Gumbo: A Celebration of African American Writing Part 4

"Cody," Theresa asked, "what you doin' here?"

"I said I was comin'," he said.

"That was more'n a week ago."

"I had sumpin' to do, woman. I got here as soon as I could."

"What you had to do?" Elma asked.

"I don't see what's it to you. You done already got another boyfriend." Cody smiled and reached down beside him. He brought out of his overalls a full quart bottle of store-bought Old Crow whiskey. "I planned to say I was sorry wit' this here, but I guess I got to find me another girlfriend.

"You still wit' John, Theresa?"

The handsome black woman's mouth came open and she shook her head to say that she was not.

"Theresa!" Elma shouted.

"I ain't did nuthin'," Theresa screamed. She licked her lips and avoided Cody's smiling eyes. "He jus' axed an' I told'im."

"You ain't gonna go messin' 'round right under my nose," Elma said. She was crus.h.i.+ng At.w.a.ter's hand.

"Come on, girls," Cody said. "Don't let's fight. They's whiskey for all of us. Right, Atty?"

"I-I think I had enough," the boy answered. The room was hot but his forehead felt like ice. "I got . . . I gots to go home."

Cody reached down into his pants again and came out with a long homemade knife. The blade was from a five-inch metal saw that had been shaped and sharpened by a grinding stone. It was black and jagged but At.w.a.ter could see that it was still sharp. The haft was wadded cork wound tightly around with fly-green fis.h.i.+ng twine.

Cody put the knife down next to the bottle and said, "You not refusin' my hospitality now is ya, man?"

"Cody . . ."

"Shet yo' mouf, Theresa. Ain't n.o.body axed you. If this man here is man enough take my woman then he man enough t'drink wit' me."

Elma sat stock-still. She let go of Atty's hand. That was the scariest moment for At.w.a.ter, because he knew that if Elma was scared then he didn't have a chance.

"I drink it," Atty said.

While he was still smiling, Cody poured the tin cup full to the brim and then pushed it in front of At.w.a.ter.

"Cody, he cain't drink all that," Theresa said. "He ain't no man."

Cody raised his hand and Theresa flinched back so hard that she banged her head on the wall.

At.w.a.ter picked up the cup and started sipping. Fifty and more years gone by and he was still amazed that he had the strength to drink as much as he did.

Cody put a finger to the boy's throat to make sure that he was swallowing.

When Atty finally put the cup down, Cody smiled and said, "That's only half."

The room changed after At.w.a.ter drank. Most of what he heard was just noise but he could hear some talk, even from across the room, very clearly. Colors became stronger and the yellow paint on the walls really did look to be stars.

Elma was saying something but he couldn't make it out.

"I gotta go," At.w.a.ter said.

"See?" Elma pointed at him. "You done made the boy sick."

She moved quickly to get up off the bench and let At.w.a.ter out. He slid over with no problem, but standing up was a whole new experience. One leg gave way and then the other. He struck the table with his chin, but the feeling was more sweet than it was painful. He was afraid of falling to the sticky floor, but Cody caught him before he tumbled all the way.

The evil baby face came up close to his and said, "You go out an' do yo' business an' then come on back, ya hear?"

The boy thought about nodding-maybe he did.

"'Cause if you ain't back in two minutes I'ma come out there an' cut you bad."

Then Cody pushed At.w.a.ter toward the door. It was a crooked path to get there; bouncing off one body and then into somebody else. It was like a playful child's dance with everyone laughing and pus.h.i.+ng. He didn't mind the horseplay though, because, even in that small room, he was too drunk to find the door by himself.

There was the moon again. About three-quarters floating in a thick black eye. The night clouds were golden shoulders for that cyclops. The air was chill and for deep breathing, not like the h.e.l.l smoke of the Milky Way.

While At.w.a.ter relieved himself he laughed because it felt so good. Then he started walking. The leaves crackled and the stream sounded like baby bells. Every footfall was a ba.s.s drum going off.

He was lost but that didn't matter. He had a long talk with his murdered friend and said good-bye.

He sc.r.a.ped and scuffed himself and finally fell face forward in the cold stream. The water sobered him for a moment and he sat on a big rock and wondered where he was.

