With his hands extended, Pastor John took a small step forward as the boy came up against the wall. When the pastor took another step, the boy began to slide to his right, only to find himself wedged in the corner with nowhere to go.
Pastor John softened his tone from one of accusation to one of explanation.
—I can see that you do not wish me to look in your bag, William. But it is the Lord’s will that I should do so.
The boy, who was still shaking his head, now closed his eyes in the manner of one who acknowledges the approach of the inevitable but who wishes not to witness its arrival.
Gently, John reached down, took hold of the rucksack, and began to lift it away. But the boy’s grip was fast. So fast that when John began to lift, he found he was lifting the bag and the boy together.
Pastor John let out a little laugh at the comedy of the situation. It was something that might have occurred in one of the films of Buster Keaton.
But the more Pastor John tried to lift the bag away, the tighter the boy held on; and the tighter he held on, the more clear it became that something of value was hidden within.
—Come now, said John, in a tone that betrayed a reasonable loss of patience.
But shaking his head with his eyes tightly closed, the boy simply repeated his incantation more loudly and clearly.
—Emmett, Emmett, Emmett.
—There is no Emmett here, said John in a soothing voice, but the boy showed no signs of slackening his hold.
Having no choice, Pastor John struck him.
Yes, he struck the boy. But he struck him as a schoolmarm might strike a student, to correct his behavior and ensure his attention.
Some tears began to progress down the boy’s cheeks, but he still wouldn’t open his eyes or loosen his grip.
With something of a sigh, Pastor John held the rucksack tightly with his right hand and drew back his left. This time, he would strike the boy as his own father had struck him—firmly across the face with the back of the hand. Sometimes, as his father liked to say, to make an impression on a child, one must leave an impression on a child. But before Pastor John could set his hand in motion, there was a loud thump behind him.
Without letting go of the boy, John looked over his shoulder.
Standing at the other end of the boxcar, having dropped through the hatch, was a Negro six feet tall.
—Ulysses! exclaimed the pastor.
For a moment, Ulysses neither moved nor spoke. The scene before him may well have been obscured by his sudden transition from daylight into shadow. But his eyes adjusted soon enough.
—Let go of the boy, he said in his unhurried way.
But Pastor John did not have his hands on the boy. He had his hands on the bag. Without letting go, he began explaining the situation as quickly as he could.
—This little thief snuck into the car while I was sound asleep. Luckily, I woke just as he was going through my bag. In the struggle that followed, my savings spilled to the floor.
—Let go of the boy, Pastor. I won’t tell you again.
Pastor John looked at Ulysses, then slowly released his grip.
—You’re perfectly right. There’s no need to admonish him further. At this point, he has surely learned his lesson. I will just gather up my dollars and return them to my bag.
Fortuitously, the boy did not object.
But somewhat to Pastor John’s surprise, this was not out of fear. Quite to the contrary, the boy, who was no longer shaking his head with his eyes closed, was staring at Ulysses with an expression of amazement.
Why, he has never seen a Negro, thought Pastor John.
Which was just as well. For before the boy regained his senses, Pastor John could gather up the collection. To that end he fell to his knees and began sweeping up the coins.
—Leave them be, said Ulysses.
With his hands still hovering a few inches above the windfall, Pastor John looked back at Ulysses and spoke with a hint of indignation.
—I was just going to reclaim what is rightfully—
—Not a one, said Ulysses.
The pastor shifted his tone to reason.
—I am not a greedy man, Ulysses. Though I have earned these dollars through the sweat of my own brow, may I suggest that we follow the counsel of Solomon and split the money in half?
Even as he made this suggestion, Pastor John realized with some dismay that he had gotten the lesson upside down. All the more reason to press onward.
—We could split it three ways, if you’d prefer. An equal share for you, me, and the boy.
But while Pastor John was making this proposal, Ulysses had turned to the boxcar’s door, thrown the latch, and slid it rumbling open.
—This is where you get off, said Ulysses.