Page 66 of And Still Her Voice
“With the riots going on, they must have rounded up all the Blacks in the area. So, after they slapped me around for a while and for good measure, one of the cops came in to say theyhad their man. It seems somebody recognized Tony. He and this Marine had gotten into an argument about him being a coward and a deserter and Tony ended up stabbing the guy.”
“But in the heart?”
“It’s not the first time he’s been in trouble with the law. Remember when John said he’d been warned?
“Yeah?”
“Apparently, after a concert, John and some of the other band members came across him getting a little rough with a girl. They pulled him off her before things got way out of hand.”
“What? And John didn’t kick him to the curb? He let him on the bus with us?”
“John said he pleaded. He apologized. He said he was drunk and that he’d never done anything like that before and he’d never do anything like that again.”
“As far as we know, until now, except murder a soldier.”
River nodded looking off, quiet for a while. “He begged for another chance and John gave it to him.” He turned to me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Apparently, the Marine didn’t have any family,” he said as the van pulled up. River remained silent all the way back to the hotel.
***
I filled a bucket of ice just outside our room and then went in. I handed a towel with ice to River just as a news story broke on the television. A young Black woman named Lillie Belle Allen had been visiting her sister when she was shot and killed on Newberry Street. The governor had called in the National Guard.
“I’m tired of turning the other cheek,” River said, holding the towel to his cheek.
It was time to get out of town. We hoped the next stop would be more peaceful, but the race riots were taking place all over, including our next destination, New York. We were on our way, but there would be two fewer people on the bus.
CHAPTER 24
’Til Death Do Us Part
August, 1969, felt like a double heartbreak. The memory of River, my only friend and brother on this journey, would remain imprinted like a footprint on my heart forever. Paralyzed, I sat on the bus hugging my pillow. Through the blurry window, the skies, rumbling with thunder and cracking with lightning, slurped up the wet road ahead.
Earlier that morning, I’d awakened to the sounds of a thunderstorm. River had taken a seat on his bed, turning his head away from me. Usually, I was the one who remained silent. I hated seeing River like he couldn’t hold his head up. I got out of my bed and sat next to him. “Talk to me, River.” I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he said, facing me now, his eye swollen shut.
He didn’t even flinch when lightning cracked in the distance. Out the window, the tall ash trees bowed to the elements. “Yeah, I can see that,” I said, returning to face him.
“The cops asked if I wanted to call anyone. All I could think of was you.”
“Me, too.” Smiling weakly, I saw my wavy reflection in his one red, watery eye.
“But you have family and you can at least call a sister,” he said. “While I sat in jail, I thought about who I could call. I’d just met my father in Memphis. He’d begged me to call him if I ever needed anything. But how would it look if my first call came from the jail. My mother didn’t even bother to come say hello when we were in Iowa. I was right in her backyard—the place I once called home. My grandparents are dead.” River looked so sad. “I think I need to get to know my family,” he said.
“But we’re family. You and me.”
He smiled at me. “I think it’s time I got to know all the cousins and half-brothers and sisters in New Orleans.” He smiled. “Apparently there are dozens. I need to find myself, but first I need to know my history. I read where DuBois says, ‘The History of the American Negro is the history of this strife—this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, to merge his double self into a better and truer self.’ I simply wish to be both a Negro and an American, without being cursed and spit upon by my fellows, without having the doors of opportunity closed roughly in my face.”
I couldn’t argue that.
“I think I might find answers to my being if I were to return.”
I nodded, hand over my mouth, suppressing the urge to cry.
“I dug the music vibe in New Orleans.” He smiled. “I loved everything about that place. I’m going back.”
