by Daniel Black
“Not the emotional ones.”
“They’d heal, too, if we let them. We don’t want them to heal because then we’d be responsible, once again, for our own lives. The safest hiding place in the world, people think, is in the center of hurt. But it’s a crutch, Quad. And a lie, too.”
The pain around his eyes softened.
“I didn’t leave you years ago. I would never have left you. I left the life that was killing me. That was my choice. I wanted us to live differently, man. To invest in each other, not stuff. But since I couldn’t get your mother to understand, she asked me to leave. I’m not blaming things on her. She had her limitations and so did I. But I believed that, one day, you and Lizzie would see what I did and why, and you’d thank me.”
“I don’t see it, Dad.”
“I know you don’t. Not yet. But my momma used to say, ‘Keepa livin’ and you gon’ see a lotta things before it’s over.’”
Quad sighed. “I wish we could go back and start again.”
Lazarus clapped and bellowed. “Start again? From the beginning? Are you serious? No way. I wouldn’t do this life but once.”
Both men struggled in the mire of frustration. Quad had been a child the last time he and his father had had such an exchange, and now he remembered how much he’d loved Lazarus.
“I almost got married once. A few years ago.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Hell, I don’t know. We dated awhile. I liked her; she liked me. But things went sour.”
“Why?”
Quad’s cheeks filled with air, then deflated slowly. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m sure it was me, though. She kept asking me if I loved her, and I could never give a straight answer. I liked her and was willing to live with her, but I wasn’t sure if I loved her. I wasn’t sure if I loved anybody. I think she got tired of waiting. So she left.”
“Do you still think about her?”
Quad shook his head. “Haven’t thought about her since the day she left.”
“And you haven’t dated anyone else?”
“Naw, not really. I got my ‘go-to’”—he made invisible quotation marks—“women, but nothing serious.”
They shared identical chuckles that left them startled. Lazarus thought of Cinderella and wondered if she was his “go-to” woman.
“You want kids?”
“I always wanted kids. But you need a woman for that.”
Lazarus nodded and said, “Yes, you do.”
Quad stood. “You hungry? Want some coffee?”
“Coffee sounds great.”
They moved to the island near the stove, and Lazarus sat upon a nearby barstool.
Extracting a coffee can from the cabinet, Quad asked, “Were you always in love with Mom?”
Lazarus was grateful for the distraction of his son’s movement. “I don’t know about always, but I loved her. She was young and beautiful and smart, and I thought we could make a life together.”
“Well, y’all did that.”
“No, we didn’t. We lived together and made you and your sister, but we weren’t on one accord. Took me a long time to figure that out. You don’t make a life with somebody else. You join the life you have with theirs. It’s hard to find someone who knows that. Your mother and I didn’t know. By the time I figured it out, it was too late. I don’t think she ever knew. All she wanted was the life I’d given her. And I didn’t want it anymore.”
“How’d you figure it out?”
Lazarus paused as Quad placed an oversized mug before him. He’d never considered that, one day, he’d have to explain himself.
“I woke up one morning so unhappy I almost cried.” He remembered that day, that birthday morning, and his eyes glazed. “It had nothing to do with you or Lizzie or even Deborah. It was the kind of life I had made that I hated. And I knew that if I didn’t change I would destroy everything and everyone around me. And I didn’t want to do that.”
Quad blew into steaming-hot gourmet Kenyan coffee.
“I’d spent summers with my granddaddy. He could do no wrong, far as I was concerned, but when I got grown, I had to admit I’d been blind. Or selfish. Probably both. Never once did I see him with my father. He never called or came to visit. Ever. I went to Arkansas, and sat with the old man, listening to his lambs moan at night, but never once did I see my father there. He sent me, but he didn’t take me. When he got strung out, I wondered why Granddaddy didn’t come see about him. Any father would fight for his son, or so I thought, but when Granddaddy didn’t, I knew something was wrong. He must not’ve been the man I thought he was. I could never figure out the problem, but something bad must’ve happened between them. Something that made it impossible for them to face each other. Whatever it was, it sent my father over the edge. He never recovered. Never spoke about it. I never asked. But I figured out one thing: Granddaddy had been another man when my father was a child. The granddaddy I got wasn’t the father he’d had. So Daddy spiraled into a hole he couldn’t get out of. Whatever Granddaddy did, Daddy never got over it, never got free from it. He never discovered his own power.”
