America 1982-Chapter 45 - 4: Initiate a Transaction

Dusk had already fallen, and lights illuminated the backyard of the Hawk family. Colin Hawk, having finished his work for the day, was sawing a piece of wood under the light, crafting a wardrobe for Bessie. As he sawed, he addressed Tommy, who was helping beside him:

"You’re raising money for niggers? And not even for the niggers in the United States, but for some place I’ve never even heard of? Car... Carra... Car..."

"Caribbean Sea." Tommy Hawk assisted by bringing wood over to his dad’s side for his convenience.

With a cigarette in his mouth, Colin Hawk swiftly pulled the handsaw back and forth, cutting along the marked lines on the plank: "That’s right, you’re raising money for the niggers in that place?"

"I need to help them if I want to go further myself," Tommy said as he marked the cut wood with a marker pen, continuing to speak.

Colin Hawk straightened up, exhaled a puff of smoke, and said to his son with conviction, "Son, believe me, if the neighbors find out you’re helping niggers, they won’t even let you out of this block. Niggers don’t need help; we hate niggers for a reason..."

"What if we could make some money from this, enough to pay for my college tuition?" Seeing that his father was about to go into a long rant cursing black people again, Tommy picked up a beer from the side and handed it to his father, cutting him off with a smile.

Colin Hawk accepted the beer, staring intently at his son. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, along with a look of sudden realization:

"I think I get it now, son. You’re planning to swindle money from those niggers, right? Act friendly, gain their trust, then tell them you’ll help them smuggle into America and charge them? This is a good idea. We could get Waldman involved, rent a few more fishing boats, take their money, and then ship the niggers to the immigration office on the boat, let the immigration office rent our boats to send them back to their own homes! Perfect! Charging both ways!"

"No! Stop fantasizing, Dad. We’re not cheating anyone. We’re just charging people who want to attend this summer camp," Tommy replied.

"Paying to donate to niggers, and you have to pay upfront?" Colin Hawk’s expression became stagnant, as if frozen on the spot, gaping incredulously at Tommy: "You know what? It’s like if I want to be nice and feed the Wilsons’ dog some food, I have to fucking feed Wilson first? Is this a money-making method humans can come up with? Even a cat thinking with its ass wouldn’t come up with such a way to make money, son."

"Indeed, a cat’s ass came up with this—an alias called ’cat’s ass’ was given to me by Tony." Tommy Hawk chuckled, "Actually, it’s for high school students like me who want to go to a prestigious university but don’t have impressive personal profiles. You know, with summer approaching, high school students all choose some kind of summer camp. I was thinking of paying to join one before, but now that the school is not against it, I’ve decided to run a paid summer camp myself. The school agreed to help with outreach, and a portion of the summer camp club’s profits would be donated to the school."

"Paying to donate to niggers, and there are high school students who agree to this? If they agree, I think there is no need to waste money on college. America has changed. When I was young, niggers couldn’t even appear on the street at the same time as me. Back then, my friends and I, curious to catch a glimpse of a nigger, would have to walk miles like visiting the zoo..." Colin Hawk came back to his senses, took a swig of beer, and his tone carried a touch of nostalgia: "That is the consequence of letting niggers out of their cages, stealing our jobs, our land, sooner or later niggers will take over this country..."

After his moment of contemplation, he looked at his son: "So, you’re telling me all this because you want my approval to raise money for niggers? Fine, I agree. Go ahead. Just spare me the pathetic details of your interactions with niggers afterward."

"No, when it starts you have to attend the opening ceremony as the parent of a founding student, and then you can’t talk like this, Dad. You need to show support for me, have sympathy for black people, and be willing to help them..." Tommy Hawk said.

The old man looked at Tommy as if he were looking at a monster, interrupting him: "WTF! I’ve already made a big decision agreeing that you can be friends with niggers. Now you actually want me to tell them in front of countless people that I sympathize with niggers, that I’m willing to help niggers? If the Wilson crowd hears about this, even if they know I’m not sincere, they’ll laugh at me for life! Maybe even engrave it on their tombstones to mock me when I’m buried and dead!"

Seeing Tommy standing there smiling silently, Colin Hawk drank up his beer and sighed deeply, "I’ll go, son. For you, I’m willing to bear this shame. I promise, I won’t screw up. Starting now, I’ll try to digest this cruel reality."

