Leroy Ledbetter stands by companionably. Like me he is seventh-generation Anglo-Saxon American, but unlike me he is Protestant, countrified, sweet-natured. He’s the sort of fellow, don’t you know, who if you run in a ditch or have a flat tire shows up to help you.
We were partners and owners of the old Paradise Bowling Lanes until the riot five years ago. In fact, the riot started when Leroy wouldn’t let a bushy-haired Bantu couple from Tougaloo College have an alley. I wasn’t there at the time. When Leroy told me about it later, an artery beat at his temple and the same metallic taste came in my throat. If I had been there… . But on the other hand, was I glad that I had not been there?
“Lucky I had my learner ready,” Leroy told me.
“Your learner?” Then I saw his forearm flex and his big fist clench.
“You mean you—”
“The only way to learn them is upside the head.”
“You mean you—?” The taste in my mouth was like brass.
Where did the terror come from? Not from the violence; violence gives release from terror. Not from Leroy’s wrongness, for if he were altogether wrong, an evil man, the matter would be simple and no cause for terror. No, it came from Leroy’s goodness, that he is a decent, sweet-natured man who would help you if you needed help, go out of his way and bind up a stranger’s wounds. No, the terror comes from the goodness and what lies beneath, some fault in the soul’s terrain so deep that all is well on top, evil grins like good, but something shears and tears deep down and the very ground stirs beneath one’s feet.
Percy, Walker (2011-03-29). Love in the Ruins: The Adventures of a Bad Catholic at a Time Near the End of the World (p. 152). Open Road Media. Kindle Edition.