Blueschild Baby

by George Cain

  “Pick you up in an hour then.” Help her in with the carriage and Mrs. Wood greets me with a kiss.

  “How’ve you been boy? How’s the family? Your mother? Haven’t seen her in ages. And the boys. How they doing? Staying out of trouble? Good, good, everybody’s fine. Lord bless em. You got to excuse the house, but it’s so crowded here with all the kids running round.”

  There’s tension between these women. Want to leave. Nandy understands and hurries me out.

  “I’ll see you in an hour.” She brushes my lips closing the door. Walk into the air, my insides screaming to be near her. Am so free near that young girl, clean, that’s how I felt. Clean. From filth and decay, all the abstractions and bullshit. She’s real.

  Race through the projects to Fat Man’s house. Need a fix.

  IN THE ELEVATOR, the hall, on the stairs, see the litter of junkies coming and going, burnt glassine sacks curled like black caterpillars, burnt matches and bloodstains. Knock and hear the children scurrying about to push a chair to the peephole.

  “It’s Mr. George.”

  “Let him in girl.”

  Rose, nine years, the oldest, lets me in and the others come running up. Calling Mr. George, eyes bright, expectant, knowing I never come without something for them. They line up by age, each giving his name as I put a coin in his hand. Can never remember them all. Sister’s in the kitchen tending pots, looking more tired than I’ve ever seen her.

  “How’re you Sister? Everything okay? Don’t look well.”

  “Tired, tired, that’s all. Just stay tired, can’t do nothing. Maybe I start taking some of that dope ya’ll use to give me some energy.” She smiles and I wonder how. The pain.

  “Rosie come here. Okay Sister, how’s my girl been?”

  “Rosie’s always good. She don’t give me no trouble. Looks after the house, take care of the kids, helps cook dinner. She’s good, except she don’t like to go to school sometimes when I don’t feel too good or Howard’s real sick.”

  Rosie smiles and I see my helplessness in outraged clarity, no matter what I give or do her, it’s wasted. She will not survive. The unfairness of it is crazy, condemned to death before she was born. How could they bring her into life without hope or chance? Generous and frustrated give Sister twenty and stick five in Rosie’s hand.

  “Do something for yourself Rosie, this is yours, all yours. You hear?” To have a chance, she must be selfish.

  “All this George?”

  “Don’t kick it around Sis, but I finally made that big sting.”

  “Thanks George. Thanks.”

  “Where’s Fat?”

  “Howard’s in the room, want me to call him?”

  “No, I’ll go on back.”

  Walk into a carcass-strewn cave where the hunted huddle around a TV watching cartoons. A glow shows the half-nude children, retarded and otherwise, playing over the bodies, junkies nodding, stinking, burning, high. How do they stand themselves? Immune to their ever-present foulness. Call Fat. His head comes out the dark, skin strapped tight around the skull, eyes running, gaunt and hollow, body a black thread. Sweat pours off him and he shakes with need, begging and whining like he’s going to die.

  “Say man, do something for me, I’m sick Cain, look at me, help me. Do something for me. Can’t stand it.”

  He is always sick, there’s not enough stuff in the world to quash his need.

  “Who’s got it?”

  “Curtiss in there on the floor got something nice. What you want?”

  “Get me a half.”

  His eyes light with anticipation almost human. “I’ll cop for you, wait here.”

  Give him the scratch. Hear Curtiss mumble as Fat begs him for an extra bag. Lock ourselves in the bathroom, fix and sit nodding till one of the kids has to use the toilet. Straighten up and go into the kitchen with Sister while Fat cleans up. Sitting in a broken chair, I tell her news of the outside world. Except for the TV and the Jehovah’s Witnesses, I’m her only link with it and her interest welcomes conversation.

  “Have you been to Lincoln Center?”

  Tell her about the place, marble bathroom, carpeted halls, chandeliers and works of art. Clinging to every word, she transports herself and closing her eyes moves in the elegant surroundings. Rosie and the other girls have taken seats and listen enthralled, never having penetrated the marble tomb across the street.

  “We have tickets to go next week, they gave them out in school.” Then disappointed, “But we can’t go.”

  Sister cuts Rosie with a look. The session is over and the children go back to their corners.

