Hurricane Song Page 6

  “Hell, no,” said Roy. “Not in this lifetime.”

  I thought about the music I’d made with Pop on Cyrus’s march—how it changed from sad to celebrating in just one beat. I remembered my hands moving to that new rhythm, and how I’d almost seen Cyrus’s soul sailing over a river in Africa, beneath a clear blue sky and shining sun.

  ERT! . . . ERT! . . . ERT! . . . ERT!

  Then my hands clenched tight to the sound of that fire alarm starting again, till they were both balled up into fists.

  8

  Oh, when my brother’s lost his way

  And his mortal soul has gone astray

  Lord, how I want to be in that number

  When the saints go marching in

  Tuesday August 30, 2:30 A.M.

  The screams kept coming and wouldn’t let up. The worst ones echoed down from the upper deck, where there were less people, and fewer eyes to witness any crimes. Families from up there were moving down fast, and some of them settled into our section. There weren’t any open seats left, so they camped out in the aisles, or on the floor in the corridor.

  “They’re raping women and children upstairs— there’s gangs of them runnin’ wild,” said a man in a torn shirt with his wife and kids holding on to both his arms. “I heard they tossed a baby off the top deck, too. I didn’t see it, but I wouldn’t be shocked at nothin’ no more.”

  The heat was stifling and the lights had come on enough to see maybe twenty feet in front of you. I watched close as the doctor stitched up the back of Preacher Culver’s scalp without Novocain. And Culver squeezed his wife’s hand, wincing in pain.

  “You gotta have the kind of faith you can hold on to,” Culver told the man who’d escaped the top tier. “God gave you the wisdom to move down here. I know He’s watching over this section ’cause we been looking after each other, like He wants all His children to.”

  “That’s what we aim to do when them crooks come back,” said Pop, standing at the top step with Uncle Roy and some of the men from our section behind him. “We’re gonna look after our own.”

  “If violence comes to us, I’ll stand with you,” said Culver.

  “Feel your head, preacher,” Uncle Roy said, flat. “It’s already been here.”

  “I won’t fight out of anger and revenge, brother,” he answered. “It’s my blood spilled, and I’m willin’ to let it go.”

  Then the doctor pulled the needle through the back of Culver’s head one last time, before he tied off the thread in a knot.

  Half the people didn’t want a scrap with Cain and his crew, and collected up ninety-two bucks to pay them off. Since Cain had called my name out, they wanted me to hand it over.

  “I don’t like it,” Pop said straight out. “But you the one who knows them, Miles, and you man enough now to make your own decisions.”

  It felt good to hear Pop call me a man and at least part recognize I had my own mind.

  But before I had to decide, Culver took hold of the money that people collected.

  “I won’t add a dime to it. I’m not payin’ the devil to enjoy God’s gifts,” he said, putting the money inside a brown paper bag from the floor. “But if this is what some of you want, I’ll do it. Those boys got a grudge against Miles. I don’t trust them.”

  I wasn’t about to argue with a preacher who just took twenty stitches with nothing to numb the pain.

  We started to see some soldiers again. Now they were patrolling in bigger groups. They looked twice as tense as before, and were eyeing people like we were in a war zone. Cyrus’s daughter had to throw herself in front of a whole squad to get their attention. And when she did, some of them jumped forward, like they might have to beat her down.

  “You got to stop these thugs from comin’ back and burning us out!” she screamed at them. “‘We need protection! ”

  “If they were here now, we’d stop ’em. But they’re not,” the lead soldier said.

  “Then leave some of your men behind for when they do come,” she begged.

  “I can’t. I gotta follow orders,” he said.

  She wouldn’t move from in front of them.

  "It’s your job to keep women and children safe!” she hollered.

  They ordered her to step aside. And when she didn’t, one of the soldiers turned his gun sideways and put it across her chest, shoving her out of the way.

  Then the soldiers marched off, with Cyrus’s daughter cursing them from behind.

