It's Good to Be Black

9. We Witness a Hanging

9. me witness a hanging We were trailed through childhood by a group of nondescript animals we called pets. They were Prophet, our horse; Cherry, a Holstein cow; Blizzard and Prince, Dad's prize bird dogs. We didn't think of them as animals. They must have reasoned the same, else how could we account for the night when a blizzard blew the bam door open. We heard intermittent stamping on the back porch and when Dad opened the door, Cherry walked into the kitchen. There were smaller pets. Cecil kept a white rat in a shoe box under his bed. Bob and Cliff rode herd on a little gopher turtle Aunt Ida brought them from Florida. Spud walked about the yard with a crippled robin perched on his shoulder, and one summer he carried a little garter snake in his coat pocket. We named numerous chickens and ducks and made such a fuss over them that Mother couldn't kill them for the table. "Be just like eating a member of the family," she'd say, as she pushed them aside and reached for another. But of all the pets, none ever brought us so much joy and sorrow as did Cora, a fluffy little golden-feathered chicken, and Greyco, whose common alley cat ancestry had had a light brush with Maltese nobility. One day Cora was running and playing at our heels. The next day her lifeless body was clutched tightly in Greyco's teeth. 88 we witness a hanging Helen was shedding big drops of tears. Cecil dug into his eyes with his chubby fist. Spud blew his nose on the ground, then rubbed his right coat sleeve across it. I stood biting my lips and looking first at the mangled body of Cora, then back to Greyco, who made no attempt to run away from the scene of his crime, or to offer an excuse for this terrible deed. "Why did you do it, Greyco, why did you do it?" Cecil cried. "Cora never done nothing to nobody," Helen sobbed. "Mama said he was no good when he came here." She pointed an accusing finger at Greyco, who looked off in the direction of the salt mines that stood at the northwest edge of town. "You may be too proud to speak now, but I bet when we get through with you, you won't hurt nobody else." Spud picked up a stick. "No, Spud, that ain't the way we do. We'll have to have his trial. That's the only way-well, I mean, the only right way." Cecil finished lamely. Spud knocked on a nearby piece of wood. "Court is now in session, Judge Spud Berkley 'residing. Cecil, you be the defense attorney. Reuben, you be the state's attorney. Helen, you're the witness." Spud always gave the orders. "I don't wanna talk for Greyco," Cecil whined. "Ole mean thing." "Me neither," I agreed. "Somebody has to be on his side," Spud said firmly. "Oh, all right," I consented, "but let's hurry and get it over with." "O.K. Call the first witness," Judge Spud Berkley ordered. 89 it's good to be lJiock Helen tried for composure but dissolved again into tears when she started recounting the horrible crime. "Mr. Greyco, what do you have to say for yourself?" I asked him. Greyco walked over to Cecil and rubbed against the leg of his overall. "Get away from me," Cecil said roughly, even as his hand unconsciously went down to rub him. "Your honor," I looked at the defendant. "Greyco was caught red-handed. As Papa would say, it's an open and shut case. Let the law take its course." I'll bet that was the most honest and the shortest plea any defense attorney has ever made. "Attorney 'Winkie' Berkley, you may talk." Winkie was a pet name we sometimes called Cecil. Cecil who had refused to defend Greyco, also refused to prosecute. He made a much better defense for him than I did. "Your honor, we know little Cora got killed this morning. Greyco musta done it 'cause when we came up he was standin' over her. He didn't say he did, he didn't say he didn't. Your honor, Greyco didn't say nothing. No matter what we do it ain't gonna bring Cora back. I ask the court...