  “How come you’re not going Sis?”

  “I ain’t never been anywhere like that, wouldn’t know how to act, got nobody to go with.”

  “When is it?”

  “Saturday afternoon.”

  “How many tickets you got?”

  “It’s free, but Howard won’t go.”

  “How about if I went with you?”

  “Have to ask Howard.”

  Fat comes lurching into the room all high and attentive. “Have to ask me what?”

  “If I can take them to Lincoln Center Saturday.”

  “Sure, yeah, didn’t know you went for that stuff. But you always was a funny nigger.”

  “Just thought be nice to go inside, see what it’s like. Ain’t you curious?”

  “I been in there stealing and whatnot, but never to see no show. Couldn’t sit still for no shit like that.”

  The children have come from their corners to beg him. “Can we go Daddy?”

  “You promise to behave and don’t be no trouble.”

  They applaud and scatter not giving him a chance to change his mind. Sis smiles grateful and Fat pleased with himself goes on back to the room.

  “What time’s the show?”

  “Two-thirty.”

  “I’ll be by at one then, give everybody plenty of time to get ready.”

  “Have to get my dress together, Rosie’s, Denise, shine the boys’ shoes.” Sis goes on dreaming, escaping the dreary moment, lost in the details of preparation and anticipation and am grateful at having given her a moment’s respite. Looking around I note the sticks of furniture, nothing in the house is worth a two dollar bag. Fat done sold everything of value to feed the monkey. Remembering this is the last day I can get off, give him five bags, holding a couple in case.

  “Okay everybody, got to go.”

  Riding downstairs smelling the diapers and stink clinging to me, am filled with warmth at the little happiness I’ve given. Remember Fat and Sister when they first came here from Mississippi. Had never seen anything like them. Fresh, vital and alive, but the city quickly took its toll, reducing them to their present state.

  Transplanted sharecroppers living in an elevator building. There’s no difference from here to there, hell is all the same.

  NANDY IS WAITING on the stoop when I arrive. Seeing her the fog clears from my head and I’m madly in love.

  Hail a cab and head downtown gripping her hand like a schoolboy. Not until we get out do I realize we’re in the Vil. Be funny if we ran into Nichole. We eat at T.P.’s, laughing over drinks and the past. Cannot ignore the sense of freedom and cleanliness she gives me. Want to be good to her. Make her happy.

  “You got an old man baby?”

  “What you mean?”

  “You know what I mean, some cat you dig, takes you out.”

  “Got a couple of em right now, but nothing serious.”

  Cannot hide my elation and she laughs. Laughter so pure and feminine. Everything about her is discovery. We go across the street and take the elevator downstairs to the jazz cellar. It’s between sets and loud in conversation. Sit up in the gallery by the bandstand waiting for the group. Joint crowded with Ivy League whiteys and interracial couples. Rarely drink, grog don’t agree with stomach or head, but after the third rum am feeling gay and the band comes on. It’s a hard driving group and we can’t be still for patting our feet. Int
ermission lights come on and I feel the eyes on her. Am drunk but able to decipher the lust in their look. She’s the only sister in the place and all woman. She feels their eyes and scalds them with a hateful look.

  “Niggers ain’t shit.”

  “Say what?”

  “Niggers ain’t shit. Look at them with those devils, swear they into something. Can’t see how ugly they are. Excuse me Georgie. I’m sorry but I can’t help myself, makes me so mad to see one of us with them. It’s nauseating and you can’t tell them nothing. So smug, think they’re together cause they got a white woman, a pig. A sister wouldn’t put up with their shit. Half of em rejects from their own kind and a nigger runs behind them like a goddamn fool. Treat em better than he treat his own. Just makes me so mad. Be right back, going to the ladies’ room.”

  Watch her go, turning heads. She’s a queen, a sure enough queen, everybody in the place reacts to her. Her scorn is obvious and the niggers turn guiltily away to their white liberal lady friends commenting on the beautiful black woman that just went by. The men look and lust at her terrible blackness. They will not, cannot love her. Can’t love what they’ve been taught to hate all their lives, nigger lips, red like fire in a black night, liquid brown eyes and nappy hair. She is beauty and acknowledged.

