Bucking the Sarge

by Christopher Paul Curtis

  Strange as it might seem, if she had Mr. Baker transferred to one of her rental houses you didn’t have to be watching the Psychic Lifeline Channel to know that within a few weeks that baby would be going up like gasoline-soaked rags at a pyromaniacs’ convention.

  I followed Mr. Foster into the dayroom and knew I was right in not wasting my time looking to see what the Sarge had made that weak joke about.

  Mr. Baker had stunk the room up so bad that all of the Crew was sitting there with their eyes glued to the TV and their thumbs and pointing fingers squeezing their noses shut.

  Ha, ha, ha, big joke. “Looks like this show might have some serious quality problems.”

  As soon as he saw me, Mr. Baker threw one hand up in the air like he was halting traffic and started repeating, “What can I say, I gotta smoke.” Even he was pinching his nose closed.

  What’s the point in getting mad? Nobody else was going to clean him up, and the sooner I got him wiped down and showered the sooner this funk would leave the day-room and I could get some hours in on my science fair project, finish my homework and get me and the Crew to bed.

  I pretended this wasn’t nothing and started breathing out of my mouth so the smell wouldn’t gag me.

  “OK, Mr. Baykah, into da shower. Ged ‘em off and leab ‘em by da doe.”

  Mr. Foster said, “We want to give you our deepest and most abiding thanks for taking care of this matter, Luther.”

  Mr. Baker said, “I think a cigarette would really help me now.”

  “Not today it won’t.”

  “It would, I gotta smoke now!”

  I steered him to the bathroom.

  He knew the drill. He took all his clothes off and dropped them outside the bathroom door, then turned on the shower and adjusted it to his regular temperature, about two degrees above ice cold. As punishment at the home he’d been in before he came to me, whenever he did anything wrong they used to hose him down with freezing water. Over the years I guess he’d come to think that was what a shower was all about so he only took icy cold ones.

  He stood there shivering and goose-pimpling up with the water running over him. I set the commode seat in the shower and had him sit on it. I used the handheld hose to clean him off, had him scrub himself, then pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and picked up his pants and underpants.

  Mr. Baker said, “Call that idiot Darnell Dixon and tell him I want that cigarette he promised me.”

  “I’m not calling Darnell and you aren’t smoking anything.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, “you watch me, before this night’s through something’s gonna be smoking in this house.”

  I rinsed his pants and drawers out.

  I got Mr. Baker all cleaned up, put his clothes right in the washer, took my own shower, cleaned the stall, got the Crew’s MREs ready, fed them, cleaned up the table, put the dishes in the dishwasher, gave them their dessert, gave them their meds, put Mr. Baker’s clothes in the dryer, sprayed air freshener in the dayroom, turned on the TV, got them all settled, let them watch half an hour of TV, got them all to bed, finished my homework and my science fair project for the night, then went down to my room.

  I was being real careful around Chester X since we’d had our heart-to-heart talk. Not only because I knew he’d been awake when he should’ve been asleep, but also because I was feeling a little bad about how I’d treated him back when I thought he was out of it. It had me thinking about how I treated all of the Crew.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to a lot of different group homes and seen how bad the clients get treated, I’ve never done anything really bad to my crew, I mean I always talk to all of them like maybe there’s a chance they’re understanding what’s being said. But that was the problem, instead of acting like maybe there was a chance I should’ve been acting like they really did understand. It might not seem like much of a change, but it was.

  So I was being real careful how I talked to everybody now, especially Chester X.

  When I got into my room he was in bed with the covers tucked under his chin pretending he was null and void, just in case the Sarge was making an inspection.

  I said, “All clear, Mr. X.”

  He said, “Mr. Baker left you another surprise, that’s why I had to give up on TV.”

  I told him, “I know, I got it all taken care of.”

  He pulled the covers down and climbed out of bed. He already had the card table set up.

  This was another change since we’d had our heart-to-heart. It seemed like he thought since I knew he was aware of what was going on I had to entertain Chester X and talk to him a lot more. So me and him had been playing cards until eleven or twelve every night. Most of the time we played tunk.

  When I’d come into the basement at the end of the day he’d have the chairs and table waiting for me. In the middle of the table there’d be a deck of cards and next to where I sat he’d have my jelly jar full of quarters with the top already off. He told me that way I wouldn’t have to expend any energy constantly taking the top off every time I lost.

  On his side of the table he always started with one quarter. He said it was in case I had beginner’s luck.

  He eased himself into his spot and started shuffling the cards. For being old as he is he has real good hands when it comes to shuffling.

  “So what’s the word today, Luther?”

  “You don’t know, and you don’t want to know, Mr. X.”

  I cut the cards.

  He said, “Couldn’ta been that bad.”

  “Says who?”

  He dealt and said, “Luther, if it wasn’t for two certain women you wouldn’t have any problems, would you? Which one of them was it today?”

  “Shayla.”

  He said, “Son, I’m not one to get into your business, but why don’t you just try being nice to the girl? Why don’t you let her know how you feel? She might surprise you.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  He spread his cards and said, “Fourteen.”

