The Wind Sculpture Read online



  The Wind Sculpture

  By

  Saurav Dutt

  The Wind Sculpture

  © 2013, Saurav Dutt

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  It was the hottest day in the summer of 1965 in Jackson, Mississippi. As sharp rays of sunlight flicked out through the clouds like a snake’s tongue, James Anderson could only peer up at the six foot tall life size sculpture in front of him. He glanced at the town square clock tower some thirty feet above and realised he had been sitting there for close to two hours; and as the beads of sweat collected around his twelve year old face he only now began to hear the mutterings and snarls of the expanding crowd that had collected around him.

  “When’s somebody getting the Sheriff?” an elderly lady gasped as she fluttered a handkerchief against her foundation caked face “this has gone on long enough Officer..a few of these coloureds start getting on the television and in the newspapers, and the rest of them start getting too brave-that boy should be removed, that statue is a Jackson landmark.”

  “He’s coming soon M’am” Police Officer Dan Michael Jacobs replied as a smile pinched his worn, pockmarked features “all that boy does is sit there hours on end, his backside twistin’ in the wind like his daddy gonna come back and save him, but he ain’t comin’”

  “I don’t care how many of these folks marched through last summer” the lady groaned as she shook her head slowly from side to side “they getting big dreams about who they are-it ain’t right, it ain’t right at all..” she scowled.

  Officer Jacobs nodded and looked on as did the other three officers in the Jackson County Mississippi Sheriff's Department at the small black boy seated patiently at the foot of the half painted stone sculpture.

  An elderly black man, his gaunt features clipped by the dabs of salty grey hair rounding his beard, gingerly made his way forward. Placing a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, he noticed that a large dark blue burlap sack lay at his feet. “What’s in there?” he smiled, realising the boy had pulled the strings to the top of the sack closer to his chest.

  “My daddy’s things...” James replied as he shuffled uncomfortably on the dusty ground. He glanced sideways and smiled up at the elderly man, and it was then that he realised the exact number of people who were surrounding him. He studied the ferocity of their scowls and he glared back at them for a moment before turning his back “I brought them here to finish his statue.” he nodded.

  “His? Who you talking about?” the elderly man enquired as he glanced up at the statue of Pierre De Bienville, Governer of Louisiana.

  “My daddy started to paint this…” James smiled.

  “It’s the town statue” the older man scoffed “it ain’t his, son.”

  “He didn’t get to finish it, did he..” James shot back “Now I’m gonna finish it.”

  “Listen boy” the man grumbled “you’re upsetting a lot of people in town over this childish nonsense…now go home before you stir up some real trouble..the law don’t care for us round these parts, didn’t your daddy tell you that?”

  “It doesn’t matter” James snapped “I’m not moving.”

  The squeal of tyres against burning asphalt seared through the air. Deputy Sheriff Elias Gordon pushed open the passenger side door and stepped out of the squad car, nestling his Stetson hat squarely round the rim of his head. As he made his way through the onlookers, he flashed a glare of disgust at Officer Jacobs. “What’s going on with this crowd?” he boomed in a tobacco hewn, whisky soaked voice “what y’all standing around here for, separate the people instead of just standing there.”

  “Some coloured boy” Jacobs scoffed “stirring things up, he ain’t doin’ nothing, just sitting there like with a stupid smile on his face..people just curious Deputy.”

  “Jacobs stop gawking” Sheriff Gordon sighed “now just do your job and disperse this crowd.”

  Jacobs bit down hard on his tongue and muttered under his breath as he turned towards his other three officers. As they began pushing shoulders aside to separate the crowd, Gordon carefully made his way through, struck by the boy sitting there some twelve feet away, oblivious to the commotion around him. “He’s gonna vandalise our statue” an overweight woman yelped as he passed her “I seen him here before, he was checking the place out.”

