CHILDREN OF TIME (2025 Edition) by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

CHAPTER 20 -SEGREGATION

 

09:42 (Jerusalem time)

Monday, May 9, 1949 ‘B’

Overseer’s apartments

New Government Palace, Musrara District (near Damascus Gate) Jerusalem, Holy Land of Palestine

Nancy hugged her big Herakles, now truly formidable physically at the age of sixteen, then Tera, who appeared diminutive compared to the boy despite her twenty years of age. Both wore their Time Patrol uniforms and had full kit bags with them as they were about to get in the time scooter piloted by Pierre Laplante ‘B’, the timeline counterpart of Nancy’s dead father.

“Have fun down at Main Base and say hello to Mike for me, my dear children.”

“We will, Mom.” said softly Herakles. “I will miss you until next weekend.”

“With all the girls waiting for you down at Main Base?” replied Nancy with a malicious smile. Herakles gave her a tender smile.

“But nobody like you, Mom. Be careful while I’m gone, please.”

“I will, my big hero. You better get on the scooter now before your grandfather becomes impatient.”

Pierre Laplante ‘B’, who appeared older than Nancy by about ten years but was actually twelve years younger than her, grimaced at those words.

“Nancy, you make me feel old when you say that. You are now, what, 52 years old?”

“In two months of my relative time.” corrected Nancy with a smile. “That should come in, oh, maybe three weeks of this time period at the rate I keep jumping timelines. Say hello to your Nancy on my part.”

“Consider it done, Nancy.” replied Pierre, grinning at the mention of his own daughter, Nancy’s young timeline counterpart, now eleven years old. He then waived at nine year-old Eli, standing beside Nancy with eleven year-old David and at Nancy’s twins, now seven and a half year old. “See you in a week, Eli. Have fun with your friend David. See you too, Patrick and Suzanne.”

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Eli waved back and took Nancy’s hand as his half-brother and sister got on the scooter with their kit bags. The scooter then lifted off from the roof landing pad of the new governmental palace, completed a year ago, and disappeared in a flash of white light. Nancy sighed, already missing her two oldest children, and turned to face the three boys, one girl and one woman now alone with her on the landing pad.

“Well, time for me to leave as well if I want to be in time to take my plane in Paris.”

“Why don’t you just jump space-time directly to the United States, Mom?” asked Eli. Nancy gave him a patient smile.

“Because I don’t want to arrive there as the Overseer of Palestine, my dear son. I will need to work incognito in the United States if I want my observations to be unaffected by my presence.”

“You are going to spy on the Americans?” said innocently the boy, making her grin with amusement.

“I suppose one could call it that, Eli. I would however call it confirming something before passing judgment. There are bad things happening still in the United States and I need to see if the Americans have made any progress in cutting out those bad things. I will be gone for maybe a week but Miriam will stay with you and David in the meantime. Do you feel ready to help take care of Patrick and Suzanne with David?”

“I am, Mom.” Said the blond boy with pride. His friend David, a beautiful boy with brown skin and curly black hair, also nodded his head.

“We will take good care of the twins, Nancy.”

“I am sure you will, David. Your father would be proud of you.” Those words made a forlorn look appear on the boy’s face, who looked at his mother.

“Will Yeshua look at me from above, Mom?”

“I’m certain that he will watch you with great pride, David.” answered Miriam, a lump in her throat: those years since the death of Yeshua on the cross had been lonely ones at time. Miriam knew that Yeshua, being an angel of The One, probably could see her and David at any time, but his physical presence was something she missed terribly.

“Well, then, if you will excuse me, I will go change for my trip.” said Nancy. She kissed the children and Miriam on the cheek, giving in addition a hug to Eli, Patrick and Suzanne before disappearing in a brief flash of light. Miriam, gathering the children besides her, looked briefly at the nearby Old City, which the new government palace dominated. She could easily see the spot where Yeshua had been executed on the

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cross by the Romans on that sad day nineteen centuries in the past, or eleven years earlier in her own life. From that sad day had risen a religion that, while venerating the memory of Yeshua, had shown itself too intolerant to accept the truth about him. Miriam then gently led the children to the roof elevator which would get them down to the apartments of the Overseer.

14:32 (Washington Time) / 21:32 (Jerusalem Time) Arrival Hall, La Guardia Airport

New York City, United States

The American Immigration Department

agent glanced quickly at the small Semitic woman

wearing a fine blue and gold Arabic robe, then

took her passport and examined it. It was a

Palestinian passport and described the owner as

one Sarah Ur, born 24 years ago in Iraq but now a citizen of the Holy Land of Palestine. She was

listed as being a reporter and had the requisite

visa from the American embassy in Jerusalem. The agent looked again at the beautiful young woman, who wore a gold necklace and a pair of earrings. Her large spectacles marred a bit her beauty, though, and made her look older than her age.

“What is the reason of your visit to the United States, Miss Ur?” To the agent’s relief, her English proved excellent.

“I came here to do an article about life in your southern states, mister. I am due to take a connecting flight to Birmingham, Alabama, in three hours.” The agent nodded, then continued examining her passport. There was no space reserved in it to describe her religion, nor her race or skin color, something standard with the passports of the Holy Land of Palestine but which caused problems in categorizing the passport owner in the United States. Many Palestinian citizens had run into trouble because of that in the southern states, the local state authorities stamping them rather arbitrarily as either ‘white’ or ‘colored’. Being stamped in the latter category was a sure way for those unfortunate Palestinians to then get into endless trouble with the local law despite their best efforts. Those repeated incidents had finally forced the federal authorities to find a remedy in order to avoid what was becoming quickly a cause of

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diplomatic embarrassment. That remedy had been to add the mention ‘white’ with the visa delivered by the American embassy in Jerusalem. Even then, some of the more redneck southern policemen and officials kept ignoring that federal solution and went on harassing the more dark-skinned Palestinians at every turn. The woman now standing at the immigration counter could easily be considered dark-skinned enough in Alabama to be branded as a ‘colored person’. Thinking about it, the agent figured that maybe those incidents were what was motivating this Palestinian reporter to travel to Alabama to write an article. That could mean more bad publicity against the United States around the World. The agent had however no legitimate excuse to refuse entry to the Palestinian woman. He thus stamped her passport and gave her a blue customs ticket, which would get her a bit more detailed baggage search than usual but not the full treatment reserved for truly suspicious travelers. The woman thanked him, taking back her passport along with the ticket, then went to the baggage area with the other passengers of her Paris-New York flight.

She showed up at the customs inspection counters fifteen minutes later with two suitcases on top of her travel bag and purse. Giving the blue ticket to a customs agent, she then waited patiently as the man with graying hair searched her luggage. The agent soon took out a highly sophisticated and compact video camera and a still digital camera, along with a laptop computer and a portable radio/CD player unit.

“Miss, these are items imported from the future. Where did you get these?”

“In Palestine, mister.” replied calmly Sarah. “Such equipment, along with many other high technology items, are on open sale there, thanks to the free trade agreement between the Global Council and Palestine. I routinely use them for my work as a reporter.”

“Those are very sought-after items here, miss.” cautioned the customs agent. “Be careful about thieves. I will have to fill an importation form for them. If you can’t produce them on departure, you will then have to pay a sales duty on them.”

“What if someone steals them?”

“Then you will have to get a copy of the relevant police report, miss.” Sarah stayed impassive as the agent made her fill the top portion of the importation form, then filled the rest and stamped it before giving a copy of the form to her. Repacking her things, she then headed out of the arrival area with her luggage and went to the departure gate to take her connecting flight to Birmingham, Alabama.

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21:36 (Alabama Time)

Central bus station

Birmingham, Alabama

Having collected her suitcases from the luggage compartment of the bus from the airport, Sarah then walked inside the bus terminal and made her way to the ticket counters. She took a minute to look at a big wall board showing the arrival and departure times of various buses, finding out that the next bus to Montgomery would depart in less than one hour. As she took place in a short lineup in front of one of the ticket counters, a pudgy man in his fifties in front of her gave her a hostile look and pointed at another lineup, composed exclusively of African-Americans.

“Hey, get in the colored lineup! This counter is for whites only. Can’t you read?” Sarah glanced at the sign above the ticket counter, which said ‘Reserved for whites only’, then looked coldly at the man.

“By what right do you dare categorize me, mister? In Palestine, everybody is equal in the eyes of The One.”

“Listen, rag head!” replied rudely the man. “You are in the States now and you better follow the rules, or else.”

“Or else what, mister? I have the right to be here and I won’t let an ignorant like you push me around.”

The man, scandalized by her attitude, then waved at a policeman standing in a corner of the ticket hall.

“Officer, could you get that woman to go in the colored lineup?” The policeman, a big man with a paunch, immediately walked to Sarah while taking out his baton. Stopping in front of her, he waved his baton in her face.

“Miss, you are no white person. You will have to get into the other lineup.” Looking pissed, Sarah took out her passport from her purse and opened it, showing the visa with the mention ‘white’ to the policeman.

“This is the visa delivered by your embassy in Jerusalem. I have the right to be in this lineup, or in any lineup in fact.”

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The policeman examined the visa for a few seconds and frowned before looking at the man who had protested against her presence.

“Sir, she is right. I can’t legally force her to go into the colored lineup.”

“What? Fuck that damn Yankee visa! Look at her skin!” protested the man, who forcibly grabbed Sarah’s left hand to show it to the policeman. Her reaction was immediate and lightning quick: twisting her hand around and freeing herself, she then slapped the man’s hand away and glared at him.

