Blueschild Baby

by George Cain

  A pep rally, hate rally, drum booming. “Beat Fieldstone! Beat Fieldstone!”

  Shouted by a thousand voices, sounding, resounding in the small gym. Contagious, warming to the core, infecting with violent passion. I shouted with them. Felt it flowing through us, one to another, we were joined in voice and desire. Was like being in church only easier to grasp than the elusive Holy Ghost. Noise ceased, leaving us limp and shaking with energy. I was proud of my school, Brey Prep, instilled with its spirit. They called me up to the stand. “That athlete who most typifies Brey Prep and the things it stands for, who’s led our victorious team—George Cain.”

  Was there before them, seeing their many faces looking up at me. Loving them. Silence, sweating, subsiding emotion and I shouted, “Beat Fieldstone!”

  Applause, drums booming. Shouting and jumping from the stand, I snatched a baton, raising them from their seats with my zeal, led the thousand in a snake dance. A thousand voices. “Beat Fieldstone, beat Fieldstone, beat Fieldstone.”

  A thousand pairs of feet shuffling and dancing crazy little steps till we all sat down, drained and exhausted. The day of the game, excitement, anxiety. Even the teachers were caught up in it and excused classes for the afternoon.

  “How do you feel George?”

  “Fine Mom.”

  “Then why aren’t you eating?”

  “Stop bothering him, he’s got a big game tonight. Who you taking to the dance George?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Nobody. What’d I tell you about that? Expect you to attend all social functions. Don’t you realize they’re the most important reason we’re sending you to this school? So you can meet people and know how to conduct yourself. Boy you make me so mad sometimes, wasn’t for this game’d make you stay home. An opportunity like this, any nice girl would love it. Nandy would’ve been perfect. Sometimes you act like you ain’t got the sense you was born with. Let me explain to you why these things are so important. Do you realize business is conducted in a social atmosphere rather than in the office. In clubs, golf courses, over dinner, lunch, social gatherings, and this is why it’s so important for you to attend these things. This is where things get done at. I don’t care if you’re not taking anyone, you stay and be seen at that dance, you understand.”

  Sat around after dinner till finally was time to go. As I left, my mother said, “The kids and I will be there to see you play tonight, your father has an important meeting and can’t make it.”

  Didn’t hit me till I was in the street. How’d they look among them people? Their Sunday outfits were out of time and place, not adequate for even a basketball game in my new world. People would gawk at them and know who they’d come to see. Their mothers and families would be there, but they were different. In that sad moment didn’t want them to come, they’d shame me. Thought of not going to the game, conjuring reasons and excuses for their not showing. Hoping against hope they wouldn’t come. Could see her cheering wildly and hugging me in front of all those people. Crazy thoughts ran in me and I knew shame.

  Sat in the locker room, subdued, tying, retying sneakers, shaking with anticipation, thinking about my mother. Climbed the stairs to the gym. Hesitating, saw the gay colored bunting and scanned the huge crowd looking for them. Four thousand people roared as we came out and I tried to hear Mom’s voice.

  Shook hands and went up for the tip. We scored, they scored, supporters from both schools urging us on. The first half ended with us four in front. On the opening tap in the second half our center fell and his ankle blew up before our eyes. Unable to continue he left to applause and watched from the bench. One of our guards fouled out and they began closing. Didn’t know for sure so engrossed in play but sensing it, the quiet from our side of the gym, we were falling behind. Tired, running, jumping, chest burning, gasped at air. Third quarter ended, down by eight. A silent minute rest. Could hear them shouting, “Beat Fieldstone!”

  Playing center then. Tapping, return, dribble, shoot. Fake, shoot, shoot, run, shoot. Ball kept coming, was arm weary, playing by myself.

  “Let’s go George!”

  Heard them shouting my name, urging me, wasn’t tired, a second wind. Time out, their ball, in a huddle.

  “Way to go Georgie. They’re up by two, less than a minute. They’ll freeze, we got to have the ball.”

  Buzzer sounded and play resumed. Came down slowly, freezing the pill. Steal, break and lay it up. Their ball, bad pass, break, jam with both hands and come down court swapping fives. Noise is deafening, drums and pounding on bleachers. They come down, pass and score. Tie game, dribble down court, crowd counting the seconds trying to hurry the shot.

