by Daniel Black
Lazarus, oh, Lazarus! Don’t give up, dear Lazarus!
And what of his family beneath the bridge? Had he loved them equitably? Did Legion, for instance, know of Lazarus’s adoration for Elisha? Had Lazarus respected Cinderella’s heart, although he couldn’t return her affection? Did The Comforter know how much he appreciated her spiritual covering? He’d tried to love them all, to fill holes and gaps left by careless others, but perhaps somewhere he’d failed. Perhaps his distribution of compassion wasn’t as balanced, as righteous, as he’d believed. What if this whole ordeal was God’s way of punishing him for having been a poor steward of the human heart? He didn’t actually believe it, but, locked away from life as he knew it, he considered even the illogical and irrational as explanations for his condition.
Moses interrupted with, “They’ll ruin you if you let them. I’m telling you. That’s their job. Always has been.”
Lazarus searched Moses’s eyes.
“It’s true. Police ain’t nothin’ but modern-day slave catchers. You know that, right?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, come on, man! Slave catchin’ was big business a century ago. When slavery ended, those same muthafuckas who were chasin’ black people got hired to police them.”
Lazarus’s brow furrowed.
“You didn’t know that, man? Shit! You better read your history! America ain’t playin’ with niggas. You see where we at now, don’t you? Don’t be naïve, brotha Lazarus. All our sons are locked up—just like their fathers were one hundred and fifty years ago. Don’t you see it? Don’t tell me you’re one of these Negroes who think we’re in prison because we triflin’ people.”
That’s precisely what Lazarus once thought, although now the notion seemed preposterous. “Naw, I ain’t that dumb.”
Moses’s eyes rolled, relieved. “Good. ’Cause if you believed that, how would you explain your presence here? You ain’t on drugs, you ain’t robbed nobody; you wouldn’t hurt a flea. I know that. Nothin’ but innocence in your eyes. I told you that before. But here you are, like the rest of us, waiting for some stranger to decide your fate. You probably don’t even have a record, do you?”
He shook his head.
“I know you don’t! You ain’t no criminal, man! I know what a criminal looks like! But you still here. ’Cause you black.”
Without counterargument, Lazarus felt unintelligent. He most certainly had held black men responsible for their own incarceration—until the day he became one of them. Now he felt selfish for thinking his imprisonment exceptional. He knew better. A quick glance around convinced him that several other inmates, like himself, were perfectly sound men who obviously had gotten consumed by something extraneous. Still they became the perfect scapegoat.
“So chill out, brother Lazarus, and keep a steady head. They want you to go crazy. They’re waiting for it. But don’t give in to ’em. A sane black man under pressure fucks with their heads.” Moses nodded slowly. “Like I said, they been tryin’ to break us from the beginning. They got most brothas. Don’t let ’em get you.”
Lazarus thought Moses sounded like Granddaddy. Moses even touched Lazarus’s knee in Granddaddy’s way, assuring him that if he heeded wisdom everything would be okay. Lazarus felt better. Fear still lurked in his heart, but he was determined to outsmart his enemies—now that he knew who they were.
Chapter 19
Aaron’s Mercedes looked abandoned. It sat, brooding, at the end of the dead-end street, barely visible to the searching eye. There were no lights, no life, no energy around it. Only expectation of something Legion couldn’t give. The closer e got, the more convinced e became that this was a bad idea. Even their usual exchange was now repulsive. Yet what could e do? Where else could e go? Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.
Without sign or warning, Legion opened the passenger door and got in. Aaron was crying. Instinctively Legion reached to touch him, but Aaron recoiled. “I’m fine.” He sighed deeply, with the weight of regret, and reached across Legion’s lap to retrieve a napkin from the glove compartment. After blowing his nose, he added, “Life’s a bitch, man.”
Too off guard to respond, Legion simply nodded.
“I’m sorry. This has nothing to do with you. Not directly. I just got overwhelmed. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“No problem.” Legion stared at the floorboard to avoid Aaron’s pleading eyes. E despised moments like this.
