‘Believe what you like, Reverend.’
‘I don’t like. Mutiny distresses me.’ He could reach for his shoulder-holster, ace a few, reduce his life expectancy to several seconds. Better to talk, draw out, identify and subvert the waverers. ‘Dwight, I didn’t expect you among them. And you, Jesse, you care to advise me what’s going down?’
‘You.’ Unyielding, non-negotiable.
‘For messengers, you sure got attitude.’
‘We ain’t messengers, Reverend. We’re executioners. Check our contracts.’
Azania was facing them, had removed the shades to stow in his left breast pocket. Each move designed, deliberate. Eyeball-on-eyeball. ‘I wrote your contracts, your M/O. Don’t recall freelance activity being part of the package.’
‘You don’ recall nothin’, man. You don’ recall promotin’ the promised land, assurin’ us of our inheritance, offerin’ money, glory, claimin’ the world was changin’.’
‘It has changed. Forever. Because of me, because of you.’
‘What’s different, mothafucka?’ A new aggressor, two o’clock. ‘We’re on a tower, surrounded. And we’re still black. We’re still condemned. How d’we get out of this? How d’ya get us into this? You wanna tell us?’
The smile had subsided into rictus scowl. ‘I brought you here for a purpose.’
‘We’re up on the roof for a purpose.’
‘I thought I taught you discipline, obedience, how to be soldiers. I thought I taught you strategy, patience, audacity.’
‘Thanks.’ The distance had narrowed.
‘You are obligated to me, my brothers.’
‘Before we got stuck in this sewer, before we spent weeks waitin’, watchin’, rottin’, anticipatin’ what never came.’
‘It will come.’
‘Too late.’
Azania backed imperceptibly. ‘What are you without me? Retards, bums, crack-heads, losers, assholes, two-dime dumbfuck niggers. You’re nothing. You’re scared of the light, you’ll be gassed like roaches.’
‘And you’re the one who took us there.’
Another, nine o’clock. ‘Deal’s over, Reverend.’ Arrangements made, ties broken.
‘We have 3,000 whites in chains, three up here on the wall.’ Desperation surfacing in the calm. ‘We’re negotiating from strength.’
‘You’re off the squad.’
A pistol-toter inspected his magazine. ‘Heard Ted Bell’s deceased. Don’t seem no point no more.’
‘If I go, you follow.’
‘Not for a while. Not the same way.’ There was a smattering of laughter.
The Reverend’s eyes migrated in their sockets, travelling, looking for connection, a friend. ‘What do you gain from this?’
‘A plea bargain.’
He was cornered. Martyrdom seemed so mundane, so goddamn foolish. So unnecessary. It was hardly an ideal, his ideal. Numbness had crept up, had almost seized his throat. ‘Why? Everything I did, I have done for my people.’
‘That’s who we’re doin’ it for.’
They advanced. The video-diarist continued to film; the three sureties remained unwitnessing and unaware on their parapet.
* * *
The UK
She was at the top of the steps, unsure, pensive at the turn of events, the cycle of personal history. And he was at the bottom, teenage-eager, waiting for her to come to him, to re-enter a hold she had left a life before. Grown-ups acting dumb, wondering at unfinished business or whether they had any business. Home territory and alien ground; the Maria Johanna, where they had lived, loved, broken apart, hurt each other. Not any more. It was a different time, an unwritten script.
Krista made the move, had travelled this far. She smiled, was walking down towards him, bringing back her scent, her presence, her familiarity. And Kemp just stood, aware of the moment and momentous change. There was an age when they had not spoken, had communicated through lawyers, by threat, with letters. Highly charged and charged by the minute. There was an age, an anger, when he blamed only her, cursed only her, drank ironic toasts only to her. A past era, as remote as empire, read about and forgotten. Humans could grow, gain insight; humans could laugh and recognize folly. Thank God for that, thank Christ for them.
‘I’ve put you in the master cabin,’ he said. ‘I’m in the forward berth.’
‘There’s no need, Josh. Honest.’
‘Krista, there is.’ A tone of explanation and apology. Also honest.
‘Thanks.’ She looked about her. ‘Hasn’t changed. She’s still beautiful.’
Certainly was. Her sunburn must hurt. He maintained his gaze, took the suitcase and placed it to one side. ‘You’re travelling light.’
‘The only baggage I’m carrying.’