  “Five, four, three . . .”

  Nobody open, fired off balance.

  “Two, one.”

  Shot hung in the air, but I knew it was good when it left my hand. There was stillness, then all hell broke. Heard Mom’s voice in the roar and looked over the crowd to find them. Saw her waving across the distance, impossible to get to. Hannibal was holding one of the twins up to see and Keith had climbed to the top bleacher shouting his head off. Made it to the locker room. Sat there, suddenly fatigued, hearing the congratulations, handshakes and back pats, not wanting to ever move. Had seen Mom in Sunday, strange and out of place, calling her baby. Not wanting to ever leave there, remain forever in the warmth of victory. No one knew the score except we’d won by two. Scorekeeper came down with the book.

  “Seventy-six, seventy-four. George you set a record, forty-six points. Way to go, they’re waiting for you upstairs.”

  Sat looking at the green lockers, hearing the shower drip and Hannibal came in. “Your mother’s waiting for you downstairs. Beautiful game man, beautiful.”

  Dressed slowly, hoping they’d leave by the time I got there. She hugged me, the twins irritable and tired after their bedtime whined for me to pick them up and Keith kept dunking shots in the wastebasket. Was glad everybody was upstairs. She pressed a few dollars on me. “Go on up now and have a good time.”

  Kissed her and the twins, threw Keith a pass behind my back. Watched them walk down the block and vanish into dark. Could see the projects down there all lit up, seemed a long way from here. Ran downstreet shamed and crying and kissed her again, uncaring who saw. Unused to the affection but pleased, she smiled love on me. Walked back to school blinded with tears, full with love.

  Hannibal met me at the door, “Something wrong George? You look funny. They’re waiting for you upstairs.”

  The gym was loud, band playing in jump time, rock-and-roll music, a spotlight roamed the dark, bodies huddled close moved zombie-like, in time, out of time. The light picked me out and everyone turned. Band played a fanfare and four thousand eyes held my image. Bathed in light, I knew finally what it was all about. Fuck the school, the team, it was me they looked at, the adored one.

  “Here he is, the hero of tonight’s game. Scored forty-six points, the greatest single performance in the school’s history. Come on up George, let the people see you.”

  They opened a path, anticipating me like some huge ship cutting through ice and fell back to let me pass. Entering the gates of the city, riding an ass, they spread palms before me, shouting hallelujah. Stood above them, looking down, wanting to say something great, memorable, and uttered a feeble thanks. Coming off the stand, was surrounded. Introductions, invitations, congratulations, all those who’d seen and been indifferent to me so many times, shaking my hand and wanting to know me. People I didn’t know led me around and introduced me to their friends. Enhancing themselves by linking themselves to me, sharing my triumph, basking in reflected light, illuminating their spheres with my radiance. Couldn’t have it. Had to get out in the air, away from these thieves of triumph. Where was Hannibal? I fled.

  Walking in the park to get it together, warm with victory, an unfamiliar voice called. Bennet Shapiro, president of the junior class, came walking up smoking a pipe. “Hi man, too much in there? Like a madhouse, had to come out and get some air.
What you doing tonight? Why don’t you come with me, going to make a few parties. Be boss, wine, women . . .”

  He laughed gaily, uncontrollably, bordering insanity. His upturned face, strong and Judaic, with a Jew’s pain and passion. I felt he was somehow different from the rest. He was a white nigger, more familiar with the argot and life-style than most niggers I knew. My self-discovery began with his interest and discovery of me. Befriending me cause I was black and therefore, he thought, hip and into something. Hung with him for his money and good times, acted the role to keep him happy and learned to dig it.

  “Why not, I put myself in your hands tonight.”

  “Good, here, smoke my pipe.” Took it, sucking gently, unused to smoking. Strong acrid smoke burnt my chest, filled head and lungs. Choked, it burst from eyes, ears and nose.

  “If you’re going to waste it, give it back. Look, like this, hold it down, otherwise you’re just wasting it.”

