Streets of Fire полностью

‘Now I want you to know that the people of Birmingham are proud to have you here today,’ he said loudly. And ever-body in this city owes a debt to Colonel Lingo for bringing you in to help with this ridiculous situation.’ He smiled gratefully for a moment, then the smile disappeared suddenly, as if a hard wind had blown it from his face. Now I want to make something clear to you gentlemen.’ He pointed to the ground and raked the tip of his shoe across the pavement. ‘This is like the Alamo, gentlemen, and this is the line we are drawing in the dust.’ He paused, and dug his fists into his sides. ‘And don’t you let one Nigra pass it. Not one solitary Nigra.’ He pulled a small green notebook from his jacket pocket. Ben recognized it instantly as the one he’d turned in to Luther. ‘You know what King said to his people at the church?’ he asked. He flipped through the notebook and began to read: ‘“They know how to handle violence, but they don’t know how to handle nonviolence. It confuses them. They don’t know how to deal with it.”’ He closed the notebook and stared angrily at the troopers. ‘Well, bullshit, gentlemen. We know how to handle violence, all right. And by God we know how to handle violence that just looks like nonviolence.’ He pointed to the left where a group of reporters stood clustered together beneath the tattered green awning of a barbecue parlor. ‘Now these marches and demonstrations, they may look like nonviolence to people who don’t know any better,’ he cried, ‘but we know what it really is, and we know how to handle it.’ He returned the notebook to his jacket. ‘Do your duty as God gives you the wisdom to see your duty. And do it with pride, gentlemen, pride in your city, your state, your governor and your God.’ He paused a moment, eyeing each man in the line. ‘Are there any questions?’

Some of the troopers shifted uneasily on their feet, but no one spoke.

‘Very well, then,’ the Chief said. He clicked his heels together, saluted them, and then rushed off” toward the cooler shades of Kelly Ingram Park.

Luther and Teddy Langley remained at the Chief’s side, and from across the street Ben could see them nodding vigorously as he spoke to them, waving his arms right and left, deploying his men up and down the length of the park and sending squads of others out along the steaming brick side streets and parking lots.

‘Old Dynamite Teddy,’ Daniels said. ‘He’s always sucking up to the Chief.’ He looked at Breedlove. ‘You know they almost got him for some schoolhouse bombings in Tennessee.’

Breedlove smiled. ‘Teddy? Is that a fact?’

‘Actually locked him up one time for about an hour or two.’

‘Whereabouts?’ Breedlove asked.

‘Right here in Birmingham.’

‘When was that, Harry?’

‘Back when Big Jim was governor.’

Breedlove scratched his chin. ‘You reckon he’s been doing stuff like that around here lately?’

‘If the Chief wants him to,’ Daniels said without hesitation. ‘He’ll do anything the Chief says, that’s for sure.’

Ben’s eyes drifted over toward the park. Several squads of troopers were marching double-time across the southern end of the park, their feet kicking up a low, grayish-brown dust. Beyond them he could see a convoy of school buses as it nosed its way up the length of the far end of the park. The Chief’s white tank headed the procession, as if clearing away enemy positions.

Suddenly the Chief was in the street again, yelling through an electric megaphone. ‘Get ready now, gentlemen,’ he cried. ‘Here they come!’

Almost at that instant a line of marchers crested the hill at the end of the avenue and then proceeded slowly down the street. Their placards flapped loudly in the summer wind, snapping in the air like distant gunshots.

‘Take up your positions,’ the Chief shouted.

Another line of troopers moved in front of the first, while others marched forward in ragged flanks, their once-straight lines now breaking awkwardly around police cars, trees, telephone poles, until their ranks finally dissolved entirely into a jaggedly moving chaos of gray uniforms and gently waving nightsticks.

‘You there, up ahead!’ the Chief screamed. ‘You will not be permitted to continue this march.’

The single line of marchers continued forward at their same languid pace, flowing slowly, like a dark syrup, over the hill and down the avenue.

‘I repeat,’ the Chief yelled. ‘You will not be permitted to continue this march. You will not be permitted to reach City Hall.’ His voice, high and metallic, echoed from the surrounding buildings and rebounded into the shadowy park. ‘You will not he permitted to continue this march. Do you understand? Turn around. Turn back.’

But the marchers continued forward, some silently, some singing and clapping their hands. The breeze billowed out their skirts and blouses and rippled through the torn cloth awnings which stretched out toward the avenue.

‘Halt!’ the Chief screamed now at the top of his voice.