  Gordon ignored her as he drew closer, identifying the paint brushes and palettes that the boy had carefully taken out of the bag and laid out at his feet. With dabs of black and grey snaking up the back and past the sharp curve of the shoulders, and with the outline of the jaw inked by a dark navy blue shade, it was clear the statue was incomplete. “You know who he is?” Gordon quipped; noting the intense glare of the boy as he softly clutched the stem of a thin paintbrush between his fingers.

  “Daddy told me he brought cotton to Mississippi” James replied as he looked up “Mississippi River Valley he said.” he added with a shrug.

  “That’s right” Sheriff Gordon smiled “now where is your Daddy, I’m sure he wouldn’t be too happy seeing all the trouble you’ve been causing today.”

  “No he wouldn’t” James smiled as he brought the rucksack closer to his chest.

  “What’s in there?” Sheriff Gordon asked “you making people all nervous sitting here with that bag, you’re giving people all sorts of ideas that you’re gonna be causing trouble.”

  “No they’re not” James shot back.

  “Not what?”

  “Nervous about what I’m here for…”

  “Alright boy, then what are they nervous about?”

  “’Cause of what colour I am, sir…that’s why they’re nervous.”

  “What’s your name, boy?” Gordon sighed as he motioned for the other officers to push the growing crowd back.

  “James Isiah Anderson, sir” the boy replied as he began swirling colours within the rim of the palette, dipping the heads of the paintbrushes thoughtfully deep within them as he realised the Sheriff’s face had turned to stone.

  “You’re Franklyn’s son…aren’t you?” Sheriff Gordon hesitated.

  “Yes Sir..” James sighed, squinting up at him as he continued to circle the paintbrush, pausing a moment to survey its bright red coloured tip “I like painting like this, I think I’m gonna do this forever, until my hands become just like my fathers..my Momma always said he had the hands of a painter.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened him” Sheriff Gordon frowned as he glanced back at Jacobs “is that what this is about? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Sir…” James paused as he looked up at the reflection of the dark aviator shades balanced on the bridge of Sheriff Gordon’s nose “I don’t really think you are sorry..”

  “Where’s your mother?” Gordon shot back, as he noticed onlookers were inching closer.

  “She’s sick..” James replied, staring down at another handful of brushes he had pulled out of the rucksack “all she does is cry, talking to my daddy at night when he ain’t there..”

  “Look we need to get you out of here quickly” Gordon leant in “you’re causing a lot of trouble by being here.”

  “Is it true..is it true what my Mama said?” James peered up, his eyes glazed over as he stumbled over his words “..that the Klan killed my daddy? And that nobody cared?”

  “Come with me ..” Gordon sighed. As he glanced over his shoulder, he notice
d the overweight woman approaching him, recognising her as Mrs Janice Wallace. Dressed head to toe in a white summer dress, her flabby, beach whaled face glimmered with beads of dripping sweat.

  “I’ve told your people before..” she wheezed “I saw this Negro boy lurking around yesterday, now he’s trying to deface our town monument, what you gonna do about it Sheriff?”

  “He hasn’t done a thing” Sheriff Gordon shot back “now he’s leaving, so please let him be Mrs Wallace.”

  James wasn’t moving. As he stared up at the statue, his grip on the paintbrushes grew tighter. The droning sound of the crowd behind him made him angrier by the second. Shuffling his knees across the hard gravel beneath his feet, he glanced up at the statue above him and turned his head ever so slightly to his left. He caught the eye of the Mrs Wallace, and as she continued to fan her face, her expression collapsed as soon as their eyes met.

  “What you looking at boy?” she snarled, her jaw clenched as she blinked at Sheriff Gordon in astonishment “don’t you dare stare at me like that.”

  “It’s time to go” Gordon nodded, gently tapping his finger on James’ shoulder “we’ll talk about this in private.”

  “I’m not going anywhere” James blinked “you’ll have to beat me, or sit here with me..but I’m not leaving.”

  Sheriff Gordon tightened his grip around James’s left hand, jerking him back so he could look him squarely in the eye.