Listen to the Lambs

by Daniel Black

  Quad squirmed nervously. Nowhere in his imagination had he envisioned himself and his father and his father’s father sitting in the dark, listening to the night, sharing life’s journey, and discovering new intersections.

  “He’d take me to the barn, boy”—neither knew which boy Junior meant—“and make me strip off my shirt. Then he’d tie my hands together with bailing twine and lift me up with an old rusty pulley. Sometimes he’d use a belt, but once he used a horsewhip. My back was raw. Momma lied about what happened, though. And them crazy-ass folks at the hospital believed her. I was too scared to say anything. When she brought me home, Daddy promised not to do it again, but he did.”

  Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

  “I remember how the lambs looked at me. There was sorrow in their wet, glassy eyes, as if they might cry. Sometimes they turned away when the belt struck my back, but their gaze always returned, as if telling me not to worry, I would survive. Guess they were right.”

  Lazarus began to understand. Quad asked, “Did you think he hated you?”

  “I sure did. What else could I think? The man beat me till I left home for college.”

  “That’s horrible,” Quad murmured.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  After all these years, Lazarus finally understood the fuller meaning of the weeping of the lambs. It was a song for the rejected one, the denied one, a requiem for the lost, crying in the wilderness. It was a hymn of lamentation for one too young to fight for himself, a call to the first Lazarus to go back and reclaim what he had destroyed. The lambs were testifying to what they had witnessed and pleading with someone to set the record straight. They were crying for healing hands and forgiving hearts. They were asking Granddaddy to go, unto the uttermost parts of the earth, and find the second Lazarus and repair all that was broken. But Granddaddy couldn’t bring himself to do it. He thought I’m sorry was an admission of guilt, and he’d never give Junior the satisfaction of believing he was wrong. So he lived out his days listening to the lambs, begging for forgiveness, although they had none to give.

  “Daddy loved Trey, though. I guess that was his way of making up for what he did to me. They were like two peas in a pod.”

  There was no jealousy in Lazarus’s tone. Only acknowledgment of what he now understood. Tears streaked Lazarus’s face, but no one saw them.

  “I loved the old home place,” Junior said. “I loved him, too.”

  “How could you love him after what he did to you?” Quad asked.

  “Because he had a dream for me. He just messed it up with his own stuff. It’s easy to do. I know ’cause I turned around and did it myself.”

  Lazarus’s face fell into his palms. Junior touched Lazarus’s back. No one saw anything.

  “I fucked up, boy! I did! Just like Daddy did! Maybe worse! I convinced myself I wasn’t as bad as him ’cause I didn’t beat you, but I was!”

  Junior felt Lazarus’s body jerking.

  “Every father’s dream for his son is bigger than he can pull off. That’s the secret. We all start out perfect, and then … well … we fuck up.”

  Quad looked toward his father but saw only a shrunken form. Junior touched Lazarus’s knee.

  “Your daddy meant well, too, son. For you and your sister. He prayed for y’all before you got here, then prayed after you arrived. I know ’cause every father does. He thought about what he wanted you to be, what he wanted you to believe, what he wanted you to fight for … he thought about all that. Then, once you were born, he started making decisions he hoped would bring that dream to pass. What we forget is that kids come with dreams of their own and most times they ain’t got nothing to do with what we dreamed for them. Plus, a lotta times, our dreams for our kids ain’t nothin’ but what we wanted as kids ourselves. We force our dream upon them, thinking it will make them happy. But it won’t. It might make us happy, but I ain’t met a kid yet who’ll sacrifice his own happiness for his parents’. Not for long.”

  Each Lazarus looked in a different direction.

  “The day will come when every father is gon’ have to do one thing, and if he don’t, he’ll lose his kids forever.”

  Quad mumbled, “What’s that?”

  “He’s gon’ have to say, ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause dreaming for somebody else is wrong. I don’t care who it is. It ain’t never gon’ come out the way you hoped. It can’t ’cause it ain’t yo’ life. But usually a father doesn’t learn this until he’s old. Then, he’s too prideful to apologize. But that’s all it would take.”

