Also in the “billboard” file were rantings, many not really comprehensible, concerning historic, universal, and immediate, local injustices committed by various nonwhite groups and individuals. The alphabet of derogatory names used for these groups and individuals in the “billboard” would make its own glossary.
Jack found the membership lists, et cetera, of groups around the country and the world all easily accessible from the little computer at Camp Orania in Tolliver, Alabama. Also, he found a list labeled “Those Targeted for Assassination.” To his great surprise, he even found particulars regarding Germany’s “Autonomen,” the hooded, masked force that “protects” white rights demonstrators from German security forces.
Clearly, The Tribe was proud of its ability to document perfectly.
Also clearly, Jack thought, probably because the members of The Tribe believed in the righteousness of their cause and in the purity of their own hearts, their security systems were as naive as might be The Sisters of Charity’s.
All this information Jack was copying onto floppy disks when he heard a man’s heavy tread approach the little office.
When Commandant Wolfe entered the small office, Jack was typing onto the computer screen, And Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Ethiopian woman whom he had married: for he had married an Ethiopian woman. —Numbers 12:1.
Caressing Jack’s neck, in a low voice Wolfe asked, “You haven’t filled even one condom yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
At the console, Jack sweated profusely. His floppy disks were plainly visible next to the computer. He hoped Wolfe was sufficiently computer ignorant not to suspect what he was doing. “Haven’t had time yet, sir.”
“A beautiful Aryan boy like you has no interest in sex?”
“I have interest in sex, sir.”
“What are you working on?” Wolfe continued to massage Jack’s neck.
“I’m typing notes for Doctor Kriegel’s sermon in the morning, sir.” Jack thumbed the edges of the floppy disks. “And putting into the computer some of his writings, you know, his sermons, speeches. Some of the things he wrote while in prison. Very important I get them into the computer.”
“Kriegel had use of a computer in prison?”
“Of course,” Jack answered. “He worked in the library. You know about the computer billboard he established among the prisons?”
“Yes.”
“That was how he organized the prisoners around the country. No one could stop him. His newsletters that were mailed from Washington, Berlin, Warsaw, back to the prisoners …”
“Yes, yes. Our friend Kris Kriegel is a genius at organization. A spellbinder, too. What’s this?” Wolfe leaned over Jack’s head. From the computer screen, he read, “‘Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their Tribe
With Wolfe’s hands on his neck, Jack closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.
“Excellent!” Wolfe clapped him on the shoulder. “Simple, familiar statements! Exactly what is needed! Give them the familiar in a new context, and people will believe and do whatever you want! Isn’t that what preachers have been doing for centuries?”
Jack sighed. “If you say so, sir.”
“And what’s this? ‘And Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Ethiopian woman whom he had married: for he had married an Ethiopian woman.’ Moses married a nigger?”
“So it was reported, sir. Moses married interracially.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” Wolfe cleared his throat. “Moses was a Jew, wasn’t he?”
“Such is commonly believed.”
Jack typed: There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.—Galatians 3:28.
“Ah, yes.” Looking up, Jack saw Wolfe frown as he read. “I’m sure Brother Kriegel knows what he’s doing.”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
Wolfe squeezed Jack’s shoulders. “Still, it is so late in the night.” Wolfe ran his hand up Jack’s arm. “You are so sweaty. Such a sweaty boy. Don’t you think it is time you filled at least one condom?”
“Sir?”
“Perhaps you need to be stimulated. Eh? You need to be stimulated a little?”
“Sexually stimulated?”
“Yes.”
“By you? Sir?”
Abruptly, Jack stood up.
In the desk’s lamplight, he faced Wolfe from a meter away.
Wolfe was shirtless, but otherwise dressed. He wore his uniform-like trousers. His boots. His holstered six-shooter.
Jack said, “Sir! The regulations of The Tribe prohibit the use of liquor and or other drugs!”
Mildly, Wolfe said, “Certainly.”
With a straight arm, Jack pointed through the cabin’s windows. “Sir! There was wide and general use of liquor and other drugs in this camp tonight!”
“Of course,” Wolfe said. “So? The boys have to blow off a little steam. More to the point”—he smiled at Jack—“we must attract them. How can we be responsible for the habits they bring with them? Someday, we will have tighter control….”
“Sir!” Jack could feel his torso pouring with sweat. He guessed the dose of salt he had had at breakfast that morning had held the sweat in his body until this unfortunate moment. “The regulations of The Tribe abhor any homosexual activity!”
“Homosexual?” Wolfe’s scalp, his hairline, appeared to move backward on his head. His right hand raised slightly toward the grip of his revolver.
“Anything that smacks of homosexuality. Sir!”
“Goddamn you! You think that I just suggested”—Wolfe breathed hard—“a homosexual…”
“You suggested stimulating me sexually. Sir!”
“That is not homosexual! You have been in prison! With nothing but men …” Staring at Jack, Wolfe lifted his revolver from his holster. “Are you accusing me of homosexuality? I will shoot you for saying such a thing! You think I will have you saying such a thing about me? I will say I came into the office and found you stealing files from the computer!”
Jack looked at the disks he had already filled on the desk. That would be true.
Wolfe raised the revolver. He aimed it at Jack. “You fought with me. I had to shoot you.”
In a bored, indifferent voice, Jack said, “Shoot me.”
He waved a dismissive hand at Wolfe.
Jack sat on the edge of the cot along the inside wall of the office. He picked up the guitar. He picked a few notes, strummed a few chords.
Still aiming his revolver at Jack’s head, Wolfe said incredulously, “You son of a bitch, you think you can charm me, or something?”
Jack nodded to him. “Yes.”
Jack played and sang for Commandant Wolfe the Kander-Ebb song “Tomorrow the World Belongs to Me,” from the musical Cabaret.
Listening, Commandant Wolfe slowly lowered the revolver. In the lamplight, his eyes glistened.
“Goddamn you!” Wolfe said.
Before he left the office, Wolfe said to Jack, “If you mention one word of this to anyone, ever, I will shoot you! I will kneecap you! I will shoot your balls off!”
Jack played the commandant to bed.
Then he returned to pulling files from the computer.
“HI.” JUST BEFORE dawn, Tracy stuck his head around the jamb of the office door.