THE NEXT THING I was aware of—voices.
“You gotta use a higher branch. He’s tall.”
Something was in my eyes. Blood. I was blind from all the blood.
“Use that next branch, that one yonder,” said a second man. “That’s what we used when we hung that big nigger from Tylertown.”
“He wasn’t tall as this one. I can’t hardly see up this high.”
“Hell he wadn’t. I had to skinny up the tree to put the rope way over.”
Every inch of my body was experiencing a different kind of pain: sharp pain, dull pain, pain that throbbed with a massive pounding, pain that burned with a white-hot roar.
I thought, It’s amazing how much pain you can feel and still not be dead.
“This nigger-lover is tall,” the second man said, “but that ’un from Tylertown, he had to be six-foot-six if he was a inch.”
I groaned. I think they were lifting me—hands under my armpits, digging into my flesh, cutting into me, dragging me off to one side.
A thud—something hurting my back. Then I felt the damp ground under me.
A crack—something landed hard on my left knee. I guessed that knee was shattered too.
“This rope is all greasy. I can’t get aholt of it.”
“That’s nigger grease.”
I felt the coarse hemp rope coming down over my face, dragging over my nose, tightening against my neck.
And I thought: Oh, God! They’re hanging me!
Then I flew up into the air, like an angel—an angel whose head was exploding with terrible pain.
I could not see anything. I thought my eardrums had burst from the pressure in my skull.
But they hadn’t tied the noose right. Maybe the one who thought I was too tall was inexperienced. The rope was cutting under my jaw, but it had not gone tight. I got my hand up, somehow worked my fingers between the rope and my neck. I dangled and kicked as if I could kick my way out of the noose. They are hanging you, boy, was the chant that went through my head, over and over, like a song, an executioner’s song.
Crack! I felt a sting on my back. Was it a bullwhip? A buggy whip? A willow branch?
“He’s done. Or he will be,” the voice said. “We can go. Let’s get out of here.”
The air smelled of woodsmoke. Were they going to burn me? Was I going to go up in flames now?
That heat grew and grew. I struggled to see through the blood. It sure is hot up here. Maybe I’m already in hell. Maybe the devil has come and got me.
“We better get out of here, J.T.,” said the voice.
“Not yet.”
“Listen to me. They’re still awake over in the Quarters. They’re angry.”
“Let ’em come out here,” the other man said.
“They’ll be looking for Corbett. He’s just like one of them.” “Yeah, he is. Just like a nigger. Wonder how that is?”
I heard the crack of a branch. The voices began to fade. The heat that had burned me alive began to fade away. Then I was alone. There were iron hands around my neck, squeezing and squeezing. No air. No breath. No way to breathe.
Oh, God. My mouth was so dry.
And then I was gone from the world.