“Mister, you touch me again and I will slap you!”

“Hey, hey!” said the policeman, interposing himself. “Let’s calm down here! The next one of you who causes trouble will end up in jail for disturbing the peace.”

“I came in peace, Officer.” said calmly Sarah. “I don’t intend to start a fight unless attacked.”

The policeman nodded grudgingly, then looked severely at the pudgy man, who turned away while grumbling to himself. Satisfied, he then returned to his corner while putting his baton back in its retaining belt loop.

When Sarah’s turn came at the wicket, the ticket clerk listened with a wooden face as she asked for a one-way ticket to Montgomery and made her pay the fare before giving her the bus ticket. Sarah took it and, grabbing her two suitcases, went to the waiting lounge. Only when she sat down on a bench besides a Caucasian teenage girl did she realize that her bus ticket bore the mention ‘colored section’, written by hand. She quietly swore to herself but decided against going back to confront the clerk: she was tired from her long trip from Palestine and wanted to take this bus, which was the last one available until early morning. She did however hold the ticket still for a few seconds in front of her eyes, letting the miniature video camera hidden in the frame of her spectacles film the offensive words written on the ticket. This incident made her recall souvenirs from an international conference in late 1942, shortly after the end of the Second World War. That conference had given the go ahead for the creation of the United Nations but had also put her on a collision course with the United States and a few other states. The main reason for the Americans’ ire then had been her call for the future headquarters of the United Nations to be situated in Paris instead of in New York, where the Americans wished it to be. Her argument then, which was still valid in her mind, was that New York was unsuited to host African diplomats because of the official segregation laws in the United States. Most non-European countries, along with France

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and a few other European states, had sided with her arguments then. Since the United Nations charter, she had pushed forward had no veto provision for superpower states, the United States had lost that vote despite the support of other states with segregation laws, like South Africa and Rhodesia. That moment had been a happy one for her, as she had long dreamed of a truly egalitarian United Nations that would care for all on Earth and not only for the interests of the rich and powerful. The latest row between her and the United States, concerning the admission of Communist China in the United Nations at the expense of the Nationalist Chinese government in Taiwan, had gained her the cooperation of a state representing a quarter of the World’s population, which in turn had given her enough influence to help prevent the worst of the excesses from Communist Chinese leaders. A direct result of that had been the avoidance of war in Indochina and Korea, something which had amply justified her policies up to now. She just wished that the United States could acknowledge that, though.

Ten minutes before departure time, Sarah grabbed her luggage and went out to the platform from which the bus to Montgomery would depart. The bus was already there, with its luggage compartments open and with passengers lining up to get inside. Putting first her luggage in a storage compartment, Sarah then joined the lineup, which was made in majority of African-Americans. The bus driver gave her a hard look after eyeing her ticket and punching it.

“Take a rear section seat, miss. The first ten rows are reserved for white people.”

Sarah returned his look, contempt in her eyes.

“The One created all human spirits equal, mister. You are insulting him with this segregation nonsense.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you think or about your one, whoever he is.” replied roughly the driver. “You either go in the back section or you take another bus, miss.”

The man pronounced the last word as if in derision, obviously insinuating that a less flattering term would have been appropriate for Sarah. Real anger then showed in her eyes.

“You don’t know who is The One? Do you know anything about the rest of the world, mister?”

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“You want to play smart, miss? Then get out of the line! We have laws in Alabama and you will respect them.”

“You will start yourself to respect the law, mister!” spat Sarah before taking out her passport and showing the visa inside to the driver. “Your government issued this visa and you better respect its authority unless you want me to create a diplomatic incident over this, on top of attracting a federal lawsuit against your bus company.” The mention of a lawsuit made the driver back off: causing a potentially costly lawsuit against his employer could easily jeopardize his job. Brusquely giving her back her ticket, he then ignored her and addressed the next passenger in the line.

“Next!”

Getting in the bus after a last hard look at the driver, Sarah found that the section reserved for white persons was nearly empty, while the section for colored people was close to full, with many more people still due to board the bus. Still steaming, Sarah took place in a still empty back row, taking a window-side seat. Opening her travel bag and extracting her laptop computer, she then powered up her machine and started typing down her first impressions of her trip to the United States. Allied with the video footage she had already taken discreetly with her hidden micro-camera, it was not going to make for a flattering report on the United States.

00:58 (Alabama Time)

Tuesday, May 10, 1949 ‘B’

Southern Comfort Hotel

Washington Street, Montgomery

Alabama

Joshua Brown had been asleep for maybe half an hour when the door buzzer of his hotel’s entrance woke him up. Putting on his pajama top, he then walked out of his small room adjacent to the reception desk and went to the door, swearing quietly to himself: it was probably one of his tenants coming back late to his small, rickety hotel in downtown Montgomery. He suddenly hesitated and stopped: maybe it could also be a few rednecks white men coming to pay a rough visit to him or one of his young Negro customers. Cautiously, he got close to one of the front windows of the hotel and peeped towards the entrance. What he saw made him open his eyes and mouth wide with surprise: a young foreign woman was waiting patiently in front of the door, two suitcases

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at her feet. Hurrying to the door and making sure first that his top was well buttoned, he then unlocked and opened the door. On closer examination, the woman appeared Arabic and in fact wore an Arabic robe. She was also as beautiful as one of those princesses out of an Arabian fairy tale.

“Please come in, miss! Are you here for a room?”

“Yes! Do you have one available?” she asked in a soft voice and in perfect English while grabbing her suitcases. She also had a travel bag and a purse.

“I do have rooms available, miss.” answered Joshua, still wondering what a woman like her was doing at his hotel, which was supposed to house Negro customers only according to the city segregation laws. The Arab woman entered the small lobby of the hotel, letting Joshua close and lock the door before speaking again. She was small and graceful, as one would have expected from an Arabic princess, and her voice was melodious.

“Then I will take one for a week. I am ready to pay in advance for it.”

“Uh, I don’t want to be impolite, miss, but why did you choose my hotel? I normally get only Negro migrant workers who can’t lodge anywhere else in Montgomery because of the city segregation laws.”

“That is precisely why I chose your hotel, mister…”

“Brown, Joshua Brown.” replied Joshua, getting over his surprise and shaking hands with her. She smiled to him and gave her name.

“I am Sarah Ur, from the Holy Land of Palestine. I am a reporter and came to Alabama to do an investigative report on the living condition of the African-Americans in the southern states of this country.”

“Then, you chose well, Miss Ur. You do realize that the subject of your report may not be very popular with the local authorities, I hope?” She then gave him a pinched expression.

“I already experienced the local welcome, Mister Brown. As for being intimidated, good luck to these rednecks. Shall I pay for my room now?”

“Uh, sure! Please come to the reception desk.”

Joshua hurried behind the desk and grabbed the key of his best available room, one of the few ones with a private bathroom. Most of the young Negro workers he got as customers could not afford a room with bathroom and used instead a communal bathroom. Giving the room key to the woman, he then presented his opened registry book.

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“If you could please fill and sign the registry book, miss. It will be 24 dollars and fifty cents for one week.”

Sarah took a wallet from her purse and paid him before writing her name and signing the registry book. She then followed Joshua, who graciously carried her suitcases, up the stairs to her room on the second floor. Once he let her in her room, she looked around quickly and nodded.

“This will be more than satisfactory for me, Mister Brown. Thank you for your help.”

“It was my pleasure, miss.” said Joshua, surprised at how easy she was to accommodate: his hotel was anything but luxurious or even particularly comfortable. “I serve coffee and a few basic items for breakfast in the lounge downstairs from six to nine in the morning. There is also a small restaurant for Negroes on the same block as the hotel, to your left when going out.”

“Then you can expect me for breakfast, Mister Brown. Good night!”

“Good night, miss!”

Joshua then left her room, closing the door behind him. He still was wondering about having such an exotic young woman as a guest as he walked back downstairs. His young Negro tenants were most probably going to love this.

05:58 (Alabama Time)

Southern Comfort Hotel

Joshua, still sleepy and busy preparing the frugal breakfast he made available to his guests, was not a little surprised to see that Sarah Ur beat the other customers down to the lounge. He was also surprised but pleased as well by her dress: she wore a very modern-looking blue-gray female suit consisting of adjusted trousers, light jacket and golden silk blouse. A set of nice but discreet jewels and careful makeup enhanced her already striking exotic beauty. Putting down beside a chair of the lounge a rigid black nylon bag, she smiled warmly to him, her eyes sparkling with energy.

“Good morning, Mister Brown! How are you this morning?”

“Uh, not as awake as you, I’m afraid, Miss Ur. I will be with you in a minute.” She nodded and then went to pour herself a cup of coffee from the percolator machine sitting on a corner table before sitting at one of the two small tables of the lounge. Keeping her nylon bag at her feet, she grabbed one of the copies of the local newspaper,

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the ‘MONTGOMERY ADVERTISER’, that was on one end of the service table and started reading it while sipping on her coffee. Joshua, bringing a plate of hard-boiled eggs and fresh bread to the service table, couldn’t help admire her profile as she passed by her. Her fine nose and huge brown eyes came with most sensuous lips and silky black hair which fell down to her shoulder blades. Her skin appeared very smooth and was light brown, like that of a mulatto. Joshua couldn’t know it but she had been acknowledged justly as one of the most, if not the most beautiful young woman of the Sumerian city of Ur, three and a half millenniums ago. Only her large spectacles tended to mar a bit her fascinating beauty. As Joshua went back into his small kitchen by the service desk to get pots of jam and peanut butter, two of his customers came down from their room for breakfast. The two young men, Tom and Sam Foster, were actually brothers and shared the same room in order to save on their meager pay as construction laborers. They stopped in unison at the entrance of the lounge when they saw Sarah, sitting at a table and reading a newspaper. She in turn smiled warmly to them and showed them two of the empty chairs around her table.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Will you have breakfast with me?”

