The Fate of Mr. Lee Boogaloo

by Wayne McCray

Sunlight cuts through a river forest, gradually burning away the thick morning fog. Birds praised the day with songs while two dark oblong baskets appear as if floating on their own as they go up and down, and from side to side. But underneath them were head-carrying figures moving about gracefully, bending low and reaching high for herbs, fungi, insects, and things that squirmed, crawled, and slithered. 

Such specimens had medicinal properties and were inserted into small clay pots, which were sealed, marked, and then lastly put into the baskets. Soon the fog hung as a low-hanging cloud around the forest canopies, making the two shadowy figures more visible. Two indigo colored women, Sephora and Miriam, both sisters with nearly bald heads, blue lips, and intense hazel eyes, walked around barefoot in their royal blue kaftan dresses.

Sephora had on cowrie shells for a collar necklace, anklet, and bracelet. White dots went down the center of her face, from forehead to chin. Miriam had face dots too, a lot of them, but much smaller ones and in a design, mostly around her eyes. Her jewelry also differed, in that it was small hoop ivory earrings and bright red, yellow, and green beads around her neck. 

Sephora walked over to a fell tree and used her foot to easily turn it over, whereas Miriam headed for the nearby river. Moments later, a sharp cry for help echoed. Sephora put her basket and head ring down, lifted up her kaftan so she could run as fast as possible toward the potential danger. She saw her sister waving her arms frantically and went to her to find out what was the matter. 

“Are you alright?” Sephora asked.

“Yes, I'm okay," Miriam replied. “Just wet, that's all."

“Is that a man?" Sephora questioned.

“Sure is,” Miriam replied. “I saw his body in the water, so I went in and got him."

“I don’t know why. He’s dead,” Sephora told her. “His face lacks color. Just look at him."

“I'm sorry," Miriam replied. “I just saw a body and sprung into action."

“I understand. You did right, but he's gone." Sephora insisted. 

To be sure, Miriam pressed two fingers below his jaw. Then lifted his wrist and held it. No pulse was found. She even rested her ear against his hairy chest in hope of hearing a faint heartbeat, but there was none. His body was indeed lifeless.

“He’s dead alright,” Miriam replied. “Can I bring him back?”

Sephora got closer to get a better look at him. She took her hand and opened his eyelids, looking into them. They held some unwritten histories that only she could read and whatever she saw didn't sit well with her, because she stood up fast with a head shake of disapproval.

“He has such an ugly history," Sephora said aloud. “His clothing fits him well."

He was a fugitive, topless, but dressed in pinstripe pants, with shackles and broken chain links still fastened to his ankles. Apparently, he boldly tried to swim across the river to reach the other side; but undoubtedly, he couldn't handle the numerous whirlpools and strong crosscurrents, and drowned.

“Not on him,” she replied. “He’s better off like he is.” 

Miriam replied: “You must've read him."

“I did. Now let’s go,” said Sephora. “Leave him where he lay. Now where’s your basket?”

Miriam pointed at it. Sephora spun and saw it. 

“Good. Now put him back into the water," Sephora told her, before walking off. “Never grieve for men that do evil. So do as I ask and put him back. Let him sink to the bottom of the river, so the crabs, catfish, turtles, and alligators can happily feast on his flesh.”

“We’ve helped others,” Miriam replied. 

“True,” Sephora replied. “But not that one.” 

“And why not?” Miriam replied.

Sephora replied: “That man and others like him have all grown up and done ugly. They crave power and wield it corruptly, without fear, and do it under false pretensions. So when I find one, built like he is, lying dead, I say good riddance. So put him where he belongs."

“He has such an ugly history," Sephora said aloud. “His clothing fits him well."

“Are you sure?" Miriam replied. 

“Listen up, listen good,” Sephora replied. “I read him. That scoundrel right there performed numerous acts of violence against his fellow human beings. Prior to prison, he participated in the killing of a woman's boyfriend on account of his color. Her pleas couldn't spare him his life. They had no say so, let alone an opinion. She was forced to watch him get beaten, butchered, and strung up. Then she was left ravaged, her tongue cut out, and branded. And that's just a few hours into his life." 

“Maybe death will give him a new perspective?" Miriam replied.

Sephora replied: “Don’t play, okay. Fate puts him in the river." 

Miriam couldn't do it. She had too much empathy for human life and cherished it and found what Sephora said unacceptable. Instead of following instructions and placing him back into the river, she looked him in the face, caressed it, then brushed back his darkened blond hair to apply a kiss to his forehead.

“Miriam, please don’t," Sephora replied. “Don’t do it. Not now and not on him. He had his chance in this world and took it for granted; his free will chose cruelty. He, like others, would rather be the master of everyone else than be a simple gardener."

Miriam disobeyed. She inhaled deeply and blew into his mouth. Suddenly, his body shook. His face slowly became pink. He began coughing up river water and gasping for air. Soon his eyelids flickered, then widened. His arms flailed. He then stopped to focus on the face looking at him. It was dark, beautiful, and smiling with joy. Horrified, he responded negatively by pushing her aside.

“Now look at what you’ve done,” said Sephora. “I told you, you should’ve left him like he was.” 

“Where am I!” he demanded. “Is this hell?” 

“No,” Sephora corrected. “This is the State of Mississippi.”

Somewhat confused, he tried to stand up, but Sephora interceded by putting her foot into his chest. He was offended, but more taken aback by the strength it had and how it immobilized him. Such crushing force caused him to cry out in agony. As she crouched, the pain increased.

