Free Little Scarlet by Walter Mosley

were on the third floor of the main building. Almost every door had been broken open and furniture was strewn in the halls. Here and there you could see where someone attempted to start a fire. But school buildings don’t burn easily. The wood was thick and the walls were as much stone and brick and plaster as they were anything else.
    The damage looked bad but it wouldn’t take long to put everything back in order. I’d need painters and glazers, probably a carpenter or two, but I figured that the whole plant would be back to full capacity in two weeks’ time.
    I told the principal this.
    “It’s not just that, Mr. Rawlins,” she said. “It’s what they tried to do. Why would people want to burn and destroy their own community?”
    She began to tremble and cry.
    I folded the small white woman in my arms.
    “It’s okay,” I crooned as if talking to a child.
    “How can you say that? This is as much your neighborhood as the one you live in.”
    “That’s just why I can say it,” I said.
    “I don’t get what you mean.”
    I let her go and sat two chairs upright for us. When she was comfortable and a little more relaxed, I said those things that I wished Paris had said to the hardware store owner.
    “This is a tough place, Ada. You got working men and women all fenced in together, brooding about what they see and what they can’t have. Almost every one of them works for a white man. Every child is brought up thinking that only white people make things, rule countries, have history. They all come from the South. They all come from racism so bad that they don’t even know what it’s like to walk around with your head held high. They get nervous when the police drive by. They get angry when their children are dragged off in chains.
    “Almost every black man, woman, and child you meet feels that anger. But they never let on, so you’ve never known. This riot was sayin’ it out loud for the first time. That’s all. Now it’s said and nothing will ever be the same. That’s good for us, no matter what we lost. And it could be good for white people too. But they have to understand just what happened here.”
    Ada Masters had a look of both awe and terror on her face. It was as if she were seeing me for the first time.
    At the far end of the hall I saw a soldier come up the stairs. When he saw us he waited around to watch.
    “I’m going to have to be off the next few days, Mrs. Masters,” I said. “The police asked me to help them look into something.”
    “The police?”
    “Yeah. I’ll be here Monday. But if you need anything before then, call my house.”
    I stood up but she remained in her chair.
    “You coming?” I asked.
    “Not right now,” she said. “I have to think, think about what’s happened and, and about what you said.”
     
13
     
    Cox Bar was in a back alley off of Hooper. It was no more than a ramshackle hut but that was the place you would most likely find Raymond Alexander. Big Ginny Wright, the proprietor, was standing behind a high table used for a bar. She stood under a murky lamp that seemed to spread darkness instead of light. There was a pool table in the corner and a few chairs set around the room.
    There were electric fans blowing from every side but it was still hot in there.
    A small woman sat on a high stool at the far end of the tablebar, nursing a beer and staring off into space.
    “Easy,” Ginny said. “How you, baby?”
    “I’ve been better.”
    Ginny laughed. “Me too. With these fools runnin’ the streets I been thinkin’ of movin’ back down to Texas. At least there you know what to expect.”
    “Mr. Rawlins?” The young woman who had been drinking the beer had come up to me. She was slight and medium brown, the same color as Ginny.
    “Yeah?”
    “You remember me?” she asked. “I’m Benita, Benita Flag.”
    I realized that I had met her before — with Mouse. She was beautiful then, wearing a little pink dress and red heels. Her hair, I