  I had thirty-six. I dug two quarters out of the jar and he slid them over into his pile.

  I think he lets me win one or two out of every ten or fifteen hands just so I won’t get too discouraged and quit.

  Chester X said, “I’m serious, sounds to me like you two are trying to get a spark going but neither one of you knows how. And I’m not trying to be funny, Luther, but I think a lot of the problem is you.”

  I had to be careful. Although me and Chester X had got kind of cool I still think some of the time he was playing mind games with me and trying to distract me from my cards.

  I said, “Wha-a-a-t?” And shuffled the cards. They just wouldn’t dance in my hands the way they did in his.

  He said, “No, seriously. I just don’t think you’ve got enough self-confidence. And, Luther, I’m telling you, that’s what folks find irresistible about other folks, confidence. And don’t confuse that with cockiness, either, I’m talking about a healthy dose of self-respect and confidence.

  “Take me, for example, even though I’ve spent many years being considered pretty dapper and witty, I’ve never thought that those were the main things that kept me with a whole bevy of female company.”

  I dealt each of us five cards and pretended I was surprised. “I can’t see how they could see anything beyond your wit and your dapperness, Mr. X.”

  He said, “Scoff if you want, but I think it’s the confidence.” He winked. “Don’t take it personal, but even some of the plug-ugly fellas I knew did OK with the women if they had confidence.”

  Chester X sure does like to dis folks in his conversation, but he always smiles when he fires these shots.

  I said, “Thanks for the advice, Mr. X, but I don’t really have a problem when it comes to the honeys. It ain’t that kind of party. What I have here is a failure to communicate.” That was a line from a movie I’d just seen on the Classic Movie Channel.

  He said, “Go on, this is a good first step. Knowing you’ve got a problem, o
r as you like to call it, a failure, is the first step to solving it.” He spread the four, five, and six of hearts.

  I shook my head and said, “I saw this documentary on the Wacky World of Nature Network about animal mating rituals. It was called something like ‘Animals Are Just Like Me and You, They Like to Get Their Freak On Too’ and it was all about courtship and getting a mate, mostly with birds. It was about how the male birds have to put on what they call a courting display before the females will give them any kind of play.

  “When the male birds broke into this display thing it looked like they were throwing a fit or something. They were jerking and flapping and twitching and carrying on in a way that wouldn’t make anyone or anything think about sex. It looked like they were completely out of control, it looked like someone had just nicked them with a pellet gun.”

  I drew a card and threw out the eight of clubs. I told him, “But not to the female birds, uh-uh, they thought this bumping around was hot! But, and here’s where it ties in to me, Mr. X, it only looked like twitching to those who didn’t understand that the dancing was giving the females all kinds of signals about the male’s health and strength and how tough he was between the sheets. It was all about letting the female birds know if the male was good enough to be her baby’s daddy.”

  Chester X went down. I slid him another quarter and the deck.

  “And,” I said, “if there was one thing wrong with the way the male bird danced, if he stuck his right wing out instead of his left, or if he scratched the dirt with three toes instead of two, or if he looked north for just a second too long, that was it. The females went deep into hate-eration on him. One little step in the wrong direction or one feather out of place and she’d be through with him. He’d be dancing solo that night.”

  Chester X cleared his throat and said, “Not that there’s anything wrong with dancing solo every once in a while.”

  I wonder how long I’ma have to listen to comments like that.

  Chester X shuffled the cards so smooth it looked like they’d turned liquid and he was pouring them from one hand to the other.

  “Anyway. That’s my little difficulty, Mr. X, for some reason I can’t seem to get the real 4-1-1 about Luther T. Farrell across to Shayla. It’s like I’m kicking my toes up at the wrong time or bobbing my head to the right when I should be bobbing it to the left. I don’t know exactly what it is but it’s just one little thing, one stupid thing that has her reading me as lame.”

  Chester X dealt the cards again. I picked up my hand, it totaled twenty; most times a good low go-down number. I said, “Twenty!” And spread my cards.

  He said, “You got me,” and slid two quarters across the table to me.

  I picked up the deck and he slid his cards over to me without showing them.

  I said, “What’d you have?”

  He said, “Uh, I’m not sure.” He tried to put the cards back in the deck but I checked them anyway. He had nineteen! He’d won and was letting me take the pot!

  I said, “Aw, Mr. X, that’s so disrespectful, how you just gonna let me win like that? What’s the point in playing? I mean I know every night after you beat me you put my quarters back in the jar the next morning, but come on, at least you could front that I got a chance.”

  “Luther, I wasn’t intending to be disrespectful, it’s just that you were looking so down that I thought losing fourteen or fifteen hands in a row would’ve been a little too hard on you right now, son.

  “But doesn’t what you’re talking about with birds boil down to a lack of confidence? Aren’t you approaching that young lady with the thought that you aren’t going to do something right, that no matter what you say or do she’s going to look at it as you having your wings up instead of down?”

  I said, “It’s more complicated nowadays. It’s not like when you were young.”