  Later, two city cops passed through the hall with their guns drawn. Preacher Culver tried to call them over to our section, but they wouldn’t answer him. Then one of the cops bent down low on one knee. He put his hand over his face and began bawling like a baby. The other cop stood over him, looking all around at who might be coming. That’s when Culver quit calling.

  “With the sufferin’ they see every day, even the cops can’t take no more of this,” Pop said, standing with the other men, guarding our section.

  “They’re only human,” answered Culver. “He might have lost more than we can imagine today.”

  “I just don’t like seeing a man with a gun in that frame of mind—not when he’s got a badge to back it up,” Uncle Roy told them both.

  In all the time we watched for Cain, Fess blew his clarinet. He looked to me like he wasn’t strong enough to walk around the block at a good clip. But I guess his lungs were built up better than the rest of him, because he never ran out of breath. I was almost suffocating. Breathing in the Superdome was like having your head under a heavy blanket on the hottest, most humid night you could imagine. Only that didn’t slow up Fess any.

  "Let the good times roll!” a woman one section over shouted to him.

  Still, I could hear in her voice how she was stressed to the max.

  I saw a straight-haired girl I recognized in shorts and no shoes, huddled in the corridor with her mother. She was on the cheerleading squad and had been at football practice a few times. I’d talked to her once but couldn’t remember her name. I wanted to feel something different instead of all this pressure, so I went over. I hadn’t brushed my teeth in a couple of days and knew my breath was kicking. But I figured it couldn’t be any worse than the stink in the Superdome.

  “Pardon me. I’m Miles,” I said. “I met you before at—”

  That’s when the girl and her mother both freaked out.

  “We don’t know you! Keep away from us!” her mother screamed, like I was going to attack them.

  I tried to say something back, but the girl looked scared out of her mind, shaking her head at me. I was stunned. Then Pop came over and apologized to them.

  “Maybe this ain’t the best time to make acquaintances, son,” he said on the walk back. “People are hardly themselves now.”

  It was nearly four o’clock in the morning, and the glass on my watch was fogging over from the humidity. The stadium lights had come up a bit brighter, and I noticed a pair of birds that got inside beating their wings against the top of the dome. They flew in circles, till I almost got dizzy watching them. Then one found a hole in the roof, and the other followed him out. Only a minute later, they were both back inside, searching for a way out again.

  There was yelling from down the hall and footsteps flying our way. Everybody who was ready to fight filled the aisle. Fess even stopped his playing. That’s when a different gang of thugs—one in orange bandanas— came running out of the shadows. People in our section grilled them hard, and I felt my blood pumping as fast as their feet. But they weren’t interested in us. They streaked right past our section, running from something.

  “There’s the devil you know, and the devil you don’t know,” said Uncle Roy, watching them go.

  I asked which one was worse, and he answered, “Whichever one got the other haulin’ ass like that.”

  A few minutes later, Cain and his crew came down the corridor. I saw right away that they were one body short. Dunham was missing, and Cain’s hands had cuts and were stained with blood.
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  Pop and Uncle Roy had me sandwiched between them, and Fess held his clarinet tight inside of one hand, like it was a wooden stake he might have to drive through some vampire’s heart.

  “Where’s my do-re-mi, Miles? Remember who owns these seats right here—me!” Cain said, pointing to himself. “Nobody else!”

  Preacher Culver gave the paper bag with the money to Cain, who tossed it over to one of his two boys. The guy counted it fast. Then he nodded at Cain.

  “You got what you wanted,” Culver said. “Now leave these people to deal with their troubles and grief in peace.”

  “How ’bout me, preacher? You wish me peace, too?” Cain asked in a sharp voice.

  “I do,” Culver answered.

  “Even after I busted the back of your skull?” said Cain.

  “That’s right,” said Culver, without blinking.

  Then Cain spit right into Culver’s face and said, “Why don’t you turn the other cheek to that, and I’ll hock up another load for you.”