"Thank you, Dad. Thank you for making such a sacrifice for me. I’m heading over to Pam’s place now; he’s helping design the brochure." Tommy Hawk patted his father’s shoulder and then turned to leave.

Behind him, Colin Hawk muttered to himself in a sighing tone, "F*ck You, America! Look what you’ve turned these white kids into!"

Tommy Hawk could understand why his father, or rather, most of the lower-class white people in Rhode Island, strongly disliked black people. It wasn’t their fault, but since 1920, Rhode Island had been a stronghold for the Ku Klux Klan in the Northeastern United States, with local membership peaking at over a hundred thousand. They burned black people’s schools and dwellings, smashed Jewish shops, and drove black people and Jews out of Rhode Island.

Even the President of the United States was a Klansman then, so what of these white citizens? His father’s generation had been taught from a young age by the Klansmen’s words and deeds, surrounded by their influence. Thus, discrimination and disdain for black people were taken for granted, which also explains why there were so few black people in Rhode Island.

"Times have changed," Tommy Hawk sighed, reflecting on the bizarre behaviors of black people he had seen in his previous life. He walked towards Pam’s house, following the light cast by the street lamps.

...

Bellevue Avenue, Newport City, Rhode Island, a luxurious villa named "Little Snowflake."

Although called Little Snowflake, this five-story old-style manor was anything but small. Although not as extensive as Newport’s famous "Breakers" mansion estate, which spanned fourteen acres, it still covered nine acres.

At the moment, Ottilia Farrell sat on a second-floor veranda overlooking the entire Atlantic Ocean, the soft glow from an old-fashioned crystal chandelier overhead; she browsed through the applications submitted to the school by Tommy Hawk, Dennis Hebers, and Pam Marvell.

"Ottilia, your father just asked about you, where you plan to vacation this summer," a graceful and dignified middle-aged woman approached, carrying coffee, and asked as she sat opposite Ottilia Farrell.

Having finished reading the application, Ottilia took the coffee, "Mom, I might be busy this vacation. I might have to work as a tutor in a summer camp activity."

"Why? When we decided to let you start working at the school, wasn’t it because it had summer breaks? We were worried other jobs might be too demanding for you. If the school has handed you extra work, you can refuse it," her mother said, slightly taken aback, before inquiring further.

"I have an idea, how about we go hunting in Africa this summer? Darling? Ottilia? To personally hunt a male lion, and then have it made into a trophy to bring back as a remembrance," Ottilia’s father, a middle-aged white male, walked in, loosening his tie, seemingly excited by the thought of the upcoming summer holiday plans.

His wife shrugged, stood up to straighten her husband’s shirt collar, and made a cute expression, "Ottilia says she might need to work this summer and that it could be busy."

"Impossible, is there a more leisurely job than a public high school university enrollment advisor? That was the best arrangement I carefully selected to allow Ottilia time to prepare for the bar exam," the man approached, picked up the document in front of Ottilia, and while looking at it, laughingly said, "Let me see what work would make my dear daughter give up..."

He didn’t finish his sentence but had read through the entire application report. Then, turning to his daughter with a playful expression on his face:

"Indeed, it’s a job worth giving up the summer for. Did you come up with this, Ottilia? No wonder you’re forgoing your vacation, it’s a brilliant idea."

"No, it was the top applicant, Tommy Hawk, who proposed it. What do you think? He is the most diligent and ambitious high school student I’ve seen at Lincoln High School," Ottilia sipped her coffee, looking expectantly at her father, "Give him some advice."

The man laid the application back on the desk: "I think if he is willing to add to this application words that were inspired by my daughter, and if he modestly places his name after replacing the name of the number one founder with yours, I will offer a suggestion. That is, he’d best prepare two copies—one for Lincoln High School and another for your godfather’s office."

"Dad, you can’t steal someone else’s work. This was Tommy’s own idea; I didn’t participate," Ottilia frowned slightly, quite dissatisfied with her father’s words.

The man gazed out at the Atlantic Ocean under the night sky, his voice relaxed as he defended himself, "Ottilia, before you resent me, why not ask Tommy Hawk what he thinks? I haven’t taken anything from anyone; I am merely suggesting a trade."