Free God'll Cut You Down by John Safran

that.”
    Lord, I said fifty thousand because I thought
that
was ridiculously high. We go higher and higher until we settle on a seventy-five-thousand-dollar loss over thirteen years.
    Earnest pulls out his wallet and turns to Kitty Glitter.
The Old Court House
    We were an hour early to Vicksburg, but because of Kitty Glitter, we’re late to the big event.
    A hundred and fifty years ago, the real Jefferson Davis bellowed from the steps of the Old Court House. Fifteen minutes ago, reenactment Jefferson Davis did the same. Now he’s slipped off. The whole square is empty. Earnest has missed his chance to confront the president either reading out or failing to read out the awkward slave bit in the Mississippi declaration of secession.
    “Why do white people always have to be on time?” Earnest laments.
    Inside the courthouse, though, colors swirl. Pink heads are squeezed into top hats and bonnets. Buttons threaten to pop on the army jackets of tubby Confederates. Several hundred folk have turned up dressed for 1861.
    Awkward eyes glimpse Earnest, the only black man here.
    “John! The stairs!” snaps Earnest. We dart up the wooden staircase.
    A hundred or so more folk have flocked to the second story. Behind the deep rows of bonnets and gray felt caps pokes Jefferson Davis’s head. Families are lining up to get snapped with the president of the Confederacy.
    Earnest is dizzy with giggles.
    “This is my friend John,” he tells a family. “He’s from Melbourne, Australia. He says he wants to see what Jefferson Davis was really like.”
    This de-awkwards things. It makes more sense to the folks that there’s a white Australian in their midst than a black Mississippian.
    Jefferson Davis is flanked by four plump Confederates, all lips quivering and eyes nervous as Earnest worms closer to the president. Jefferson sports a black wig and cloak, and a glued-on beard hangs for dear life to his chin.
    “Something I want to tell him!” Earnest says to me, smiling like hell.
    “What are you going to tell him?”
    Earnest spins from me to the president of the Confederacy.
    “Mr. Jefferson Davis!” Earnest cries. “I represent the United States Colored Troops! First Mississippi Infantry! And we defeat you at Milliken’s Bend!”
    The tubby Confederates protecting the president don’t know what to do, their sweaty hands fidgeting on their bayoneted rifles. Jefferson Davis, however, remains composed.
    “Well, that’s okay,” says Jefferson Davis.
    Earnest tries to blurt out more—
Jefferson Davis owns a plantation! One of his slaves gets him back years later!
—but Jefferson Davis pats Earnest along like Snow White at Disneyland and welcomes the next in line.
    Still, that was pretty much a
Race Relations
stunt. I liked how Earnest snatched victory from the jaws of defeat after he’d missed the president’s address on the steps. I like to think I would have done the same in similar circumstances.
    “John, let’s get out of here.” Earnest chuckles. “Now don’t put no shit out that says Earnest McBride sold out to Jefferson Davis and the Confederacy!”
    “No, no, no. I won’t,” I reply as we escape down the staircase, the crowd closing behind us.
The Elastic Band Retracting
    I’ve been thinking about this. I’m not 100 percent sure what it means. But it feels relevant.
    I’m in grade five, so what’s that . . . I’m eleven? Mum, Dad, my sister, and I drift through a market or expo. (The Queen Victoria Market?) There are cheap books about pyramids and World War II. There are Michael Jackson cassettes with a white glove glued to each. Shirts have to be fished from up high with a hook on a stick.
    And there it is. A sleeveless T-shirt, the entire front of which is a Confederate flag.
    The leather-faced man at the stall fishes it down.
    Was it just the colors? Did I see it on a toy racing car at a friend’s? If you were a Scientology auditor forcing me to suck deep into the innards of my mind, I’d say it