  Culver’s eyes turned to fire, like he was staring down the devil. But he didn’t budge an inch.

  I slipped past Pop and my uncle, pulling out what was left of my own money.

  "Miles, come back!” shouted Pop, with his arm grabbing nothing but air.

  “I want you to have this,” I told Cain, holding out the roll.

  But when he reached for it, I slammed my forehead into his face, knocking him flat.

  Cain got off the floor screaming at his crew to keep back.

  "Leave’em!” he said, coming at me. "He’s mine!”

  I wrestled him down, and we were tugging at each other so wild that Cain’s shirt got yanked off right over his head. We’d been scrapping for maybe six or seven “Mississippi”s when I heard a stampede of feet thundering towards us. At first, I thought it was Pop and everybody else from our section wanting to kick Cain’s ass, too. But it wasn’t. It was a whole family of people I’d never seen—something like twenty of them, and every one was thirsty for blood.

  Cain’s crew split, even the heavy dude with the knife.

  Those people tugged Cain and me apart, pinning us down.

  “It’s one of them two who put his hands on me!” a woman screamed all hysterical.

  “Which one?” snorted the giant on top of me, holding Pop back with one arm.

  That’s when Cain pointed at me and cried, “He did it! That’s why I was whippin’ his ass! It was him!”

  “No! The other one!” the woman hollered. “It was dark, but I’d know his voice anywhere! That’s him!”

  That family grabbed Cain by his arms and legs and nearly ripped him in two. They beat him bloody, kicking him through the corridor.

  Cain was screaming at the top of his lungs as they dragged him down the steps to where nobody else could see.

  Pop had his arms wrapped tight around my chest. I knew that could have been me in Cain’s place, and I felt the blood pulsing hard at my temples.

  I wanted to shut out Cain’s voice bad, but I couldn’t. And the worst part was that it didn’t sound like there was any soul inside his screams.

  “Only God can save him now,” said Preacher Culver.

  9

  Oh, when the sun begins to shine

  Oh, when the sun begins to shine

  Lord, how I want to be in that number

  When the sun begins to shine

  Tuesday August 30, 6:52 A.M.

  Katrina had finally run out of steam, and the sunlight poured through the holes in the roof of the Superdome. Then the noise inside rose up louder than it had ever been. People a couple of sections over were grabbing all their things and running into the corridor.

  "This is it!” shouted Pop. "They’re lettin’ us go! Come on, quick—get everything together!”

  Almost as soon as he’d said it, there was a squad of soldiers by the exit sign behind our section getting people into a line. Then just as fast, they started sending everyone down the stairs. The Superdome was shaking with footsteps. I picked up the duffel bag with Pop’s and Uncle Roy’s horns inside, while they took the rest of our stuff and most of Fess’s, too.

  Cyrus’s daughter and her two girls had joined up with Preacher Culver and his family. They were all still getting their things together. Uncle Roy and me looked at each other like maybe we should wait for them. But there was no slowing down Pop.

  “Preacher, you keep on with God’s work now. You hear?” Uncle Roy called out.

  But for the first time, Culver was too busy with his own family to answer.

  I saw Cyrus’s granddaughters and thought about what Katrina had cost them. I didn’t know who they could grow up to blame or sue—the soldiers, the governor, or even the president of the United States. I was thinking how even the Supreme Court wouldn’t be high enough. That maybe they’d have a beef directly with God for sending the storm and making their skin the color that didn’t get saved fast enough.

  Then I looked down at the football field. Even under all the ripped papers, water-soaked cardboard, and piles of garbage, it was still the brightest green I’d ever laid eyes on. But I knew when I finally made it to the city’s championship game, that field wouldn’t feel the same under my feet as it did the first time. It couldn’t— not after everything that happened here.

  “Hurry now!” called Pop, ready to leave us behind.

  We started down the stairs so close on each other’s heels you’d think we were chained together. There was shit smeared across the wall of the first landing. Everybody turned their noses and had to lean hard the other way not to brush up against it.

