Chapter 63
“Vengeance is mine!”
The funeral was held at Mount Zion Holiness Church, at the corner of Waite and Henry Streets. As irony would have it, this was the same corner where Richard Goode picked Marguerite up for their regular meetings at the Savoy Hotel. The small white steeple church was overflowing with people; even the Negroes from Ashland Estates came. The atmosphere was significantly charged with the raw emotion of indignant colored people. Most of the people in the neighborhood considered Marguerite the white man’s whore, but her death served as a vivid reminder of the fact that a white man could kill a colored person and get away with it, and it angered them.
Dressed in black, Johnnie sat in the first row of uncushioned pews with Lucas, Benny, and Brenda. As Johnnie watched the parade of people viewing the body, she could literally feel the contempt around her. She could hear the persistent murmuring, which was filled with an outrage ready to burst at the seams. Dennis Edwards shouted, “This is bullshit! How long we gon’ put up with this?” Attorney Ryan Robertson shouted, “What can we do? We don’t even know who did it.” Philip Collins, the barber said, “When a black man is accused of raping a white woman, do they care which black man did it? Hell no! Then why should we care which one of them did it? Let’s just pick one and kill him.” Without realizing it, the men were getting louder and more obnoxious as their anger boiled out of control.
If they keep talkin’ like that, they gon’ spoil the whole thing. Maybe even get more colored folk killed, Johnnie thought.
Napoleon Bentley, Marla, and Bubbles walked down the aisle. Suddenly there was quiet, yet the venom was still in the air. Everybody liked and accepted Napoleon, but right now, all they saw was a white man who had the nerve to barge in on their time of mourning.
One man stood up and said, “What the hell are you crackers doin’ here?”
Before Napoleon could respond, Benny stood up and said forcefully, “This ain’t the place and this ain’t the time for this kinda talk. If y’all cain’t respect the ceremony, at least respect us and let us bury our mother in peace.”
Rahim Muhammad, of the Nation of Islam, owner and chief editor of the Raven, the Negro newspaper, stood up and said, “Brothas and sistas, the brotha’s right. Now isn’t the time for retribution. But I say unto you that the time is coming when we will arm ourselves and defend to the death, if necessary, our women and children like any other man. A race riot is inevitable. The white man will come to destroy us again. This is what he does. Just as he destroyed the so-called American Indian, just as he enslaved us, just as he exploited the Chinese, just as he drove the Mexicans out of Texas, surely he will come to this place. We must prepare ourselves or we will die. If you doubt what I say, just remember the riots in Tulsa. Just as the police didn’t save the people of Greenwood, the police won’t save us. We must save ourselves.”
The audience responded with loud applause and verbal acknowledgments of agreement.
Bubbles whispered to Napoleon, “We gon’ hav’ta have a talk with the Muslim before he blows the plan to hell.”
While everyone was completely captivated by the statements being hurled back and forth, Marla and Lucas were making eye contact. She looked good in that black dress and those dark shades. Lucas was so stiff he could be used as the bit for a jackhammer. Well, just once more, Lucas thought. But this will be the last time I see Marla Bentley.
“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” Reverend Staples shouted as he took the podium.
Silence filled the sanctuary when his words thundered in the small church. Dressed in a black robe with gold tassels, he looked out at the audience with righteous indignation.
“Jesus, when He saw the moneychangers in the temple, made a whip and beat them. And He told them, He said, ‘Make not my Father’s house a den of thieves.’ Here, sister Marguerite Wise lays in preparation for her final resting place, and you people have lost your collective minds. You all are carrying on as if you’ve forgotten that we’re here to celebrate the passing of a saint from this life to the next.”
Someone shouted, “She done passed from this life to the next, that’s fo’ sho’. But a saint she ain’t.”
The congregation murmured in agreement.
“Now, you listen to me,” Reverend Staples shouted. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Who are you to question the salvation of this sister? Need I remind you that Jesus had Rahab the whore in His lineage? And even if this woman fell short of God’s salvation, I’m not here to preach the gospel to her, but to you. The gospel is for the living, not the dead. It is for self-righteous people like you, whose only assurance of salvation is the known sins of others.”
Johnnie listened attentively to Reverend Staples. While she knew what the Bible said about vengeance, she would see to it that Richard Goode got what was coming to him. God could have him when she was through with him.