  Looking about am struck by the ugliness of all the whites, suddenly, as if I had new eyes, had been blind all my life and now a miraculous restoration of sight. In an instant their hair, color, straight noses and grim lips always thought desirable are ugly. I see them for the first time like they really are. Free from the brainwash. How could my senses betray me like that? Or is it my mind that has betrayed my senses? Know I’m drunk and try to blink up on sobriety, but nothing will change my sight. Once again I feel some dark heavy weight lifting from my soul. Jump up and rush to the toilet to splash water in my face. Drying off I see him in the mirror watching me.

  “Is she yours?”

  “Is who mine?”

  “That girl. Is she yours? How much do you want?”

  Cannot believe my ears and think my senses have truly turned on me. Crazy things run in my brain, eyes bulge, mouth working and no sound coming out. See a stranger in the mirror.

  Impatient he licks his lips and pulls his wallet out. “Come on, how much? I know she’s a fine piece. I’ll pay whatever you want, fifty, a hundred.”

  A pulse pounds hard and loud in my brain and ears, stomach muscles contract and tighten, taste the dope backing up in my throat before it spews out. Vomit on him. All in his face half-digested food and liquor, reeking and reeling he slips in it, eyes rolling wildly in his head. Laugh dangerously as I step over him wiping my mouth. When I get back she grips my arm and I share her contempt. The beautiful face set in an angry mask, challenging any bold enough to meet her eyes.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Crowd into the elevator full of whites, pressing and touching me all over. Breathing and filling the little space to suffocation. Hold my breath to prevent poisoning and pray for the stop. After an eternity, rush out gasping for air.

  “Hate them, ooooh hate them I tell you, can’t stand them people! See how those bitches looked at you? Do it all the time, got no pride, shame, nothing, animals and ugly as sin. Think they can get any black man, all they got to do is show their ass. What make it so bad, it’s halfway true. Niggers just so weak, break a leg getting next to one of them tramps. Niggers just ain’t no good, no way.

  “Sorry baby, just sometimes I get so upset. You don’t understand. I act stupid, but—you’re from the city. Remember I’m from down South, lived most of my life down there and I know these people, know what they’re like, what they’ve done to me and my people. Real things, not newspaper and TV. You’re one of those artificial niggers. You had to learn to hate, what have they ever done to you? Nothing. You hate because of what you read, hear, you feel what you think you’re supposed to feel. CBS, NBC programmed you to hate. My hate is a deep thing, part of me. It’s there. I read the newspapers every day to see how many God has killed. It’s hard for me to realize they’re not going to hurt me. Come from a segregated place. When I came North and saw all this fuss about black, buy black, wanting black schools, black neighborhoods, I couldn’t believe it. I’d gone to black schools most of my life, all the teachers, kids, principals were black. You did all your shopping in the district and we all lived together. I never saw blue eyes except in a magazine till I came here.

  “When I first met you, thought you were the most stuck-up, arrogant nigger ever, had never seen anything like you, thought you were putting on, way you dressed, talked. You were like them. After we became close I felt sorry for you. Out there in the world by yourself. Nobody liked you. Girls couldn’t understand why I bothered with you, you’d never be mine. When you started falling they all said good, but I knew it hurt them, cause inside you’d become something to all of us, your success was our success. I cried when you started falling George. That’s why I left, didn’t want to hold you back. . . . Stop it Nandy—stop! You talking crazy and minding the man’s business.”

  She smiles and I squeeze her. Feel a desire to please and win her by fulfilling the dream she has for me. Could never do for myself, but for someone else. Right then, make up my mind to make her happy.

  “Ain’t no big thing baby, want you to talk to me, tell me what you feel cause I ain’t got nobody and I’m gonna tell you how I feel. What say we go somewhere there ain’t none of them. Feel like dancing? Know just the place.”

  A psychedelic light display advertises the hall. The big cars and high fashion posing out front tell this is where the players be. Young kids hustle tips for opening doors and hailing cabs, junkies hawk hot goods, and music with lots of bass has everyone moving in time. Pay admission and enter a huge hall with ear-shattering sound coming from everywhere. Black couples dance on the floor and colored lights overwhelm the eyes.

