"This meeting is hereby called to order," he said solemnly. He waved his arms for attention, but was met with jeers and laughter. Allen nodded and waited. The setting sun dyed his face a deep bronze color. Here and there on neighboring roofs, Allen could see knots of people standing and talking. A breeze came up from the east and Allen's old-fashioned dashiki ruffled and flapped. It was getting cooler.

"What time is it? Allen asked. The people were startled. No one paid much attention to the time anymore. To show concern for the time had fallen out of fashion. There was simply never a need to worry about the time.

"About 7:30, brother," someone finally called. The people grew quiet and began to watch Allen. He nodded his thanks and started to talk.

"I'm not going to say, ‘Nobody has a job,' because no one cares to work. I'm not going to say, ‘No one that's retrieved ever comes back,' because we all know that, but we act like the only solution is to stay in line and we won't get in trouble."

A commotion was boiling up in the rear of the crowd. "What are you supposed to be getting at?" a man called, and he was pushing his way to the front of the crowd. Allen could see as the man came closer that he was Franklyn. His mouth was twisted on a piece of hard candy. Franklyn always had a piece of hobby candy in his mouth. He made it. Allen folded his arms and waited. Franklyn's manner was threatening, and Allen knew it would be best to let him talk.

"Let him pass!" he called, and Franklyn elbowed his way to the front.

"What are you getting at?" Franklyn demanded. He stood close to Allen's face and Allen caught the vague odor of lemons on Franklyn's breath. He could hear the candy rattling on his teeth as he spoke, and he could not help smiling. Franklyn became furious. "Don't laugh, brother," he screamed. "You're a troublemaker, do you know that? You're not satisfied unless you're making waves."

The crowd murmured appreciatively. Conflict. So soon. Variety. Drama. They ate it up. Allen wet his lips. Frank was taking rope, warming to the crowd. He pushed his finger at Allen's chest. "Someone should set you up to get retrieved," he said menacingly. "Then we'd have you out of our hair." Franklyn turned his back on Allen and began to address the people.

"They retrieved my only sister because of his mouth," he shouted. "If we pay attention to this fool, we'll all be in trouble." Frank's voice was rising. "This is the fool that got Irene to interfere with the police." He sobbed suddenly, but forced himself to go on. "They retrieved her . . ." His voice broke and he could not continue. Frank waved his arm at Allen, who stood quietly behind him. He hid his face in his hands and stood helplessly immobile.

"I was with Irene," Allen said at last. "I believe in what we did."

Franklyn whirled. "But they took her, and you got away." He shook with emotion, and Allen put his hand on Frank's shoulder.

"You pretend you don't care, we all pretend we don't care, but we do. You see, we do." He raised his voice in the fading light and, hand still on Frank's shoulder, addressed the rest of the crowd . "We eat the meals the roach coach dispenses," he said. "And we don't dare act strange for fear the hand outs won't come back. If the vans came to retrieve, we'd go along quietly for fear there'd be H. R.."

The mention of Heavier Retribution sent a shuddering wave through the silent crowd. Heavier retribution was a reference to the eduvision tapes they had been shown after the riots in Bedford Stuy. No one could forget the films of people doped and gassed, rounded up and herded into the vans.

Mass reclamation. All those people, never to return to their hobbies, their families, their community. A white voice intoning off camera while the horrible scene was enacted: "This is the fate of the greedy, the destructive, the ignorant . . . "

H. R.. The thought of it brought to mind those nightmare tapes, purposely designed to be unforgettable, obviously intended to keep the ghetto in line.

The black people on the roof of Pigeon City that summer evening had gathered there for entertainment Allen looked from one face to another. Everyone was quiet and fearful. The breeze gently moved Allen's dashiki about him like a flag. At last he said, "Tonight, we will all fight."

There was no response. Franklyn stood with his shoulders bent and the people avoided Allen's eye. "Who will we fight, brother?" Curtiss called from the back of the roof, and his question hung in the air unanswered.

Allen's head was bowed, and he did not respon directly. "What time is it?" he asked again, quietly. He seemed mildly disappointed about something. Now, no one answered him, and there were some who stood to go.

Haroooom! A tremendous explosion suddenly lit up the night sky with a flash that caught everyone by surprise. It was followed by two more explosions and flashes, and the crowd stood out clearly with each brief, stupendous gush of light.

Whistling fragments of metal, pieces of building and shards of glass shot through the air. The people's mouths hung open, and Allen looked around craftily from under his brow.

There was fire, bright and hot. The abandoned buildings on the other side of the street had somehow burst into flame and where their shells had stood, there was now a wall of undulating red and yellow flame. The people got to their feet. They could see everyone turning in this direction for blocks. This was history. The biggest explosion and fire in the city anyone could remember.

Click HERE for Part V