“Uh, with pleasure, miss.” replied Tom Foster, not believing his luck, before going to her table and taking one of the chairs offered. Sam also sat down facing Sarah, having problems not staring with admiration at her. She then extended her right hand.

“I’m Sarah Ur, from Jerusalem. I’m a reporter doing an article on life in the southern United States.”

“My name is Tom Foster.” said the older brother while shaking her hand. “This is my brother Sam. When did you arrive, miss?”

“Late last night. Are you here in this hotel for a while still?”

“Hopefully yes, miss, but it will depend on how long jobs stay available. Right now, we have work assured for another month or so at a building construction project.”

“Then we will have time for an interview one evening soon, Mister Foster?”

“Tonight would be fine with me, miss.” replied quickly Tom, smiling. “And you, how long are you planning to stay?”

“About a week, time to see how things really are for African-Americans in Montgomery.”

“African-Americans?” said Sam, confused. “Is that how Negroes are called in Jerusalem?”

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“Yes!” answered Sarah, now looking serious. “It is certainly more respectful a term than the few I already heard used to call black people in the United States.”

“Did anybody call you names, miss?” asked Tom hesitantly. Sarah nodded once.

“It seems that most people around Alabama consider me a colored person, Tom. In a way, it helped my report, as I was better able to appreciate the problems African-Americans face in living in the South.”

“Hopefully you won’t experience the other kind of abuse we have to put up with, miss.”

“And what kind would that be, Tom?”

“Physical!” replied the young man in a bitter tone. “Black girls are even more at risk…in a way.”

Sarah, her face hardening, put down her cup and stared at Tom.

“And how often does that happen?”

Tom looked away as he answered in a low voice.

“Too often, miss, especially on Saturday nights. You could be targeted yourself as well if you are not careful.”

“Don’t worry about me, Tom: I know how to defend myself.” Tom gave her a doubtful look at that declaration.

“Even against a 200-pound man who wouldn’t think twice about killing a Negro?”

“Especially against such a man. Well, enough about that. Let’s not cut your appetite for breakfast.”

“Uh, right. We should hurry anyway so that we won’t be late for work.” The two young men then got up and went to the service table to make themselves toasts splashed with jam and to pour cups of coffee. They then returned to the table and started eating quickly. Sarah prepared herself a peanut butter sandwich and joined them back as three more customers, all black men, came down to the lounge. After presenting herself to them, Sarah returned to reading her newspaper while eating her sandwich.

Sam Foster was finished eating breakfast and was about to get up from the table when he saw Sarah take out a notepad and a pen and note down something from the newspaper. She however quickly closed the paper when he tried to see what she was noting down.

“Please, Sam, do you mind?”

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“Sorry, miss. I was just curious.” said Sam in a contrite voice. He then left the table and went up to his room, soon joined by his brother. Both came back down a few minutes later and waved goodbye to Sarah before leaving the hotel. Maybe a dozen more, mostly young, black men came down to have breakfast in the next half hour and then left the hotel for work. Sarah was left alone with Joshua Brown in the hotel well before seven O’clock, at which time she also left the hotel with her nylon bag slung from one shoulder. Walking slowly on the sidewalk and observing carefully her surroundings as she went, she first stopped at a gas service station, where she bought a detailed city map of Montgomery, along with a larger map of the surrounding county. She next visited a newspaper stand and bought a copy of each of the local and regional newspapers. Then she returned to her hotel in order to be able to read quietly her newspapers. When she entered the lounge, she found a black woman in her forties busy sweeping the floor. The woman gave her a motherly smile and offered her right hand, which Sarah shook.

“Hello, miss! My name is Thelma. I’m the maid and cleaning lady.”

“And I’m Sarah Ur, from the Holy Land of Palestine. I’m a reporter.” said Sarah, smiling back.

“Palestine? Isn’t that where Nancy Laplante lives?”

“That’s the place!”

Thelma sighed at the mention of Jerusalem.

“I wish that I could visit Jerusalem one day. I heard so many fantastic things about it. Is it as nice as the people say?”

“Oh yes!” replied proudly Sarah. “For one thing, everybody is equal in Jerusalem and in the rest of Palestine.”

Thelma rolled her eyes upward at those words.

“Just for that the trip would be worth it for me, miss.”

Sarah nodded a bit sadly: to have decent people forced to endure constantly the kind of harassment and abuse they had to put up with here was a truly shameful thing.

“Things will change eventually, Thelma.” she said quietly before sitting at a table and starting to read her collection of newspapers as the maid continued her cleaning work. After maybe forty minutes of reading, she took out and plugged in her laptop computer, then worked on her first article for half an hour. Once her work was saved, she packed away her equipment and left the hotel again, still lugging her black nylon bag.

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Her next stop was a large brick church on Dexter Avenue, barely one block away. Her short walk was however long enough to attract a contemptuous remark from a Caucasian woman smoking with another woman outside of a clothing store.

“Well, look it here: a fashionable nigger slut!” said the pudgy woman in her late thirties, making her companion laugh while she eyed Sarah from head to toe.

“Maybe she made lots of money by prostituting herself, Maggie.” Sarah stopped in front of the two white women and eyed them coldly.

“I am a Palestinian reporter and I earn my money by providing news from around the world to my readers. You could use some reading to further your education: you would be less ignorant then.”

The one named Maggie had a flash of anger appear on her face, then advanced on Sarah with her right fist raised.

“You slut! I’ll teach you…”

Sarah easily intercepted her punch with one hand, then twisted her arm while holding the woman’s fist in a powerful grip, making the woman yelp in pain. Sarah eyed her and the other with contempt.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so sure of your superiority on others. You don’t measure up to much, in my opinion.”

She then pushed away the woman while releasing her grip, then turned around and walked away calmly. Maggie, holding her right hand, shouted at her.

“You bitch! You’ll pay for this, I swear!”

As Sarah kept walking and ignoring her, Maggie looked at her friend.

“Where did she say she was from?”

“Palestine.”

“Where’s that?”

“Hell, I don’t know! Do I look like an encyclopedia to you?”

Sarah stopped in front of the Baptist church at 454 Dexter Avenue and eyed it quickly: it was quite big and was made of reddish-brown brick, with a high white bell tower over the front entrance and steps. A few trees surrounded it, making it look even more peaceful a place. Going up the steps two by tow, she then pushed open the large double door and entered the church, closing the doors behind her. With her resolute steps echoing around the large nave, she walked to the door of the church’s office, to

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the back and left of the altar, and knocked on the door. A tall graying black man in denim coveralls soon opened the door, looking with surprise at her.

“May I do something for you, miss?”

“I am actually here to do something for you, Reverend Johns. My name is Sarah Ur, from Jerusalem. Could we speak in private?”

“Uh, of course, miss. Please come in and have a seat.”

Entering Johns’ office, Sarah then took place in a chair to the front and left of the preacher’s desk and waited for Johns to be seated behind the desk before speaking again.

“I am a Palestinian freelance reporter doing an investigative report on the living conditions of African-Americans in the southern states of the United States. I also am a field representative of the d’Orleans Social Trust, a charity organization founded in 1851 in Paris to help the underprivileged and the ones in need. You may have heard about some of our past work.”

Vernon Johns broke into a smile and pointed an index at her.

“Weren’t you the ones who funded a refuge for abused women in Detroit about two years ago?”

“That was us, effectively.” said Sarah, smiling warmly. “To return to the present situation, the d’Orleans Social Trust wants to help the African-Americans of Montgomery and of the rest of Alabama. Since your social work on behalf of desegregation in Montgomery is well known, the trust has decided to go through you to help the local black people. I am thus ready to give you a donation of 10,000 dollars in the name of the d’Orleans Social Trust. More will come in the near future.” Johns’ eyes widened in surprise and disbelief.

“Ten thousand dollars? That’s quite a sum, miss.”

“Not for our foundation, Reverend.” replied Sarah before taking out of a jacket’s pocket a checking book and a pen. She then wrote a number on a check and signed it, ripping it off the checking book and handing it to Johns, who examined it: it was a personalized check from the Chase Manhattan Bank printed with the logo and addresses of the various world offices of the d’Orleans Social Trust. The sum on it was ten thousand dollars. Johns looked with gratitude at Sarah.

“This will help our people greatly, miss. I don’t know how I could thank you and your foundation properly.”

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“You may do that by using this money wisely and by continuing with your present work, Reverend Johns.”

Johns nodded once, then eyed her carefully.

“Sarah…that is a Jewish name, I believe. Further, Sarah of Ur was the name of the wife of the patriarch Abraham, according to the Old Testament, right?” Sarah had a mysterious smile then.

“I am effectively Jewish but the name of Abraham’s wife was Sarai of Ur before she changed her name to Sarah. However, the d’Orleans Social Trust helps everybody in need, irrespective of race, religion or sex. Another way I intend to help the local black people is by enrolling the services of a local lawyer whom I will pay to take on free of charge the defense of black people unjustly accused because of discrimination or racial harassment. Once I have arranged for the services of such a lawyer, I will have him contact you. I also intend to bankroll a black family doctor, so that he could provide free medical care to the poor.”

