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"It's time for bed, Mike." He stroked my hair gently. I want to tell you one more thing, but I don't think you will understand, because I am not sure whether I understand or not. What happened that night at the Black Spot was so terrible. I don't think it happened because we were black, or even because the bar was close to West Broadway where the rich live. I don't think the legions of white decency are popular in Delhi because people here hate black people more. All because of this land, the more evil things can flourish in Delhi. I've been thinking about it for years. I don't know why.. But that's what it is. But there are good people here now, and there were good people then. When the funeral was held, hundreds of people came out to see him off, most businesses were closed for a week, hospitals treated the injured free of charge, and many people lent a helping hand. That's when I met Dewey. Conroy's. You know his skin is as white as ice cream, but I feel like he's my brother. I would die for him. Although it is impossible for a man to know the heart of another, I think he would die for me. Anyway, after the fire,uns c68700, the army pulled out, like they were ashamed.. I guess so. After that, I spent six years in Fortrand. I met your mother there, and we were married in Gunwinston. But during that time, Delhi never escaped my memory. I brought your mother back here after the war. And then there was you. We're less than three miles from where the Black Spot used to be. I think you should go to bed,uns s32760 plate, man. 'i Want to hear about the fire, 'I cried.' Tell me about it, Father! ' He frowned at me and made me shut my mouth. Maybe it's because he doesn't always look like that. Most of the time he's always smiling. That's not what a child should hear. He said seriously. Maybe next time, Mike. Let's talk about it in a few years. I ended up waiting another 4 years to hear what happened that night in the "black spot". And my father's life is coming to an end. He lay awake in the hospital bed. He told the story in a daze, and the intestinal cancer was eating his body. February 26, 1985 Last night I reread what I had written in this notebook. When I think of my father, I can't help crying. He has been dead for 23 years. Who can know sadness can last how long? Will a person still feel the emptiness of loss thirty or forty years after the death of his child or brother or sister? That emptiness can't be filled even to death. In 1937, my father received a disability pension and left the army forever. When training new recruits, one recruit threw a grenade at his father's feet for fear-fortunately, the grenade did not explode completely, 316ti stainless steel ,316 stainless steel plate, so his father only lost most of his left foot, not all of his torso below his chest. Because of that pension, he married my mother a year early. But he returned to Delhi, which, as he said, had never escaped his memory. Now I don't know if there was some act of God that sent him back to Delhi so that I could take my place in that circle that August night. If there is reincarnation in the universe, evil is always compensated by good, and good can also make people fear. My father saved money to buy a farm in Delhi, and they settled there. We didn't get off on the right foot. My father used to say that. People don't want black people as neighbors. We also knew it was going to be like that-I've never forgotten the fire at the Black Spot Bar. Children passing by would throw stones or beer cans. I changed the glass 20 times in the first year. Sometimes it's not a child. One morning I woke up to find a swastika painted on the edge of the chicken coop, and all the chickens were dead. Someone poisoned the chicken feed. I haven't had a chicken since. But the sheriff of the county — there was no police station in Derry then — looked into the matter; and, as I said, there were both bad and good people in Derry. He finally found out who did it. Guess who did it? You can guess three times! "I don't know." I answered.
Father laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. He took out a handkerchief, wiped away his tears, and said, "Barb Bowles!"! The father of the most bullying kid in your school. My father is a scoundrel, and my son is a bastard. "The kids at school say that Henry's father is crazy." I went on to say. "Well," said the father, "I tell you, it's not so wrong to say he's a madman. People say he's been out of it ever since he came back from the Pacific, where he was in the Navy. The sheriff took him into custody; he was shouting that it was all made up by nigger lovers and that he was going to sue everybody. The sheriff told him to pay me $200 or two years in prison. At first he was not convinced, saying that the chickens that killed the nigger were not a big deal, but when the sheriff said that he was accused of drawing swastikas on the chicken coop, he had to give in. He had his brother sell his new car for $200. Then he went around saying he was going to burn me. One afternoon he was out in an old car and I drove up behind him. I stopped him next to the railroad yard in Wiltham Street and forced him out with my rifle. "If you dare to set fire to it, I will give you a taste of the black man's steel gun." I told him. 'You Can't talk to me like that, nigger. ' He said. He was so frightened that he almost cried out. You can't talk to a white man like that. I was thinking about it, Mike. If I don't scare him forever, he'll always find fault with me. Seeing no one around, I went over, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled him out of the car. I put my gun to his chin and said, "Call me a nigger again and I'll blow your brains out!"! Believe me, if you dare to set fire, not only you,x52 line pipe, but your wife, your son, and your useless brother will all have to taste my bullets. I've had enough. lksteelpipe.com