It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 77: Chapter V (Cont'd)

Coarse, Offensive, and Racist Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

Of course, by now, dearest reader, you should know what happened next!

The rumor of new arrivals in St. Gregory's spread faster than a Finneran fire, jumping from person to person, engulfing all in its path with heady excitement. Never before had there been such a vociferous energy about the parish. These weren't some spiteful mutterings, these rumors moved at their own will and pace, far beyond anything even Louise Fitzgerald could have imagined. What blossomed from her little fib was nothing short of unadulterated rage. White rage! Rage from one and all. Rage that they'd made nothing of their lives. Rage that they lived and died in shitholes. Rage that the elites of the world, the Garritys and the once-vaunted Kennedys had prospered and left them to suffer. Rage that they'd never surpassed their own parents. Rage that their children would follow them to the same fate. Rage that their American dream was gone and that it had never existed. Rage for the sake of rage!

'What the fuck are you doin', Sammy?' Alan asked as he came by the neighborhood packie. 

Sammy the Pollack stood in a tucked, sleeveless tank top, his hairy belly hanging over his belt, so low that it boggled Alan's mind that gravity hadn't latched onto all that fat and dragged the man to the pavement. He spit out a tooth pick towards the gutter and moped at his damp forehead with the back of the revolver tightly clutched in hand.

'I'm lettin' zem know, I mean da fuckin' buzinez!'

'Lettin' who know?'

'Ze fuckin' niggerz comin' in! Zer comin'z for uz, Buddy. Zer comin'!'

Alan had heard his mother's tell of the story already, of her interactions with Mrs. Fitzgerald, of the imminent arrival of these black intruders, and he had thought it was a crock of shit then, and, seeing Sammy waving a revolver around as if the apocalypse were at hand,  still thought it was a crock of shit. He said as much to the packie owner, but Sammy wouldn't be discouraged.
'I don't care, Alonso.'

'Alfosno—'

'You know vat zoze people are like! Fuckin' sievez. Vell, zey sink ser gonna zteal from Zammy?! Sey gotta another sing comin'.' He waved the revolver some more just to illustrate his point, though what his point was, Alan Carr was not so sure. Sammy had been robbed three times that year, and all of the thieves had been residents of Curly's. 'Haz a button!' said Sammy, motioning to a small table by his door filled with R.O.A.R. buttons. 'Zey wanna drive uz out?! Zey gonna be zorry!'

There's nothing for a failing community quite like the antagonism of hatred. Forget your dance nights, keep your parties, go on and get someone hating, then sit back and watch.

What an ugly last, rattling breath it would be!

STOP FORCED BUSING! was a common sign you'd soon find up and down Bailey Road. So was FREEDOM OF CHOICE!. HELL NO, WE WON'T GO! was painted on the asphalt of Glendale Road, a nice lead towards the school, and lest you should be confused as to where loyalties lay, WHITE POWER! was spray painted onto a bed sheet and hoisted up the flag pole at the entrance of Curly's, so that it fluttered right under the American flag.

'What the fuck is happenin' to us, Bud?' said Ed as they stood on the roof of No. 8 watching the raising of the banner. 'What the fuck are we doin'?'

Alan could empathize with his friend's disgust, he knew where he continued to sneak off to when ever the chance was given, though, since that night in Cambridge, they had yet to discuss The Woman again, but he couldn't understand the shock in Edward Towne's voice. It all made perfect sense to the Great Carr. This was just the culmination of everything that had always been. This is what happens you let the rabble off the leash, when you try and civilize them and include them in your grand schemes of bettering society. Rabble doesn't want to be better, rabble doesn't want to be fixed, no matter how much they complain. It's too difficult, too taxing, too much introspection. It's much easier to wallow in your own true or perceived victimhood, blaming and demonizing the Others.