“Miss Ur, you are truly a godsend.” said Johns, attracting a grin on her face.

“Reverend, let’s just say that someone high above has heard your pleas for help. You may however help me in turn to do my job here.”

“I would be most pleased to help, miss.” replied Johns, smiling and bending forward a bit while putting his forearms on his desk. “What could I do for you?”

“You could tell me everything you know about the local Ku Klux Klan, Reverend.” she replied, dead serious.

15:18 (Alabama Time)

Pharmacy, Monroe Street

Downtown Montgomery

James Wallace frowned when he saw Doctor Eli Gooding enter his store, accompanied by a stunningly beautiful young mulatto woman. It was not that he was a racist but Gooding already had a sizeable negative credit balance at his pharmacy and was widely known to have limited financial means. Helping the poor Negroes of Montgomery was fine with the pharmacist but he still had a business to run. The first words from Eli Gooding however surprised him as the black doctor came to the service counter with a big smile.

“Good afternoon, Mister Wallace! Could you tell me how much I owe you?”

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Having a hard time believing his ears, James Wallace nonetheless fished his account book from under the counter.

“Uh, did you hit a gold mine or something like that lately, Doctor Gooding?” Gooding grinned in response and presented the young woman standing by his side.

“This is the gold mine I struck, Mister Wallace. May I present you Miss Sarah Ur, from Palestine?”

Wallace, fascinated by her beauty, quickly shook hands with the woman, who was dressed in a very fashionable modern female suit.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Ur. And may I ask how you came to bankroll Doctor Gooding?”

“You may, Mister Wallace.” she answered in a melodious voice. “I am a field representative of the d’Orleans Social Trust, a charitable foundation based in France. I also am a reporter on assignment for the Jerusalem Times.”

“Oh, I see.” said Wallace, his interest truly awakened now. He then looked through his account book and fingered the latest total owed by Gooding.

“Your debit total now stands at 144 dollars and 56 cents, Doctor Gooding.” To the hidden pleasure of Wallace, who had all but written off that debt until now, Sarah took out of her purse a thick wad of money and counted out 145 dollars on the counter.

“Don’t bother with the small change, Mister Wallace: we are here to buy a lot of medical supplies. This is only so that we can start with a clean slate at your pharmacy.”

“Name what you need and I will do my best to accommodate you.” replied the delighted pharmacist while picking up the money and then writing down the payment in order to put Gooding’s debit to zero. Sarah then smiled to Eli Gooding.

“Think large and don’t worry about the final bill, Doctor. Also, think long term: don’t stop at only one or two bottles per type of medication.”

“What is your credit limit exactly, Miss Ur?” said Gooding, still unable to believe his luck. She gave him a warm smile and swept her arms around her.

“You may buy the whole store if you want, Doctor. Go for broke!”

“Hell, I think I will!”

With Wallace getting one of his two assistants to help him take out of his backroom storage the medical and pharmaceutical supplies, Gooding then proceeded in carefully running down a list of his needs, ordering supplies literally by the box. Wallace soon had to tell his second assistant to help load the boxes in Gooding’s old Ford station wagon, while his sales clerk got busy adding up the bill, with Sarah Ur paying cash as the boxes

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were ferried outside and into Gooding’s car. After a busy twenty minutes, the final bill rang to a staggering 3,879 dollars, while Wallace’s backroom storage ended up all but empty. The pharmacist was ecstatic as he contemplated the sales bill and grinned to both Gooding and Ur.

“Hell, I wish I had business days like this more often! Your foundation is most generous, Miss Ur.”

“Helping the poor and the downtrodden is our business, Mister Wallace. Thank you for your supplies and have a good day.”

“I just had a very good one, thanks to you, miss.” replied Wallace, grinning. He then followed the woman and Gooding with his eyes as they walked out of his pharmacy.

“Damn, that girl is so cute!” he said in a low voice to his younger male assistant, who was also looking at Sarah.

“She sure is, Mister Wallace. I hope for her that she will be careful while going around town, though.”

James Wallace nodded his head slowly, bitterness showing on his face: many city policemen were known to routinely abuse their powers in order to force young Negro women into sex. Unfortunately, the word of a black woman counted for little against that of a white policeman. As a liberal-minded, married man, that state of affair truly infuriated Wallace. He unfortunately could do very little about it.

Politely refusing Gooding’s offer to give her a ride to her hotel in his car, now nearly full of medical supplies boxes, Sarah readjusted the strap of her black nylon carrying bag and started walking eastward down Monroe Street, waving to Gooding as the family doctor drove away. She felt good about the results of her day’s work, but much was still left to be done. Sarah was about to turn south on McDonough Street when a police car slowed down to a walking pace alongside her. The policeman in the front passenger seat stuck his head out and shouted at her.

“Hey, girl, need a ride?”

Sarah gave him a cold, unsympathetic look while still walking.

“No, thanks. I will walk.”

“And where are you walking to on such a nice day?” insisted the policeman, an overweight man in his thirties with ‘redneck’ written all over him.

“That, mister, is my business.”

The man’s smile then disappeared, replaced by a warning look.

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“Watch your mouth, girl, or we will bring you to the police station for identification. You are dressed too smartly for a Negro girl.”

Sarah stopped then, forcing the driver of the police car to stop as well.

“I am a Palestinian reporter and I am conducting perfectly legal business, mister. If you had plans with me, forget them unless you want to be sued for wrongful arrest!” She then resumed her walk, turning the street corner and leaving the policeman stunned temporarily by her boldness. The policeman then looked at his driver, anger visible on his face.

“Who the hell does she think that she is? Catch up with her and cut her off, John!”

“With pleasure!” replied with a mean smile John Biggelow, who then sped up and turned on McDonough Street before driving partly on the sidewalk and screeching to a halt. Both he and Jim Rourke then got out, taking out their batons as they went towards the young woman. Sarah, now stopped and tense, eyed them approach while debating about her courses of action. She didn’t want to use her powers so soon but she was not ready in turn to let herself be abused either. Jim Rourke stopped barely one pace away in front of her, brandishing his baton in her face.

“Show me your papers, slut!”

Without a word, Sarah took her passport out of an internal pocket of her jacket and handed it to the big policeman dominating her by a head. Rourke carefully examined the passport, then looked at her while holding on to it.

“This is the States here, not Palestine. When we ask a question, you answer us! Understood?”

“The only thing I understand is that you are abusing your powers, Officer. If you have any legal charges against me, then state them now or let me go in peace.” A few passersby, both white and black, gasped at her audacity, while Rourke nearly spat in her face and raised his voice to a near shout.

“You want to be charged? Fine! John, cuff her! We are booking her for suspected prostitution.”

Sarah felt instant anger at those words, as she knew what would be next. At a minimum, the policemen at the police station would be too happy to subject her to a strip search, with no other women present, of course. At the worst, she would probably be gang-raped at night in a cell. Her hand flying up at a lightning speed, she grabbed back her passport and then took one step back while pocketing quickly her passport.

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“You make a pure mockery of the law, mister. Leave me alone or you will get your just reward.”

“It is you who will get a good lesson today, slut!” replied Rourke, enraged, before rising his baton to strike her. Quickly stepping forward and lunging under his swing, Sarah punched him hard in the stomach, making the man collapse to his knees from the pain. Biggelow then rushed with his baton, only to be kicked in the chest hard enough to be projected backward, his feet coming off the sidewalk. He bounced on his police car and slid down on his bum, his breath taken away. Sarah then knocked out Rourke with an elbow to his temple, followed by the same to Biggelow. With the two policemen now down on the sidewalk, Sarah turned around to face the crowd of stunned bystanders, composed equally of blacks and whites.

“If this is what the law has sunken to in this city, then I pity you. You better start asking yourselves what God thinks of this sorry state, before he decides to have this place cleaned up.”

She then walked away towards her hotel. While the blacks present quickly dispersed, rightly fearing blind retaliation by other policemen, a few of the whites lingered on, unsure how to react to what was essentially a totally unheard of incident in the history of Montgomery. A white woman in her forties then shouted at the men around her.

“Well, are you going to let this nigger slut make the law around our city? Run after her or call the police, damn it!”

“I’ll call the police.” said a man after a short hesitation, then running inside a nearby shop. The woman looked with indignation at the other men left around, still unmoving.

“That’s all you are going to do?”

A younger man, nearly a teenager, eyed her without sympathy.

“Miss, those cops wanted to arrest that girl only in order to be able to abuse and maybe rape her in prison. I heard and saw the whole exchange. That the girl is colored doesn’t give those cops a right to abuse her without reason.”

“You fucking nigger-lover!” spat the woman, attracting an angry glare from the young white man.

“It is old farts like you who give a bad name to all of us! Didn’t you hear that the girl is Palestinian? Do you really want the Overseer of Palestine, Nancy Laplante, to descend on Montgomery and call the wrath of God on us? If she can heal thousands of people in seconds, imagine what she could do here to the ones she considers evil.”

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“That Laplante is nothing but a witch!”

“A witch who saved us from years of war? Take off your blinders and start thinking straight, madam! Right now, I would applaud if Nancy Laplante showed up here and dispensed some true justice around.”

