The latticework on the west side of the bandstand carved the afternoon light into a discrete set of diamonds that crept across the dark soil toward Mike and Mink Harper as the old man alternated between long swigs of the champagne, bouts of moody silence, and longer bouts of slurred narrative.
"It was that cold winter right after the new year begun… new century begun too… an' I was just a little shaver, no older'n you are now. How old are you? Twelve? No… eleven? Yeah, that's about how old I was when they hung the nigger.
"I wasn't in school no more. Most of us didn't stay in no longer than we had to… learn to read as much as we needed, sign our names, be able to cipher a bit… that's all a man needed to know in them days. My daddy, he needed all us boys on the farm to work. So's I'd already left my schoolin' behind when they hung the nigger there…
"Kids was disappearin' that year. The little Campbell girl got all the attention,"cause they found her body and her family was rich and all, but there was four or five more who didn't come home from chores that winter. I remember me a little Polack kid named Strbnsky, his daddy'd worked on the railroad work gang'd come through town an' stayed, Stefan was his name… well, Stefan and me'd been hangin' around the saloon lookin' for our daddies a few weeks before Christmas, an' I got mine and took him home in the back of the wagon my brother Ben an' me drove in, but Stefan, he didn't get home. Nobody seen him after that. I remember the last time I seen him, trudgin' across the drifts on old Main Street in his patched knickers and haulin' that bucket he used to carry his old lady's beer home in… Somethin' got Stefan, just like it got the Myers twins and whatshisname, that little 428 spic kid who lived out where the dump is now… but it was the Campbell girl who got all the attention, her bein' the doctor's niece and all.
"So when the Campbell girl's cousin, little Billy Phillips, come into the saloon… not Carl's, Carl's wasn't built yet… was that big building where the goddamn dry goods is now… anyway, when that snotnose little Billy Phillips comes in out of the cold one evenin' saying that there was a nigger down by the tracks who had his sister's petticoat in his duffel, well, hell, that place emptied out in about thirty seconds… me too, I remember runnin' to keep up with my old man's big strides… and there was Mr. Ashley sittin' out in front in that fancy buggy of his, a shotgun acrost his lap-same gun he used to kill hisself a few years later-sittin' there just like he was waitin' for all of us.
" "Come on, boys," he yelled. "Justice got to be done."
"And that whole crowd of men sorta shouted and roared the way mobs do… mobs don't got any more sense than a hound after a bitch in heat, boy… and then we was all off, our breaths puffin' out in the late afternoon light that was all golden sort of… even the horses' breath, I remember that now, Mr. Ashley's team of black mares and some of the men's teams… and slicker'n snot on grease we was out north of town, where the old railroad cut useta be up beyond the taller' factory, and the nigger looked up once from where he was crouched over a fire cookin' fatback, and then the men was all over him. A couple of his nigger friends was there-they never went nowhere alone in those days and wasn't allowed in town after dark, of course-but his friends, they didn't put up no fight, they just slunk away like dogs that know there's a beatin' comin'.
"The nigger had this big old bedroll, and the men tore through it, and sure enough… there was that little Campbell girl's petticoat, all covered with dried blood and… and other stuff, boy. You'll know what I mean someday.
"So they dragged him down to the schoolhouse, that bein' sort of the center of everything in them days. We had our town meetin's in the schoolhouse, and the votin' come election time, and all sorts of bazaars and every sort of truck imaginable. So they dragged the nigger there… I remember standin' outside while the bell was being rung to tell every body to come quick, that somethin' important was happenin'. An' I remember standin' out in the snow exchangin' snowballs with Lester Collins and Merriweather Whittaker and Coony Day singer's daddy… whatever his name was… and a whole bunch a other boys who'd come on down with their daddies. But by and by it got dark for real… and cold… that winter was colder'n a crib full of witch's tits, the whole goddamn town was cut off, you know, sorta sealed off by the icy roads and drifts. Couldna even got to Oak Hill that winter, damn roads was so bad. Train got through, but not every day. Not for weeks that time of year, what with the drifts north of town where the cut was and the railroad havin' no snowplows up this way and all. So we was on our own.
