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“See what you can do with this.” Lathrop handed him the cup.
The Negro drank it off, the wine running down his chin and throat into his shirt. He wiped his mouth and lau
ghed loudly.
“I’m one up on you,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“I never registered. I can’t vote.”
Everyone laughed.
“He’s got you there, boss,” someone said. “Ain’t none of us registered. Can’t pass the reading test.”
“Better go on the other side of town and drink your wine. I told you there ain’t no votes down here.”
They were all laughing now.
“I didn’t come down here to make you vote for me,” Lathrop said. “I just want you to listen to me for a little while. If you want to vote and you ain’t registered, by God I’ll take you down to the polls and register you myself. Now go on and line up for some wine. It don’t matter if you vote for me or not; I came here to have some drinking and some singing, and by God we’re going to have it. Sing us a song, J.P., while these people get something to drink.”
The band started playing and J.P. sang the song he had written for Lathrop’s campaign. The Negroes gathered around the back of the truck, and Lathrop left the spigot of the cask open while they passed their cups under it. The cask was soon empty and another was brought up. J.P. sang three more songs, and April and Seth sang one each. The crowd around the truck became larger. Several Negroes were dancing in the street. Their faces were shiny and purple under the neon. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and cheap wine. The empty casks were thrown into the gutter, and small children tried to stand on their sides and roll them down the street. The people at the back of the truck began to push each other to get their cups under the spigot. Lathrop smashed in the top of the keg and set it in the street. The Negroes dipped their cups through the top into the wine. The keg was drained in a few minutes. A man tried to pick it up and drink the residue from the bottom. He lifted it with both hands and put his mouth to the rim and tilted it upward. The wine poured out over his face and clothes. He laughed and threw the empty keg into the air. It crashed and splintered apart in the middle of the street.
“Police going to be down here.”
“Hush up, woman. Police don’t bother me.”
“You’re going to spend the night in the jailhouse, nigger.”
“Hush yo’ mouth.”
“How’s everybody feeling?” Lathrop said.
“Bring out some more of them barrels.”
“Right here,” Seth said.
He put the keg on the edge of the truck and broke the spigot off with his foot. The wine ran in a stream into the street. The Negroes crowded around with their cups. The wine splashed over their clothes and bodies.
“God, what a smell,” April said. “How long do we have to stay here?”
“Till Lathrop makes his speech and gets tired of playing Abraham Lincoln,” J.P. said.
“The smell is enough to make you sick,” she said.
“Drink some wine with your brothers,” Seth said.
“You’re cute,” she said.
“April don’t like the smell. Tell them to go home and take a bath,” Seth said.
“You’re very cute tonight,” she said.
Lathrop called up to the truck from the street, where he was handing out election leaflets that instructed the reader how to use the voting machine and what lever to push for Lathrop as senator.
“Let’s have some music up there,” he said.
J.P. sang an old Jimmie Rodgers song.