Once he heard somebody call his name. At first he thought that it was Inez out looking for him. He almost called out but then he worried that it might be Cody. So he kept quiet and played dead.

The next morning he awoke in Alyce Griggs's barn, just about a quarter mile from his house. A white hen was clucking and dancing around his feet.

"What you doin' in here, boy?"

When At.w.a.ter lifted his eyes to see the woman he felt sharp pain throughout his head and jaw.

"Sorry, Miss Griggs," he said to the elderly white woman. "I got drunk at Milky Way an' I landed here in yo' barn."

"That's the devil in you, Atty," the scrawny white woman warned. "You know that, don't ya?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and meant it.

"Go on now. I hope Inez hides you good."

He never did get a beating for that night. When At.w.a.ter came through the door he was staggering from fever. The chill and the whiskey had made him sick. For three weeks Ruby and Inez took turns sitting over him, covering his forehead with damp towels and feeding him foul home remedies one after the other.

His lungs filled up and his dreams walked around the house with a life of their own. He choked and coughed and finally accepted that he was going to die. He made his goodbyes to Ruby and Inez so bravely that even stone-faced Inez cried.

When At.w.a.ter got out of bed again he knew that he was a man.

"Daddy?" Kiki was sitting up in the bed.

"You okay?" Soupspoon asked.

Fully naked, she got up from the bed and came over to the couch. She sat spread-legged before him and held out her hands for him to hold.

It wasn't s.e.x on her part. It was a frightened girl, no older than Atty at the Milky Way, holding out her hands to be saved.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I'm scared," she said all at once. "I'm scared of . . . of . . ."

"What?"

Kiki told him about her dreams of a stone boy stalking her with his knife.

"It's okay, honey," Soupspoon said when she was through. "He ain't gonna get in here."

"That's not all," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"What else is it?"

"I can't tell you yet. I . . . I have to wait."

"Okay," he said, trying to catch her eye without ogling her orange-brown crotch. "I'll be here when you ready."

"What's wrong?" Kiki asked. "Why you look away from me?"

"I don't know. It's just that you're a nice girl. You should cover up in front of a old man like me."

"You shy?" She smirked while trying to get him to meet her gaze.

"Naw, I ain't shy. I seen it all. But I like you an' I feel like I don't wanna get the wrong idea."

Kiki's face went smooth when he said that. Her eyes became perfect circles with tears beaded up on the lashes. She leaned forward as if she meant to hug Soupspoon but then she got up and went to the bed and rummaged around on the floor. She came up with a ratty brown robe and wrapped herself in it.

She held out her arms as she came back to the couch.

"Can I hug you, Mr. Wise?"

"Sure."

"I won't let anything happen to you," she whispered into the embrace.

Soupspoon was thinking about little Atty wandering through the wilderness over stones white as skulls.

FROM The Harris Men.

BY R. M. JOHNSON.

Caleb sat on a slab of rock and watched two old men play chess. One had a beard, and one was wearing an old fis.h.i.+ng hat. They were both filthy. It was an interesting game, so Caleb couldn't just get up and leave in the middle of it, he had to see who won. He looked down at his watch and it read 11:52 A.M. He had gotten out of the house at eight o'clock, telling Sonya that today would be the day that he would find a job. He had even put on his only pair of real pants, a pair of cotton Levi's Dockers. They were a little big and a little long because he had bought them at a discount store, but they still looked kind of professional. Stuffed in his pants pocket was a clip-on tie that he had taken off during the intense chess game.

When the game was over Caleb moved to a park bench and opened the paper to the job section. He started to glance over the tiny blocks of advertis.e.m.e.nts. "Computer a.n.a.lyst," one announced, and the ten blocks under it marked positions. Sales Manager, Nurses, Engineers wanted, Electricians, Marketing Executives. These were the ads that caught his attention and all they did was discourage him. There was no way in the world he could qualify for one of those positions with his limited education. He hadn't even graduated from high school, for G.o.d's sake.

