If Winston’s arms ached after this hour of drumming, he was beyond noticing. He was where he wanted to be spiritually, mentally. The rhythm of the drums propelled his efforts, and the collective sound seemed to seep into him, separating his mind from his body.
Earlier, he’d been distracted, worried that he wouldn’t know how to approach this ceremony, knowing that there was something that he wanted to achieve: getting on the good side of the Community gods. But this concern had melted away as the drums worked on him. He understood that he just needed to be carried along with the ceremony; that things would work out that way.
He watched the dancers in various degrees of frenzy: some shook violently as they danced, others seemed as if asleep except for their gentle swaying. Father Womé sat in a chair, receiving people as they came to him in their trances, offering some words before the people danced away to be replaced by others. Winston experienced the scene before him as a shimmer, like looking through the crystal-clear waters of a fast-moving creek, everything bright and clear but not distinct.
Glélé—though now, Winston was sure, he had become Samedi—wove his way between the dancers, making little circles with his cane and lewd movements toward the younger women.
Winston heard a different kind of noise from the crowd to his left; a sound of surprise and protest. He turned to the source and saw a white man—no, he knew who it was, not just a white man, but Ole Koss—stumble out of the crowd and into the Square, a figure isolated by the color of his skin and by the quality of his movements, somehow dissonant with those of the dancers, who continued, oblivious, around him. Koss had a gun in his hand.
Winston felt the cold on his skin, knowing what would happen before Koss stalked toward Father Womé. The crowd noise changed, no longer rapturous. Koss had his gun aimed at Womé when he stopped, his attention suddenly diverted, recognition in his eyes. Winston followed Koss’s sight line and saw Samedi, motionless, staring at Koss, a wide smile on his lips.
As Moses knew would happen, Koss turned on Samedi, gun outstretched, and advanced on him, shooting three times into the man’s chest. The noise came to Winston as three cracks followed by three more as Koss stood above Samedi, shooting into his supine body.
Another cat burst into the square, also white, also carrying a gun. Winston heard screams from the crowd. Most of the people in the ceremony were still dancing, and Winston realized that he was still drumming but didn’t stop. He watched the second white cat run at Koss from behind and bring the butt of his gun down hard on Koss’s head. Koss went down on his hands and knees, blood rushing from the wound down his neck. The white cat hit him again and Koss was facedown in the dirt, the cat with his knee in Koss’s back, the gun trained at the back of Koss’s head.