Lazarus, oh, Lazarus! Whose life are you living, dear Lazarus?
Quad refilled his cup. Lazarus had seen the small coffee bags, with the green print, at Starbucks and wondered if the quality justified the price. Now he knew it didn’t.
“That’s easier for some than others, Dad.”
“I know. You’re right. But a man’s gotta do it. Don’t care how hard it is.”
“Some don’t know where to look. For their lives, I mean. They just float around in pain and look up one day in a place they never meant to go.”
Lazarus nodded. “I did that. For years.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Both blew into their mugs until Lazarus resumed. “But the day your mother asked me to leave, I found it. Well, actually, I’d found it weeks earlier.”
“What?”
“The life I was s’posed to lead. I came in late from work one night and sat in the dark and realized I didn’t care about anything I had. I wanted my family, but that was it. Everything else—the house, car, clothes, whatever—I could’ve burned without flinching. Peace came over me, like morning dew, and I knew I had changed. Just that quick. And ain’t no way in hell I was going back.”
“What’d you do first?”
“I got up and came to look at you and your sister in bed. For a long time I stood in the doorway, listening to you breathe and watching you toss lightly, and I promised God that, as soon as the sun rose, I’d give my family a different life.”
“But you didn’t give us a different life.”
“Maybe you’re right. But I tried to. I just couldn’t make y’all see it. You and Lizzie were too young, I guess. And your mother … well … she was content with what she had. But it wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I had promised to provide, and that’s what I’d done. But it wasn’t my life. And I wanted my life. I knew I wouldn’t have peace without it.”
“But what about me and Lizzie? You found peace without us?”
Lazarus sighed. “It’s not that simple, Son. Of course I wanted you. That’s why I hung around the house and school until you two got big enough to be embarrassed. Then I knew I’d have to wait for your understanding to catch up with what I was trying to do.”
Quad summoned anger, but it wouldn’t come, so he settled for discontent. Staring into the mug, he blinked wet eyes and sipped boiling coffee until frustration eased. Assuming the posture of a child, he looked everywhere except into his father’s eyes. Something about Lazarus’s words felt sincere now, as if Truth had transformed Quad’s capacity to understand.
“I talked to Grandpa,” he said.
Lazarus set the mug on the countertop. “When?”
“The day after we spoke. Momma had the number. A woman answered and said she hadn’t seen him in a while, but would give him the message if he surfaced. Guess he surfaced.”
Lazarus tried to stay calm. He
hoped his father was clean. “What did he say?”
“Not much. Just that he was sorry to hear about your trouble.”
“What did he sound like?”
“Nervous. Jumpy, I guess. Kept saying the same thing, over and over.”
“And what was that?”
Holding his father’s curiosity ransom, Quad stared awhile before eventually saying, “He said to tell you he’s still trying.”
Lazarus refused to break in front of Quad. “Still trying what?”
“I don’t know. That’s all he said. But he repeated it over and over, like he was scared I’d forget.”
A million possibilities flooded Lazarus’s head. What exactly had Junior meant? He was still trying to get clean? To stay clean? To forgive the unforgivable thing Granddaddy had done to him?
Words came out that Lazarus hadn’t approved. “He wasn’t always this way, Son. Daddy used to take me to the park when I was little. We played Frisbee and baseball mostly. We had a good time together. I loved his laughter. It was a high-pitched rumble in his throat, unlike his heavy speaking voice, as if another man was trapped inside. I knew he loved me. But as I got older, I discovered I didn’t know him. He never talked about himself. Whenever I asked about his childhood or anything pertaining to Arkansas, he simply shook his head. I think his past was a nightmare he tried to forget. So I stopped asking. Soon, drugs got him and took him under. But he didn’t start out that way. I remember. He was a kind, funny man. Even soft sometimes. He looked mean, but he never whipped me. Not once.”
Lazarus’s trembling mouth elicited Quad’s empathy. He feared his father might cry.
“I should’ve made sure you knew him. That was my fault. I could’ve done more. Taken you up there or brought him down here. Something. A boy oughta know his grandfather. It’s different from having a daddy. Being a grandfather is a father’s second chance, his one opportunity to do better than he did with his own son.” He paused. “Every boy deserves a grandfather—a man with nothing to prove.” He tried to smile but couldn’t. “Even with his struggles, Daddy would’ve loved you. Far more than he could’ve loved me. I saw his descent. He could’ve started fresh with you. Maybe gotten clean. I don’t know. But you should’ve known him.”
“Never too late, I guess. Long as he livin’.”
“Guess not.”
A musty, smoky odor wafted through Lazarus’s memory, leaving him, once again, embarrassed and ashamed.
“He’s bad off now, though. Not much good to himself, let alone anyone else. After Momma died, he gave up. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve left New York, but at the time it didn’t seem like my presence made much difference. I hardly saw him anyway. And when I did, he looked so bad I couldn’t face him. I wanted to be enough to make him stop smoking, but when a man gets consumed like that, ain’t nobody enough. Took me a long time to figure that out.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Quad’s sarcasm irritated Lazarus’s chest like heartburn. He massaged his rib cage until the sting subsided. Both men reached for their coffee cups simultaneously, unaware of their identical protruding lips.
“Never know what might happen. The future is tricky, Son,” Lazarus said. “Things look one way, but end up being another.”
Quad wanted to confess that his whole life had been that way—one day of joy, a month of heartache. Just when he thought he had things worked out, they’d crumbled or, worse, become tragic. Rarely did they go as he’d planned. Even the long-held hope of extracting from his father’s flesh compensation for his mother’s pain. That didn’t happen. And he’d dreamed of it a lifetime. In a mere nanosecond, the desire had faded and escaped beyond his reach. And what of the damp, dark place in which he lived? All of a sudden now the sun had returned and was shining so brightly he could hardly remember the gloom. Perhaps that’s what had driven women away—the persistent, ever-invading cloud of gloom above him—and all the while he’d thought they simply didn’t like him. It was all so strange, he thought, sitting in his kitchen with his father, who, apparently, knew precisely what his son needed. Yes, the future is tricky, Quad agreed.
They set cups down in unison.
Lazarus stood. “Guess I better get goin.’ Gotta lotta work to do.”
“Let me know if I can help. Your case, I mean.”
“I don’t know what’s gon’ happen, Son. All I know is I didn’t kill her. You believe me, don’t you?”
Quad nodded. “Of course, Dad. I know you. You’re not a murderer.”
Lazarus sighed. “I can’t believe this happened to me. It’s all so crazy.” He licked dry lips. “But then again, as people say, our lives are pawns in the hands of the gods. It could go either way.”
“Yep.”
“We’ll take this one day at a time. That’s all I know to do. Got a pretty good lawyer, so I guess I got a fairly decent chance. We’ll see what happens.”
“Yes, we will.”
Standing face-to-face, both waited for the other’s embrace. Suddenly, like long-separated lovers, they rushed into each other’s arms and squeezed tightly. Neither opened his eyes. Their hearts forgave. Words went unspoken. They hugged as long as manhood would allow. Sun rays danced around them, creating a shield of protection neither noticed. Upon release, they sighed and looked downward.
“Better be going,” Lazarus muttered.
Quad nodded quickly. “Take care of yourself. And, like I said, if you need anything, let me know.”
Minutes later, marching south on Peachtree Road, Lazarus found himself wiping tears. He still didn’t know if he’d done the right thing all those years ago. Can a man ever really know?