  Chester X said, “I understand more than you think I do, Luther, and I understand things are pretty much exactly like they were when I was your age. Don’t you think I said those exact words you just said to me to my father? And don’t you think my father said the same thing to his father? And don’t you think my father’s father said the same things to his father?”

  I was afraid he was going to run this all the way back to Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble.

  “And I understand that it feels to you like you’re the first young man who’s ever had his nose opened up by a woman before, but, son, believe—”

  I’ve learned I have to stop Mr. X when he starts busting out these sayings from the eighteenth century. I’d let “bevy” get by, but this sounded too interesting. I said, “What’s that mean? What’s having your nose opened up by a woman mean?”

  “It means you’re so far under her spell that she can easily lead you around by the nose if she wants to.”

  “Oh.”

  He wasn’t through. He had to go and paint a clearer picture of the saying. “With the way Shayla’s got you moping and carrying on and groaning, we’d say, back in the day, that she’s got your nose so far open, Luther, that you could smell Fidel barbecuing steaks down in Havana.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Quit interrupting me, you’re throwing me off my line of thought. As I was saying, you’re not the first young man to be crushed by some sweet young girl, it happens all the time, Luther. But if you would just take stock in yourself and see what it is you’ve got going for you maybe someone else would see it too.”

  I shuffled the cards and started dealing.

  I said, “I know I’ve got a lot going for me, I don’t know anyone else in Flint who’s my age who’ve got their own ride and their own credit cards and their own—”

  Chester X slammed his hand down on the table. The pile of quarters he’d taken from me jumped up and wobbled before they settled back down. He said, “No! That’s not what I’m talking about at all! That’s your mother talking, that’s not you!”

  Ever since I’d told him we weren’t going to make a break for Florida he’d been sending little torpedoes at the Sarge to let me know how bad she was for me.

  He said, “What I’m talking about here is you, not what you have.

  “Let me tell you some of the other things I understand about you, young man. I understand the fact that you’re respectful, you’re kind, you’re considerate, you’re funny; unintentionally most of the time, but I take my laughs wherever I can get them these days.”

  He started ticking these things off on his fingers.

  “I understand how smart you are, how ambitious you are, and I also understand that while you aren’t exactly the easiest thing on the eyes, I have seen worse.” He winked and smiled, but I knew out of this whole pep talk those words would be the ones I’d remember the clearest. This was the main part that would be branded into my mind.

  He kept going. “And I also understand that the most impressive part of the whole Luther T. Farrell package is that you’ve accomplished all of this in spite of the fact that you’ve had very little positive adult influence or guidance. You’ve managed to turn yourself into a very decent human being even though, as far as I can see, you’ve used nothing but that TV in the dayroom and your own mind to do it. Your mother has been negligent in many ways.”

  There it was. Night after night the conversation always got twisted around to the Sarge and how the best thing for me to do was to run on down to Florida with him. Some of the things he said I’d have to do a little musing about, but what he didn’t understand was that Luther T. Farrell is a fighter, not a runner.

  He said, “I was watching the Sea Life Network yesterday and there was a lesson in it for you, Luther. It was about this sea slug that’s got a tiny, tiny brain that the slug uses only one time in its life. It uses it to move from where it was born to another area just a little bit away; then it anchors itself to a rock and it’ll never use that brain again. So you know what it does? It eats its own brain. It absorbs its own brain, it uses it for enough energy until it’s established in this new p
lace.

  “That’s you! If you don’t get out of here you’re going to put down roots and dissolve your brain and turn into the Sarge, Part Two.”

  I said, “Whoops! How’d I know the Sarge was going to be making a special guest appearance on this CD?”

  He laughed. “See what I mean? See how smart you are? Here I’ve been thinking I was slick and you’ve known my plan all along.”

  He slid the pile of quarters that he’d won back over to me and said, “Here, save me the trouble of putting them back in the jar in the morning.”

  I said, “That I can do, but don’t think that’s gonna get you any closer to Florida.”

  He laughed and said, “Don’t make me go to plan B on you, Mr. Man.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I was only going to tell you as a last resort, but it looks like since you’ve figured me out I’m going to have to show my hole card.”

  I said, “I can’t wait to see.”

  “Well,” Mr. X. said, “it would be a good way to demonstrate what we’ve been talking about so I’m going to go ahead and tell you.

  “I’ve been thinking it over and I’ve decided I’m going to Florida. With you or without you.”

  I said, “That sounds fair.”

  He said, “No, what’s fair is that I let you know how I’m going to get there if you don’t come.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You think I was joking about the confidence thing, don’t you? You think I was pulling your leg when I said that a man or woman with confidence is irresistible, don’t you?”

  I said, “I can’t say I thought you were joking, I was thinking you were straight-up wrong.”

  Chester X said, “Just to show you how right I am I’m going to bring this demonstration real close to home for you. Maybe a little painfully close.”

  Uh-oh.

  He smiled. “That’s right! I’ve been noticing how your momma comes in and inspects us every night before she drives back to her place. And I’ve been noticing that she looks at me a little bit differently than she looks at everyone else.”