The Mountaintop

“Negro talk strike faster than lightnin’. They say folks was cryin’. Sangin’. Mmph. Mmph. I woulda like to have seen that. Somethin’ to tell my chirren. ‘When I wun’t nothin’ but a chick-a-dee, I seen’t Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. cuttin’ up in the pulpit.”

As Camae was murdered the previous night, she speaks of hypothetical children in this quote: She will never see King preach, and he himself will never preach again. The speed of talk among the Black community suggests they are listening to King from afar, but understandably afraid to join his fight. The community is faster than lightning, which is necessary when a storm—both literal and metaphorical—is brewing. Camae also implies King’s significance in coming decades, his life and death taking America by storm.

“KING. Personally, I don’t think God’s what kept folks in their houses tonight. Folks just don’t care.

CAMAE. Folks ‘fraid of getting’ blown up. Churches ain’t even safe for us folks.”

King views the relatively smaller crowd at his latest speech as a sign of apathy, but Camae recognizes it as fear. At this point in history, Black churches and gatherings have been frequently attacked; for example, in 1963, a church bombing killed four girls. King later tells Camae that he has grown accustomed to fear, though this is countered by his paranoia at the start of The Mountaintop. He doesn’t want to die, but also doesn’t want to acknowledge other Black people’s reluctance to die themselves—to sacrifice themselves for the movement. This sentiment mirrors Katori Hall’s mother Carrie Mae (who directly inspired Carrie Mae or Camae), whose own mother prevented her from listening to King in person due to the innate danger.

“Just tryin’ to shave some years off. I done got to looking old.”

King was 39 when he died, but aged beyond his years by stress and coping mechanisms such as smoking. In this quote, he asks Camae if he should shave his now-iconic mustache; ironically, he won’t be getting any older, but he will be immortalized by history.

“Well, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

King describes his attraction to Camae using Matthew 26:41 from the Bible, which evokes other sins unbefitting of a preacher—such as smoking and cursing. Ultimately, none of these habits change his legacy as a civil rights leader.

“KING. April 4th? How’d y’all get tomorrow’s paper?

CAMAE (She shrugs). Tomorrow already here.”

Under non-supernatural circumstances, it makes sense for the press to have prepared next day’s newspaper late at night. Under the play’s supernatural circumstances, “tomorrow” is here for King, as he has lived a life of danger and is already hours into his final 24 hours.

“CAMAE. Civil rights’ll kill ya fo’ them Pall Malls will.”

Both Camae and King laugh at her joke, which only she knows is not a joke. The audience doesn’t know she is an angel sent to usher him into death, but informed viewers will know he dies fighting for his movement.

“That’s right, y’all bougie black folk call it Independence Day. I can’t seem to quite call it that yet.”

Camae addresses intersectionality, pointing out that although the fight for Black civil rights shares aspects across classes, there are levels of independence only granted to the middle and upper classes. On a basic level, King is more privileged as a Black man than a Black woman like Camae.

“Shuga, shush. You just a man. If I was you, I’d be starin’ at me too.”

King is embarrassed that Camae noticed his ogling, but she waves it away, forgiving him for being a man. This concept is what makes the play radical, as King is often viewed as above humanity for his activism. Being human comes with weaknesses, and sometimes bad habits. To prepare for death, King must accept he is just a man.

“After the march, the papers called me ‘Chicken À La King.” Said I was a Commie coward that leaves other people to clean up my mess. Martin Loser King.”

The press’s dismissal of King demonstrates his oft-forgotten unpopularity in life. The use of “mess” especially minimizes Black civil rights and his guilt for every life lost in service of the movement. To lighten the mood, Camae later promises she will be honored to clean up the last “mess” he leaves.

“KING. This rain’s just relentless. Looking like a monsoon in Memphis.

CAMAE (She looks at him somberly). Well, God ain’t gone stop cryin’ no time soon.”

On April 3, 1968, a storm did occur in Memphis, Tennessee. In the play, a thunderstorm rages and weeps, inducing terror in King. Camae describes the rain as God mourning the world’s loss, her later reveal as an angel who met God supporting her interpretation.

“KING. What, you with the FBI?

CAMAE. Naw. Something bigger.”

Camae hasn’t yet divulged who she is, but gives hints casually and carelessly to the understandably paranoid King. She is impertinent throughout their encounter, but by the end of the play, it’s clear that she takes her task seriously.

“We have walked. Our feet swelling with each step. We have been drowned by hoses. Our dreams being washed away. We have been bitten by dogs. Our skin forever scarred by hatred at its height. Our godly crowns have been turned into ashtrays for white men at lunch counters all across the South. To this I say, my brethren, a new day is coming. I’m sick and tired, and today is the day that I tell you to KILL the white man. (Sotto voce) But not with your hands. Not with your guns. But with your miiiiiiiind!”