Chapter 28
Approaching The Upper Room, Lazarus saw The Comforter locked in battle. She wrestled with something dark and unseen. It shifted when she shifted, as if her shadow had become an enemy. They tossed upon the earth, she and this force, one the victor, then the other, until, exhausted, she surrendered and shouted, “But not now! It can’t be now! This isn’t what we said!” Lazarus frowned from a distance, beholding more than he understood. “You owe me! Don’t you remember? I gave you my child!” They tussled like adolescent boys. Each delivered and received blows, shrieking and grunting with the effort, and both at some point found themselves upon their back, flailing arms in the air in hopes of striking the final blow. Too transfixed to move, Lazarus studied the scuffle, trying to comprehend exactly whom or what The Comforter had engaged. She would tell him, later in the future, that it was Death. They were old friends, she would boast, who normally respected each other’s time and place, but there had been an encroachment that day, a call for one of the five, one of The Family, but The Comforter said no. It was not time. It would breach their agreement. Death insisted that one of them was being summoned into the deep, but again The Comforter said not yet. They would come soon enough, but not now. The Family had to be restored. The womb could not be disturbed. It was Lazarus’s only hope.
There was no ultimate victor. They simply agreed to meet again, on another day, to finish the matter. Death would indeed come again. Of this The Comforter was sure. And next time it would come unannounced like a plague, prepared to take that which would not be given. She would stay alert and sleep armored, she decided. This would work awhile. Perhaps even years. But not forever. Death would have its day. No negotiations, no compromises, no give-and-take. Only take. But by then, she hoped, Lazarus would be free. And Death could have whomever it desired.
She brushed her flowing white skirt and mounted The Upper Room to wait with the others. They had not seen the struggle for their lives, which she alone had waged, and thus didn’t know the depth of her sacrifice. Lazarus didn’t know, either. No one did. Only in the afterlife would The Comforter receive her just reward, and she accepted the fact much like the inevitability of Death’s return. She loved Death. And it loved her. It was seldom wrong or belligerent. They danced together sometimes, in the center of Piedmont Park, as night became day, sharing secrets of life most humans ch
oose not to know. They were not enemies. They had battled because Death had come prematurely, before its appointed time, and she had been unwilling to relinquish any of them. Not now. Not those in The Upper Room. Not before their job was done.
When The Family caught glimpse of Lazarus, they cheered as if beholding the promised Messiah. He climbed the hill quickly, slipping and sliding with glee, and, one by one, they smothered him with love and settled his troubled heart. Patting his back while the others screamed, The Comforter smiled, proud that, through her efforts, The Family was still intact. Soon she, too, surrendered to the reverie, adding her voice to the cacophony of praises reverberating just slightly beneath the freeway. A simple welcome home, which Lazarus had hoped for, evolved into a full-scale celebration of life. All took turns making jokes and asking questions, most of which Lazarus couldn’t answer, and offered masked vulnerabilities concerning the condition of their heart in his absence. Lazarus laughed along, glad to be free again, happy not to be saddled with the weight of imprisonment. He wished Quad were with him now, to know, to feel, the strength of unobligated love. Perhaps then Quad could forgive him. Perhaps then Quad would understand.
With controlled restraint, Cinderella asked, “Is jail really like people say? Do they fight and rape each other and lift weights?”
“Oh, come on, girl!” Legion chuckled. E would’ve cursed her had the atmosphere of celebration not been established. “Don’t nobody wanna talk about that right now!”
“I was just curious!” she protested. “That’s what people say, so I wanted to know if it was true.”
“Nobody raped me,” Lazarus said. “And I didn’t see any fights. Mostly men talked about a fucked-up system. Some were guilty, they admitted, but jail made me see that most were carrying someone else’s guilt.”
The Comforter nodded.
“The sad part is”—Lazarus shook his head—“that there’s so many of us in there. I mean, I knew that before, but I hadn’t seen it. Black, bearded faces everywhere, wondering how they got caught up in the madness. It’s so crazy.” Lazarus zoned out for a moment, then returned. “If you ever wonder where black men are, I can show you.”