"When we got cold we went in and the trial… they called it a trial… was almost over. Couldna took no more than an hour. There wasn't no real judge… Judge Ashley retired young and was a bit crazy… but they called it a trial anyhow. Mr. Ashley, he looked the part. I remember standin' up there with the other boys on the mezzanine where the books used to be, looking down on the center hall where all the men was crowded in, and marvelin' at how Judge Ashley looked so handsome, what with his expensive gray suit and silk cravat and that silk top hat he wore everywhere. "Course he didn't have the top hat on when he was judgin'… I remember seein' the lamplight sort of glowin' on his white hair and wonderin' how a man that young could look so wise…
"Anyway, Billy Phillips was just finishin' tellin' how he was walkin' home when the nigger tried to catch him… said he run after him sayin' he was goin' to kill him an' eat 'im the way he done the girl… and Billy, God that kid was the biggest liar I ever knowed… little shit useta play hooky back when I was still in school and then come creepin' in an' say he was helpin' his sick momma-Old Lady Phillips was always sick and dyin' of somethin'-said he was sick when we all knowed that he was out screwin' around or fishin' or somethin'. Anyway, Billy says he got away from the nigger, but he went back and spied on the nigger's camp and saw him take out the little Campbell girl's petticoat-she was Billy's cousin, did I tell you that?-take out her petticoat and sort of touch it there around that campfire. He says then he run into town and told the men at the saloon.
"Another guy, coulda been Clement Day singer come to think of it… that was his name, Clement… he said that he seen the nigger hangin' around Dr. Campbell's house before Christmas,"bout the time the little girl up and disappears. Said he hadn't remembered it before, but now it come back to him and he was sure the nigger was hangin' around real suspicious like. After Clement, some of the other folks remember the nigger lurkin' around there too.
"So Judge Ashley banged his big old Colt pistol like a whatchamacallit… a gavel… and he says "Do you got anything to say for your own self?" to the nigger, but the nigger just glares at everybody out of his yellowy eyes and didn't say nothing. "Course his usual fat lips was all swole up fatter 'cause some of the men'd found cause to beat on him, but I think that nigger coulda spoke if he'd wanted to. I guess he didn't want to.
"So Judge Ashley… we was all thinkin' of him as a real judge again by then… he pounds his Colt on the table they dragged out into the hall there, and he says, "You're guilty, by God, and I hereby sentence you to hang by the neck until you're dead and may God have mercy on your soul." An' then that mob of men just sorta stood there for a minute until finally the Judge shouted somethin' and old Carl Doubbet, he laid hands on the nigger, and pretty soon there were a couple dozen of the men draggin' that nigger down past the little kids' classrooms, and then up the big stairway under the stain glass, and then up where us boys was watchin'… dragged that nigger past me so close I coulda reached out and touched those fat lips that were turnin' all purple… and then us kids followed as they dragged him up the stairs where the high-school level was… that was where Carl or Clement or one of the men stuck the black hood on him… and then they drug him up those last steps, the ones that aren't out in the open anymore, where they put that wall in, you know… and they took him out on that little catwalk that ran around the inside of the belfry.
"You can't see it no more… I've helped Karl Van Syke and Miller before him clean that place for forty years, so I know what I'm talkin' about… you can't see it no more
, but it useta be that the belfry had that little catwalk around the inside and you could see down all the way to the first floor, like three rings of balconies goin' right up to that big old bell that Mr. Ashley brung back from Europe. Anyway, we was all standin' around these balconies, the first floor filled with men… and some womenfolk too, I remember seeing Sally Moon's mommy Emma there with her weak-kneed little husband Orville, both their faces just gleamin' they was so happy and excited… everyone starin' up at Judge Ashley and the few others standing around that nigger up there in the belfry.
"I remember thinkin' that they was gonna scare the nigger real bad… put that rope around his scrawny black neck and scare him so bad that he'd just have to start talkin', start tellin' the truth… but that ain't what they did. No sir, what they did was, Judge Ashley borrowed a knife from one of the men there, it coulda been Cecil Whittaker's, and he cut that damned bell rope that hung down all the way to the first floor. I remember leanin' over that high-school-level balcony and starin' down as that rope just sort of folded up and come crashin' down, folks jostlin' to get out of its way and then fillin' back in the space, their faces lookin' up past me at the nigger again. And then Judge Ashley did a strange thing.
