Magic City

by Jewell Parker Rhodes

  Gabe lifted a lantern from beneath the table. He lit the wick, his face iridescent, slick with sweat. “My word, Joe. You look like shit.”

  “Feel like it.” Joe cradled his sore hand.

  “Jailbreaks. Much better than your tricks with quarters. I tried rescuing you twice.”

  Joe chuckled. “I would’ve waited if I’d known you were coming.”

  Gabe reached out; Joe stretched his good arm.

  “Black magic, Joe. The finest black magic. I’ll be damned.”

  Forearms entwined, they clasped at the elbows. Joe was amazed at Gabe’s strength. Amazed at his own swelling pride.

  “You’re a man now, aren’t you? Baby brother has grown up.”

  Joe ducked his head. “If it means being scared, I’m a man.”

  “Fear’s all right. As long as it’s useful.”

  “Henry told me that.”

  Gabe released Joe’s arm. “Henry was a fine man too. Scared all the time. Maybe too scared. Don’t get too scared, Joe. Not scared enough, you’re a fool. Too much, you lose control. You hear?”

  “I hear,” Joe murmured, transfixed by Gabe’s face. He saw bone beneath black skin, ghostly white curving beneath his jaw line, a splash of bone across the forehead, brittle sockets circling warm eyes. The lantern glared yellow.

  “Did you know Tyler died?”

  “No,” Joe flinched, wondering if Tyler would haunt him too. Come back from the grave, angry and preaching.

  “One reason to get the dynamite. Blow the—”

  “Who killed him?”

  Gabe took another draw on his cigarette. “Mary Keane’s brother. A deputy named Lucas. Busted into your house looking for you. The brother—I shot him on your front lawn.”

  “Hildy,” he asked softly. “Is she all right?”

  “Yeah. Emmaline, your mother too. All fine. Father messed up some.”

  Joe couldn’t still his trembling. He stared at the fire trapped in the glass. He couldn’t have borne it if Hildy was hurt.

  “War can be scary. Make no mistake, Joe. This is war. We got to get on to Greenwood.”

  Joe looked at Gabe’s shuttered face. He murmured, “How’d we get here, Gabe? How’d it come to this? I swear I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch that girl.”

  “You’re an excuse. It’s always been like this. We’ve always been here—at war in Tulsa.”

  Joe kept shaking his head, thinking of the train, the rumble out of town. He’d make it this time—“dream what you need”—he’d spirit himself to a new world. A man might be afraid; the trick was not to get trapped by it.

  “Joe,” Gabe said urgently. “Joe.”

  Joe looked up, thinking Gabe looked younger, vulnerable. Like a trick of the light, he saw glistening bone—Gabe was a bones man. Dread settled in his gut. Joe remembered a rail-thin Gabe coming to the porch, asking for Henry, waiting in the front yard because he knew Mother didn’t appreciate him in her clean house. Father didn’t appreciate him at all. Gabe had been—what? seventeen? eighteen? As young as Joe was now.

  “Joe.”

  “No, Gabe—” The air was heavy; Joe felt disoriented.

  Gabe straddled the chair, rattling the table, nearly upsetting the lamp. “Joe, I’ve got to tell you something. I haven’t told any man.”

  “Don’t.”

  “In case anything happens. Something might happen today—might not have another chance.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.” Joe averted his eyes. First Henry. Now Tyler. Soon Gabe. Joe wanted to scream. He buried his face in his hands. “Dynamite,” he whispered. “Let’s get the dynamite, Gabe.”

  Gabe slid his hands along the table’s edges. Back and forth. Back and forth. He swiped the dusty surface with his palm. “Sometimes Henry joined me, Ailey, and the rest playing poker down here. Sometimes I’d fold if I thought Henry had a chance at winning. Ailey didn’t get so angry when Henry won a few.”

  “I don’t need to know, Gabe. I don’t want to know anymore.”

  Gabe gazed at the flickering light. “Henry thought he knew all about me. Knew all the cards I was holding. Figured I’d fold when he had a winning hand. Do what needed to be doing for him.

  “I could’ve stayed in Greenwood, married Emmaline. Figured how to get around your father. Instead I went to France with Henry. Brother man.” He looked up. “I should’ve stayed.”

  “Gabe, you don’t have to tell me.”

  “I’ve got to tell it.” Joe heard the pleading in his voice.

  Gabe slumped in the chair, chest concave, his Army-issue shirt sticking to his skin. “‘How’d my brother die?’ isn’t that what you asked? ‘How’d he die?’” Angrily, he slapped his chest.

  Joe caught his breath. “Henry—” Just beyond the lamp’s glow, stood Henry.

  “Was a good man,” drawled Gabe.

  Gabe’s fingers, shaped as a steeple, pressed against his lips. More softly, he said, “Henry died like anyone. Stopped breathing. Body just stopped. Like the man who rolled into you. Blood spurting out of his mouth. Just,” Gabe swallowed, “stopped. Legs give way. Fall to the ground. Stopped.”

  Joe felt trapped, back inside his nightmare. “We need to get to Greenwood, Gabe. We need to get to Greenwood.”