“I shouldn’t have married her.”
Well, of course you shouldn’t have! What asshole in his right mind marries a woman while thinking about a man? But Legion didn’t say this.
“I only did it because I couldn’t have you.”
I don’t need this shit tonight.
“Worst part about it, you don’t even want me.”
“All I want is you.”
It came out before Legion could stop it. It had been a thought initially, a painful, disobedient thought, but then it demanded audibility. Now e’d have to say more, much more, than e’d ever wanted to say.
Aaron stared, waiting.
“I mean … why you think I keep coming back?” Damn! That’s not what I want to say, either.
“I don’t know, but last night you acted like I was some stranger you’d never met before.”
Legion covered es eyes and exhaled. “This is not easy for me … Aaron.” The name felt sweet and possessive to es tongue. E knew, with each word, e was tumbling deeper into an abyss from which there was no escape. “I’m not what you think I am.”
“Then what the hell are you?”
I’m a freak! A fuckin’ freak! he almost screamed, but remembered suddenly why e was there. “I’m … scared of us.”
Aaron’s expression softened. He massaged Legion’s thigh. “I am, too.”
Legion relaxed a bit. “We can’t have a life together. Not me and you.”
“Why not?” Aaron whined.
“Because I can’t be your secret. I’m not willing to be. And you can’t live your truth. Right?”
Aaron sighed. “Not yet.”
“Right. So until then, we’ll have to keep what we have. Just as it is. Maybe one day things’ll change.”
They read each other’s eyes. One set said, Please don’t go; the other said, I only wish I could stay.
“It will,” Aaron said.
A glimmer of moonlight shone through the windshield, inviting Legion’s heart to dream. It saw romantic picnics in the park, just the two of them, laughing and touching playfully, sauntering, hand in hand, before domesticated ducks vying for the few precious bread crumbs lovers yield. It envisioned weddings and anniversaries complete with family and friends who testified about the power of this strange, unorthodox love. And it fantasized about two black people—a man and a half man—intertwined in each other’s arms, reclined on a den sofa, watching Casablanca or Uptown Saturday Night. Legion almost let es heart slip away but then remembered who e was.
“Will you help my father? Please?”
Aaron removed his hand from Legion’s thigh and relaxed into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t promise anything.”
“Whatever you can do is fine. I really appreciate it. And I’m gonna pay you in cash. Not like this.”
“Whatever you say. But the two have nothing to do with each other. That’s that and this is this.”
“Okay.”
After a brief pause, Aaron asked, “What’s his name?”
“Lazarus Love.”
“Has there been a hearing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he get bail?”
Legion shrugged.
“Okay. I’ll check into it. See what I can find out.”
Legion felt compelled to ask, “Why have you decided to help me?”
Aaron chuckled. “I don’t know. Because I’m an optimist, I guess. Plus, your face lights up every time you ask.”
“Lights up how?”
Aaron smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe it�
�s the look of desperation. Or admiration. Your forehead wrinkles and your eyes water. You obviously love him.”
Legion couldn’t deny it. “I do. And I need him. There’s no doubt about that. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“That’s certainly more than I can say about my father. He’s not a bad man; he just doesn’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“What being a father means. He never really wanted kids. Just had ’em ’cause he was supposed to. I think he wanted his name to live forever. That’s what he wanted. He didn’t want a wife, either, but back then that’s what you did. So after the wife and kids he went off every day and did what the fuck he wanted.”
Hurt burdened Aaron’s voice. Legion redirected things. “Do you have kids?”
Aaron turned, stunned. “One. A son. He’s fourteen.”
The obvious question—did you marry his mother, then leave her, too?—might’ve upset him and caused him to retract his offer, so Legion returned to the original subject. “You believe in the future, huh?”
Aaron smiled brightly. “Absolutely. It’s all we have. It’s simply the harvest of what we planted yesterday. That’s how I see it.”
Legion nodded. While e agreed, es hope was in the present. That’s as far as e could see, which meant it was all e could hope for.
