Rumple Foreskin
The AH Patriarch
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2002
- Posts
- 11,109
raphy,
The dialect/accent in MG's story was intentionally exaggerated for comic reasons. Here's a different approach. It's an excerpt from the prologue to the novel I've just finished. The dialogue is between a white racist southern sheriff and a poor, undereducated black man in 1968.
The "N" word is used in this dialogue.
Rumple
--
A tall, beefy man wearing western boots and a cowboy hat stepped up on the porch. After a last glance around, he hitched up his pants, pulled a .44 caliber revolver out of a custom made holster, opened the screen door, and began banging on the wooden, hollow-core front door. At the sound of his blows, blue and red lights started flashing on top of the cars.
“Open up! This is the Sheriff. Come on out, Amos. We know you’re in there.”
From inside the house came the sound of frightened whispers and people moving quickly. The tall man beat even harder, the sound echoing in the night. “This is Sheriff Tobias. Get on out here. We gotta talk.”
“I’m a’comin’. Just let me gets my pants on.” There were more loud whispers. Someone peered out from behind the curtain of a front window. A moment later, the front door opened a few inches and a black face with wary eyes looked out.
“What’s ya wanna talk about, Sheriff? I ain’t done nothin’.”
“Don’t give me that shit, boy. Come on out here or I’m gonna bust in and get you.”
“You don’t hafta do that. My Momma’s in here. You already done scared her ‘bout half to death.” The door swung inward and a short, wiry man wearing khaki work pants and a bib undershirt stepped out. ”What y’all doing here dis time of night, Sheriff?”
“Shut up, nigger!” barked the big white man. He holstered his pistol, reached around behind his bulky frame and produced a set of handcuffs. “You’re coming with me.”
The black man stepped back in surprise. “How come? I ain’t done nothin’.”
“I told you to shut up. Now stick out your hands. I’m taking you to Pinefield, to jail.” After a momentary hesitation, the voice of white authority won out over any outrage or bewilderment. The man named Amos did as ordered and the cuffs snapped into place.
The Sheriff stepped away, pulled his revolver back out and used it to motion for another white man to join them. Then he glared at his prisoner. “You’re a goddamn pervert—you know that, boy? We got an eyewitness who saw you looking into the bathroom window of a white, widow lady named Myrtis Oglesby. Amos Little, you’re under arrest as a Peeping Tom.”
“A what? Sheriff, I ain’t been looking into no white woman’s window.” The prisoner turned from the Sheriff to the deputy, looking for support. “Least of all no dried-up old crazy white woman like Mrs. Myrtis.”
Bathed in the rhythmic, flashing glare of red and blue lights, the sweeping motion of the Sheriff’s right hand resembled a flickering scene from a silent movie as the hand, and the revolver it held, smashed into the side of the prisoner’s head. From inside the house came a scream as he staggered and then fell to his knees.
Sheriff Odell Tobias leaned close and hissed, “Nigger, you’re talking about my wife’s aunt. Now it looks like we’re gonna have to add a charge of resisting arrest.”
The prisoner was pulled to his feet, then dragged, stumbling, off the porch and tossed into the back of the deputy’s car. Moments later, with sirens on and lights still flashing, it and the other two sheriff’s cars swung around and left.
The dialect/accent in MG's story was intentionally exaggerated for comic reasons. Here's a different approach. It's an excerpt from the prologue to the novel I've just finished. The dialogue is between a white racist southern sheriff and a poor, undereducated black man in 1968.
The "N" word is used in this dialogue.
Rumple
--
A tall, beefy man wearing western boots and a cowboy hat stepped up on the porch. After a last glance around, he hitched up his pants, pulled a .44 caliber revolver out of a custom made holster, opened the screen door, and began banging on the wooden, hollow-core front door. At the sound of his blows, blue and red lights started flashing on top of the cars.
“Open up! This is the Sheriff. Come on out, Amos. We know you’re in there.”
From inside the house came the sound of frightened whispers and people moving quickly. The tall man beat even harder, the sound echoing in the night. “This is Sheriff Tobias. Get on out here. We gotta talk.”
“I’m a’comin’. Just let me gets my pants on.” There were more loud whispers. Someone peered out from behind the curtain of a front window. A moment later, the front door opened a few inches and a black face with wary eyes looked out.
“What’s ya wanna talk about, Sheriff? I ain’t done nothin’.”
“Don’t give me that shit, boy. Come on out here or I’m gonna bust in and get you.”
“You don’t hafta do that. My Momma’s in here. You already done scared her ‘bout half to death.” The door swung inward and a short, wiry man wearing khaki work pants and a bib undershirt stepped out. ”What y’all doing here dis time of night, Sheriff?”
“Shut up, nigger!” barked the big white man. He holstered his pistol, reached around behind his bulky frame and produced a set of handcuffs. “You’re coming with me.”
The black man stepped back in surprise. “How come? I ain’t done nothin’.”
“I told you to shut up. Now stick out your hands. I’m taking you to Pinefield, to jail.” After a momentary hesitation, the voice of white authority won out over any outrage or bewilderment. The man named Amos did as ordered and the cuffs snapped into place.
The Sheriff stepped away, pulled his revolver back out and used it to motion for another white man to join them. Then he glared at his prisoner. “You’re a goddamn pervert—you know that, boy? We got an eyewitness who saw you looking into the bathroom window of a white, widow lady named Myrtis Oglesby. Amos Little, you’re under arrest as a Peeping Tom.”
“A what? Sheriff, I ain’t been looking into no white woman’s window.” The prisoner turned from the Sheriff to the deputy, looking for support. “Least of all no dried-up old crazy white woman like Mrs. Myrtis.”
Bathed in the rhythmic, flashing glare of red and blue lights, the sweeping motion of the Sheriff’s right hand resembled a flickering scene from a silent movie as the hand, and the revolver it held, smashed into the side of the prisoner’s head. From inside the house came a scream as he staggered and then fell to his knees.
Sheriff Odell Tobias leaned close and hissed, “Nigger, you’re talking about my wife’s aunt. Now it looks like we’re gonna have to add a charge of resisting arrest.”
The prisoner was pulled to his feet, then dragged, stumbling, off the porch and tossed into the back of the deputy’s car. Moments later, with sirens on and lights still flashing, it and the other two sheriff’s cars swung around and left.