The young man then stomped away, leaving the woman livid. More than a few other whites however seemed to agree with the young man and also walked away without giving assistance to the unconscious policemen. Furious and seeing that nobody would act further, the woman also left the scene. By the time two police cars came with sirens blaring, nobody was left around the two knocked down policemen, except for the man who had called the police station. The five policemen who jumped out of the patrol cars looked at the scene with disbelief before rushing to check on their colleagues. The senior policeman, Sergeant Charles Hawkins, took the sole witness present to near the patrol car and took out his notepad and pen as one of his men called in an ambulance.

“What the hell happened here, mister?”

The civilian took a minute to describe what he had seen, attracting an incredulous look from Hawkins.

“You mean to say that a young woman about five foot tall took out cold two six foot plus policemen, by herself?”

“That’s it, Officer. It didn’t even look to be a challenge for her.”

“And you say that she is a foreigner?”

“I understand that she is from Palestine, Officer. She was very beautiful, with light brown skin and black hair. She said something about attracting the wrath of God on Montgomery after she knocked out your two policemen.”

“Describe her to me in detail, please.”

The civilian did so, after which Hawkins took his name and address so that he could be called on as a witness. By then, Jim Rourke was regaining consciousness. Hawkins crouched besides him and looked sternly at him.

“What happened here? How did you let a young woman beat you so easily?”

“She moved like lightning, Sergeant.” protested weakly Rourke, still holding his stomach. “She was also incredibly strong.”

“We’ll see about that. Why did you want to arrest her?”

“We thought she was a prostitute: she had those fancy, expensive clothes and was new in town.”

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“Are you sure that you simply didn’t want to have fun with her in a cell, Rourke?” asked Hawkins, skeptical. He had no particular sympathy for Negroes but this business of harassing Negro girls diverted much time from fighting real crime, apart from discrediting the police force in the eyes of many respectable white citizens, starting with the local preachers. The wives of his policemen didn’t appreciate that abuse of Negro girls much either. Adultery, especially with Negro girls, was still adultery for them. Rourke, knowing that his supervisor was against such practices, did his best to deny it.

“Of course not, Sarge! That girl looked suspicious, that’s all.”

“Yeah, if you say so. We will talk about this again once you are checked out by a doctor. Could you identify that girl later on?”

“Sure can, Sarge! Her name is Sarah Ur and she is a rag head from Palestine. I was able to see her passport before she attacked us.”

The police sergeant frowned at that last sentence: either Rourke was lying about being attacked first or that girl was both confident and very dangerous.

“Did she state her business in Montgomery?”

“She pretended to be a reporter, but I knew better than believe that crap.” Hawkins gave a hard stare at Rourke that unsettled the patrolman.

“Could you tell me why the hell a Palestinian woman would come all the way to Montgomery just to practice prostitution, Rourke? Was she dressed provocatively?”

“Uh, not really, Sarge.” answered Rourke hesitantly, obviously tripping on himself for an explanation now. “She wore a blue-gray suit made of a jacket and trousers.”

“Rourke, you are one piece of stupid shit!” finally exploded Hawkins. “First of, your story doesn’t make any sense, unless your only goal was to have fun with her. Second, a civilian who witnessed the incident just told me that you rushed at her with your baton high before she went on the offensive. Right now, I simply can’t see what justification you had to try arresting her.”

“Damn it, Sarge!” replied Rourke angrily. “Why are you trying to make it easy for a Negro girl?”

“Because she is not a Negro, you idiot!” shouted back Hawkins, now realizing fully what really happened. “She is from Palestine, where a certain Nancy Laplante rules and performs miracles nearly daily. You really want Laplante to show up here and screw with us big time because you and Biggelow could only think with your dicks? Be sure that your stupidity will be noted in my report.”

Hawkins then got up and looked at the policemen who had come with him.

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“Keith, take Biggelow’s patrol car and return it to the police station. Harris, you stay with Biggelow and Rourke until the ambulance arrives and then return to the station. Fuller, Crozer, you come with me.”

Getting back with the two policemen in the patrol car which had brought them, Hawkins then had George Fuller drive to the nearest hotel for Negroes that he knew. Hawkins reasoned that, as a foreigner, that Sarah Ur had to use a hotel instead of a private residence and that, since she had brown skin, probably would not have been accepted in any hotels reserved for white people. Fortunately, hotels for Negroes were few in Montgomery, with only two of them in the downtown area. His first stop was at the Southern Comfort Hotel, barely one block away on Washington Street. Hawkins looked critically at his driver before going out of the car: he knew George Fuller as a man who hated Negroes and who was probably the wrong man to go in the hotel with him right now. On the other hand, Mack Crozer was an honest young man who took his job seriously and who could think straight.

“You stay with the car, Fuller. Crozer, you come with me inside.” Entering the tiny hotel with his young patrolman, Hawkins went to the service desk, where the Negro receptionist now watched cautiously as he and Crozer approached him. Hawkins spoke firmly but in a neutral tone to the receptionist as he lay against the desk.

“Do you have a young foreign woman by the name of Sarah Ur here?”

“Yes sir.” answered the receptionist in a subdued voice. “She came back to the hotel a few minutes ago. She is in her room now.”

Hawkins nodded with satisfaction, then took out his notepad and pen.

“When did she arrive at your hotel initially?”

“At a bit past midnight this early morning, sir. She was arriving straight from Palestine.”

“How was she dressed then?”

The receptionist seemed confused by his question but answered nonetheless.

“She wore an Arabic robe with gold embroidering, sir.”

“And what is your name?”

“Joshua Brown, sir. I am the owner of this hotel.”

“What can you tell me about Miss Ur’s activities, Joshua?”

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“She is a reporter, sir. She got up at six this morning, had breakfast, then went out for a while before coming back with a few local newspapers. She read those papers, then went out again. I didn’t see her again until she came back a few minutes ago.” Hawkins thought over that information for a moment. The girl’s activity pattern, like her clothes, was certainly not like one would expect from a prostitute. Rourke’s story sounded more and more like bullshit to him. He looked back at the receptionist.

“Did she have a camera with her?”

“I’m not sure, sir. She did carry a black bag at the time and I saw her take out a small machine from it this morning and work with it.”

“What kind of machine?” asked Hawkins, suddenly interested.

“I believe that it is one of those computers which are imported from the future, sir.”

Hawkins then looked at Crozer.

“Doesn’t sound to me like a prostitute at work, Mack.”

“No, Sarge!” said the young patrolman. “You think that Rourke lied about her?”

“Think? Hell, I am now pretty sure of it. That asshole will need a good tongue-lashing later on.”

He then looked back at the receptionist.

“What room is Miss Ur in?”

“Room 211, sir.”

“Thank you! Mack, let’s go upstairs.”

Going up the stairs at a near run with Mack Crozer in his back, Hawkins quickly found Room 211 and stopped in front of it. He looked sternly at Crozer as the patrolman started to take out his service revolver.

“No need for that, Mack. We are not dealing with some foreign terrorist here.” He then knocked on the door three times. A female voice came through the door a couple of seconds later.

“Who is it?”

“Police! Open up, miss!”

There was a short silence, then Hawkins heard the noise of footsteps approaching and of the door bolt being pulled before the door opened wide. He then found himself facing one of the most beautiful young women he had ever seen. She looked firmly at him, apparently not scared one bit. She certainly looked like a gutsy girl, thought Hawkins before nodding his head politely.

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“Miss, are you Sarah Ur?”

“I am! I suppose that this visit is connected with the incident of sexual harassment involving your two patrolmen earlier on near the corner of Monroe and McDonough Streets?”

“Miss, let me decide how to characterize that incident. Do you recognize that you hit two city police officers a few minutes ago?”

“I did, but I acted in self-defense, after being called a slut in public and being unjustly accused of prostitution before being attacked by them.”

“That may be so, miss, but I will have nonetheless to bring you to the police station for questioning.”

Her stare then hardened, like her voice.

“Sergeant, I have to warn you that I will not let myself be strip-searched or abused by men, even if they are policemen. Also, be sure that I intend to complain to my government about this whole affair.”

“Miss, I assure you that you will not be mistreated. I however have to handcuff you for the trip to the station.”

To his surprise and relief, she then presented her two hands to him.

“Be my guest, Sergeant, but keep my warning in mind.”

“I will!” said Hawkins, meaning it. “Mack, cuff her…gently.” The young patrolman obeyed and put handcuffs around her wrists, being careful not to tighten them too much. Hawkins then had her escorted downstairs after collecting her purse with her permission. The receptionist looked with dismay at the trio when they came down to the lobby.

“But…what is she accused of, sir? Miss Ur is only a reporter from Palestine.”

“She hit two policemen.” answered coldly Hawkins. “Don’t worry: she will get due lawful process.”

“Don’t worry about me, Joshua.” said softly Sarah. “The sergeant seems to be a decent policeman. I will manage.”

“Good luck, Miss Ur.” replied the receptionist, his voice strangled with worry, as she was led out of the hotel.

Hawkins traveled with Sarah on the rear bench seat of the patrol car during the ride to the police station. No words were exchanged until they arrived and entered the

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station, going first to the reception desk. The duty policeman at the desk, patrolman Harvey Woods, had a mean smile when he saw the handcuffed Sarah.

“You caught the slut real fast, Sarge.”

“Watch your mouth, Harvey!” said sternly Hawkins. “I brought Miss Ur in for questioning, not to book her.”

