Author: Paul Beatty
Category: Fiction
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/paul-beatty/page,8,468657-hokum.html
There was only one. He approached Freeman several times with penetrating questions. The fraternity thing put him off.
"You a fraternity man, Freeman?" he asked once over lunch.
"Naw. I was once because of the chicks. You had to have that pin, you know. Almost as good as a letter in football. But I thought that kinda stuff was silly. I used to be a Kappa."
He looked at Freeman coldly. "I'm still a Kappa," he said. He finished lunch and never spoke to Freeman again.
Mid-way through the fourth week, three of the group were cut. They were called into the front office and informed that their grades were not up to standard, and that same evening they were gone. Panic hit the group and there were several conferences concerning what should be done. Several long-distance phone calls were made, three to politicians, five to civil rights bureaucrats. The group was informed that they were on their own and that after the time, energy, money and effort that had gone into their integration, they should feel obligated to perform up to the highest standards. Freeman had received the best grades in each of the exams, but no one was concerned with that fact.
Two others left the following weekend, although their grades were among the highest in the group. Freeman guessed correctly that it was for homosexuality and became convinced that in addition to being bugged for sound, the rooms were monitored by closed-circuit TV. He was right. The telephones, even the ones in the booths with coin boxes, were bugged as well. The General received a weekly report regarding the progress of the group. It appeared that those intellectually qualified could be cut on physical grounds. They were already lagging at the increasing demands of the morning calisthenics and were not likely to survive the rigours of hand-to-hand combat. The Director of the school confidently predicted that not one of the Negroes would survive the ten weeks of the school, which would then be completely free for a new group of recruits presently going through preliminary screening. It was to the credit of Freeman's unobtrusive demeanour that the school's Director did not even think of him, in spite of his excellent grades and physical condition, when making his report to the General. If he had, he might have qualified his report somewhat.
The General instructed his school's Director to forward complete reports to the full Senatorial Committee. He intended to head off any possible criticism from Senator Hennington. He could not know that the Senator was not in the least concerned with the success or failure of the Negro pioneers to integrate the Central Intelligence Agency. He had won his election and for another six years he was safe.
"When this group is finished, I want you to begin screening another. Don't bother to select Negroes who are obviously not competent; they have already demonstrated their inability to close the cultural gap and no one is in a position seriously to challenge our insistence not to lower standards for anyone. It will cost us a bit to flunk out six or eight a year, but we needn't worry about harassment on this race thing again in the future if we do. It's a sound investment," said the General. He was pleased and again convinced that he was not personally prejudiced. Social and scientific facts were social and scientific facts. He ate a pleasant meal in his club that evening and noted that there were both white and coloured present. The whites were members and guests; the Negroes served them. The General did not reflect that this was the proper order of things. He seldom approved of the rising of the sun, either.
Two more were cut for poor marksmanship. Freeman had obtained an ROTC commission at college and had served in Korea during the police action. He was familiar with all of the weapons except the foreign ones, and a weapon is a weapon. Only the extremely high cyclic rate of the Schmeisser machine pistol bothered him and that did not last very long.
"Mr. Freeman," the retired Marine Gunnery Sergeant said, "that is an automatic weapon and designed to be fired in bursts. Why are you firing it single-shot?"
"It's to get its rhythm, Sergeant. I couldn't control the length of the bursts at first and I was wasting ammo, but I think I have it now."
The Sergeant knew that Freeman had been an infantryman, and Marines, in spite of what they claim, have at least a modicum of respect for any fighting man. "OK, Mr. Freeman. Show me what you mean. Targets one through five, and use only one clip."
"Call the bursts, Sergeant."
"Three. Five. Five . . . " He called the number of rounds he wanted in rapid succession, as fast as Freeman could fire them. There were rounds left for the final target and, on inspection, they found that one five-round burst had been six instead.
"That is very good shooting, Mr. Freeman. Were you a machine gunner in Korea?"
"No. I was in a Heavy Weapons company for a while and got to know MG's fairly well, but I spent most of my time in a line infantry company. I like automatic weapons, though. I learned it's not marksmanship, but firepower that wins a fire fight. I want to know as much as I can about these things."
"All right, Mr. Freeman, I'll teach you what I know. You can have all the extra practice and ammo you want. Just let me know a day ahead of time and I'll set it up. We'll leave the Schmeisser for a while and start with the simpler jobs, and then work up. Pistols, too?"
"Yes, I'd like that, Sergeant. And I'd rather your maintenance section didn't clean them for me. I'd rather do it myself. No better way I know of to learn a weapon than to break it down, clean and re-assemble it."
The Gunnery Sergeant nodded his head and something rather like a smile crossed his face.
