Nervously, the men glanced at each other, as none had reckoned on the severity of the fire. That they had just destroyed a quaint little church that would in other times be considered a historic building, concerned them not at all, not to mention the one hundred people who had been burned alive. No, it was the forest that concerned them. What if the forest caught fire? They hadn’t considered that, the forest was valuable to them. They hunted in these hills and they cut the trees for firewood and lumber, lots of other people did too. The forest couldn’t burn, the men knew they would be in serious trouble if any one found out that they had started a forest fire. Ironically, they could almost talk their way out of burning the church, but not the forest.
Some trees had already caught, but they were the few left in the broad expanse of the church lawn. Those trees weren’t a part of the forest. Those isolated trees now burned like Roman candles as the pine needles burst into flames and the sap from the trunks ignited like hot oil poured on a campfire. The men were having no trouble imagining what the forest would look like if it caught fire. Each man silently prayed that the forest would not catch fire; the church and the people inside were their target, not the forest.
The irony of burning to death a church full of people, yet praying to God that trees not be burned, was lost on them. Not that these men were stupid, it was a matter of perspective. The men only knew that the forest meant something to them and that the little church didn’t. After all, the people in that church weren’t like them, they weren’t the same; they were less than real people, not quite human.
A gentle rain began to fall as the men held their breath and watched the sparks descend upon the nearby forest. The rain wouldn’t put out a fire, not the church or the forest, if it had caught already, but it could prevent the forest from catching fire. Though it had been unseasonably hot this year, it had not been unseasonably dry and with this additional rain, it might be that their prayers would be answered.
As they continued to watch, the fire began to diminish perceptively and the heat they had noticed earlier was now less intense. Less prevalent also were the sparks, and instead of drifting toward the trees they were swirling in place over what was left of the church. There would be no spreading of the fire to the forest, the men now realized and, as if in agreement, the rain began to pelt them all the harder.
With satisfaction and relief evident on their faces, they all realized that the fire was definitely waning now and the sparks were subsiding as the rain continued to fall. The rain would cool the remains of the church, but even with the rain the fire would burn all night and smolder all the next day. The show was over. Turning now for their cars, their statement having been made, it was time to go home and wait to hear what the rest of the world would have to say about their statement. As they reached their respective cars, five of the men climbed in, started their engines and immediately spun around and down the gravel lane to the main road.
One man stopped just short of the driver’s side door of his spanking brand new 1962 Ford Mustang and looked back with what seemed to almost be regret, but it wasn’t, not really. The man was merely curious. His attention was drawn back to the fire by the hissing of the rain as it fell upon the hot coals of the meager remains of the church. A fleeting thought passed through his alcohol-fogged brain that God had sent the rain, not to save the forest, but to cleanse the little church and the charred remains of the bodies inside. Cleanse them of what and for what he didn’t know. Surely God didn’t care about those people, why would He? After all, those people weren’t chosen like he was, they were Negroes.
Some trees had already caught, but they were the few left in the broad expanse of the church lawn. Those trees weren’t a part of the forest. Those isolated trees now burned like Roman candles as the pine needles burst into flames and the sap from the trunks ignited like hot oil poured on a campfire. The men were having no trouble imagining what the forest would look like if it caught fire. Each man silently prayed that the forest would not catch fire; the church and the people inside were their target, not the forest.
The irony of burning to death a church full of people, yet praying to God that trees not be burned, was lost on them. Not that these men were stupid, it was a matter of perspective. The men only knew that the forest meant something to them and that the little church didn’t. After all, the people in that church weren’t like them, they weren’t the same; they were less than real people, not quite human.
A gentle rain began to fall as the men held their breath and watched the sparks descend upon the nearby forest. The rain wouldn’t put out a fire, not the church or the forest, if it had caught already, but it could prevent the forest from catching fire. Though it had been unseasonably hot this year, it had not been unseasonably dry and with this additional rain, it might be that their prayers would be answered.
As they continued to watch, the fire began to diminish perceptively and the heat they had noticed earlier was now less intense. Less prevalent also were the sparks, and instead of drifting toward the trees they were swirling in place over what was left of the church. There would be no spreading of the fire to the forest, the men now realized and, as if in agreement, the rain began to pelt them all the harder.
With satisfaction and relief evident on their faces, they all realized that the fire was definitely waning now and the sparks were subsiding as the rain continued to fall. The rain would cool the remains of the church, but even with the rain the fire would burn all night and smolder all the next day. The show was over. Turning now for their cars, their statement having been made, it was time to go home and wait to hear what the rest of the world would have to say about their statement. As they reached their respective cars, five of the men climbed in, started their engines and immediately spun around and down the gravel lane to the main road.
One man stopped just short of the driver’s side door of his spanking brand new 1962 Ford Mustang and looked back with what seemed to almost be regret, but it wasn’t, not really. The man was merely curious. His attention was drawn back to the fire by the hissing of the rain as it fell upon the hot coals of the meager remains of the church. A fleeting thought passed through his alcohol-fogged brain that God had sent the rain, not to save the forest, but to cleanse the little church and the charred remains of the bodies inside. Cleanse them of what and for what he didn’t know. Surely God didn’t care about those people, why would He? After all, those people weren’t chosen like he was, they were Negroes.