“But she beat up Biggelow and Rourke, Sarge!” protested Woods, surprised and incensed.

“Maybe they deserved the beating.” said Hawkins before pointing a door down the back of the reception room to Sarah.

“Let’s go to that interview room.”

While they crossed the reception room, Hawkins briefly stopped besides the desk of the telephone receptionist, a woman in her thirties.

“Mary, could you come with me for a second? I need someone to search this woman.”

“Sure, Charlie!” replied Mary Etheridge, relieved to see that this was not going to turn into another dirty fun session for some policemen. She got up and asked a secretary to take over her station for a minute, then followed Hawkins, Crozer and the brown girl inside the interview room. Hawkins first had Crozer remove the handcuffs from Sarah, then asked the girl to empty her pockets on the small table of the interview room. Next, he left briefly the room with Crozer to let Mary search the young woman for any hidden weapon. Mary opened the door a moment later.

“She is clean, Charlie. May I go back to my switchboard now?”

“You can. Thanks for your assistance, Mary. Mack, you stay outside and guard the door.”

Closing the door behind him, Hawkins then invited Sarah to sit down at the table, then sat opposite her and grabbed her purse, opening it and emptying it on the table. He then took his notepad and started noting carefully the girl’s possessions. While she had no weapons with her, the amount of cash money and the checking books in her possession shocked him.

“Miss, could you explain how come you have over 21,000 dollars in cash with you, along with personalized checks from a charity foundation?”

“That’s easy enough, Sergeant.” She said with a neutral expression. “Apart from being here to make a report for the Jerusalem Times, I also am acting as a field representative of the d’Orleans Social Trust. I am distributing charity money to help the

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poor of Montgomery. As you can plainly see, I am no prostitute, despite what your policemen claimed.”

“That may be so, miss,” replied Hawkins, “but you still hit them. I cannot by myself decide to close the book on that incident and let you go free. Chief Ingalls will decide on that.”

“And what happens in the meantime?” asked Sarah calmly. Hawkins couldn’t help admire her assurance then.

“I will have to keep you at the station, in temporary custody but without fingerprinting or photographing.”

“What about my cash money? It is liable to disappear if left in some evidence locker.”

Hawkins had to think over that for a while. She was quite right to be worried, as her cash represented a very large sum. As much as it pained him as a conscientious policeman, he had no illusions about the honesty of some of his colleagues. Gathering Sarah’s belongings and cash and putting them inside her purse, he then handed the purse to her and got up from his chair.

“I will let you hang on to your things for the moment, miss. However, if Chief Ingalls decides to book you, you will have to hand over your purse as evidence.”

“Then, know this and inform your chief of police as well, Sergeant: I already contacted my embassy in Washington and lodged a complaint before you arrived at my hotel. Any blatant abuse against me will be looked upon severely by the Overseer of Palestine.”

“Why would your ruler be so concerned about a lone citizen, miss?” said Hawkins, skeptical. Sarah stared gravely into his eyes.

“Because she cares about every single one of her citizens, Sergeant. Furthermore, the subject of racial segregation in the United States is a very sensitive one for her, as you should know.”

Hawkins nodded once, feeling apprehension now. Everybody knew how powerful that woman was and how much she hated racism. This could indeed turn still into a very ugly incident.

“I will pass the word, miss. Please follow me.”

Going out of the interview room, Hawkins then escorted Sarah to the cell block, where he had the policeman on guard duty open an empty cell.

“Please step in, miss.”

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She obeyed without fuss and sat on the cell’s bed. The guard hesitated while looking at her purse.

“We are not taking away her things, Sarge?”

“Not now, Connors. She is not charged with any offense yet. Just leave her alone and serve her supper at six, until the Chief can decide on whether to charge her or not.”

“Understood, Sarge.” said Connors, who then closed and locked the door of the cell. He and Hawkins then left the cell block, leaving Sarah alone with five prisoners locked up in nearby cells. Two of them were obviously prostitutes, one white and one black, another one was a drunk snoring loudly in his cell and the two others were black men with bruises on their faces. Sarah’s cell faced that of the two prostitutes, who looked back with curiosity at her through the bars of their cell.

“So,” said the white prostitute, a rather plain woman in her late twenties and with a generous chest, “what are you here for, dear?”

“Resisting sexual harassment. My name is Sarah.”

The two prostitutes giggled at her answer. The white one then spoke again.

“And my name is Betty. Those pigs can often be just that, pigs. They think that their badges allow them to do as they wish.”

“That sergeant seemed decent enough to me, Betty.”

The white prostitute nodded her head soberly.

“Charlie Hawkins is indeed a decent man. In fact, he is about the only exception to the rule in a barrel full of bad apples. The guard, Jerry Connors, is also decent enough.”

“What about the police chief?” asked Sarah, drawing a look of disgust from both prostitutes.

“Ingalls is a pure bastard!” was Betty’s firm answer. “He once forced me to perform an act on him before he would let me go. He and Judge Carter make quite a pair. If your fate is really to be decided by Chief Ingalls, then you better expect lots of trouble.”

“Especially if he treats you like a Negro.” added the black prostitute. “Ingalls, apart from being the police chief, also happens to be the local leader of the Ku Klux Klan. Ask those two unfortunate men if you don’t believe me.”

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Sarah looked briefly at the two young men prostrated in their cell and nursing their wounds, then looked back at the black prostitute, who couldn’t be more than twenty and was truly pretty.

“What is your name, friend?”

“Cynthia. Say, isn’t Sarah a Jewish name?”

“It is. I am a reporter from Jerusalem, in Palestine.”

The eyes of the prostitutes lit up with interest at those words.

“Could you tell us about Palestine?” asked Cynthia, hopeful. “We heard so many fantastic tales about it. Is it true that their ruler can perform miracles?”

“It is, girls.” said proudly Sarah. “The Overseer, Nancy Laplante, has the power of healing via the touch of her hands, plus many other powers.” She then changed the subject of conversation. “And you, girls? How long do you expect to be here?”

“It could be a while.” said glumly Cynthia. “If I don’t come up with the money for the fine Judge Carter will probably lay on me, I could end up in jail for a few months, or years.”

“The same here.” said Betty. “However, my fine will probably be much less than for Cynthia: Carter is much more tough on Negro criminals than on white ones. What did you do exactly, Sarah? Say no to a horny cop?”

“That and knock him and his partner out when they attacked me.” Her calm answer froze the two prostitutes with stupor.

“You beat up two cops?” exclaimed Cynthia, horrified. “Ingalls is going to kill you for that!”

“I don’t think so, Cynthia.” answered Sarah calmly. “If he has any brains, he will let me go quietly.”

“Ingalls has no brains!” retorted Betty, apparently very serious. “He is the police chief only because he is a mean bastard and keeps Negroes in line. Count yourself lucky if you get out of here with only a beating and a gang-rape.”

“You really believe that, Betty?” asked Sarah, eyeing her gravely. The prostitute nodded once.

“Take it from an old hand, Sarah. I have seen things during my various times in the slammer that would have made you shiver. Unfortunately, the word of a prostitute doesn’t count for much against that of a cop in Montgomery. The word of a negro counts for even less.”

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“It sounds like this city is in dire need of the justice of The One.” said Sarah calmly, drawing a skeptical look from Cynthia.

“If you mean the justice of God, then God has forgotten the negroes in Alabama and in the other southern states. Here, the only justice you will get is that of Ingalls, Carter and the KKK.”

“The One never forgets anyone.” was Sarah’s resolute reply. “Count my words.”

An embarrassed silence then fell between them, broken fifteen minutes later with the noise of a key unlocking the steel door of the cell block. The guard then entered the block, followed by the two policemen who had been beaten by Sarah and by a big, pudgy man dressed in a cheap suit. The man in the suit eyed with hatred Sarah, then glanced at the guard.

“Leave us alone and close the door behind you but don’t lock it, Connors.” The guard hesitated, looking with worry at Sarah, then left as ordered without a word. Sarah got up slowly from the bed, while the two prostitutes and the two black men looked on with apprehension. As for the drunk, he simply kept snoring away. The man in the suit stared hard at Sarah for a moment, making a show of unmasking the revolver at his belt, then spoke with a deep southern drawl.

“So, you think that being a reporter and a foreigner would allow you to beat two of my men with impunity, hey? Well, you will now learn that a foreign nigger is still a nigger here in Montgomery and is treated accordingly.”

Instead of cowering in a corner, as Betty and Cynthia expected, Sarah stood calmly in the middle of her cell and stared back at the man.

“May I have your name before The One passes judgment on you, mister?” The man laughed hard at her words, then gave her a cruel smile.

“If you are talking about what you call God back in Jerusalem, then forget his help, bitch! As for my name, I am Nathan Ingalls, Chief of Police of Montgomery, and I can do whatever I want with dirty niggers like you. Rourke, Biggelow, get in there and teach her a proper lesson.”

As a grinning Rourke unlocked Sarah’s cell door, Ingalls drew out his revolver and pointed it at her between the bars of her cell.

“You as much as try to hit back my men and I shoot you dead for assaulting a policeman, nigger girl.”

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“NO! DON’T!” suddenly shouted Betty, running to the bars of her cell. “YOU HURT HER AND I WILL TESTIFY AGAINST YOU, I SWEAR!”

“And who will believe a washed out prostitute like you.” replied Ingalls with contempt while looking at her. “You can’t even give a proper blowjob anymore. Besides, if you don’t shut up, you will learn what happens to nigger lovers around here.”

