Guardian by Julius Lester Page B

sound as it rubs against the limb.
    People start moving away. It is as if they have been in a stupor and only now are waking up to wonder where they are, and who did this awful thing. They know they didn’t.
    Then it starts to rain. The old-timers who always knew what the weather was going to be are surprised. They swore that the storm they saw in the southern sky would not come this far.
    There are only a few drops at first, but suddenly it is as if the part of the sky where the rain is kept has broken, and the rain comes down so hard it hurts. People run to get away from the stinging drops.
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    Ansel and his father hurry back to the store to get out of the rain.
    â€œSold just about every bottle of pop we had,” Bert says. “We’re going to have to change the order. You want to do it?”
    Ansel stands at the screen door, the rain spatteringon the sidewalk spraying him. He stares at the body of Big Willie, rain running down it like forgiveness.
    Then he sees the white beam of car lights in the rain, and he watches as the car turns left at the end of the square and parks beneath the oak tree.
    All four doors of the car open. Out of the driver’s side steps Esther Davis. From the other door comes Little Willie’s mother. Out of the back doors come three colored men and Little Willie.
    He is the one who climbs the tree, crawls out onto the branch from which hangs the body of his father. Because the rope is thick and tightly woven, it takes him a few minutes before he is able to saw through it with a handsaw as the rain continues to come down.
    When the body falls, the three men below catch it before it can fall into the sodden ashes of the bonfire.
    Without thinking, Ansel runs out the door and toward the small group beneath the tree. The rain beats like fists against his head, his face, his body.
    â€œWillie!” he shouts as loud as he can as lightning flashes back and forth across the sky and the sound of the thunder rattles the windows of every building in town.
    â€œWillie!” he shouts again.
    Little Willie turns. He knows whose voice is calling his name. He turns and looks at Ansel. Ansel does not know what he wanted to say, does not know what he wanted to do, but through the darkness he thinks he can see Little Willie’s eyes staring at him and those eyes are filled with a hatred that began with the first African who walked off a slave ship, a hatred that would extend farther into the future than either boy could see. And seeing that hatred, Ansel realizes that he wanted to ask Little Willie to forgive him, to absolve him of responsibility, and that Little Willie would not, could not, should not.
    As the body of Big Willie is placed gently inside the trunk of Miss Davis’s car, his son who, from that night on, would never permit anyone to call him Little Willie or even Willie ever again, turns away from Ansel and hurries to the car.
    Ansel watches as they drive into the night, back to the quarters.
    As suddenly as it started, the rain stops. In the distance there is a faint, lingering rumble of thunder, and closer, the whine of mosquitoes.
    Ansel walks slowly back toward the store wherehis father stands, having witnessed the scene.
    â€œLet’s go home,” Bert says quietly. “Someday you’ll understand.”
    Ansel looks at his father. “Do you mean I’ll understand why you let Big Willie die?”
    When his father does not answer, Ansel walks away.

Friday Night, Later
    The Anderson house is too far away from the center of town for Maureen to hear what is going on. Her parents stopped by to see if she wanted to “see a nigger get lynched.”
    Of course they knew she didn’t, but why pass up an opportunity to show their resentment of her for not sharing some of that money they knew she and her husband had.
    After they sped away, the tires of their car sending a thick cloud of dust onto the porch where she was sitting, she wished she