Streets of Fire

But the marchers moved onward, their long dark line lengthening steadily as one pair after another crested the gently rounded hill.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Luther breathed softly as he stepped up behind Ben. ‘What are we going to do about this?’

‘We’ve all got our orders,’ Breedlove replied crisply.

Daniels nodded. ‘That’s right. Let’s go.’

Ben felt himself swept forward with them as they moved in between the two lines of troopers. He could now see the faces of the first marchers, two young women in light-blue skirts and white blouses, their eyes staring straight ahead, their faces utterly expressionless.

The Chief retreated before them, now silent, sullen, walking backward slowly as he motioned the troopers forward.

Then he abruptly wheeled around. ‘You are under arrest,’ he shouted as he stepped briskly out of their line of march and strode angrily back into the park, where he stopped, let the megaphone drop from his hand, folded his arms over his chest and waited.

The first line of troopers stiffened as the first wave of marchers approached it. Some of them began slapping their nightsticks into their hands, while others shifted uneasily from one foot to the next, as if preparing themselves to receive a burst of violent wind.

Ben stood near the middle of the street, while Breedlove and Daniels took up positions at the far end of the line. Luther lingered near Ben for a moment, then moved to the left where he stood beside T. G. Hollis, his thumbs in his belt, his eyes fixed on the line of march.

At the instant the first marchers reached the line, the troopers stepped forward, took them one by one by the arms and began rushing them double-time toward the paddy wagons and school buses which crowded the side streets and stretched out along the edges of the park. A great roar rose from the line of march as more and more of them were pushed and pulled forward, the troopers tugging wildly at their arms or shoving them along with the ends of their nightsticks.

Ben stepped forward and looked helplessly toward the hill. The last of the marchers had crested it, and behind them there was nothing but the flat gray of the street. He could feel a terrible relief sweep over him at the knowledge that it would soon be over, and he allowed himself to relax a little, simply to stand and watch as the last of the demonstrators were hustled into the waiting vans and school buses. To his right, he could sec Breedlove and Daniels as they pushed and pulled at a skinny young girl. A few yards beyond them, Teddy Langley was shoving a tall, lanky boy, poking his nightstick into his kidneys to move him along.

Ben flinched away, stepped back slightly and watched as the last of the line was broken by the troopers and hauled roughly across the park. He could hear the tumult in the distance as the marchers were tossed into the paddy wagons or shoved, half-stumbling, through the rubber-lined doors of the school buses. The air around him filled with the grinding engines of the vans and buses as they began to pull away, weaving slowly left and right, as if trying to throw off an intolerable burden. Everywhere, the troopers were laughing and joking as they gathered together in small gray knots. The Chief strode proudly among them, shaking their hands or slapping them affectionately on the back. In the background, the sounds of the engines and their accompanying sirens died away, and a sudden quietness drifted down over the park and the avenue, one that was broken only by the occasional clatter of a police radio or some muffled shout which seemed to come from far away.

‘Well, looks like we did it,’ Breedlove said as he trudged across the street toward him.

Daniels walked along at his side, both men smiling broadly.

Breedloves eyes shot up toward the hill. ‘Kids or no kids, we kicked their ass.’

Daniels laughed happily. ‘Maybe we outsmarted them, Ben. What do you think?’

Ben did not answer. Instead, he turned back toward the deserted hill and casually lit a cigarette. The smoke billowed up before him in a thick white cloud. He raised his hand and batted at it, clearing away the air. The white haze tore apart instantly, and as it did so, he saw two figures move slowly over the hill, very young, holding hands, and behind them two more a little older, and behind them, two more, perhaps the same age, and then two more and two more and two more.

He snapped the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it on the street. He could hear the general talk and laughter of the troopers die away slowly, as one by one their attention was drawn toward the hill.

‘Form ranks!’ the Chief shouted.

Daniels and Breedlove whirled around.

Breedlove’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’

‘They’re trying it again,’ Daniels said, his eyes now fixed on the line of march.

Once again, the troopers formed themselves into two straight lines across the avenue.