“The One will believe her.” said Sarah with contained anger. She then raised both arms high and looked up. “LET JUSTICE BE DONE!” She then turned nearly instantly into an eye-searing blue ball of light that exploded outwards with the resounding clap of thunder. A wave of blue light surged outwards at hypersonic speed, going through walls without causing apparent damage and bathing everything and everyone in its light for many seconds as it expanded out. It then faded away, letting the stunned persons in the cell block look with blinking eyes at Sarah, who had returned to normal. Ingalls, near panic, raised his revolver to aim at her head.

“You fucking nigger witch! I’ll…”

He then saw his right hand: it was ebony black. His mouth opening in horror, he looked at his other hand, then frantically pulled up one of his trousers legs: his whole body was now apparently of the deepest black similar to that of the blackest negroes around Montgomery. He screamed with absolute horror while scratching at his skin, as if hoping it would turn to its normal pink again. Biggelow and Rourke, also completely black, screamed in unison with him, while more screams could be heard from around the police station through the steel door of the cell block. Betty looked at all this with disbelief, surprised to find that her own skin had not changed color except for maybe a very faint touch of extra brown in her skin pigmentation. As for the four negroes in the cell block, they were the same as before as far as she could see. Ingalls, now mad with despair, leveled his revolver again through the bars of Sarah’s cell.

“YOU WITCH! YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!”

He then emptied frantically his revolver at her, with the loud detonations echoing around the cell block and waking up the drunk with a startle. Biggelow and Rourke imitated him, tears of despair in their eyes. To the stunned surprise of all, Sarah faced calmly the barrage of bullets, apparently unarmed by it. As the three men frantically started reloading their revolvers, Jerry Connors and Charles Hawkins burst in the cell block, guns drawn. Both looked with disbelief at the scene, with Hawkins sighing with relief at seeing that Sarah was apparently unharmed. Ingalls then looked with mad eyes at Hawkins.

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“SHOOT HER! SHOOT HER, DAMMIT! SHE TURNED US INTO NIGGERS!” Only then did he realize that both Hawkins and Connors wore nothing more than the equivalent of a very light suntan. His jaw tightened with rage then and he closed the cylinder of his revolver, two fresh bullets in it.

“YOU FUCKING TRAITOR! YOU ARE IN LEAGUE WITH HER!” Hawkins barely had time to shoot first before Ingalls could shoot him, hitting him squarely in the heart and projecting him backwards. Hawkins and Connors then had to shoot repeatedly at Biggelow and Rourke, who had also raised their revolvers at them. The two surviving policemen then stood with smoking revolvers over the three bodies, shaken by what had just happened, before looking at Sarah, who was still standing calmly in the middle of her cell.

“What happened here?” asked Hawkins with a weak voice, feeling close to becoming insane. Sarah answered him softly.

“Justice was done. That’s what happened, Sergeant Hawkins. All the racists in the World will now look like the ones they despised so much. The darker their heart was, the darker their skin will be.”

“But, how…”

“Through the powers of The One. I am one of his messengers, Sergeant. Injustice and bigotry have been allowed for too long in Alabama and in other similar places and I came to deal with it.”

A gunshot then rang from somewhere inside the police station, prompting Hawkins and Connors into running out of the cell block. Betty shouted at them.

“HEY! WHAT ABOUT US! LET US OUT!”

The two men didn’t listen to her, though, and left her looking at the three dead policemen on the floor of the hallway. Sarah, her purse slung from one shoulder, approached the bars of her cell and pointed an arm out between two bars, towards the right hand of Jim Rourke. The key ring in the dead man’s hand then flew off by itself, landing into Sarah’s waiting hand. Sarah unlocked her cell door as Betty knelt in her cell, imitated by Cynthia and the two black young men.

“You…you must be an angel.”

“Not yet, Betty. I am however a Chosen of The One.”

Sarah finished unlocking her cell door, then opened it and went to unlock the cells of the other five prisoners. Gathering them around her, she looked softly at each of them in turn.

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“Much blood will be spilled today, but it will be evil blood spilled from within. Things will however be chaotic for a while, so you better go back to your homes and stay locked inside for a while.”

“But our personal effects, keys and cash are still locked up.” replied Betty. “We will need them to go home.”

“Then show me where the lockup room is.”

Betty nodded and cautiously walked out of the cell block and into the hallway leading to the reception room of the police station. Seeing nobody, she turned left towards the reception room, finding Mary Etheridge and the police station’s secretary cowering there in a corner. The policeman who had been on duty at the reception desk was dead, having apparently shot himself in the head. His skin was now black, while that of the secretary was medium brown. Mary’s skin was unchanged. Sarah went to the two women and crouched besides them, speaking softly to Mary.

“You have nothing to fear, Mary. Let me help you up.”

“What…what happened?” asked a shaking Mary while getting up with her help.

“All the racists in the World were just marked by The One. They will now see that race is only skin-deep.”

“What do you mean, marked?” asked the secretary besides Mary, frantic, while scratching her left forearm. Sarah gave her a cold stare.

“It means that your skin is now as dark as your heart, miss. You, like too many others in the United States, kept treating African-Americans like inferior beings, denying them their full rights as American citizens. In doing that, you also went against the will of The One, who created all the human spirits equal.”

“BUT I CAN’T STAY LIKE THIS!” shouted the now hysterical secretary, bordering on tears. Sarah could however feel no sympathy for her plight and showed none.

“You will stay like this as long as you won’t be sincerely ready to accept all the other human beings around you as your equals in everything, miss. In the meantime, you will live through what your previous victims had to go through.”

“NOO! NOOO!” screamed the secretary in a shrill voice before running out of the reception room. Sarah was about to say something to calm Mary when the telephone switchboard on Mary’s desk buzzed loudly, announcing an incoming call. Seeing that Mary was still too shaken up to do her job right now, Sarah went to the switchboard and put on its headset before taking the call.

“Montgomery police station.”

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The voice at the other end of the line was that of a woman stricken with panic.

“Send a police car, quick! My husband just shot himself.”

“Please calm down, madam. What is your name and address?”

“I’m Susan Blaine and I live at 482 South Ripley Street. Can you send a car quickly?”

Sarah wrote down quickly the information on the large notepad on the desk. She felt bad for the woman living through such an awful moment but a lot more of the same was happening right now around Montgomery. It was unfortunately the only, albeit painful way left to make the lesson from The One stick.

“Is your husband still alive, madam?”

The woman then broke completely, unable to answer Sarah for long seconds. Meanwhile, lights started lighting up on the switchboard. The woman finally answered in a desperate, near shout.

“No he’s not! His head is half blown off!”

“Madam, I am getting a lot of calls right now. The policemen here are already swamped trying to help the living. Your call has however been noted down and help will come as soon as possible. Cover your husband’s body with a sheet in the meantime and lock your doors for your own safety.”

Sarah then switched to another incoming line, getting basically the same kind of desperate story. She was noting down the details of her third call when Mary touched her arm and spoke weakly.

“I will take it from here, miss. That’s my job after all.”

“You’re a brave woman, Mary.”

Mary’s response was to stare accusingly at Sarah.

“You caused all this, right? How could you be so calm now?” Sarah stared back without hostility at the receptionist: Mary was visibly not a racist but she was still losing friends and other people she knew around town and had reasons to be upset.

“I was only the messenger, Mary. The One grew tired and decided to act. This will be a painful lesson but it is a needed lesson nonetheless. By the way, I doubt that more than a handful of policemen will be available now, so don’t promise help too fast and concentrate on helping the people still alive and in need of urgent help.”

“And what will you do in the meantime? Celebrate your victory over the bigots of Montgomery?”

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Sarah looked at her gravely for a second.

“Mary, I am not that kind of person, believe me. Besides, what happened here happened around the whole World, not only in Montgomery. To answer you, I will patrol the streets tonight to prevent crazed gunmen from hurting innocent people.” Sarah then turned and faced the five ex-prisoners, who were giving her sober stares.

“Let’s get your things now. Then, I will escort you home before real hell breaks loose.”

19:42 (Washington Time)

The White House

Washington, D.C.

“So, is it that damn Nancy Laplante at work again?” shot President Harry Truman at the sullen director of the FBI, who had just entered the Oval Office with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Omar Bradley. The President was relieved to see that both men looked normal except for Edgar Hoover, who sported what looked like a deep suntan. The FBI director looked grim as he answered Truman.

“We don’t think so, Mister President. The first news from our FBI office in Birmingham, Alabama, is that a young Palestinian woman who is clearly not Laplante is involved in this. That woman, who is presently in Montgomery, was the source of the burst of blue light which covered the whole World.”

“The World?” said Truman, stunned. General Bradley nodded once, somber.

“Yes, Mister President. We now have reports from our various bases around the World on this blue wave of light. From the various sightings, we now know that the wave traveled around the whole World in less than one hour. An Air Force pilot flying over Maxwell Air Force Base at the time of the burst also was able to determine that the burst originated from downtown Montgomery. Reports from our bases also confirm that a number of our white servicemen and women were affected by the wave and saw their skins darken to various degrees. Some of them, who had turned black or nearly black, committed suicide. The locals around our bases were also affected but apparently to a lesser degree. It seems that the more racist a person was, the darker their skin turned.”

“That must be a plot from Laplante.” spat Truman, slamming his fist on his desk. “She has been pestering us for years to get rid of segregation in the States. That Palestinian woman in Montgomery must be in league with her.”

