by Richard Dry
He crouched down on the counter and, facing the cupboards, lowered one leg down over the edge and then the other. When he got to his stomach, his arms could no longer support his weight, and he simply slid onto the floor, his foot landing on a shard of glass.
He screamed and hopped out into the living room. The blood dripped from his heel and he collapsed on the floor, holding his foot in the air. He began to cry but then looked around the empty house and stopped. The glass was a single triangle that he could grip at the end. He pulled it out and looked at the long tip that had been inside him. He then looked at all the bloodstains on the carpet and knew he was in big trouble. So he stood and slowly hopped upstairs and hid in his mother’s closet. He sat down behind her dresses and her pants in the dark and squeezed his foot, the smell of his own blood mixing with the perfume of his mother’s clothes.
Lida came home that night and found blood all around the living room and the glass on the kitchen floor. She yelled for Love, but he didn’t answer. She followed the trail of blood upstairs into her room but didn’t see him in the dark closet.
“Ronald!” she screamed as loud as she could. He could hear her crying. She sounded as if she had been injured herself.
“Mama,” he said, “I didn’t mean to.”
LIDA CALLED DAVID to drive them to the hospital. He showed up and carried Love to the car. David waited with them for the three hours it took for the doctors to give Love a shot and stitch him up. Afterward Lida asked David if they could stay with him for the night.
Gina had left David and taken their child when she found out he was dealing again, so he let Lida and Love sleep in the bed with him. That night he rubbed his hand along her back until she fell asleep.
She wouldn’t get up for work the next morning and stayed home all day, so it seemed to Love that things had worked out for the best after all. But she didn’t talk much or want to play. She stayed in bed that day and the rest of the week without making a sound, except once every few hours she would call for Love in a desperate voice and wouldn’t stop until he came and held her hand. She stayed at David’s a week, then returned home and went back to work, but she put a padlock on the kitchen door so that Love would not hurt himself in there again.
* * *
ONE RAINY AFTERNOON while Love was home alone watching TV, he heard Lion meowing and scratching to come in. Love spent ten minutes trying to pull the front door open; the knob was just above his head, but the door was locked. As he pulled, the knob turned on its own. Love stepped back and the door opened. Marcus stood in front of him, soaking wet, holding a small paper bag in one hand. He smiled, and Love hopped away from him on his healthy foot.
He tried to make it up the stairs but slipped on the edge of a step, and his bandage came loose. He looked up at the strange man to see what he would do.
Marcus put down the paper bag on the vanity, then went to his son and picked him up under the arms. “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you watch your step?”
Love turned away from the sour-beer breath and the wet hair that dripped on his face. Marcus looked up the stairs to the second floor. “Hello?” he yelled, and then he turned back to Love when no one answered. “Your mother gonna blame me for this for sure.”
He put Love down and went to the kitchen, his feet leaving large wet prints on the floor. “Hello?” he called again into the house. “Ain’t nobody home?”
He tugged at the kitchen door and then saw the lock. “Shit. What they want me to do, starve to death? How am I gonna get me something to eat?” He turned back to Love, who sat on the stairs, pressing himself in between the rungs of the railing.
“Hey,” Marcus said. “Let’s you and me walk down to the store and get some food.” Love didn’t say anything.
“Naw,” Marcus said. “I guess it’s too wet out. What’d you do to your foot? Come on in the bathroom and let me take a look at that.” Love shook his head. “Come on, it looks like it’s bleeding. We got to get you fixed up.” He took Love by the arm and pulled him to the downstairs bathroom. He wet a hand towel with cold water and squeezed it out.
“This will keep it cold. Just squeeze it around there.” Marcus put the towel on Love’s foot. He then pulled open the mirrored cabinet and looked inside. He took out a bottle of prescription painkiller, read the label, and then stuffed it in his pocket. He found a Band-Aid and peeled it open across Love’s stitches.
“What’d you do to yourself?”
Love scratched his nose.
“Don’t you talk yet or nothin?” Marcus asked. “How old are you?”
Love didn’t reply.
“Don’t you know who I am?”
Love nodded.
“Who am I?” Marcus smiled. “Tell me who I am.”
“Lion.”
“Lion? That mangy old cat?” Marcus laughed. “Naw, I ain’t Lion. I’m your daddy, Marcus. M-a-r-c-u-s. Spell my name. M-a-r-c-u-s. Marcus. Can’t you spell yet?”
Love shook his head.
“Don’t you remember me?”
Love hesitated and then nodded, but he didn’t recognize this man whose wet hair stuck flat onto his face.
“I know I been away for a long time, but that wasn’t my fault. They locked me up, and I couldn’t come back to see you. But believe me, I wanted to. You’re a mighty big boy now. I bet you could play a guitar already. Soon as I pick me up a new one, I’m gonna teach you some chords. All right?”
Love was staring at the Band-Aid, which had fallen to the floor. Marcus shook him. “All right?”
Love nodded.
“Let’s you and me get dried off and then get some rest.”
Marcus dried himself off with a towel and then walked back into the living room. He lay on the couch, put his feet up on the armrest and a pillow under his head. He watched the cartoons until his eyes closed.
After a few minutes, Love quietly walked out of the bathroom. He stood by the couch and watched Marcus until he was sure that he was asleep. Then he sat down on the floor and watched TV.
* * *
THIS WAS HOW Lida found them when she came home with wet bags of groceries in her arms. Love hardly looked up at her, just enough to make sure it wasn’t some new stranger.
Her first impulse was to yell at Marcus to get the fuck out of the house. But she stopped herself, seeing him there asleep. She would still yell, but first she wanted a minute to look at him again. As she watched him sleep, she wished she could lie down there next to him and have them wake up together like nothing had ever happened.
She shook her head and went to the kitchen door. She quietly opened the padlock and placed the bags on the counter without looking back out toward the living room. One item at a time, she unpacked the groceries; opened the refrigerator door, put the butter in the drawer, closed the drawer, walked back to the bag, took out the cheese, went back to the refrigerator, and opened the drawer again. She repeated this mechanically and, without deciding to, went and got the butcher’s knife from the counter.
She walked into the living room with the knife held behind her.
“Ronald,” she said sternly, loudly enough to wake Marcus, “go on up to your room.” Love looked at Marcus, then did as he was told.
Marcus sat up on the couch and watched Love disappear up the stairs, then smiled at Lida. She brought the knife out for him to see.
“What are you doin with that?”
“Don’t ask me any questions. Don’t you ask me any fucking questions. I’m gonna gut your belly right here on the couch is what I’m gonna do.” She walked toward him, and he scrambled over the top of the couch, laughing at her.
“I know you’re angry. You got a right to be angry. Just listen to what I have to say.”
“I don’t have to listen to a goddamn word out of your lyin mouth. Who the hell you think you are? Give me back them keys to this house. Where the hell you been?” She held the knife out at him, more like a pointing stick, an accusation rod, than a weapon.
“I’ve
been in Joliet. They locked me up for dealing. I’m telling you, I didn’t want to stay away.”
“No.” She covered her ears. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear any excuses, especially any legitimate reason. She wanted him to have been cheating and running around so she could kill him and kick his body onto the street. It wasn’t fair to take that away from her after three years.
“Why didn’t you call me or write to me or send word or nothing? Don’t tell me they don’t got no pencils and paper in prison.”
Marcus shook his head. “I was going to, baby. Every day I told myself I was going to call you. But I figured you knew from David and … I know I should have called you, baby, but I was ashamed. I’m sorry. I just thought I’d do my time and come back a new man.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You get the fuck out. You think you can just leave us and come back in here so easy, just walk back in here and lay down and rest.” She jumped up on the couch and climbed over the top, holding the knife over him.
“Watch out, baby. You’re gonna hurt yourself with that.”
“Get out a my house.”
“This is my house too.”
“Don’t tell me whose house this is or ain’t. Get the hell out!”
He picked his paper bag up off the counter.
“I’ll kill your sorry ass.” She came at him, and he backed out onto the porch; then down the steps into the rain.
She watched him from the doorway. He pulled his jacket collar up, covered his head with the paper bag, and walked up the block, looking back at her and smiling. She wanted to slam the door, make it thunder in its frame, loud enough to shake the sidewalk under his feet, but she could not move from the doorway, from watching him walk away huddled under his jacket until he turned the corner into the liquor store.
* * *
EVERY DAY FOR the next two months, Marcus came to the house, sometimes with flowers, dressed in a nice secondhand blue suit, and other days drunk or stoned with a bag of beer in his hand, his shirtsleeves stained.
One Monday evening she returned from work to find him playing on the porch like a cat tapping at the window, waiting to be let inside. He was talking to Love through the glass, pointing to different things in the house and telling him to bring them over for him to look at.
“That’s an ashtray. Spell ‘ashtray’ for me, Ronald. Ash—.”
“What does he need to know how to spell ashtray for?” Lida dragged herself up the steps and took out her key.
“Don’t open it,” Marcus said. “Watch, I taught him how.” He tapped on the window. “Ronald, go open the door for Mommy.”
“Oh great, Marcus, now my child can get out the house by himself. Thank you. Would you please stay away from here when I’m not home?”
“So when you are home?”
Lida shook her head. She let him in, not because she forgave him but because she was lonely.
“I need some cash, baby.”
“Well, get a job.” Lida put her purse down on the vanity. Marcus looked at it and then put his hands in his pockets.
“I’m working on that, but I need some funding right now, just to hold me over, and you’re the only one I can ask.” Marcus jumped over the top of the couch and landed on the cushions like a cowboy.
Love stood up in the middle of the living room, half listening to them, but turned toward the TV, watching the news.
“I should be asking for money from you, Marcus,” Lida said. “We’re tight as it is. How about three years of child support and then we’ll talk.”
“I told you before, I’m gonna take care of that when I get back in business. You’ll get all that and more. I’m just in need of a quick fix.”
“Haven’t you seen the inside of prison long enough, or do you plan on another three-year vacation?”
Love turned around and looked at his father.
“Baby, don’t you know how hard this is for me to ask in front of our child?”
Lida opened the padlock to the kitchen and went to the refrigerator. “Ronald, come in here and give your mama a hug.” Love ran into the kitchen and grabbed his mother around the hips.
“I don’t want you going to that window anymore when he’s around,” she whispered to him. “Okay? You hear me?” Love nodded. “Now what do you want for supper? You want some lasagna?”
“That sounds good to me,” Marcus yelled in from the living room.
“You need to be out a here before Ruby comes home. She’s already told me she’d chop off your privates if she sees you again, and she’s not foolin.”
“Listen, baby, I need that money. I can reciprocate it to you by tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you ashamed, asking your own wife for money?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Sure, I’m ashamed. This is hard for me, baby. You think this is what I wanted to be? But a man comes out of prison with nothing—I’m flat broke, and besides, who’s gonna hire me? When times was hard for you, wasn’t I down for you? If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be living back here no more. I’m not trying to say you owe me, Lida. I’m just saying how come you can’t help me out when I’m down too?”
“Because you left for three years, Marcus.”
“Never mind.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen through the living room. He got to the front door and opened it.
“Where you going?” Lida asked.
“Out.”
“To do what?”
“What do you care? I’m going to do what I have to.” He opened the door and put on his hat.
Lida marched out to the couch and yelled at him, “How come after you leave me, I’m the one that feel bad?”
“’Cause you know it ain’t my fault. You know I always helped you out when times was rough. But don’t worry, I ain’t asking for nothing from you. This time I know what I got to do.” He turned to the door.
“Don’t do anything crazy. Don’t go off and make me be alone again. I can’t.” She shook her head, and it was clear she was trying not to cry.
“You know I didn’t want that. You know I wanted the best for us.”
“Just come back in here and shut your mouth.” She walked into the kitchen, and Marcus followed.
“We don’t have any extra money, Marcus.” She pulled a chair over to the counter and stood up on it, almost exactly where Love had been reaching for the pretzels. She took the money jar off the top shelf.
“This is not mine,” she said. She opened the lid to the jar and took out a handful of bills. “You better have this back by tomorrow.”
“Spot me twenty and I’ll never ask for money from you again. I promise.”
“Oh, I know you won’t, ’cause I ain’t givin you any more.”
She clasped the lid back on and stepped down with the money in her fist.
“Don’t come back here without this money.” She put it into his hand, and he counted it. “Don’t ask for anything more.”
He stuffed the money in his pocket and smiled up at her. “How about a kiss?”
She didn’t answer him. Love watched his parents. Marcus leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Lida closed her eyes.
* * *
TWO MONTHS LATER, Ruby stood in the entryway of her house and surveyed the living room. The black-and-white TV was twenty years old, so it wasn’t that valuable. But it had a soul value, like anything that has been with you for long enough that it becomes a traveling companion. The stereo-turntable was as much a piece of Corbet as the picture of him on the wall or the records on the shelf. Other things had been stolen too: the crystal ashtray, the giraffe bookends from Love E’s trip to visit Eldridge Cleaver in Algeria, and what hurt her most of all, her sewing machine. The only thing left was the Bible on the cast-iron table.
She was tired from cleaning at the calculator company and didn’t have enough energy to do more than shake her head and sit on the couch.
Lida watched her from the table. She had spoken with the police and given them a r
eport.
“They took your jewelry too, Mama.” Ruby didn’t move.
“Go get your Nanna some water,” Lida told Love.
“I don’t want any water,” Ruby said.
Love didn’t move from the tall chair at the table where he sat staring down at his reflection, his hands in his lap.
“The police said they must have come through an open window ’cause there was no sign of breaking in.”
“Why should he break in,” Ruby said, “when his boy’s gonna let him in?”
“This has nothing to do with Marcus,” Lida said.
“Then how did he get in? Ask your son. He was here.” Lida looked at Love. He reminded her of how she used to sit when she was around Easton, making herself small and invisible.
“Don’t you think I asked him? The police asked him too.” She turned to Love. “Was your daddy here today?”
Love shook his head.
“Well, what’s the boy going to say?” Ruby whispered. “Don’t you think Marcus told him not to tell.”
“Did your daddy tell you not to tell?”
He didn’t answer.
Ruby sighed loudly from across the room, closed her eyes, and folded her hands across her stomach in resignation.
“Now, you look at me when I’m talking to you! You tell me.” Lida stood up and grabbed Love’s chin. “Was Marcus here today? I want to hear your voice, Ronny.”
“No.”
“I swear, God’s gonna keep you outta heaven if you’ve been bad.” She squeezed his face even harder, her thumbs sinking into his cheeks.
“I didn’t see nothing.”
“The child was here all day,” Ruby said. “He had to see something.”
“He was in his room.” Lida let go of Love’s face, and he turned away from her.
“Now, how you gonna tell me he was in his room while all this ruckus was goin on down here?” Ruby asked.
“He was sleeping in his room.”
“That drug-addict fool of a father of his better not show his face ’round here ever again. I’ll have the police lock him up permanently.” Ruby got up and went into the kitchen. She saw the chair by the counter and looked at the open cabinet above. Some last reserve of energy seemed to leave her body, and she hung her head. She couldn’t bring herself to see if she still had money in her jar. She went into the refrigerator—at least they hadn’t taken the food—and took out the carton of orange juice. The words came to her as she was pouring, and she said them loud enough for Lida to hear.