  Junior continued rubbing Lazarus’s back and squeezing Quad’s knee. He was the intermediary between Lazaruses, and he meant to make good on his promise to do better if ever he saw his son again.

  “So, since I’m the oldest, I guess I oughta start.” Darkness shielded their vulnerability. “I hated that Daddy loved you, Trey, more than me.”

  Lazarus blinked and listened.

  “At least that’s what it felt like. So I drowned in stuff I couldn’t handle. I wasn’t man enough to confront him. I was scared of him, scared of his rejection, so I went to something easy, something that would make me feel good. I didn’t know it would kill me in the long run. But I guess that’s water under the bridge now, as they say. I done cried so many tears I ran out of ’em. If I don’t never get to say it again, I want you to know I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough to carry what Daddy put on me. I had you and just knew I would be the best father in the world, but I wasn’t. I was too hurt. I couldn’t see what was best for you because, really, I was trying to get back at Daddy for what he’d done to me. It never works. You can’t parent until you’re finished being a child. And I wasn’t finished.”

  Junior’s voice cracked. Quad looked away. Lazarus saw Granddaddy bent over with grief.

  “But I refused to go home until he apologized. Little did I know he was more stubborn than me! That’s why I could never get clean—I was waiting for Daddy to say he was sorry. But he never said it.”

  Lazarus interrupted with, “He used to talk about you all the time. He really did. He always said how smart you were.”

  “I believe you. I did the same thing. But I didn’t talk to you. That’s what a good father does. He talks to his son and corrects his wrongs. That’s why I’m here. When this boy called, I knew this might be my last chance to get things right. I didn’t want to do what Daddy did—die before I said it.”

  Lazarus reached for Junior’s hand and Junior surrendered it. They squeezed as if attempting to draw blood.

  “I’m sorry, Trey! I’m so sorry! Lord knows I am!”

  Repentance and forgiveness vibrated through their touch. They turned and hugged in the dark. Together the men trembled, understanding more now than ever before. Quad remained still, vowing not to cry although loving what he beheld.

  Lazaruses II and III released and huffed. Decades of hurt and disappointment dissolved. Things were not perfect, but they were genuine, and Lazarus III decided he could live with that.

  Now it was his turn. He stood and gestured for his father to trade seats with him, and Junior complied quickly. Lazarus sat uneasily, hesitant about what to say but certain it had to be said.

  They were figures in black, really, ghosts of a past and future no one fully comprehended. Lazarus still heard the lambs’ song in his head, though faintly now, and he realized that all those years sitting with Granddaddy on the porch in Arkansas had prepared him for this moment.

  Lazarus, oh, Lazarus! Now is the time, dear Lazarus!

  He considered shifting toward Quad, but in the dark there was no need. So he grabbed Quad’s soft right hand with his big, coarse left.

  “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Son. There are so many things I’d do different if I could. So many, many things. But whatever I did, I honestly thought I was doing for you and Lizzie. Forgive me where I faltered.” His head bobbed slowly. “Forgive me for letting you believe I didn’t want you. All I w
anted was you. That’s why I left!” He tried to stop crying. “I wanted you without the world’s bullshit. I wanted to wake up in the morning with my family and the trees and fresh air—not a million bills and an insane work schedule that kept me from you. I meant to create a life of meaning. That’s all. I knew it was risky, but I thought you’d thank me one day. That’s how I dreamed it.” Lazarus chuckled at his innocence. “But whether you thank me or not, I want you to know I’m sorry for falling short. I guess I was stupid enough to believe you and your sister would appreciate a life of nothing, as long as we were together.” He rubbed the back of Quad’s hand with his thumb, conjuring compassion Quad thought Lazarus had discarded. “Sometimes I wasn’t there. But most times I was.” Lazarus felt himself becoming defensive. The song’s refrain—Were you there?—grounded him. “I suppose I should’ve been there all the time. And I wasn’t. But I meant—” Junior touched Lazarus’s leg. Lazarus dropped Quad’s hand and leapt upward. “I just meant to love you, that’s all. To show you the beauty of the world! Damn! I guess I fucked that up, too!” He rubbed his forehead, trying to articulate a complicated thing.

