But just as fast, he’d be out of a job, beaten to a pulp by every white man in the building, and sent to jail. He thought of his wife, Sally, and his boy, Winston. Cal took extra shifts and overtime to save money so that Winston might one day go to school at Howard or Grambling. His grades were good. They just needed the money. So, Cal kept his head down, minded his own business, and went home after work every shift to remind his son he had to work twice as hard at everything he did, because for a black man, only twice as good would be just as good as a white man.
“I’m gonna pray for you,” Cal shouted back as he tossed aside the bucket and reached for another. “This Sunday, I’m gonna pray for you.”
He would, too. But Jesus knew full well that it wasn’t easy to spare Christian charity for these boys. Not easy at all. He would wrestle with it in his mind as he knelt, and he would have to ask for forgiveness, there in the church, for the evil thoughts of revenge that plagued him. Only then, with his soul laid bare, could Cal find it within himself to pray for men like Rudy.
“Awfully kind of you, boy,” Rudy shouted gleefully, his mop of blond hair lightly sprinkled with soot. “Just for that, I’m gonna add more rubber in here and see if we can’t get out of here early tonight!”
Cal looked up, alarmed, as he saw Rudy open up the feeder, clumps of raw rubber now flying into the vat. He was accustomed to the occasional prank — hiding the empty lampblack buckets or kicking over full ones and leaving them for Cal to clean up. But adding so much rubber into the vat so quickly was dangerous and mighty stupid, even for an ass like Rudy.
“What the hell you doing, boy?” Cal shouted angrily. “You’re gonna cause an overflow!”
Rudy stormed up to Cal, hands clenched at his sides. “What did you call me, nigger?”
“Damn it, look!” Cal shouted, pointing to the feeder. “If you don’t shut down the feeder and let me even this out, this whole floor’ll be covered in boiling rubber!”
By now, all of the workers in the vicinity of the lampblack vat had stopped working and turned to watch. “Ain’t my fault you can’t keep up, you lazy, stupid old shit,” he sneered, inches from Cal’s face.
Christian charity would have to wait.
Cal put a meaty hand on Rudy’s shoulder and shoved him aside easily — the boy was really a scarecrow under his overalls — and muscled past two of the others, rushing for the feeder. He shut it down just in time — the superheated chemical stew was just inches from the lip of the vat. And with that, the line alarms went off and the Firestone Tire line slowed to a halt.
“Did you see him lay a hand on me?” Rudy shouted at the white workers around them. “Did you see that nigger put his grimy paws on me like that?”
There were nods of assent and murmurings among the others, and Cal found himself hoping that with the line stopped, the foreman would show up fast to investigate. Even the furious harangue he was in for was far better than burning alive.
But the boss was nowhere in sight, and Rudy was headed for him quickly, five of his friends right on his tail, likely with a mind to do some harm. Cal adjusted his stance and took a breath — it wouldn’t be the first beating he’d dealt with on the line.
The beating never came, though.
His fist raised, Rudy charged toward Cal — and slipped. He turned and twisted, waving his arms like a windmill to keep upright, but there was nothing to grasp.
Except the edge of the vat. And even then, Rudy misjudged it. His boot caught a hose snaked across the ground and he lurched forward uncontrollably, his momentum unstoppable as he slammed into the side of the vat and over the lip, his right arm plunging into the rubber up to the elbow.
Rudy’s blood-curdling scream echoed off the walls of the vast factory. He yanked his arm back immediately but the damage had already been done: it was covered in a thick coating of black, superheated pitch, steaming on the outside — and cooking his arm beneath.
The second scream was even worse than the first.
“Oh, Lord! Oh, no! Oh, Lord!” Cal shouted as he lunged for Rudy and caught him as he staggered backward and fell, his arm still held out in front of his saucer-wide eyes. Drops of rubber fell onto Cal’s coverall, and the fabric sizzled as the thick liquid quickly ate through it.
“Get the first aid kit!” he yelled at the others, all standing around, staring in shock at what had transpired in the last few seconds. Jesus, but they were young and stupid. “GO GET HELP!” Cal finally bellowed.
They ran off.
“Now, you listen here, Rudy; you stay with me and you stay focused on me, all right?” Cal said, looking down. Rudy shuddered as he drew in deep breaths, sweat pouring down his face. “We’re gonna get you help, all right?”
Rudy turned to Cal, looking up at him, his face white as a ghost. “It hurts. Oh, God, it hurts so bad. My arm. Oh, God.”
The boy’s eyes started to glaze over, and Cal knew that wasn’t a good sign. “Come on, now, Rudy. Stay with me here. We’re going to get you help.”
Cal set the injured man down on the factory floor gently. The boss would be there soon and would be able to help Rudy more than he’d ever be able to. The only thing left to do was wait.
Cal put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and prayed.
“Dear God, please let this damn fool live,” Cal breathed. “I don’t care what he did; I don’t care what they gonna do to me here. Just don’t let him die. Please, God, don’t let him die.”
Cal closed his eyes… and something was suddenly different. He felt something rise up within his chest, a warmth pulsing in time with his heartbeat. It moved out into his arm, down into his hand… and finally into Rudy, the man who called Cal “stupid” and “lazy” and “nigger” over and over, night after night.
Cal grew dizzy and started to feel weak. He took his hand off the boy’s shoulder and tried to steady himself, but couldn’t find his balance anymore. He collapsed onto the factory floor next to Rudy as his world went dark as lampblack.
He was in a cell when he awoke.
Cal knew it before he even opened his eyes. The clanging metal, the shouts that echoed from off in the far distance… it was all too familiar. Once upon a time, he was a hotheaded kid who got in scrapes almost every day — this was his first time back in quite a while, but he knew he’d never forget that feeling.
Cal’s heart sank as he opened his eyes and slowly sat up, swinging his tired, aching legs to the floor, remembering everything that had happened. Those damn white boys probably blamed Cal for the accident. Maybe even said he pushed Rudy toward the vat. Hell, that mob probably claimed they stopped Cal before he threw Rudy into the vat altogether, or…
Why the hell were his legs aching so much? And his arms? Cal stretched and found his body tired… so damn tired. There had been a time the last year when Cal pulled extra shifts and worked for ten nights straight, then went to church that Sunday morning — and he still didn’t feel as tired then as he did now.
It didn’t matter now — Cal had much bigger problems. There were a few black lawyers in Memphis, but Cal knew he couldn’t get any of them to put in the time and effort for a case like this. Not that any jury would spare an honest word in court for a Negro, anyway. At best, he’d probably spend a few months in prison. He’d certainly already lost his job — when he got out, he’d have no choice but to put his head down and look for another one.
Cal ran a tired hand across his face and up over his head and… what the hell? He stopped over the top of his head and rubbed a bit.
That bald spot hadn’t been there when he’d woke up earlier that afternoon, before his shift. Maybe some of the rubber had splattered when Rudy pulled his arm out… but wouldn’t his scalp be burned? Didn’t feel like it; there was a smooth patch of skin where there was hair yesterday. Or was it yesterday? When did he collapse? What time was it now?