"I shoulda figured it when he cut the rope, but I didn't. They was fiddlin' with that nigger's hood, and I figured Now they're gonna take it off an' scare him, say they're gonna throw him over to the crowd or somethiri… but they didn't. What they done was take that short end of the bell rope and tie it around the nigger's neck, the hood still on him, and Judge Ashley nods to the men up there with him and somehow they got that nigger up on that little railing that went around the inside of the belfry… and then, boy, there was this damn pause… I couldn't hear nothin' of the crowd. Musta been three hundred people there, but you couldn't hear nothin' of the usual snufflin' or scrapin' or mumblin' or even breathin' that you get from a crowd that size. Just silence. Every man, woman, and child-'cludin' me-starin' up three floors at that nigger teeterin' there on the edge of that balcony, his face hid by that damn black hood, his hands tied behind his back, nothin' holdin' him there except a couple men's hands on his arms.
"And then someone-I 'spect it was Judge Ashley, though I didn't see too clear 'cause it was dark in that belfry and I was watchin' the nigger, just like everybody else-then somebody shoved him off.
"Nigger kicked, of course. The fall wasn't far enough that it'd break his neck like a real hangin'. He kicked like a royal sonofabitch, swinging from one side of the open stairwell to t'other, kickin' his black ass off and makin' wild chokin' sounds under his hood. I could hear him real good. His feet was just a few feet from my head ever' time he swung over to our side of the high school balcony. I remember that nigger lost one shoe and the other had a hole in it that his big toe was stickin' out of, even as he was kickin'. I remember too that Coony Daysinger reached out and sorta tried to touch the nigger while he was swingin' and kickin'… not to stop him from swingin' or pull him in or anything like that, just touch him, sorta like you would somethin' at the sideshow if they'd let you… but just then we see the nigger piss his pants… swear to God, you could see his raggedy pants gettin' dark with the stain as it was runnin' down his leg and then the folks down on the first floor was makin' noise all right, and shovin' to get out of the way. And then the nigger quit kickin' and just swung silent-like, so Coony, he pulled back his hand an' none of the rest of us tried it neither.
"You know the strange thing, boy? When that nigger went off the ledge, the big ol' bell started ringin', which makes sense. And it kept on ringin' when the nigger was swingin' and kickin' and chokin', which nobody took no notice of 'cause all his bobbin' up and down on the end of the rope woulda made any bell ring like a sonbitch… but you know the strange part, boy? Some of us hung around, so to speak,"till after they cut that nigger down and took his body out to the dump or somewhere to get rid of… and that goddamn bell kept ringin'. I think the fuckin' thing rang all that night and off an' on the next day, like that nigger was still swingin' from it. Somebody said that the hangin' musta messed up the bell's balance or somethin'. But it was a strange sound… I swear to you… ridin' outa town that night with the Old Man, smelling the cold air and the snow and the Old Man's whiskey and the sound of the horses' hooves on the ice and frozen dirt underneath, Elm Haven nothin' but dark trees and cold chimney smoke glowin' in the moonlight behind us… and that damn bell still ringin' its ass off.
"Say, you got another bottle of this fine champagne, boy? This one's one dead soldier."
"So you see," Mr. Dennis Ashley-Montague was saying," 'your so-called legend of the Borgia Bell is as fake as the so-called authenticity certificates which caused my grandfather to buy it in the first place. There is no legend… only an old, poorly cast bell sold to a gullible Illinois traveler."
"Uh-huh," said Dale. Mr. Ashley-Montague had been talking for several minutes, the sunlight from the diamond-paned window behind him lying rich and heavy across the massive oak desk and creating a corona of light around his thinning hair. "Well, I guess I don't believe you," saidDale.
The millionaire scowled and folded his arms, obviously not used to being called a liar by an eleven-year-old. One pale eyebrow arched. "Oh? And what do you believe, young man? That this bell is causing all sorts of supernatural events? Aren't you a bit old for that?"
Dale ignored the question. He thought of Harlen out in the Chevy keeping a restless Congden from driving off, and knew that he didn't have much time. "You told Duane McBride that the bell was destroyed?"