  Quad stood and stepped toward his father with an extended right hand. Lazarus took it, and they shook as though binding a contract. There was no hug, no heavy weeping. Nothing dramatic. Simply a son telling a father, I hear you. It was enough. Junior nodded in the dark. Lazarus had not been a failure. Not a complete one.

  The song of the lambs ceased. It faded like a distant echo until Lazarus heard it no more. He understood now. There had been a question—Were you there?—and he’d had to answer it. Like every Lazarus before him. And every Lazarus after.

  They resumed seats and agonized like defeated soldiers. Each Lazarus pondered his uncertain future. Junior wondered how and where he’d die. Would someone be by his side, or would he take his final breath alone? Lazarus wondered about the outcome of the trial. No one’s testimony had proved his innocence. In fact, he looked like a conniving liar, he feared. But oh well. The verdict could go either way. There were no other suspects. And when there are no other suspects the black man is automatically guilty. That’s the American judicial system. Lazarus tried to disguise his anxiety, but it manifested in long, heavy sighs. The scarf debacle had been a serious blow. It showed the court that Lazarus couldn’t be trusted, whether he actually took the scarf or not, and that was enough to convict him. Or so Lazarus believed. He glanced into the sparkling sky. If he died, he told himself, he wanted the families, the Loves and the not loved, to join forces and send him off right. Perhaps they would cremate him, he considered, and spread his ashes throughout the sanctuary of The Upper Room.

  Quad prayed his grandfather would stay. Of course Quad loved his father; that’s why he’d been angry with him. But Quad didn’t want to admit it. Hurt feasts upon anger. It has no appetite for forgiveness. Anger is saltier and fattier and more fulfilling. Forgiveness is lean and sugar-free. It doesn’t taste as good, but it’s healthier for you. And that’s what he needed now—something superhealthy to help him find his place among the legacy of Lazaruses. He had a hunch his grandfather would be key in the search and, in Quad’s heart, he anticipated their time like he’d once awaited his father’s tickling hands.

  Still, no one moved. Crickets chirped and sirens blared in the distance. Quad wanted to go inside to escape the mosquitoes, but protocol insisted he remain until the elders moved. And clearly they weren’t moving. They weren’t even fanning frantically, as he was. Do mosquitoes prefer the young? he wondered. Or were his fathers simply immune to insignificant irritations?

  “I don’t wanna die, Daddy,” Lazarus whispered.

  “You ain’t gon’ die, Son. Not if I can help it.”

  There was something Quad should’ve said, but since he couldn’t figure out what, he let the senior Lazaruses speak.

  “It doesn’t look good right now. Did you see how the jury looked at me when my lawyer called me back to the stand?”

  “Yeah. I saw ’em.”

  “They wanted to hang me, Daddy. I can’t see them changing their minds.”

  Junior nodded. “But you don’t know what might happen. Strange things occur all the time. Don’t give up too soon.”

  “Well, in case a miracle doesn’t happen, stay in touch with the kids for me, will ya? And both of y’all help out my folks beneath the bridge. I know you don’t know them, but they’re good people. They really are! They have their flaws like everybody else, but they took care of me when I didn’t have a dime. They believed in me when I thought I had failed. Promise me you’ll look out for them.”

  Junior and Quad nodded.

  “And promise you’ll bury me, if you have to, as one united family. That’s all I ask.”

  “Stop talkin’ like that! You ain’t gon’ die!” Junior declared.

  “I am if they don’t find another suspect. Right now, all fingers are pointed at me, and I’ve already proven that I’ll lie if need be. There’s no way the jury’s ever going to trust me again.”

  “You might be right, Son, but wait and see. I’ve lived long and hard enough to know that things happen at the last minute sometimes if we believe.”

  “I don’t know if I believe right now, Daddy. I’m trying to, but I don’t know.”

  “Me and this boy here believe for you.”