“I suggest you look away,” Sephora told Miriam, which she did.

Sephora turned and looked at him directly and fear came across his face. For he saw something beyond her face. A light flashed and the effects were instant. Suddenly, his melanin grew darker and blacker until he couldn't be called a Caucasian anymore. His nose and lips widened, blue eyes became brown, and blond hair turned woolly black. Sephora lifted her foot, then went and immediately took hold of her sister, her head still down and eyes shut.

“You can open them now," Sephora told her.

Sephora also told her sister they must hurry, his affliction will be undone shortly. Men were approaching. They gathered their baskets and then went back into the forest. Just as they disappeared, so too did the fog. It slowly receded as cumulonimbus cloud into the atmosphere. Three green flat boats came around the bend fast. They were happy about having better visibility, but they heard screams and responded with urgency. The lead boat had a hunting dog and a three-man crew; the other two had only men. All had firearms and binoculars.

Local police was after a dangerous convict, a one Lee Boogaloo: notorious racist and murderer. He was arrested for bank robbery and sentenced to hard years in a chain gang at a prison farm. Two days ago, he somehow escaped. Authorities figured that he would surrender since they had him surrounded. There wasn't anywhere for him to go or hide. The river served as a natural barrier and the few roads that led out into the real world had been blocked off. 

As an act of desperation, he must’ve tried to swim across the river to further his freedom. This was affirmed when the dogs tracked his scent to the nearby river where they found a discarded pinstripe top, black boots, and white t-shirt. Now they only pondered if he was dead or alive. One police team was assigned the former, which meant going down river in hope of finding a drowned body washed ashore.

“I see something," Dragline said from the boat. “I see striped pants on the ground over there."

“Where?" Bubba shouted. 

“Say, what was that?" Dragline said. “I think I saw something blue run into those woods."

“Where is he?" Bubba replied. “Point him out."

“Right there," Dragline replied, guiding his vision to where he spotted the striped pants. “Now do you see him?"

“Say?" Bubba clarified, “That's not Lee. Nobody said a nigger had escaped too."

Lee Boogaloo stood up, looked out, and felt another kind of terror. This one he understood. He saw the dog dive into the water. It swam to shore, pursued, tracked, and tackled him. He didn't stand a chance. The animal was trained to catch him and it wouldn't let go. The search party rode up and dismounted their boats. Bubba ran up, told the dog to heal, then hit Lee in the face so hard with the shotgun butt that the blow drew blood and sent teeth flying.

“Where am I!” he demanded. “Is this hell?” 

“No,” Sephora corrected. “This is the State of Mississippi.”

“Stay down boy?" Bubba blurted.

“That's right, nigger," Dragline replied, kicking him. “Stay on your knees."

Boogaloo moaned, swallowing blood, and then did a curious thing. He turned, sat up, calmly faced them, and spoke.

“What was that?" Bubba replied. “What'd you say, boy?"

“I said you're making a mistake, that I'm not black," Boogaloo replied, sitting, looking at his skin. “I'm not a nigger, but white just like you."

They all exploded into laughter and thought him crazy.

“You don't say!" Bubba replied, still laughing.

“Say, Bubba?" his boat driver called. “You must've hit that boy something serious. He forgot what he looked like."

“Those girls who ran off did this. They made me dark," Boogaloo argued, as if his words carried significance. “I'm one of you. I despise niggers and kill them the first chance I get. Really, I do. Before I was taken into custody, I had recently raped and branded some foreign-born white broad for sleeping with one. Cut out her voice too and then had him hung. I take pride in making their lives miserable."

“Say boy, that's a nice act you got going," Dragline said.  "You can sure lie, but this got to be a first. A darkie pretending he's white. He should be ashamed of himself. Say boy, God is going to punish you for such blasphemy. You do know that, don't you."

“Good. 'Cuz I wasn't born this way, I tell you," Boogaloo pleaded, as he spat and wiped away bloody saliva. 

“The hell you were," Bubba told him.

“Shoot him already," a distant voice said. “We don't have all day. There's another convict out here somewhere. Lee must be found. So why babysit a nigger?"

“That's right. Shoot me!" Boogaloo shouted. “Don't be traitors to your kind and leave me like this! Do the Lord's will and be good Christians and shoot me goddamnit!"

They ignored Lee Boogaloo until he charged at them. A gunshot rang. Lee was dead before he met the ground. All the men circled him and shot up his body. After exhausting all their ammunition, Bubba noticed he had a big smile on his face so he kicked it. The sky suddenly darkened and thundered. The winds gust, trees began swaying, and then it rained. Just like that an isolated downpour came and went, but it lasted long enough to drench them all, as well as drain the color from the corpse. Melanin and blood sunk into the soil and trickled into the river. Pretty soon, the sky cleared and the sun came back out. The nigger they shot up had vanished. In his place lay a bullet-riddled white man, Mr. Lee Boogaloo, the escape convict they were searching for. 

Somebody opined someone must take responsibility for his death and claiming mistaken identity wouldn't go over too well or explain all the holes in him. 

“Come on boys," Bubba suggested. “We don't have any choice. Take off his pants and throw him in the river." 

From then on, no one ever knew. Nothing was mentioned. Lee Boogaloo was never captured, but remained forever a fugitive from justice. His striped pants were proof and became a fond incentive for other prisoners.