by Daniel Black
When he left, Junior’s only promise was that the boy could return. He saw the sparkle in the old man’s eye when he held the child, and Junior knew Lazarus I would never beat him. That’s what hurt Junior most—that, as the son, he’d never elicited his father’s joy. Of course it was too late now. Yet, for some reason, perhaps because he couldn’t stop loving Lazarus I, Junior sent his son every summer to let them live out his dream. Zeporah begged Junior to go along, to take his son home and salvage what he could with his father, but Junior refused. He couldn’t bear watching his father love his grandson without ever having loved him.
No one told Trey any of this. It would’ve ruined his adoration for a man he thought divine, Junior believed, so he held his tongue in order that his son, at least in his mind, might have someone perfect and untainted.
Pacing the jailhouse floor, Lazarus contemplated how he might honor the lesson of the lambs. Had he known his father’s number Lazarus would’ve called, but of course he didn’t. And had he believed Quad forgave him he might’ve summoned him back, but of course he didn’t. And had he trusted himself he might’ve dismissed all guilt from his heart, but of course he didn’t. He wasn’t sure of anything, especially his own decisions. So with no other option, he decided to speak aloud what he’d carried a lifetime: “Daddy, I don’t really know what to say. I shouldn’t’ve given up on you. That’s enough to make a man quit fighting. I see that now. I don’t care if you clean or not. Well, I do care, but I love you either way.” He shrugged. “You’re my father. You gave me life. No one else can say that. I wish I knew what happened between you and Granddaddy, but I’ll probably never know. It doesn’t really matter now anyway. What matters is that you know I never stopped thinking about you.” He swallowed hard. “Or loving you.” Lazarus looked toward the ceiling. “Every kid is mad at a father who won’t come home. That’s all a kid really wants—a father who’ll come home.” Several inmates backed away as if Lazarus’s mumbling unsettled them. “I see now that something drove you to drugs. You didn’t want them. Nobody wants them. I just wish I knew what it was.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for judging you. I just didn’t know what else to do. Maybe Granddaddy judged you, too.” Again, he glanced upward.
This time he saw the lambs. Angelic, majestic, resplendent. Just above his head in a woolen halo of glory. And the black sheep was among them. They pranced about sweetly, celebrating Lazarus’s revelation and applauding his newfound sight. They met in the ether the moment he began to speak, and when he privileged his father’s needs above his own they assembled like residents of The Upper Room and agreed that the time of resurrection had come. As a cloud of witnesses they danced for unborn generations and created a firmament of healing for future fathers and sons. These were the lambs. God’s earthly messengers. And Trey saw them now, suspended midair, excited about something as yet undone. Granddaddy had heard the lambs, but he had not listened. Trey would have to listen and obey if he wanted his freedom. And that of the family.
With the message conveyed, the lambs vanished, one by one. Only the black lamb was left rejoicing.
Chapter 24
When Quad arrived home later, he found, among miscellaneous bills and wax paper coupons, another envelope addressed with the same sleek, meticulous penmanship. Without hesitation, he opened it and sat upon a barstool as he read: The gift of God is forgiveness. You must go to your father again. He has prepared the way. You do not know what you think you know. Love suffers long and is kind. And, above all, remember that you, too, are a Lazarus. He blinked slowly, then beheld the final line: There shall be glory after this! He read the sentence until it reverberated in his mind. He looked around. Who was this woman? It had to be a woman. No man wrote like that. But where did she come from? How did she know him? Quad tapped the island countertop. He hated most that these notes moved him, that he had no choice but to take them seriously. It was as if they’d come straight from God, and if his mother had taught him nothing else, she’d taught him to fear God. But hadn’t he already said everything he’d needed to say?
At nine fifteen the next morning, Quad sat waiting, once again, in the visitors’ room of the Fulton County Jail. When Lazarus appeared, they skipped formalities and sat just as before on opposite sides of a long fold-up table. Neither looked at the other.
“I need a favor, Son. It’s very important.”
Quad grunted, “Huh? You need a favor? From me? Are you serious?”
Lazarus paused. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but—”
“No, you don’t.”
“—I’m going to anyway.”
“What is it?”
Lazarus peered into his son’s unforgiving eyes. “Find my father.”
“What? I’ve never seen the man!”
“I know, I know, but this is important. Find him.”
“Where?”
“New York. New York City.”
Quad chuckled. “How in the world am I—”
“The last address I had for him was in your mother’s phone book. She might still have it. Maybe he’s still there.”
“Maybe he isn’t.”
“Maybe not. But it’s worth trying. I need you to do this for me. For us.”
“For us?” Quad mocked, pointing back and forth. “You and me?”
“Yes, us. You don’t understand it now, but one day you will. And you’ll be glad about it.”
“I’ll be glad that my father, who left me, sent me to find his father, who left him?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Son. I never left you. I guess he never left me, either.”
“I know what I felt, Dad, and it didn’t feel like you were there for me.”
“I know, Son, I know, but trust me, you’ll understand all of this one day. Sometimes a man loves others so hard he moves out of their lives so he won’t hinder them.” Lazarus shook his head. “It’ll all make sense soon enough. Everything I did was for you.”
“What! How the hell could that be true?”
“It is.” Lazarus nodded steadily. “I’m telling you … it is.”
Quad shrugged and asked, “What am I supposed to do with the address, even if Mom still has it?”
“Write him. Tell him what’s happened. Tell him who you are. Or maybe just call. She might still have the number, too.”
This is bullshit, Quad thought.
“I can’t explain it now, but it’ll mean everything to you later.”
“Why not ask Lizzie? You know how she is. She’d do anything for you.”
Lazarus ignored the jab. “No. It’s gotta be you. No one but you.”
“Why?”
“Just find him, Son. Please. It’s all I’m asking of you.”
An officer accompanied Lazarus back to his holding cell, where he prayed and waited.
Chapter 25
Come Friday evening, The Family gathered in The Upper Room. Dusk lingered in purple, blue, and magenta. Everyone lounged, exhausted. The Comforter opened with prayer, which others only half-heard, then said, “We cannot give up now, children. Our time is almost nigh.”
“It’s sure taking a while!” Legion mumbled sarcastically. Elisha and Cinderella nodded.
“The bail has been set,” The Comforter said. “They’re asking for two hundred thousand dollars.”
“What? Damn! That’s crazy!” Legion said.
Elisha exhaled and collapsed backward upon Lazarus’s bed. Cinderella, sitting next to him, closed her eyes for several seconds to keep from crying.
“This whole situation’s fucked up!” Legion shouted, pounding es right fist into es left palm. “How you just take a man off the streets and blame him for murder? Huh? How you do that?”
No one responded.
“Then you ask him to come up with money to be free again? That shit is crazy!”
“Don’t make yourself upset, Legion,” Cinderella said. “We gotta keep cool.”
“I been upset! From the beginning of this bullshit I was upse
t, and I’m gon’ stay upset till Lazarus comes home!” E stomped a short distance away, then, with es back to the family, stopped abruptly. Within seconds e had returned.
“Stay on the battlefield, soldiers,” The Comforter encouraged. “We shall not lose this war.”
“I’m just tired,” Cinderella confessed. “Every day, marching and shouting and hoping it matters. I guess you can never know.”
Elisha leaned up and whispered, “We always know. Love always matters.” His enormous hand rubbed the center of her back and provided masculine comfort she’d almost forgotten.
Vehicles zoomed above, causing the freeway to bounce like a trampoline. Drivers never knew that, just a realm beneath them, mere inches under their feet, angels huddled in uncertainty. Tired, frustrated, homeless angels who, today, contemplated the surrender of their wings.
“Something’s gotta happen,” Cinderella said.
The Comforter lifted her hands. “It will. It will! If we faint not.”
Each looked in a different direction. Faith sat among them, weary and worn, yet full of expectation.
The Comforter sang, “Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt land! Tell ole Pharaoh to let my people go!” Wind bursts came from the east. She gathered the shawl about her shoulders. The others watched as the universe answered her beckoning: “When Israel was in Egypt’s land,” the others responded, in three different keys, “Let my people go! Oppressed so hard they could not stand, let my people go!”
Thunder growled in the distance. Lightning flashed across the sky. Then came the rain. It fell suddenly, in heavenly torrents, as if pouring from a rushing fountain. Slowly, subconsciously, The Family inched closer together until, like a band of fugitive slaves, they sat clustered upon Lazarus’s blue comforter. All except The Comforter. She stood several feet away, white garments waving in the wind, with her hands moving back and forth before her. If The Family hadn’t known better, they might’ve believed she governed the wind and rain itself. Sheltered beneath the overpass, she paced carefully, like one gliding across water, and continued singing about a man named Moses who was sent to set a people free. By the end of the song, she was an octave higher than she’d begun, and rain sheets fell so thick and heavy Legion glared into the sky. The Upper Room remained dry in the midst of the storm, except for a few stray droplets that seeped through cracks and crevices from above. Otherwise, the place was an arid sanctuary, impenetrable by the elements, a gift to Lazarus and his people who simply wanted to live and love freely.
“Let my people go! Let my people go!” The Comforter repeated the refrain, softer and softer, until the melody faded away. Step by microscopic step, she moved and joined the huddle as lightning cracked dusky skies. It must have been an hour before she exhaled deeply and dark clouds retreated. The Family lifted their heads as if having been in prayer.
“We need to get him home,” Legion huffed. “Now.”
Elisha stood. “I’ll get him home. I know what to do.” He began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” they asked in chorus.
Over his shoulder, he said softly, “To get what someone owes me.”
* * *
Blades of grass appear identical until examined closely. Each actually has its own shape, size, and color, distinguishable only by the observant eye. Elisha felt stupid for having not noticed this before. He sat at the rotunda in Piedmont Park, playing with leaves of grass he’d exhumed along the way, trying to be certain of what he was about to do. Of course Lazarus was worth it. That wasn’t the issue. But this would cost Elisha everything. Everything! His future, his past, his dreams. Everything. There would be no modeling career after this, no headstone for his mother’s grave, no house into which The Family could move and be spared scrutinizing eyes. Nothing. He’d be right back where he started. Yet Lazarus would be free, and that’s what Elisha wanted most.
He couldn’t help but think of himself as selfish for hesitating. After all, shouldn’t he just do it and never look back? Wasn’t that what people did for those they love? Give everything and never look back?
He’d ask Harriet to help him. She’d know what to do. It was funny, he thought, that just when things were looking up something happened to destroy his hope. He’d imagined exactly what he’d do with the house. He’d fix it up, with money from a small portion of the land, and move The Family in. There were three bedrooms, if he remembered correctly, and although that was rather small, they could easily add on. In the front yard there’d be a small flower garden, which would greet visitors upon arrival, and on the porch there’d be a lovers’ swing for lounging evenings away. The living room would be plastered with pictures of each of them and, perhaps, even a family portrait might hang in the center of the main wall. Instead of soiled-brown-paper-bag dinners, they’d have home-cooked meals with real vegetables and fresh meat that no one else had bitten. Of course Legion’s occasional meals came fresh and untouched, but they didn’t come often. At the new house, which was his old house, they’d eat like human beings. They’d work and contribute to the maintenance of the house because then, with an address, they could secure real jobs and stop wondering where their next meal would come from. This had been the plan. Elisha hadn’t shared it with the others yet, though. He’d wanted to surprise them after all renovations were complete and five brand-new keys made. But now there would be no surprise. No house, no land, no family portrait. No need for keys. Nothing.
