Page 7 - Contrast1967

You pull onto a side road and up to a homey-evoking diner. There
seated at the bar counter is a handsomefigure of a man. His skin is
bronzed, his hair wavy spun-gold, his eyes a soft blue. His dress is
likewise striking, combining all the colors of Joseph's coat into silk
finery. He is pleased that you love this country, his country, so
much and explains to you that the whole secret is that the niggers
and kikes know their places around here. You do not understand but
as you gaze into his warm toothy smile you wonder how such a per-
fect specimen of such a perfect paradise can be wrong about any-
thing. You nervously finish your coffee and leave.

You are anxious to be moving, and once you reach your car you
feel that warm glow returning. You are curious and you drive further
down the road. The sweet salt-smell is gone and is replaced by a
sweaty-earthy, not at all pleasant one. The smiles outside, however,
seem even brighter, perhaps because they contrast so well with the
black faces on which they are pinned. Here the welcome mat looks
well worn, and often it leads only to the burned-out shell of a house.
The shadows are longer here, and their tops are invariably painted.
A black man scrubbing the sun-bleached steps of the First African
Baptist Church cannot erase the blood stains.

Can this be the same rich land which spawned the handsome
man in the diner? Or is it he that has spawned this squalor in the
midst of Eden? You can not answer.

The ride back from the South, no matter what season of the year,
is always cold. Your hands tremble as they grip the wheel. Perhaps
this time it will be a little colder.

Cary Wolfson

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