Guardian by Julius Lester Page A

because the fuel on which they feed—sorrow and regret—will never be exhausted.
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    From outside there comes loud cheering. People in the store rush out.
    â€œMy papa told me about a lynching he went to once. Said wasn’t nothing quite like it. I wish he were here ’cause I wonder if this one is better than the one he went to.”
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    â€œMy grandpappy told me that once every few years you had to lynch a nigger, whether one had done something or not. He said there was nothing like a lynching to keep niggers in their place, and nothing like a lynching to remind a white man who he is.”
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    â€œI was a little girl when my parents took me to one. It wasn’t in our town. We had to take the train to get there. That was my first time on a train. That train was full of folks going to the lynching. There’d been an article in the paper that said there was a nigger who’d raped a white woman and he was going to be lynched. A daytime lynching is better ’cause you can see more. We had so much fun that day. Somewhere at home I still have the picture of me on my daddy’s shoulders looking at the nigger. Oh, I almost forgot! How could I forget that! They hung two niggers that day! You know what else happened that day. I met my Sammy. He was nine and I was seven, and we both knew we was going to marry each other. Eight years later we did. Just think. If not for that lynching, I never would have met him.”
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    â€œCome on, Ansel. You can’t hide back here. Folks will think we’re nigger lovers if they don’t see us out there by the tree.”
    â€œI don’t care what they think.”
    â€œIf you’re going to be a successful storekeeper, you better start caring what they think. Those people are your bread and butter.”
    â€œI’m not going to be a storekeeper!”
    The words come out of Ansel’s mouth before he can stop them, but now that they are out, he’s glad.
    â€œYou don’t know what you’re saying. We’ll talk about this later.”
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    Big Willie stands on a tower of wooden crates, the thick noose around his neck, the other end tied to a thick limb of the oak tree. Willie feels so calm, he is almost happy. He looks at the faces in a semicircle before him. No one will meet his eyes.
    Reverend Dennis steps out of the crowd. “Let us bow our heads in prayer.”
    There is silence.
    â€œOur Heavenly Father, we stand here tonight to make right a terrible wrong. You are a God of justice who has taught us right from wrong. Althoughhanging this nigger will not bring back my daughter, it will remove from our midst the one who, in his mad nigger lust, took her from us. We know, Heavenly Father, that you have already prepared his place in the hottest part of hell, where he will burn for eternity. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
    â€œAmen,” the crowd responds.
    As the Reverend walks back into the crowd, people eagerly step forward to shake his hand, pat him on the back, express their condolences over his loss. Many of them will think back on this night when, the very next summer, the Reverend is caught with one of the girls from the Junior Choir, which is what had happened in Atlanta. The Reverend and his wife were barely given time to pack before they left Davis. No one knew where he went, and no one cared.
    Reluctantly, Ansel follows his father out of the store, but he does not watch. He hears the wooden crates being kicked away, and the crowd’s cheers.
    When he finally opens his eyes, he sees the body of Big Willie hanging from a tree limb. His head is on his chest. The flames from the bonfire are licking at the soles of his feet. People stand in front of the body to have their pictures taken.
    Eventually, the bonfire ebbs. As it does, a stillness slowly comes over the crowd. From somewhere there is a breeze. Big Willie’s body sways slowly back and forth. The rope makes a squeaking