  “Deal straight up,” said Gabe. “I’m going to deal straight up, Joe. You ready?”

  Joe peered into the darkness: at the soft shapes, shadows of boxes, oil and farm gear.

  Gabe slipped his gun out of his pocket, laying it on the table, giving it a slight push toward Joe. “I’m doing what I have to do. You do what you have to.”

  Joe lifted his hands up in the air. “I don’t mean to do anything, Gabe.”

  Gabe shrugged. “We all do things we don’t mean. ‘I’m sorry,’ isn’t that right? That’s what we say, ‘I’m sorry.’ Henry could be one ‘sorry,’ son-of-a bitch.”

  Joe heard Gabe’s bitterness, knew Gabe’s words would undo what little victory he’d earned.

  “Henry’d say ‘Sorry I got you into this, Gabe.’ ‘Sorry I got angry.’ ‘Sorry I took your money. Cut in on the dance. Drank your liquor. Cheated you at cards.’ Sorry didn’t stop him from taking.”

  “Shut up, Gabe.”

  Gabe arched his brow. “Henry could be a complete son-of-a-bitch. You know I don’t lie. You ever known me to lie, Joe?”

  “No.” He rocked his body. Father said Henry’d cost. Maybe everybody paid. Joe wanted Gabe to shut up; he wanted to disappear. He wanted to plow a fist into Gabe’s mouth. “Why?” he asked.

  “Why’d I stand by him?” Gabe leaned into the table. “Why’d you? He was your brother, sure. But why’d you love him?”

  Henry drew close behind him. Joe could feel his brother’s breath on his neck.

  Joe added it up: there were more summers when his brother ignored him, than played with him at Lena’s River. More days he spent drunk, sprawled in bed. More times silent than talking. Months of Henry’s indifference. More times when Joe thought he’d die from loneliness.

  “Blood brothers,” said Gabe.

  “Not enough,” said Joe. Saying it, he knew it was true. He’d spent his life making not enough into something more. It wasn’t enough to feel loving in the blood. He’d failed his brother; his brother had failed him.

  “You were young, Joe. Henry was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Wanted everybody to love him. And we did. Henry was an expert at sorry.

  “I admired how he didn’t make excuses. Just said sorry and took the blame. No excuse. No explanation. Take it on the chin. Later I realized Henry didn’t have an explanation. He never thought about why he did anything. He did,” Gabe’s face twisted, “what felt good.

  “Afterwards he was good at sorry. So good you’d start saying ‘sorry’ for being angry at what he’d done.” Gabe clenched his hands.

  “Maybe we should just let it go, Gabe. Henry’s dead. Let it go.”

  “That’s what I’m doing, Joe. Letting it go.

  “Service
treated us like dumb animals. When we were given a chance to fight, we had no recon, broken radios, defective masks. Seen men die from gas? Negro men turning purple? I think the Army begrudged feeding us.

  “But the French were generous. The women were especially nice, grateful for the Americans. Don’t get me wrong. They weren’t anybody’s whores. They were clawing for life, just like we were. Didn’t care about Negro or white.

  “The women didn’t cringe, didn’t slant their eyes, didn’t turn from Negro men. Kind, open-hearted women. Knowing we could—they could soon be dead.

  “The 369th gave all they had. But it was hard knowing your own officers didn’t mind you dying. A woman could restore you. That’s what Francine did for me. Despite myself, despite Emmaline, I started to love Francine. Had nothing to do with color. All to do with her being there, wanting to be there. With me.” Gabe paused. “Ever been in love, Joe?”

  Joe shook his head.

  “Better than any magic you can dream. So powerful a man might lie to himself to keep feeling good. Maybe the war blinded us. Blinded me. Spent every minute I could with Francine. After the war, I figured I’d stay.

  “Maybe for some it was white pussy. For me, it was Francine. The world was Francine. I could be with Francine and feel, feel grateful to be alive. Like water in a desert.”

  Gabe let his head fall backward. To Joe, he looked headless. A shudder rattled Gabe’s body.

  “I think that was what bothered Henry. It was about me and someone else, not him. You see him strutting?”

  “I see him,” mumbled Joe.

  “Always the lady’s man. Always charming. Always with money for champagne, silk, flowers.

  “Henry was the world to me. First, I thought it was about Emmaline. He was worried about his sister being hurt. Now I think it was about him. Couldn’t stand me being happy. Couldn’t understand, couldn’t stand me loving. If I’d married Emmaline, I think he would’ve been in our mess too. Henry fucked hundreds of women, but never loved one of them. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d loved her.

  “Every woman I ever met preferred Henry. Better looking, more fun than me. Henry could charm the dead. Henry probably charmed God to let him into heaven.”

  “What’re you saying, Gabe?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  Joe groaned. “No, Gabe. I don’t want to hear this.”

  “You don’t have a choice. ’Sides you already know what I’m going to say. You know Henry. You’ve always known him. Now ain’t that right?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “You weren’t man enough to carry it. You’ve been wagging your tail behind Henry so long, you couldn’t stop once he was a ghost. You’ve known all along what kind of man Henry was. But, today, you’ve shown yourself what kind of man you are. You don’t need to be Henry.”

  “Shut up, