired, so tired. He was out of breath, and he only wanted to lie down and rest, and who was this running, he wondered, and he felt something wet on his nose and his face. Jesus, not his nose, or was it the captain's nose he saw, past smoke and dead and dying horses, smoke and mud, and then he saw a black face and a white beard. He heard the song above all the noise, “John Brown's body lies a-molderin in the grave.” He heard the words and saw the dark man beckoning him to come, and he did. It was as if something lifted him up, and he heard himself now, praying, with his eyes closed tight, “Jesus, keep me near the cross, please keep me,” and he wondered, Who is that screaming, oh, God, make it go away.

Then the noise was almost gone, and Luke wondered how he'd gotten there on this grass by himself. He opened his eyes and saw his own brown arms and hands, and he felt his legs, and his face. It was covered with mud and blood that came off on his hands. And where was the old man who had shown him the way? Where was the old man who had sung “John Brown's Body”? He had been there, and then he was not there. Must have been one of those angels that Betty talks about, he thought.

Luke could still see the men fighting. He had run as far as he could before he fell. He looked at the men in the distance. He felt like he was in a dream. The horses still screamed and fell to their deaths, trapping men underneath them; the cannon kept booming, but the noises were muffled. They were far away now, but did he dare to move?

Luke felt something in his pocket, and there was the coin, the gold coin from the captain. It was really there, and it had all really happened, all of it. His rifle was gone, and his canteen. He could still hear guns and screaming men, and then he burst out, “Oh, Lordy! Daylily and Caswell and Betty Strong Foot!” They'd be thinking he was dead!

He stood there and looked at the valley in front of him, at the sea of death. He watched men crumple like dolls. One soldier grabbed the Union flag from his dead friend and ran forward into the smoke, and he watched men thrust their bayonets into each other.

Something kept him standing there looking at the men in their struggle to live and die. He fingered the gold piece and thought, That man is dead now. A man who had walked and talked and given him the coin, that man's face was in pieces on the ground, and he was dead now. “Your name,” the captain had called out. “Tell him your name!” And then his face was blown away, and he was dead.

Luke watched the battle for a long time. He felt sad for the captain and for all the men who were still dying out there, and he felt like he had failed and had left them to die. He cried silently and let the tears roll down his face. He felt old.