  Quad took the cue. “Just stay calm, Daddy. Something’s going to work out. I don’t know what, but I have a feeling it will. And anyway, you can’t die yet ’cause you still owe me.” He’d hoped to solicit laughter, but no one uttered a sound.

  “Ain’t no promise on a man’s life, Son,” Lazarus said, dazed. “It’s but a vapor, here one minute, gone the next.”

  “That’s true,” Junior said, and nodded. “That’s really true. But God decides when he goes. Just like He decides when he comes.”

  A group of teenage lovers strolled the quiet street. All three Lazaruses studied them, longing for women they didn’t have.

  “Whatever happens,” Junior said, finally, with the voice of authority, “we help each other out. If we can. And usually we can.”

  He stood, folded the chair, and walked toward the open garage door. Quad stood, too, but Lazarus asked him to wait.

  “There’s a safe-deposit box at Wells Fargo Bank on Abernathy. The deed to Granddaddy’s land is in it. Daddy gave it to me, years ago, and now I’m giving it to you. Divide it with your sister. Take the kids there and tell them what you know about the place.”

  “I don’t know anything, Dad.”

  “You will. Daddy’ll tell you. And don’t forget what I’ve already told you.”

  “You mean about the lambs?”

  “Yes. And everything else, too. You’ll understand me when you get there.”

  “Can you stay here tonight?”

  Lazarus turned abruptly. “Here? You want me to stay here?”

  “Come on, Daddy. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  “Okay. I’ll stay.”

  They, too, folded their chairs and entered the house. Lazarus tried to relax, but in his heart he knew he wasn’t home.

  * * *

  In the Upper Room, Elisha sat on the bed, watching cars go by below. He knew where Lazarus was and he knew why, but he still missed him. He was coming back, wasn’t he? Now that Elisha had sold his inheritance, he felt needy in a way he didn’t like. He had no regrets, but he had no safety, either. Lazarus and The Family were all Elisha possessed, and if they ever left him he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Legion had promised they’d grow old together, like settled siblings, and Elisha had smiled and whispered simply, “Okay.” Now that promise kept him from leaping off I-20.

  Across the way, Cinderella reclined in her own space that night. Elisha asked twice if she would come and stay with him, but she refused, saying that if Lazarus returned he wouldn’t want to see her. “You know that’s not true,” Elisha hissed, but in her grief she had no comfort to give. So the two watched each other lounge alone, each ne
eding something the other could not provide.

  No one knew where Legion was. E often vanished at night, vampire-style, and The Comforter said to leave em be. E’d survived all this time alone, so apparently e knew what e was doing. She, too, disappeared at night, as if into thin air, so Elisha learned to release them at dusk and welcome them at dawn. Occasionally they’d stay together, all of them in The Upper Room, scattered between the bed and God’s dusty earth, and Elisha would weep with joy as he watched them slumber. Since he couldn’t have Sorrow and now the house, either, he could at least have The Family. Whenever they were together, his soul calmed and looked forward to another day. Yet when they scattered, like that night, his spirit rumbled and he sat awake, waiting for their return. He never said much, never told them the gaps they filled in his heart, but he believed that if The Family ever disintegrated so would he. The Comforter had walked him home and said she needed time to think, so she floated away, with her dirty white train following, promising only to see him again in the morning at the courthouse. She knew something; she saw something in the spirit. Elisha knew her by now. He hoped it was something that might help free Lazarus. After the scarf incident, Lazarus needed all the supernatural help he could get.

  Elisha imagined the Lazaruses feasting around a table, laughing and bonding, or sitting in a beautifully decorated living room sharing stories of their survival. His jealousy felt selfish, so he reprimanded his heart and tried to think of how wonderful it must be for Lazarus to have his father and son back. Blood is important! Elisha thought. Yet his soul confirmed that spirit is important, too, so he reclined on the blue comforter and recited aloud, over and over, the poem his mother said to him on the nights she came home. By age five he’d memorized it, mumbling along as her sweet, soothing voice flowed into his ear, thankful that the demon had not taken her away for good:

  The Lord is my shepherd,

  I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,

  He leadeth me beside the still waters,

  He restoreth my soul.