When Pastor John had first taken the boy’s bag in hand, the train had been barely moving, but in the interim it had gained considerable speed. Outside, the branches of trees were flashing by in what amounted to a blur.
—Here? he replied in shock. Now?
—I ride alone, Pastor. You know that.
—Yes, I remember that to be your preference. But the journey in a boxcar is long in hours and short in common comforts; surely a little Christian fellowship—
—For more than eight years, I have been riding alone without the benefit of Christian fellowship. If for some reason I suddenly found myself in need of it, I certainly wouldn’t be in need of yours.
Pastor John looked to the boy in an appeal to his sense of charity and in the hope that he might come to his defense, but the boy was still staring at the Negro in amazement.
—All right, all right, acquiesced the pastor. Every man has the right to form his own friendships, and I have no desire to impose my company upon you. I will just climb up the ladder, slip out the hatch, and make my way to another car.
—No, said Ulysses. This is the way you go.
For a moment, Pastor John hesitated. But when Ulysses made a move in his direction, he stepped toward the door.
Outside, the terrain did not look welcoming. Along the tracks was an embankment covered in a mix of gravel and scrub, while beyond that a dense and ancient wood. Who knew how far they were from the nearest town or road.
Sensing that Ulysses was now behind him, Pastor John looked back with an imploring expression, but the Negro didn’t meet his gaze. He too was watching the trees flash by, watching them without remorse.
—Ulysses, he pled once more.
—With my help or without it, Pastor.
—All right, all right, Pastor John replied, while mustering up a tone of righteous indignation. I will jump. But before I do so, the least you can do is allow me a moment of prayer.
Almost imperceptibly, Ulysses shrugged.
—Psalm Twenty-Three would be appropriate, said Pastor John in a cutting manner. Yes, I should think that Psalm Twenty-Three would do very nicely.
Placing his palms together and closing his eyes, the pastor began:
—The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
The pastor began reciting the psalm slowly and quietly, in a tone of humility. But when he reached the fourth verse his voice began to rise with that sense of inner strength that is known only to the soldiers of the Lord.
—Yea, he intoned with an uplifted hand, as if he were waving the Good Book over the heads of his congregants. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me! Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me!
There were only two verses left in the Psalm, but no two verses could be more apt. With Pastor John in full feather, having built up his oratory to an appropriate pitch, the line Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies was sure to sting Ulysses to the very marrow. And he would all but tremble when Pastor John concluded: Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever!
But Pastor John never got the chance to ring this particular oratorical bell, for just as he was about to deliver the last two verses, Ulysses sent him sailing into the air.
Ulysses
When Ulysses turned from the door, he found the white boy looking up at him, his knapsack gripped in his arms.
Ulysses waved a hand at the dollars.
—Gather your things, son.
But the boy didn’t make a move to do as he was told. He just kept staring back without a sign of trepidation.
He must be only eight or nine, thought Ulysses. Not much younger than my own boy would be by now.
—It’s like you heard me tell the pastor, he continued more softly. I ride alone. That’s the way it’s been and that’s the way it’s going to stay. But in half an hour or so, there will be a steep grade and the train will slow. When we reach it, I will lower you into the grass and you won’t come to harm. Do you understand?
But the boy kept on staring as if he hadn’t heard a word, and Ulysses began to wonder if he was simple. But then he spoke.
—Were you in a war?
Ulysses was taken aback by the question.
—Yes, he said after a moment. I was in the war.
The boy took a step forward.
—Did you sail across a sea?
—All of us were overseas, replied Ulysses a little defensively.