Camae imitates King’s style of oration, but advocates against nonviolence and integration. She describes Black bodies as godly—which makes sense since the play’s version of God is a Black woman—and argues for self-actualization and sustainability. In this, the metaphorical killing of the white man is the Black community rejecting white society’s approval.

“KING. We scared, Camae. We all scared. Scared of each other. Scared of ourselves. They just scared. Scared of losin’ somethin’ that they’ve known their whole lives. Fear makes us human. We all need the same basic things. A hug. A smile. A—

CAMAE. Smoke?”

In order to complete her task, Camae must connect with King on a human level. While fear is a shared human experience, it isn’t as pleasurable an experience as a hug, smile, or cigarette. Camae came armed with Pall Malls, prepared to bond with King over their shared brand preference. Humanity isn’t only marked by suffering and death, but beauty and camaraderie.

“KING. They do stink, don’t they? Don’t tell nobody.

CAMAE. Honey, yo’ shoes off. I thank the whole world know by now. Who woulda thunk Dr. King got stanky feet? Ooooo! And you got holes in yo’ socks, too?”

The play’s fixation on King’s feet and footwear speaks to yet another near-universal experience—walking. King’s feet in particular have marched many miles for a movement, and while he teasingly tells Camae to keep his foot odor a secret, this trait truly doesn’t fit his pristine image. Again, in humanizing a historical figure, the play explores how suffocating status can be while encouraging new leaders who achieve status to do good.

“The truth ain’t gotsta be fair. It’s the truth.”

Camae reveals God sent her—a “cussin’, fussin’, drankin’ angel” (25)—to King because she is his type of woman. He doesn’t like hearing that God or anyone else knows his “sins,” but like his impending death, the truth is the truth regardless of other circumstances.

“You talk about fear, Camae, well…I have felt fear. Felt it in my guts. Felt it in my toes. Felt it even when I stood in front of my own congregation in my own church. There beneath that old rugged cross, I quaked and shook with fear. My insides churned and I fought hard to keep them from leaping out of my mouth. You see, a Negro man is not safe in a pulpit. Not even in a pulpit of his own making. Sunday mornings have been the mornings when I am most afraid. ‘Cause in this country, a pulpit is a pedestal, and we all know that in America, the tall tree is felled first. Tall trees have more wood to burn, Camae. We are the sacrifice.”

King confesses that behind his brave demeanor, he feels fear. As his stature grew, so did the target on his back. As a preacher, he already felt unsafe in America; as an activist, King is a lightning rod in a storm, and admits welcoming death. However, in the face of death, he isn’t ready to die.

“But who is a man who does not speak his heart’s conscience? He is not a man, but I am a man. If only they could see that love is the most radical weapon there is. But they won’t listen. Instead, they have called me every name but a child of God.”

In this quote, King claims he is just a man (see Important Quote #9), as much a child of God as any other person. He believes speaking truth is his responsibility as a man, but opponents continually deny their shared humanity.

“Like most men, you ain’t gone be able to finish what you started. […] You done brought us far. But you a man. You just a man, baby. You’re not God, though some folks’ll say you got mighty close. You know…sometimes, you’ve failed.”

Camae reassures King that although he has exceeded the expectations of most men, he’s still a mortal. Men don’t always finish what they start, or act flawlessly, because they don’t get to choose when or how they run out of time.

“She ain’t forsake you neither. She just ain’t wanna hear yo’ shit. She got the right. She is God, ya know?”

King is used to the power of rhetoric being strong enough to sway believers on civil rights, especially women in a patriarchal arena. However, God hangs up on him when he raises his voice. As a fellow woman, Camae clarifies that being refused by God is not the same as being forsaken.

“I never thought death would be so beautiful.”

After cycling through the stages of grief—arguing with God and wrestling with an

angel—King finally sees Camae as the angel who will escort him into death. He is awed by her beauty, ready to weep in her arms like a child.

“Powerful the man that get more done dead than alive.”

Now that King is facing death, he questions whether or not his life’s work was worth the toll it took on his body and family. Though Camae previously debated the efficacy of nonviolence, his martyrdom will change America forever.

“Honey, I’ve robbed. I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. I’ve failed. I’ve cursed. But what I’m ashamed of most is I’ve hated. Hated myself. Sacrificed my flesh so that others might feel whole again. I thought it was my duty. All I had to offer this world. What else was a poor black woman, the mule of the world, here for?”

Women like Camae, who was a sex worker in life, slipped through the cracks of the Civil Rights Movement. Her “sins” were a matter of survival, so instead of punishing her when she begs for forgiveness, God makes her an angel and tasks her with helping King to teach self-love.

“KING. Is it gonna hurt?

CAMAE. You won’t feel the hurt. The world will.”

In the ultimate show of humanity, King asks a frequent question about death. Camae reassures him that he won’t suffer, but his death will be felt by his followers—as well as expose the dangerous power of hate and push for change.