He sank his face in his hands and wondered why he was even going through the trouble. It didn't make sense to look, get all dressed up and walk around like a fool panhandling for a d.a.m.n job. Something would come along eventually, it always did. Somebody who knew somebody else would offer him a job, didn't really matter what it was, but he'd take it and everything would be cool. And if that didn't happen, he'd hit Sonya up again. She worked at the unemployment office, and she'd get him a couple of inside tracks just like she had last time, even though he screwed those up.

Happy with himself, his actions all planned for finding a job, he tossed the job section in the trash can near where he was sitting, and folded the rest under his arm. It was too beautiful a day to be out begging for a job. He looked at his watch again and it was only 12:15. Sonya wouldn't expect him back till at least three, so he would find something to do.

He hopped on the bus, showing the driver the crinkled little piece of paper he used to transfer from one bus to the next. He had to squeeze his way through the people because the bus was crowded with the lunchtime rush. A woman was getting up and he took the seat, even though another woman seemed to have been waiting patiently for the vacancy.

The bus was heading in the direction of the inner city housing projects, the many tall identical buildings that lined one of the major highways of Chicago. They stood there, hundreds of feet tall, as a constant reminder of how poor black folks were in this city. They were like building-size billboards, Caleb thought, screaming "Blacks folks be po'! Hey, just look where we live!"

The crowd on the bus started to thin because of the direction the bus was traveling. No one wanted to end up among the project buildings if they didn't belong there.

Across the aisle from Caleb was a man wearing one of those fancy business suits like Austin always wore, the kind Caleb hated so much. But he had to admit, of all the ones he had seen, this was one of the nicest. He was a man of about forty-five or fifty, Caleb figured, and on his lap rested, of course, a briefcase. The man was black, neat-looking, clean-shaven, with s.h.i.+ny shoes and those thin little black socks that you can see through. He wore a diamond ring on his right hand, a wedding band on his left, and on his wrist was a very nice watch. He sat facing Caleb, looking out the window behind him. Caleb looked him up and down; the attention didn't seem to bother the man. He reminded Caleb of Austin, so d.a.m.n caught up with his suits and ties, watches and rings. He would have bet anything that this guy was just as much a joke as Austin was.

He looked him over again, and wondered what the man was still doing on the bus-they were closing in on the outskirts of the danger zone, and looking the way he was, Caleb figured he should've gotten off the bus long ago. But the man just continued looking out the window as if the surroundings were nothing new to him. Caleb wondered how much money he made, what he did, and what the h.e.l.l he was doing so d.a.m.n far away from the suburbs where all the other un-black black folks lived. The man must have felt Caleb's stare. He smiled slightly and nodded. Caleb nodded back, feeling the man was as phony as a three-dollar bill.

"Hey, what's your name?" Caleb asked, not feeling at all out of place.

The man looked up, raising his eyebrows as if to ask, "Me?"

"Joseph Benning," he said, seeming comfortable speaking to a stranger. "And what's your name, young man?"

Caleb thought about not answering, not liking the "young man" remark, but he figured compared to his old a.s.s, he was a young man.

"Caleb. My name is Caleb Harris."

"Nice to meet you, Caleb Harris. Nice day, isn't it?" He smiled, looking out the window. Caleb looked out the window behind him, the same one Benning was looking out, as if it was the only one with the view of the nice day.

"Yeah, I guess so." Caleb looked over the man again, paying close attention to the watch, the big diamond that was where the twelve should have been, the s.h.i.+ny gold of the rings, and the expensive look of the briefcase. He wondered what the street value would be for all that stuff. That is, if he were still into robbing, which he wasn't. But he was sure it would've been reason enough to risk taking it off the old guy. Besides, he probably had it insured, and if he didn't, Caleb was sure he made enough to run out and buy replacements.

"How, how much you make?"

"Excuse me?" The man smiled, seeming embarra.s.sed by the question.

"You know what I mean. How much money you bringing in? I know it has to be a lot if you're walking around with all that on," Caleb pointed a finger in the general direction of the man's hands and wrist.

"That's not the sort of question you ask someone you've just met. That's really not the sort of question you even ask a friend."

"Yeah, I know all that, but I wanted to know, so I asked. All you can do is say no, right? I'd just be right back where I started. So how much?"

The man laughed. He looked at Caleb, appearing to consider the question.

"I make enough," he finally replied.