sacred song. The chorus rang out:
Home, home, country and home,
Klansmen we’ll live and die
For our country and home.
Kludd Bates read more from the Kloran.
When Bates had finished, Collier said, “Amen.” He rubbed his hand across his whiskered face. He almost always sported a three-day beard, and this day was no exception. Being well groomed wasn’t a prerequisite for working on the assembly line at the tire factory.
Earl Smith stood straight, like a soldier. He knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. Being romantically linked to a black woman was tantamount to treason in the Ku Klux Klan. In fact, it was listed among the offenses against the order in the original Ku-Klux Prescript of Reconstruction, the Klan’s original constitution.
Collier said, “Hydra Cain, please bring Grand Dragon Smith to the front of the konklave.”
Cain did.
Collier said next, “Nighthawk Wallace, are you ready to proceed?”
A nighthawk was a sort of investigator and watchdog who checked the character of prospective Klan members and their later conduct. Each local unit of the Klan had one.
Wallace said, “Yes, Klaliff Collier.” Wallace stepped away from Smith and faced the konklave—the jury for all intents and purposes.
“Proceed.” Collier was serving as the de facto judge.
“Kigy.” Wallace nodded to the konklave. “My report’ll be brief and to the point. Grand Dragon Smith stands accused of datin’ a nigger woman.”
“What’s the name of this nigger woman?” a member of the konklave shouted out.
Unlike courthouse juries, the members of a konklave were permitted to ask questions about the defendant.
“Cat Wilson,” Wallace said. “She works at the Waffle House down by exit 39.”
Smith flinched when he heard Cat’s name uttered in public. He had known all along that his relationship with her would probably come back to haunt him, but he was too hooked on her to end it. She was like a drug—intoxicating but potentially lethal.
“How do you know that Earl’s datin’ her?” another member of the konklave asked.
“Because I’ve seen them together.”
“Why? When?” These particular questions were phrased skeptically. Smith had a lot of friends in the konklave. He had been an effective leader for years.
“‘Why?’ Because it’s my job to investigate problems like this. I am the den’s nighthawk. ‘When?’ On several occasions over the past couple of weeks. I started watching Earl after the incident involving him and Buck.”
Wallace was referring to the fight that had broken out at the Waffle House when Buck Jansen had accused Smith of sticking up for Cat.
“Where did you see them together?” The questioner remained skeptical.
“Out at the Interstate 26 Motor Inn.”
“They were at the motel together?”
“Yep.”
A gasp from the konklave.
“I still don’t believe it,” the skeptical klansman said. “Earl’s too loyal to the cause.”
“Believe it,” Collier interrupted, with an edge to his voice. “I saw Earl fuckin’ the nigger woman with my own two eyes.”
“Nigger lover!” a member of the konklave shouted out.
Smith’s eyes danced with fear.
Collier held up his hand to calm the crowd. “Quiet, brothers. Quiet.” It worked. “Why would Earl do it, Nighthawk Wallace?” Collier might have seen it with his own two eyes, but he didn’t want to believe it was true. Earl Smith was his best friend.
Wallace said, “I didn’t know why at first. I mean, I suspected why, but I didn’t know why.”
Collier asked next, “So what did you do?”
“I followed them. I couldn’t follow them for long, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because they went into a motel room and closed the shades.”
“String him up!” a member of the konklave said.
About a dozen klansmen rushed at Smith. Collier tried to calm the crowd again, but this time it was to no avail. The klansman who had called Smith a “nigger lover” took two
Home, home, country and home,
Klansmen we’ll live and die
For our country and home.
Kludd Bates read more from the Kloran.
When Bates had finished, Collier said, “Amen.” He rubbed his hand across his whiskered face. He almost always sported a three-day beard, and this day was no exception. Being well groomed wasn’t a prerequisite for working on the assembly line at the tire factory.
Earl Smith stood straight, like a soldier. He knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. Being romantically linked to a black woman was tantamount to treason in the Ku Klux Klan. In fact, it was listed among the offenses against the order in the original Ku-Klux Prescript of Reconstruction, the Klan’s original constitution.
Collier said, “Hydra Cain, please bring Grand Dragon Smith to the front of the konklave.”
Cain did.
Collier said next, “Nighthawk Wallace, are you ready to proceed?”
A nighthawk was a sort of investigator and watchdog who checked the character of prospective Klan members and their later conduct. Each local unit of the Klan had one.
Wallace said, “Yes, Klaliff Collier.” Wallace stepped away from Smith and faced the konklave—the jury for all intents and purposes.
“Proceed.” Collier was serving as the de facto judge.
“Kigy.” Wallace nodded to the konklave. “My report’ll be brief and to the point. Grand Dragon Smith stands accused of datin’ a nigger woman.”
“What’s the name of this nigger woman?” a member of the konklave shouted out.
Unlike courthouse juries, the members of a konklave were permitted to ask questions about the defendant.
“Cat Wilson,” Wallace said. “She works at the Waffle House down by exit 39.”
Smith flinched when he heard Cat’s name uttered in public. He had known all along that his relationship with her would probably come back to haunt him, but he was too hooked on her to end it. She was like a drug—intoxicating but potentially lethal.
“How do you know that Earl’s datin’ her?” another member of the konklave asked.
“Because I’ve seen them together.”
“Why? When?” These particular questions were phrased skeptically. Smith had a lot of friends in the konklave. He had been an effective leader for years.
“‘Why?’ Because it’s my job to investigate problems like this. I am the den’s nighthawk. ‘When?’ On several occasions over the past couple of weeks. I started watching Earl after the incident involving him and Buck.”
Wallace was referring to the fight that had broken out at the Waffle House when Buck Jansen had accused Smith of sticking up for Cat.
“Where did you see them together?” The questioner remained skeptical.
“Out at the Interstate 26 Motor Inn.”
“They were at the motel together?”
“Yep.”
A gasp from the konklave.
“I still don’t believe it,” the skeptical klansman said. “Earl’s too loyal to the cause.”
“Believe it,” Collier interrupted, with an edge to his voice. “I saw Earl fuckin’ the nigger woman with my own two eyes.”
“Nigger lover!” a member of the konklave shouted out.
Smith’s eyes danced with fear.
Collier held up his hand to calm the crowd. “Quiet, brothers. Quiet.” It worked. “Why would Earl do it, Nighthawk Wallace?” Collier might have seen it with his own two eyes, but he didn’t want to believe it was true. Earl Smith was his best friend.
Wallace said, “I didn’t know why at first. I mean, I suspected why, but I didn’t know why.”
Collier asked next, “So what did you do?”
“I followed them. I couldn’t follow them for long, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because they went into a motel room and closed the shades.”
“String him up!” a member of the konklave said.
About a dozen klansmen rushed at Smith. Collier tried to calm the crowd again, but this time it was to no avail. The klansman who had called Smith a “nigger lover” took two
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