~ ~ ~



Reg says, “Look here, is this about Jaz being a colored bird?”


“Giving a speech to some students,” says Bob, “but, uh, I’m not sure what to tell them — I don’t think there’s much I can tell them,” in his high nasal voice, “and the government doesn’t want me coming. I mean their government but mine too, I suppose. Will I only succeed in giving the white government a, a. . an excuse to arrest black Africans? Am I only making trouble? Do I become the. . rationale by which more blacks are oppressed, beaten, brutalized? Is this about my damned ego? Is this one more test I put myself to, for which other people pay the price, as my brothers paid the price for my father? I keep going over the speech. Taking the anger out. Putting it back in.”

“What is it these students want from you, then?”

For the first time tonight the hair-trigger altar boy becomes all of a piece with his sad burning eyes. “I don’t believe one man changes everything,” he says, “maybe no one man changes anything, least of all me. I’m an accident. But I believe there are times when even men who aren’t great must find a way to try and do great things. People think I’m afraid of nothing when the truth is I’m afraid of everything, and not so long ago I vowed before a God I love and trust a little less than I used to that I would do all the things I’m afraid of, because I do believe anyone can change part of something, and that part of something changes something else, and soon the ripple in the lake is the wave on the beach.”


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