Leaning over the edge of the round pavilion, Elisha tossed pebbles into the green, murky water and watched his vision fade. He’d wanted it more for them than himself. He knew how to live in his dreams, to construct a whole universe in the top of his head, then live there as long as he needed. He’d done it since he was a kid. But the others deserved a real life of comfort, he thought, in exchange for what they’d been through. Legion should know the joy of a room all his own, one with his name above the door, where no one could enter without his permission. Cinderella’s love and sweetness had earned her the right to beautify a home, then live in it. She could put her sparkling red shoes in a real closet, where they belonged, and buy a few more if she wanted. Like other men, Lazarus deserved a porch—a rocking chair, too!—where, on bright Sunday mornings, he could read the The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The New Yorker, and whatever books he desired. After all, he was the king, the Great Lazarus, as far as Elisha was concerned, and he should be rewarded for loving and protecting each member of The Family. Exactly what had happened with his first family Elisha didn’t know, but they would be welcomed, too, if they cared to come. Of course The Comforter had no earthly home, but at least she could enjoy a resting station where her spirit had no boundaries and her flesh could rejuvenate. She and Lazarus could sit together on the porch, sniffing fragrances in springtime, and talking and laughing about the wonders of a gracious God Who was simply waiting to see how far people would go to fix the world before He/She finished the job. It would be marvelous—the house and the people in it. Or, rather, now, it would have been.
Darkness came quickly. Sex-starved men lurked behind trees and bushes, waiting for another desperate soul to meet their need. Elisha usually had no interest in such an exchange, although he knew desperation intimately, but that night, after deciding to sacrifice everything he’d ever hoped for, he needed to be touched, held, caressed, assured that he was doing the right thing. Anyone would do. He wasn’t attracted to men, but in the midst of need what difference did that make? If there were a woman somewhere in the shadows, he’d take her and they could have their way. But he didn’t see any women. It didn’t matter anyway. He didn’t want a person; he wanted a body, a human form that could massage his vulnerability and restore his confidence before the sun rose again. So he left the pavilion and walked deeper into the park, where thick clusters of trees forbade the penetration of light, and followed moving shadows and figures beckoning him onward. Faces were indistinguishable, but motives were obvious as distant grunts and moans confirmed that someone had found what he was lo
oking for. Elisha plowed deeper, deeper still, into the forest, feeling his way with outstretched hands, praying that wild things had been frightened away. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, a touch. He froze and turned. A form, almost his height, stood before him. He should’ve been afraid, but curiosity curtailed fear. The man said nothing. He reached and touched Elisha’s chest sensually, lovingly, and Elisha placed his own hand over the man’s hand as if to thank him for his willing gesture. Elisha had never done this before, in a black hole in the thickets of Piedmont Park, but he didn’t want to stop. With his free hand, Elisha touched the man, too: first the side of his face, then his neck, chest, arms, stomach, until his belt blocked lower movement. With both hands, the man unbuttoned Elisha’s shirt and kissed his nipples with the tenderness of newborn babes. Elisha’s breath became unstable. He looked around to make sure they were alone. When the man’s tongue blazed a trail of warm saliva from the center of Elisha’s chest to his navel, Elisha clutched the sides of the man’s head and pushed it away. “No,” he whispered. The man rose and returned to Elisha’s exposed chest as if the place of touch were inconsequential. When their lips met, Elisha jerked away slightly, more from shock than disgust, then yielded and let the man’s lips engulf his own. The taste of smoke and beer lingered in the man’s mouth, but the easy movement of his tongue allowed Elisha to tolerate an otherwise disgusting flavor. However, it was the man’s full embrace that melted Elisha, the enclosure of his strong arms around Elisha’s slender frame. He returned the embrace and together they stood, topless and erect, in the womb of the forest, extracting from each other’s flesh the needs of the heart. Each man grabbed his own extension and agitated it until his need burst forth. Then, the shadow man took from his pocket wrinkled napkins, one of which he offered Elisha, and after they cleaned themselves he nodded and touched Elisha’s shoulder graciously. Within two steps, he vanished.