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“Probably so, Mister President.” agreed Hoover. “However, that also shows that Nancy Laplante is not the only Chosen alive now. I would also caution against moving against Laplante: this is clearly an act of God, sir.”

“That act of God already cost me two members of my staff who committed suicide, Director Hoover!” replied Truman. “God knows how many more Americans died because of this.”

“Lots, Mister President.” said grimly Hoover. “Our FBI offices through the southern states report widespread chaos and countless suicides. The local police forces and governments were particularly hard hit: it seems that they harbored some of the most hardcore racists in the country and thus were affected most by that blue wave. Right now, I would put the death toll around the States at about a minimum of two million, all from suicides.”

“Dear God! And you still say that we shouldn’t consider this an act of war on the part of Palestine, Director Hoover?”

John Edgar Hoover was silent for a second, trying to find the best words for something impossible to describe fully.

“Mister President, this was an act of God, pure and simple. Are we going to declare war on God, or The One, as Nancy Laplante calls him?” That deflated Truman in one mighty hurry. Bowing his head, he shook it while speaking in a subdued tone.

“No, we can’t do that.”

General Bradley then used that interlude to offer a suggestion.

“Mister President, I believe that restoring order in the country is our top priority now. With the decimation of the police forces in the southern states and the number of distraught people there, we are liable to see wide scale riots and looting soon. The army should be called in and martial law proclaimed.”

“Martial law…in the United States?” said Truman, discouraged. Hoover nodded his head then.

“It is a painful measure to take, Mister President, but I believe that General Bradley is right. We cannot allow anarchy to reign in our country.”

“Alright, gentlemen.” said Truman weakly. “I will arrange for a nationwide presidential address on the radio for nine O’clock this evening to announce the imposition of martial law in the United States. The armed forces will deploy in the states of South Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas and

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Arkansas and restore order there, with the assistance of the FBI. Also, federal authority will overrule state authority in matters of law and order until further notice. General Bradley, this will be a big job, so use all of the armed services as needed and don’t hesitate to use negro troops as well, even if some Southerners won’t like that.”

“Yes, Mister President!”

With a nod from Truman, Bradley and Hoover then turned around and left the President alone in the Oval Office. Getting up tiredly from his chair, Truman went out of his office, intent on seeing his wife for a few minutes to search for her moral support and counsel. He met one of his stewards on his way, a negro man who had worked in the White House for over ten years now. Stopping close to him, Truman spoke in a low voice, not wanting anybody else to hear them.

“Tom, tell me frankly: what do the negroes think of what just happened in the South?”

“That God finally gave us justice, Mister President.” replied without hesitation the servant. “I am sorry to see deaths come out of this but this is the happiest day of my life, Mister President. Maybe my children will now be able to use a public swimming pool without being thrown out immediately for supposedly dirtying the water. God spoke and we should listen, Mister President.”

Truman patted gently the man’s shoulder.

“We will, Tom, we will.”

08:26 (Alabama Time)

Wednesday, May 11, 1949 ‘B’

Southern Comfort Hotel

Montgomery, Alabama

Joshua Brown nervously snapped his head around when someone knocked on the main door of the hotel: the last night had been a tense one indeed, with sounds of gunshots and screams around the city. Then, maybe one hour ago, a military truck had slowly gone down the street, with an officer using a megaphone to inform the citizens of Montgomery that martial law had been proclaimed and that a night curfew would be imposed from eight at night to six in the morning. Grabbing the double-barreled shotgun he kept under his service counter, Joshua cautiously approached the main door, careful

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not to face it directly. He could see three men and a woman, all of them white, through the door’s glass window.

“Who is it?”

“FBI! Open up!”

Made extra cautious by the night’s events, Joshua stuck his face in the door’s window but didn’t unlock it yet.

“Could you show me your badge, mister?”

The man nearest the door, a big one with wide shoulders and short red hair, patiently produced a badge holder and pressed it against the window, so that Joshua could look at it. Now reassured, Joshua unlocked the door and opened it wide, careful to keep his shotgun pointing down in a non-threatening way. The big redhead eyed his shotgun critically before looking down at Joshua, who was a good fifteen centimeters shorter than him.

“Do you have a young Palestinian woman by the name of Sarah Ur in this hotel, mister?”

Joshua scratched his head in wonderment: for a simple reporter, the young Palestinian sure attracted the attention of many since her arrival.

“Miss Ur is in fact one of my tenants, sir. You are in luck: she is having breakfast right now in the lounge. It is the first door to your left. Is she in trouble?” The big special agent hesitated for a second before answering.

“Probably not, mister. Thank you. And, please, could you put away that shotgun?”

“Oh, sure!” said Joshua, smiling, before hurrying back behind the service counter and hiding his shotgun in its original place. Seeing that, the big agent led his three colleagues in the nearby lounge, where they found three negro men and a young Semitic woman with long black hair sitting around a table and having coffee and toasts. The FBI agents immediately concentrated their attention on the woman: she was extremely beautiful, wore an embroidered Arabic robe and had a small purse slung from a thin strap passing across her chest. Her robe was made of holographic silk, which was imported from the future and was in high demand everywhere now. The fabric shone from royal blue to purple and had silver embroidering. The robe and her physical beauty combined to make the girl truly fascinating. The senior agent whispered from the corner of his mouth to the nearest male agent.

“She sure looks like a princess straight out of the Arabian Nights.”

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“Or like an angel from heaven.” replied the other agent. The four agents then cautiously approached the table, watched by the girl and the negro men. They stopped two paces away, with the senior agent flashing his badge again.

“Miss Ur, I am FBI Special Agent Daniel O’Connell and these are Special Agents Daley, Aylmer and Donovan. We would like to ask you a few questions.”

“I will answer them with pleasure, lady and gentlemen.” she replied in a clear, melodious voice before looking at the men sitting around her. “I won’t be long, guys.” She then grabbed her cup and plate and moved to another, empty table and invited the agents to sit with her. The agents took her invitation and sat facing her in a semi-circle as she eyed them with seriousness.

“I believe that you want to see me about the events of yesterday, Mister O’Connell.”

“That is correct, miss. Witnesses at the city police station told us that you produced the wave of blue light which swept around the World and turned numerous people black. Is that correct?”

“It is.” she said calmly, taking the agents by surprise with her candidness. “The police chief and two of his men wanted to attack and rape me in my cell after I was brought in for questioning. That was after I was harassed sexually in the street by the two patrolmen who were with Chief Ingalls and I had to defend myself. At that point, The One had exhausted his patience and decided to teach a lesson to all the racists in the World.”

O’Connell, who had been scribbling notes, eyed her sharply.

“The One? You are saying that God and not you produced that wave of light?”

“Mister O’Connell,” said Sarah patiently, “I and The One were truly one at the time. My body was a conduit for him during the energy surge and my mind was in complete communion with him then.”

The four agents stared silently at Sarah for a moment, digesting her words. As for the three African-American men eating at the nearby table, they were now staring wide-eyed at Sarah, with their mouths also opened. O’Connell finally managed to get over his shock.

“Miss Ur, are you aware of the effects of that wave of blue light?”

“I am, mister. The deaths which followed were regrettable but were the result of bigoted minds refusing to accept the judgment of The One. The only effect of the wave was to turn their skin as dark as their souls. The truly good people in Montgomery were

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not affected in any way, except when those bigots marked by The One tried to get revenge by attacking innocent people. I was able to stop many of these crazed bigots but not all, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean, stopped them, miss?” asked O’Connell, his attention refocused. “How did you do that?”

“Simple, mister: after the wave went through the city, I walked through the streets and killed the ones I found shooting at innocents. I also killed a few black men who had used the temporary breakdown of order to attack and rape white women.” The four FBI agents swallowed hard at the casual way Sarah pronounced those words. Now furiously tempted to draw his revolver at her, O’Connell looked sharply at the young and beautiful woman facing him and sipping at her cup of coffee.

“What kind of weapon did you use, miss? Do you have a gun permit?” Sarah’s answer was to show her right hand palm up and to make a crackling ball of blue energy appear in it. The four agents jumped backward out of their chairs in unison at that sight, drawing a smile from her while the ball disappeared from her hand.

“I am a weapon if need be, Mister O’Connell. Understand that I am a Chosen of The One, with all the powers that it entails.”

“A…a Chosen, like the Overseer of Palestine, Nancy Laplante?”

“That’s correct, mister. There is more than one Chosen in Palestine.” She suddenly closed her eyes and appeared to listen to some silent message, then opened her eyes again to look gravely at the agents.

“I am afraid that I am needed in South Africa now: the racists there are planning mass massacres as a revenge for being turned black. If you will excuse me, gentlemen.”

She then disappeared into thin air, leaving the four agents and the three black men staring at where she had been sitting. Darlene Donovan, the female agent, passed a trembling hand on her now sweating face.

“Dear God! The powers of that woman are scaring me shitless! What do we do now, Dan?”

“We report back to Washington by telephone. Then, we help straighten the mess around this city. The four surviving city cops and three deputy sheriffs left will certainly need all the help they can get to restore order.”

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“Don’t forget to tell Washington that it can expect a bloodbath among white racists in South Africa soon, Dan.” said Richard Daley, an ex-lawyer turned agent. O’Connell nodded his head, a faint smile on his face.

“That I will do too. I once visited South Africa while covering an international case. I can’t say that I will be sorry for that bunch of bigoted snobs.”

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