“What’s a lawyer like you make?”
At first, Aaron didn’t answer. Then he said, “Depends. But I do pretty good.”
That meant he was rich, Legion assumed, as if e didn’t already know.
“Most times it’s around five hundred dollars an hour.”
What the hell! “Really? Oh, okay.”
“We’ll talk money later. After I get a feel for the case.”
“All right.”
“Anything I should know about him? Your father, I mean?”
Legion still trembled from Aaron’s hourly wage. “I don’t think so. He’s a great man, though. Loves people. Give anybody the shirt off his back. Best person I’ve ever known.”
“What about your mother? Are your parents still together?”
“Nope. Divorced years ago. She’s out of the picture.”
Aaron took the hint. “I’ll get to him sometime next week.”
Legion squirmed. “Um … could you do it anytime sooner? It’s just that he’s really in trouble and ain’t got time to spare. No telling what they’re doing to him in jail. I know I don’t have the right to ask, especially since I’ve not given you a dime, but I got a feelin’ we can’t wait.”
Aaron stared into the night. He appeared irritated. “It just never stops, huh? You get everything you want while I have to beg simply to see you from one day to the next?”
“You don’t have to beg. I’m not going anywhere. If things were different, if I were different, this would be a whole other story.”
He frowned. “You keep making these vague statements that don’t make any sense!”
“I know. But trust me. I like you. I like you a lot. And you like me—the me you know—so let’s just take it slow and see where it goes.”
Aaron huffed and peered harder into the dark. Then he turned and offered a smile so fake Legion shuddered with guilt. “I’m the optimist, right?” he said.
Legion reached for the door handle. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Aaron nodded. “Actually, you can.”
That sick feeling overcame em. E closed the door softly and lowered his head.
“Oh no. I don’t mean that. I mean you’ll get the chance to show your appreciation later. In some other way. That’s how the universe works. It’s karma. I believe in karma. Do you?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Then no worries. Let’s let the cosmos do its work.”
Legion didn’t know the word cosmos, much less its meaning, but he said, “Okay” anyway.
Aaron started the engine. “Guess it has to be this way. At least for now.”
“Guess so,” Legion said, then exited and walked to the driver’s side.
“Then tomorrow night?” Aaron asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
The black Mercedes crept away. Legion gave thanks that, somehow, this time, e’d gotten what e needed without having to swallow Aaron’s desire. Perhaps things were looking up for a change.
Chapter 20
These midnight meetings became rituals of exchange and yearning. Aaron often whispered of private hurts and longings, dimensions of himself Legion had hoped never to know. They only made es struggle for distance and safety impossible. With each moon, the two became closer, more intimately connected, until both possessed pieces of the other’s heart they could not return. Aaron still gave money, which Legion used to maintain the family, and Legion performed, on either his knees or his back, reciprocal duties with gracious disgust. An air of bondage enshrouded their freedom, like a thousand-acre reserve surrounded by a fence, and although each considered the price of the barter, swearing with the rising sun they wanted out, neither could afford the other’s absence. Unknowingly they satisfied cravings and appetites previously unacknowledged, and experienced themselves in naked liberty once deemed unthinkable.
Who initiated the color game neither remembered, but both participated. One would ask, before the night was done, “What’s the color for today?” and the other would announce it and explain why. After orange, blue, red, white, and green were used, more complicated colors and explanations issued forth, as if each color represented a new dimension or, perhaps, a new vulnerability they were now prepared to share. Magenta, amber, cerulean, beryl, most of which Aaron introduced, exposed narrow protected corners of es consciousness that no scrutinizing eye had ever beheld. The colors, and sometimes color combinations, described not how the lovers felt but how they interpreted their feelings, refashioning life in terms they could live with. When either had had a tough day, for instance, they’d declare some bold brilliant color of choice—“Bronze!” “Gold!” “Crimson!”—and, in explanation, drop the weight of disappointment and sadness. Dark hues, however, meant solemnity, regularity, mere survival. The color game was a fortress behind which each remolded his fears. It was how they learned to dream again, both of them, dancing and playing in their heads with possibilities far beyond this world.