  Been years since I danced but find myself in the middle of the floor grinning and moving with abandon, my body free from my inhibiting mind. I dance on and on. A slow side comes on. Hold her and feel her hot body bumping and grinding. Kiss her hair, forehead, she blows on my neck. Overcome with ourselves we move to the bar.

  “You something else baby, I’m in love with you.”

  “Stop it George. You’re just a man. You ain’t got to say that to make me.”

  “No baby I mean it. Don’t wanna sleep with you, just be good to you, make you happy.”

  She squeezes my hand.

  “Listen, I got a thing for you out of this world, you’re my woman, been dying to tell you, love you. Those cats on the block can’t do nothing for you, young dumb full of come, ain’t never had enough of nothing, but I’d give it all to you Nandy.”

  She pretends not to hear, but is caught by my rap as I get excited and carried away. “Dig what I’m saying baby. Been locked up years, got a belly full of come, come clear cross the street for you. Make you big with life. A woman’s dream, a good man, princes and princesses. Make you scream for joy, I’ll be good to you. Need you. I’ll make it worth your while. . . . Say something. Think I’m crazy? Ain’t nothing wrong with me. I need somebody.”

  Look at her, trying to make her feel this thing in me, but words are too clumsy. We get up to dance, know by the way she leans on me, trusts me, that she has yielded and is mine. Hold her gently, knowing what she’s done. Gambled, put her life on the line, betting it all on me, knowing the odds against us.

  “I’ll make you happy Nandy.”

  “I’m happy now George.”

  It’s late and she has to work tomorrow. We ride the cab in silence, communicating by touch and pressure of hand, the words are empty.

  ON THE WAY DOWNTOWN decide to change everything, way of walking, talking, going to overhaul my mind. Gonna be right for her for all the wrong I’ve done in life.

  When I get in, everyone’s asleep and I tip to the bathroom for a fix, my last. Sit there nodding planning the day, got to be out early tomorrow to l
ook for a pad. Tired and unable to prolong it anymore, slide into bed next to Nichole, her nearness and white skin are repulsive, feel dirty and unworthy of Nandy. She stirs and touches me. Freeze like wood and escape into sleep.

  Am wakened by a loud-playing rock-and-roll radio. From habit, wake in a frenzy, then remember I’ve got my medicine and lay back calm and unhurried. Hear Sabu and Chris in the kitchen while I take my wake up fix and wash.

  “Morning, morning everybody. Where’s Nichole?”

  “Uptown.”

  “Uptown?”

  “She goes shopping every week this time and I babysit for her. Didn’t know if you were going to stay all day or what, so she called me anyway.”

  “Good thing cause I got to get out of here. What time is it? Know I’m late already.”

  “Don’t you want to eat? Eggs, cereal or something?”

  “Yeah. Eggs, scrambled be okay.” Go inside and finish dressing while she gets it ready. Come back out and they’re dancing to the music.

  “Dance with me Daddy, dance with me.”

  Pick Bu up and spin around the kitchen till the record ends.

  “Dance with Chris Daddy, please just once.”

  The music’s fast and we stand apart shaking our asses, she dances well for a devil. Another side comes on and laughing and high we’re caught up in the sound. A slow cut starts and we dance into each other’s arms with exaggerated grace and courtliness, maintaining our distance. Then we’re pressed up on one another. Lust chokes me, her face flushes and she gasps for air. Kiss her throat and mouth while we probe and dry fuck. Throw her on the couch smothering her screams while she thrashes beneath me like a fish out of water, fighting and kicking. Hear Bu’s frightened crying.

  Reaching between her legs, pull her dress up and come all over. Her legs are in the air, thighs pressed tight holding panties, rip them off, see the blond pussy and go crazy, put my hands to it and she screams. “Sabu, Sabu! Help me! Stop your father!”

  Hear the child screaming hysterically somewhere behind me. Got my pants down and jissom shooting everywhere, force her legs apart and I’m in, driving for all my worth. She screams, moans, shakes with spasms and comes. Lie on top of her, a breeze from the window fanning my ass, and Bu screaming bloody murder. It’s gone quick as it came. Get off her pulling my pants on and she goes to the bathroom, cleans up and comes out. Kiss her and she hugs me.