  Tried again, filling, fogging my brain, lifting me high in the air. Going mad and thought I was God. My mad laughter rattled through the woods. Awareness, no God, is God, I was God, silence. State of consciousness somewhere between conscious and subconscious usurped the mind, not subconscious for I was aware of it, not conscious for I had no control of it, strange level of consciousness that uttered obscenities and heresies.

  “Stop.”

  But on it went. Set up interference, by rambling in my conscious mind, alleviating the pressure and finally it ceased. Was madness, was on the brink of insanity. Tempted to go beyond and deny all responsibility. Stopped by something I didn’t know but just a bit more promised success and I sucked hard. A fine crystal awaiting a pure sweet note to shatter me into a million pieces, but it passed, resolving into euphoria.

  “Say what is this?”

  “Hashish, hash, fun toying with insanity isn’t it?”

  He’d been there too.

  We returned to get our coats. The dance was breaking up and couples stood around planning their parties.

  “Hey Georgie, see you at the party.”

  Nodded amiably, no longer could they take anything from me, triumph I’d secured deep inside me.

  “Come on Cain, my car’s around the corner.”

  A foreign-made sports convertible. Though cold, we put the top down, warm in a drug stupor. Speeding through Central Park, empty at the late hour, wind snatching at hair and face. Racing through it, laughter leaving us bubbling, light. Red lights passed in rapid succession. How fast, 100, 110, 120 and blackness flying by. Heard them coming, sirens wailing, telling us to stop.

  “Let’s run them.” Made the turn at 59th Street. There were two of them distant fading into night.

  “Let’s stop and wait for them to catch up.”

  They came hurtling round the corner, braking, spotting our lights, pulled up on the grass. “Sonofabitch, what the hell you doing, trying to kill somebody?”

  Came near, metal shining, badges, guns, visored helmets, stormtrooper stride, silly looking. Unable to contain our laughter.

  “Young punks, let me see your license and registration. Speeding, passing a red light.”

  “They ain’t got no alcohol in the car. Here, hope you two smart bastards kill yourselves.”

  Laughing, exited on Central Park South going east.

  First party was on Sutton Place overlooking the East River. A dark apartment, music, reefer passing round. Greeted by an unseen host and introduced to a hundred faceless people. Separating sexes by sound and touch. They couldn’t see me. Light, wanted light so they could see me. Triumph stolen into darkness. Held someone close, female breasts stabbing, pelvis extended, dry fuck, whisper in ear, moist tongue, frantic words, hot breath, her shuddering, shaking, moaning, coming in her clothes, sweet scent rising to my nose. Leave her to find another, groping, feeling my partner race in me for a moment, discharge and go find another. A merry-go-round, exhausting, wasting myself in hurried love affairs abridged to a dry fuck, lasting long as a three-minute record.

  We left the party and returned to Central Park South, smoking hash and caught up in senseless giggling jags. Silly, unable to stop. Entering the building, rode an elevator to the top of the world. Heard a band playing soulless music for dead people. A penthouse, occupying the entire floor. Full of beautiful people in beautiful clothes.

  “George Cain, you made it, everybody look who’s here.”

  Eyes of all those beautiful people fell on me, adoring, swarming about to touch, speak with me. Was I real, it real? Now seeming fantasy, but then too it was fantasy. Beautiful and inviting, waiting for me to arrive and take my place in it. Joan came to me from out of their many faces, her beauty demanded acknowledgment.

  “So you’re Georgie Cain, have heard lots about you from my brother, saw you play tonight, you were beautiful.”

  Stood agape while she rambled on, her brother was someone or other I went to school with. Laughter, her beautiful laugh, how easy it had been, sophisticated children playing adults.

  “Have a drink.” A drink I didn’t need, thinking it would sicken me, but took it obediently.

  “Have you ever seen the city from this high up? Come see.”

  How high up were we? How high is high? Saw the city for the first time, not looking up to it, a part of it, one of the silhouettes in a window I’d seen so many times from the ground below.