  “If I could walk outta this joint blindfolded I would,” said Uncle Roy.

  “They oughta knock it down to the ground after what people went through in this place,” said Pop, breathing through his mouth.

  We hit the big open hall at the bottom and saw the doors the soldiers were pushing people through to the outside.

  "Hallelujah!” voices shouted, one after another.

  The floor was slippery as ice, covered in soaked ceiling tiles that had come crashing down. People were falling everywhere in front of us. Pop grabbed Fess by the belt so he wouldn’t go down, and we practically skated to those doors.

  I had both hands on the back of Pop’s shoulders when I stepped out of that tomb. The bright sunlight stung my eyes, but I couldn’t turn my head from it. Then I swallowed a breath of clean air, and I guess that was as close as you could come to being reborn.

  I stopped to feel the sun on my face, and to be sure that my feet were really on solid ground. Then I focused my eyes and peeped at what Pop had already seen. The soldiers had put up barricades all around the concourse—a flat cement area surrounding the Superdome. They were guarding every exit tight. Nobody was going home. We were just being herded somewhere new. Only this pen was outside in the open. And all the worn-out, beat-down people dragging their stuff started scrambling all over again to find a spot to claim.

  “They can’t keep us locked up no more,” said Pop, defiant. “Not like this.”

  Then Pop pushed forward till he reached the barriers where Captain Hancock and Sergeant Scobie were stationed with a squad of soldiers. He got right up to the waist-high fence, and was almost face-to-face with them. But Pop never said a word. Instead, his eyes were fixed in the direction of Pharoahs, where we lived. That dark filthy water was everywhere. It was over the roofs of cars in some places, just below the bottom branches of trees, and people were swimming towards the Superdome.

  The concourse was way above street level, so we were safe. Opposite us were maybe a hundred people who’d climbed the highway overpass to escape the water, and were trapped now on every side by the flood, yelling and waving for help.

  “It’s a damn nightmare come true,” said Uncle Roy.

  Almost all the windows in the big office buildings were blown out. Dark smoke funneled up into the sky from probably a dozen different fires around the city, and a black rainbow stretched across New Orlean
s.

  “No one is allowed to leave this area! We are under an evacuation order,” announced Hancock over a bullhorn. “If you do not follow our instructions and remain lawful, you will be subject to arrest. Continue to comply with our orders. Everything we do is for your protection.”

  And that just felt like one more kick in the teeth coming from Hancock’s mouth.

  We settled in right up against the barriers, just outside the Superdome. The sun was blazing, and there was hardly any shade. The concourse sidewalk got superheated, and after a while, I could feel the bottoms of my feet burning inside my sneakers.

  By eleven o’clock, people were passing out. The soldiers still hadn’t handed out any water or food, and every twenty minutes or so, Hancock picked up that bullhorn and hammered us with his voice.

  Fess told Sergeant Scobie, “At least Moses was movin’ when he faced his desert. You got us pinned down here bone-dry, and with all that water in the street, too.”

  “That water’s got to be near poisoned from the sewers backing up and such,” Scobie answered him. “Be patient. There are more supplies comin’, and buses to take you outta here if they can get through the flooded streets.”

  “I don’t care how nasty that water is,” Pop told Uncle Roy on the side. “I’d make through it like a river rat to see what’s left of our home.”

  “I’m with ya, Doc. But you heard what these soldiers said ’bout stopping anyone who wants to split,” said Uncle Roy. “They might mean business.”

  “I’m not in any army—real or fake,” Pop said. “I don’t take soldiers’ orders.”

  There were TV reporters on the concourse doing interviews and asking all kinds of questions. Two women standing right in front of them squared off and threw punches over who owned the last of some baby formula. The cameras were on them in a second, so the soldiers rushed in and broke it up quick.

  “Maybe them soldiers wouldn’t have disappeared last night if there were news cameras inside,” mocked Fess.

  And nobody argued.