The White Man with the Black Book

Vapors rose like wraiths in the Louisiana swamp, as if even the water wished to shed some of the heat. Right by the swamp was a cabin that looked like a latrine. A mother fanned herself while humming a hymn, as her son resorted to praying.

Samuel wiped beads of sweat that reformed on his brow every minute, as he knelt on the knotty oak floor. His father had been arrested for a bogus crime, and his bail was set impossibly high--- $20,000. He trembled as he gripped the Bible, and looked up at the dripping ceiling.

“Oh Lord, please set my papa free. Please let me get my hands on the twenty thousand dollars. I’d do anything for You, just let me set my papa free!”

His pleas were silent, as his mother was in the next room. A fading orange glow seeped through the open windows, and the ragged curtains cast fingery shadows across the tattered bed. The cry of a heron pierced through the mugginess, and a flapping of wings broke the monotony of incessant buzzing. Tears burning against his cheek, Samuel started. The shadows had turned into a wall of shade, changing the heat to a chill. Samuel shivered and swiveled his head. Before the curtain, silhouetted against the setting sun, was a towering figure cloaked in black. But behind the cloak was a white man, and Samuel’s fists clenched. The silhouette raised its arm.

“Before you question my presence in your abode, let me explain myself. I am here in answer to your prayers. I come to give you the twenty thousand dollars you asked for.”

The man’s voice was a lazy drawl, like dripping molasses or oozing blood. The man stepped into the room, creaking the damp floor. His left hand was drooping by his side, and Samuel noticed in its grasp was a small, black notebook.

“Forgive my unbelief, sir, but I find that unlikely. It takes a man years to get that amount of money, so why should I believe you’d be willing to give that kind of money to me, a poor black youngin’ in the swampgrounds?”

The man smiled, revealing a row of shining, white teeth.

“Because I am an answer to prayers. I am an angel, sent to set your father free. I am not inflicted with prejudices like the white men of this country, I am only concerned with your faith. And as such, I must implore you to sign your full legal name in this notebook, as a sign of good faith that you believe I will do as I say.”

Samuel blinked, and he swatted a mosquito that was guzzling at his arm. In the background, he could hear the sibilant snore of his mother.

“Why should I trust you? Do you have the money with you?”

The man’s smile deepened. Out of his chest pocket popped a wad of banknotes. $20,000.

“I must implore you to sign your name in haste. I can’t guarantee your father’s safety, and though I know him to be innocent, the townspeople are not so convinced. They may start up a mob, overthrow the jail cell, and lynch him. Tar and feather him. Burn him alive. So time is of the essence, Samuel, and your signature is all that is required for your father’s freedom.”

Samuel’s stomach turned as the darkness set in. Mosquitoes swarmed against his skin, and he gave up trying to swat them. Deep down, he wondered whether this angel was really a devil. He knew the devil was real. He had seen the devil’s effects etched in his grandfather’s back. Still, the prospect of freeing his father was too great to pass up on suppositions and suspicions. As his heart clanged against the shirt clinging to his chest, he resolved to assent to the man.

“Okay, I’ll sign your little book.”

He scribbled the name, and a weight descended upon him. The man gave out a little chuckle, and snapped the book shut.

Samuel grabbed the cash and ran. Ten miles to the local jail cell. Darkness and mosquitoes clothed him as he ran, and his bare feet blistered as they clopped along briars and gravel. As he approached the jail cell, a cluster of flames moved chaotically in the background. A dark body was leaving snaking ruts behind in the dirt. Samuel shrieked his father’s name as he leapt towards the mob. The mob hoisted the body to an old oak tree, and the flickering lights dispersed, like fireflies disappearing in the breeze. Tears filled Samuel’s eyes as he crawled to the tree, and the last glow of the torches illuminated the scarred face, hanging by begrimed hemp rope.

“I’ve got your twenty thousand pa, I’ve got the money.”

“Yes, you’ve got the money, and it’s yours for the keeping,” a familiar voice rang from behind. Samuel turned his head, cheeks burning, crumpling the paper money in his hand. He was face to face with his benefactor.

“You did this! You killed my father! Damn you! Damn you!”

The man grinned, until his rows of white teeth sparkled like the stars.

“I didn’t kill him, per se, but I certainly didn’t prevent it. I only influence, never direct. And it’s ironic that you should damn me; if I were you, I’d worry about your own salvation. You signed your name, not me.”

“But you tricked me you damned devil! You knew it was too late! You knew it was too late!”

“Ah, but you should’ve known better. You should’ve known better than to trust a white man holding a little black book.”