  Central Park stretched below, patched and illumined green by streetlamps. The duck pond mirrored the night moon, water, light-streaked reservoir further up, the castle, the black wall bordering 110th Street. Had I seen all those things in the dark or put them there from memory? Didn’t care. High above pedestrian noises, traffic, time had stopped. Unhearing noise at my back, her breathing, unaware of all presence except myself and the city below. Nodded dumbly to her queries trying to prolong the moment. Then it happened, could see that part of the city where I came from, opening, black, filthy smelling. A cavernous mouth, dark mystery, its red garish lights, a tongue stretched through darkness coming near. Paralyzed with fear stood awaiting it. From the monster throat, beautiful music, bewitching. Sirens singing and calling to me. From deeper down in its belly came familiar voices, my mother, father, Nana, Aunt, Nandy, calling me.

  It was gone, receding into night.

  “It’s pretty isn’t it?”

  Stammered something and turned to hide my face.

  “Would you take me home?”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “Mine is downstairs.”

  “Don’t know how to drive.”

  “I don’t make it a habit to ask people to take me home. This is the first time.”

  “No, you don’t understand, I want to, but really I’ve never driven a car.”

  “Well come on I’ll show you.”

  Looked for Bennet to tell him not to wait and left with her. Felt uncomfortable being piloted through dark streets by the competent young girl, wondering how the evening would end, goodnight kiss, handshake, plain good night. Aware of our closeness, narcotic-heightened sensibility, heat stifling me in the close vehicle.

  “Come up for a while.”

  A quiet building like some inner sanctum, pharaoh’s crypt, unlike the noise-filled places in which I’d lived. Walked lightly, tipping.

  “Why are you walking so, there’s nobody here, my parents are away for a while, it’s the maid’s night out. Here, give me your coat.”

  Stood in the living room afraid to sit, afraid to break something with my huge frame. Furniture so fine, thought it ornamental rather than functional. She found me standing when she returned. “Sit down and I’ll make something to drink.”

  Watched her move through the place. She was bred to this life, while I had only recently arrived. She shuffled through a pile of records choosing one, then sat me down. Silent, not knowing what to say to each other. Sipping drinks, our silence threatening eternity.

  “Why are you so quiet George? Other fellows I know chatter away, telling about their petty triumphs and c
onceits. You seem reserved, older. This your first year at Brey? Where did you go before? Public school, what was it like?”

  In the telling of it all our adult sophistication vanished, and reduced to the children we were, we abandoned ourselves to laughter and silliness. Alcohol made us giddy. Holding hands, looked into each other’s faces, kissing, clinching, baiting passion, enjoying restraint.

  It might have come through a door or open window, so suddenly was it upon me. Felt it moving urgently through me, filling me with lust. Heat, stifling, tore at each other, saying the crazy words, wanting and not wanting her in the same instant. Her feeble protest only adding to the frenzy. Took her clothes off her and her shut legs came apart. I entered. Tearing and ripping through virgin membrane, her screaming in my ears, biting and snorting. Crying, then wanting it, begging me. Coming, coming then gone. Resting my head on her stomach, soft hair, flesh of underbelly, coarse pubic hair. Saw the virgin’s blood dripping and drying between her legs. Thanking me. Felt it rise in me so many times that long night. A strange lovemaking, all pain, biting and claws, sleep came easily.

  Waking and still high, looked on her ashamed of what had been done, of my nudity. Washing, saw myself and felt violated, vilified. Unworthy of Nandy. The things we’d said and done. Felt filthy, covered with slime, wanting to tear my skin and bleed it from me. Had to get away from her, into the air, away from her. Grabbed up clothes, running. She hung on me as I tried to escape. Asking a woman’s insanities. Did I love her? Answering, yes, yes, yes to anything, just wanting to get away. Frightened I ran, walked, ran again till I was exhausted. Stopped, looking about. Lost—where was I? Recognition came slowly, it was Harlem. Standing across from the church I hadn’t entered since Granny had died in the fire. Went in. At the altar, there was a resurrection in me of things thought long dead and forgotten, the warm yellow-colored love. Fell on my knees, raving forgotten prayers to statued Christs. Seeking absolution, heard myself, sounding odd, like young Georgie. Walked into black streets, crowded with people, feeling their number and movement in my gut.