Lincoln in the Bardo(59)
And that, against this: the king-types who would snatch the apple from your hand and claim to have grown it, even though what they had, had come to them intact, or been gained unfairly (the nature of that unfairness perhaps being just that they had been born stronger, more clever, more energetic than others), and who, having seized the apple, would eat it so proudly, they seemed to think that not only had they grown it, but had invented the very idea of fruit, too, and the cost of this lie fell on the hearts of the low (Mr. Bellway rushing his children off their Sangamon porch as he and Father slumped past with that heavy bag of grain drooping between them).
Across the sea fat kings watched and were gleeful, that something begun so well had now gone off the rails (as down South similar kings watched), and if it went off the rails, so went the whole kit, forever, and if someone ever thought to start it up again, well, it would be said (and said truly): The rabble cannot manage itself.
Well, the rabble could. The rabble would.
He would lead the rabble in managing.
The thing would be won.
roger bevins iii
Our Willie would not wish us hobbled in that attempt by a vain and useless grief.
hans vollman
In our mind the lad stood atop a hill, merrily waving to us, urging us to be brave and resolve the thing.
roger bevins iii
But (we stopped ourselves short) was this not just wishful thinking? Weren’t we, in order to enable ourselves to go on, positing from our boy a blessing we could not possibly verify?
Yes.
Yes we were.
hans vollman
But we must do so, and believe it, or else we were ruined.
roger bevins iii
And we must not be ruined.
hans vollman
But must go on.
roger bevins iii
We saw all of this in the instant it took Mr. Lincoln to pass through us.
hans vollman
And then he was out the door, and into the night.
roger bevins iii
XCV.
We black folks had not gone into the church with the others.
Our experience having been that white people are not especially fond of having us in their churches. Unless it is to hold a baby, or prop up or hand-fan some old one.
Then here came that tall white man out the door, right at me.
I held my ground as he passed through and got something along the lines of I will go on, I will. With God’s help. Though it seems killing must go hard against the will of God. Where might God stand on this. He has shown us. He could stop it. But has not. We must see God not as a Him (some linear rewarding fellow) but an IT, a great beast beyond our understanding, who wants something from us, and we must give it, and all we may control is the spirit in which we give it and the ultimate end which the giving serves. What end does IT wish served? I do not know. What IT wants, it seems, for now, is blood, more blood, and to alter things from what they are, to what IT wills they should be. But what that new state is, I do not know, and patiently wait to learn, even as those three thousand fallen stare foul-eyed at me, working dead hands anxiously, asking, What end might this thing yet attain, that will make our terrible sacrifice worthwh— Then he was through me and I was glad.
Near the front gate stood Mr. Havens, square in that white man’s path, as I had been, but doing, then, something I had not the nerve (nor desire) to do.
mrs. francis hodge
XCVI.
I don’t know what came over me. Never, in that previous place, had I been a rash person. What need had I to be? Mr. Conner, and his good wife, and all of their children and grandchildren were like family to me. Never was I separated from my own wife or children. We ate well, were never beaten. They had given us a small but attractive yellow cottage. It was a happy arrangement, all things considered.
So I don’t know what came over me.
As that gentleman passed through, I felt a kinship.
And decided to stay a bit.
Therein.
So there we were, moving along together, me matching him step for step. Which was not easy. His legs were long. I extended my legs, to match his, and extended all of myself, and we were the same size, and out, upon horseback and (forgive me) the thrill of once again riding a horse was too much, and I—I stayed. Therein. What a thrill it was! To be doing what I wished. Without having been ordered to do so, without having sought anyone’s permission. The ceiling of a lifelong house flew off, if I may put it that way. I knew, of the instant, vast tracts of Indiana and Illinois (full towns in their complete layout and the nature of the hospitality of specific houses therein, though I had never been in either of those places), and came to feel that this fellow—well, my goodness, I will not say what office it seemed to me that he held. I began to feel afraid, occupying someone so accomplished. And yet, I was comfortable in there. And suddenly, wanted him to know me. My life. To know us. Our lot. I don’t know why I felt that way but I did. He had no aversion to me, is how I might put it. Or rather, he had once had such an aversion, still bore traces of it, but, in examining that aversion, pushing it into the light, had somewhat, already, eroded it. He was an open book. An opening book. That had just been opened up somewhat wider. By sorrow. And—by us. By all of us, black and white, who had so recently mass-inhabited him. He had not, it seemed, gone unaffected by that event. Not at all. It had made him sad. Sadder. We had. All of us, white and black, had made him sadder, with our sadness. And now, though it sounds strange to say, he was making me sadder with his sadness, and I thought, Well, sir, if we are going to make a sadness party of it, I have some sadness about which I think someone as powerful as you might like to know. And I thought, then, as hard as I could, of Mrs. Hodge, and Elson, and Litzie, and of all I had heard during our long occupancy in that pit regarding their many troubles and degradations, and called to mind, as well, several others of our race I had known and loved (my Mother; my wife; our children, Paul, Timothy, Gloria; Rance P., his sister Bee; the four little Cushmans), and all the things that they had endured, thinking, Sir, if you are as powerful as I feel that you are, and as inclined toward us as you seem to be, endeavor to do something for us, so that we might do something for ourselves. We are ready, sir; are angry, are capable, our hopes are coiled up so tight as to be deadly, or holy: turn us loose, sir, let us at it, let us show what we can do.