Freeman read everything in the library on gunnery, demolition, subversion, sabotage and terrorism. He continued to head the class in examination results. There was much more study among the group now and they eyed one another uneasily, wondering who would be the next to go. They had no taste for returning to the jobs they had left: civil rights bureaucracies, social welfare agencies, selling insurance, heading a playground in the ghetto, teaching school—all of the grinding little jobs open to a non-professional, middle-class Negro with a college degree. Long after Freeman retired, between midnight and one, his programme not varying from the schedule he had established during the first week, the rest of the class studied far into the night. The group was given the Army physical aptitude test, consisting of squat jumps, push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups and a 300-yard run.
Freeman headed the group with a score of 482 out of a possible 500. The men finishing second and third to him in academics were released when they scored less than 300 points. There were only two other athletes in the group, one a former star end at Florida A & M, the other a sprinter from Texas Southern. They were far down on the list academically, although they studied each night until dawn. It was just a matter of time before they left. In two months there were five of the group left, including Freeman. Hand-to-hand combat rid them of two more.
The instructor was a Korean named Soo, but Calhoun, his supervisor, was an American from North Carolina. The niggers would leave or Calhoun would break their necks. He broke no necks, but he did break one man's leg and dislocated another's shoulder. He was surprised and angered to find that Freeman had studied both j u d o and jiu-jitsu and had a brown belt in the former and a blue stripe in the latter. He would throw Freeman with all the fury and strength he could muster, each time Freeman took the fall expertly. He dismissed the rest of the class one day and asked Freeman to remain.
"Freeman, I'm going to be honest with you. I don't think your people belong in our outfit. I don't have anything against the rest of the group; I just don't think they belong. But you I don't like."
"Well, I guess that's your hang-up."
"I don't like your goddamn phony humility and I don't like your style. This is a team for men, not for misplaced cotton-pickers. I'm going to give you a chance. You just walk up to the head office and resign and that will be it. Otherwise, we fight until you do. And you will not leave this room until I have whipped you and you walk out of here, or crawl out of here, or are carried out of here and resign. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Whitey, you make yourself clear. But you ain
't running me nowhere. You're not man enough for that." Freeman felt the adrenaline begin coursing through his body and he began to get that limp, drowsy feeling, his mouth turning dry. I can't back away from this one, he thought.
"Mr. Soo will referee. International j u d o rules. N o chops, kicks or hand blows. Falls and choke holds only. After a fall, you get three minutes' rest and we fight again and I keep throwing you, Freeman, until you walk out of this outfit for good."
"Mr. Soo?"
They bowed formally and circled one another, each reaching gingerly for handholds on the other's jacket. He had fifteen pounds on Freeman and wore a black belt; but a black belt signifies only that the wearer has studied judo techniques enough to instruct others. The highest degree for actual combat is the brown belt Freeman wore. Calhoun was not a natural athlete and had learned his technique through relentless and painstaking practice. His balance was not impressive and he compensated with a wide stance. Freeman figured his edge in speed all but nullified his weight disadvantage. He had studied Calhoun throughout the courses; he had watched him when he demonstrated throws and when he fought exhibition performances with Soo. Freeman was familiar with his technique and habits and knew that he favoured two throws above all others, a hip throw and a shoulder throw, both right-handed.
He came immediately to the attack. Freeman avoided him easily, feeling him out, testing his strength. Calhoun was very strong in the shoulders and arms, but as slow as Freeman had anticipated. He compensated by bulling his opponent and keeping him on the defensive.
Calhoun tried a foot sweep to Freeman's left calf, a feint, then immediately swung full around for the right-handed hip throw. Freeman moved to his right to avoid the sweep, as the North Carolinian had wanted, then, when Calhoun swung into position for the hip throw, his back to Freeman, Freeman simply placed his hand on his back and, before he could be pulled off balance and onto the fulcrum of Calhoun's hip, pushed hard with his left hand, breaking contact. It had been a simple and effective defensive move, requiring speed and expert timing. They circled and regained their handholds on each other's jackets. After a few minutes of fighting, realising that he was out-sped, Calhoun began bulling Freeman in an effort to exhaust him.
Soo signalled the end of the first five-minute period. They would take a three-minute rest. By now, Freeman knew his opponent.
You'd be dangerous in an alley, thought Freeman, but you hung yourself up with judo. Karate, or jiu-jitsu, maybe, to slow me down with the chops and kicks. But there is just no way you can throw me in judo, white boy. He wondered whether to fight, or to continue on the defence. He looked at Calhoun, squatting Japanese-style on the other side of the mat, the hatred and contempt naked on his face. No, he thought, even if I blow my scene, I got to kick this ofay's ass. When you grab me again, Whitey, you are going to have two handfuls of one hundred and sixty-eight pounds of pure black hell. He took slow, deep breaths and waited for the three minutes to end.
Soo nodded to them, they strode to the centre of the mat, bowed and reached for one another.