Mr. Ashley-Montague frowned. "I have no recollection of such a discussion." But his voice was hollow-sounding to Dale, as if he knew that there might have been witnesses. "Very well, he may have asked me. The bell was destroyed, melted down for scrap iron during the Great War.”
"What about the Negro?" persisted Dale.
The thin man smiled slightly. Dale knew the word 'condescending' and thought it applied well to that smile. "What Negro is that, young man?"
"The Negro that got hung in Old Central," said Dale. "Hung from the bell."
Mr. Ashley-Montague shook his head slowly. "There was an unfortunate incident early in the century involving a man of color, but I assure you that no one was hung, as you put it, and certainly not hanged from the bell in Elm Haven's school."
"OK," said Dale, sitting in the high-backed chair across the desk from the man, and folding his legs as if he had all the time in the world. "Tell me what did happen."
Mr. Ashley-Montague sighed, looked as if he were considering sitting down himself, and contented himself with pacing back and forth in front of the window as he spoke. Far behind him, Dale could see a long barge working its way up the Illinois River.
"What I know is sketchy," said the man. "I was not born at the time. My father was in his late twenties but had not yet married… the Ashley-Montagues pride themselves in taking brides later in life. At any rate, what I know is just through family stories… my own father died in 1928, you know, shortly after I was born, so there is no way I can check on the accuracy of the details. Dr. Priestmann did not mention this incident in his county histories.
"At any rate, I understand there was some unpleasantness in your part of the county around the turn of the century. One or two children disappeared, I believe, although it is quite possible that they were runaways. Life on the farms was very harsh in those days, and it was not uncommon for children to run away from home rather than continue a life of hard labor with one's own family. At any rate, there was one child… the daughter of a local doctor, if I'm not mistaken… who was found. It seems she had been… ah… brutalized as well as murdered. Shortly thereafter, several of the more prominent townspeople-including my grandfather, who had the distinction of being a retired judge, you know-were presented with incontrovertible evidence that an itinerant Negro had carried out this crime…"
"What kind of evidence?" interrupted Dale.
Mr. Ashley-Montague paused in his pacing and frowned. "Inco
ntrovertible. It is a big word, isn't it? It means…"
"I know what incontrovertible means," said Dale, biting his lip before adding the dipshit. He was beginning to think and talk like Harlen. "It means not capable of being denied. I mean what kind of evidence!"
The millionaire picked up a curved blade of a letter opener and tapped it irritably on the oak desk. Dale wondered if the man was going to call his butler and have him thrown out. He didn't. "Does it matter what kind of evidence?" he said and began pacing again, tapping the small knife on the desk after each circuit. "I seem to remember that it was some article of the child's clothing. And perhaps the murder weapon as well. Whatever it was, it was incontr-It was incontestable."
"And then they hanged him?" asked Dale, thinking of C. J. Congden getting antsy outside.
Mr. Ashley-Montague glared at Dale, although the effect was ruined somewhat by the millionaire's thick glasses. "I told you, no one was hanged. There was a makeshift trial,… perhaps that was at the school, although it would have been most unusual. The townspeople present… all respected citizens, I might add… served as a sort of de facto grand jury… Do you also know what a grand jury is?"
"Yeah," said Dale although he couldn't have defined it. He was guessing at de facto from context.
"Well, instead of the leader of this slavering lynch mob which you seem to want to portray, young man, my grandfather was the voice of law and moderation. Perhaps there were elements which wished to punish the Negro then and there… I don't know, my father never said… but my grandfather insisted that the man be taken to Oak Hill to be turned over to the law enforcement agency there… the sheriff's office, if you will."
"And was he?" asked Dale.
Mr. Ashley-Montague quit pacing. "No. That was the tragedy… and it weighed heavily upon my grandfather's and father's consciences. It seems the Negro was being taken to Oak Hill by carriage when he bolted… ran… and although he was in manacles and leg chains, he managed to get into a swampy area just off the Oak Hill road near where 5ie Whittaker farm is now. The men escorting him could not reach him in time because the treacherous soil would not hold their weight either. He drowned… asphyxiated, rather, for the swamp was essentially mud."