One night, a week later, Legion slithered into the car and murmured, “Hey.” Aaron extended no greeting. He nodded slightly instead and said, “Fifty thousand dollars.”
Legion gasped.
“I have to pay my assistants, and I have to have them. There’s no way I can do this case all by myself.”
Legion didn’t argue. His face was a slate of stone. “I’ll get it.”
“How? Where in the world can you get that kind of money?”
E had no idea, but e repeated, “I’ll get it. I promise I will.”
“Okay. And let’s be clear about a few things: you don’t know me publically, and I don’t know you. We’re total strangers to the world…”
“That’s fine.” It was also true, Legion thought.
“… and you’re never to mention my name to anyone. Anywhere. Anytime.”
“Okay. No problem.”
“And if you get the money, pay me in cash only.”
“When I get it,” Legion emphasized.
“Okay. Fine. When you get it,” Aaron surrendered. “But this”—he pointed to himself, to Legion, and back—“is strictly between us. I’m only doing this because—”
Legion touched his hand.
“—I like you so much.”
“I like you, too. Thank you.”
Their lips met, and one thing led to another until, once again, Legion found himself upon es knees. Yet this time it wasn’t Aaron’s yearning but Legion’s own that motivated em. This was gratitude, Legion believed, until e found the money to free Lazarus—and hopefully emself.
Chapter 21
It took several days for Cinderella to amass enough vagabonds to stage a protest. One black woman stood among them,
but Cinderella had been intentional about assembling whites since, from her experience before the precinct, she knew that police didn’t beat white flesh, especially women. She despised this truth, but she couldn’t deny it. It left her embarrassed and ashamed of America, but what could she do? She had no hope alone of altering things, so Cinderella thought to use the social imbalance to Lazarus’s advantage. At least she hoped it would work that way.
Ten derelicts met in the open space beneath the intersection of I-20 and I-75, just yards from The Upper Room. They gathered at dawn on a clear Sunday morning with hopes, perhaps, that God might join them and bless their risky efforts. There were eight white women, one white man, and a black woman. Cinderella had met the women at a women’s shelter, years prior, where she’d volunteered to lead a mandatory weekly discussion of issues affecting indigent women and children. At first the meetings felt like torture exchanged for subpar food and shelter, but once Cinderella took over, having convinced officials that women needed a woman to lead them, discussions evolved into healing sessions, which, soon, women refused to miss. Even a few men—those who’d gained respect for women’s stories—heard about the meetings and came. The white man among them now was one such man. He’d been moved—that was his word—by the way women saw the world and the violence governing their daily lives, and he’d wanted to help. They told him his very presence healed, so he became a regular. Each woman, following Cinderella’s example, shared a story, detail by horrific detail, until all hearts lay bare. Sometimes they wept, other times they smiled, but never did they laugh. Humor found no place alongside such unspeakable pain. It sat among them, Pain did, proud and grand, antagonizing each woman and robbing her of joys others take for granted. There were too many testimonies of rape and molestation, too many scars from physical confrontations, too many battles with addictions they should never have known, for women to find anything funny. The value of the sessions wasn’t sharing alone, however; it was being taken seriously that women enjoyed, speaking their fullest truth without being pitied or dismissed as dramatic. Some sessions lasted far into the night without a single person leaving. And it was all because of Cinderella. They loved her and trusted her and believed her when she said their future would be greater than their past. She wasn’t a fine spokeswoman or even a motivational speaker, but she was definitely genuine and that’s what they’d needed—someone who believed they had a heart and cared to know its contents. They never forgot her. When she left, they promised to come right away, without hesitation or questions, if ever she needed them. So the day Cinderella gathered cardboard boxes and sticks, she left word at women’s shelters across the city that she was in trouble and needed assistance. Several she’d saved, or at least soothed, gave thanks for the opportunity to reciprocate and met her at the designated place and time. They rejoiced in the reunion.