Freeman changed from the standard j u d o stance, with feet parallel, body squared away and facing the opponent, to a variation; right foot and hand advanced, identical to a south-paw boxing stance. It is an attacker's stance, the entire right side being exposed to attack and counter from the opponent. Freeman relied on speed, aggressiveness, natural reflexes and defensive ability to protect himself in the less defensive position. He wanted only one thing: to throw this white man. He moved immediately to the attack.
Freeman tried a foot sweep, his right foot to Calhoun's left, followed up with a leg throw, osoto-gare, then switched from right to left, turning his back completely to his opponent, whose rhythm he had timed, and threw him savagely with a right-handed hip throw.
Calhoun lay there and looked at Freeman in surprise. He got slowly to his feet, rearranging his j u do jacket and re-tying his belt. Freeman did the same, then, facing him, he bowed as is the tradition. Calhoun remained erect, staring at Freeman coldly. Freeman maintained the position of the bow, hands on thighs, torso lowered from the hips.
"Calhoun-san. You a judokan. You will return bow of Freeman-san," hissed Soo. Reluctantly, Calhoun bowed. They returned to their places on the mat, squatting Japanese style, waiting for the three minutes to end. Freeman wondered if he could keep from killing this white man. No, he thought, he's not worth it and it would really blow the scene. But he does have an ass-kicking coming and he can't handle it. This cat can't believe a nigger can whip him. Well, he'll believe it when I'm through . . .
Soo signalled them to the centre of the mat.
Freeman methodically chopped Calhoun down. Fie threw him with a right-foot sweep, a left-handed leg throw, another hip throw and finally a right-handed shoulder throw. Calhoun, exhausted by now, but refusing to quit, reacted too slowly and landed heavily on his right shoulder, dislocating it. Soo forced the shoulder back into the socket and the contest was finished. Saying nothing, they bowed formally and Freeman walked slowly to the locker room. It was the end of the day, Friday, and he would have the weekend to recuperate. He would need it.
Calhoun asked for an overseas assignment. Within three days he left for leave at his family home in North Carolina, then disappeared into the Middle East.
Freeman would have to be more careful; there were holes in his mask.
He would have to repair them.
WANDA COLEMAN
april 15th 1985 c.
1985
It's been a wonderful trip and I'm feeling great! But fun costs and I've J- overspent on my trip to San Francisco and go to the bank to cash a check. There's an old white woman damn near eighty in front of me. She needs a deposit/withdrawal slip from the counter across the room, but hesitates to leave the long Monday A.M. line because she might lose her place. Rather than ask me to hold it for her, which I don't mind doing, she talks around me, as if I'm not standing there, to a white woman in her sixties directly behind me. (I'm 6/2" in my brown leather boots and have the darkest skin in the place.) When the woman in her sixties reassures her, she leaves the line. When the line moves up I move up a step, leaving enough room for the eighty-year-old's return. Suddenly, the sixty-year-old addresses me boldly: "She wants her place back when she returns!"
"I heard. I got ears," I say extremely rude and loud.
"You don't have to talk to me like that!" she says—half whine and half revulsion.
"Fuck off lady!" I say loud enough to silence her and the entire bank. Then I allow the eighty-year-old to re-enter the line ahead of me.
I'm satisfied my behavior will puzzle the sixty-year-old for time to come; wondering what she did to evoke such nastiness. Or perhaps she'll dismiss me as just another hostile young nigger wench. I'm not feeling so great any more.
Save me from bigoted old white bitches.
identifying marks
c. 1985
raised
black mole ¼ inch diameter on nape of left cocoa breast
birthmark
callus on first joint of second finger, right hand
continual rubbings of pencils & pens held too firmly
assorted dark splotches
and patches on hands, neck, arms and backs of legs
stasis dermatitis since birth erupting under acute and/or
chronic stress
tiny dark spot on right back five inches below shoulder blade
where lung was pierced by needle to remove fluid
when hospitalized for walking pneumonia
green-black freckle left upper nose, flat mole
tigerish striping/striae of skin from navel to pubic area
six pregnancies and three-hundred pound weight loss
over sixteen year period
oval indentation two cm in diameter on right eye
residual from black eye received in fight with first husband
over which late night television program to watch
slightly puffy right lip with scar o
n inner tissue
busted following duke-out with drunk louisianan boyfriend
who stole ten dollars from purse
triangular indentation on right pinky, healed scars
from cuts received when jumping thru a
plate glass window following lover's quarrel
beige scar where skin was torn off dorsum of left foot
remainder of fist fight which ensued after
discovering lover in bed with best friend girl
dark spot three inches below left eye, healed
severe skin eruption following employer's threat to fire
& sudden unexpected return of estranged second husband
light band of skin around third finger, left hand
recent removal of wedding band
shadows circling eyes
on that stuff that ain't nevah been
long enuff for no damn body
c. 1985
"say—when i'm gonna see you wear your hair down?"
went the taunt
i keep it under caps and raps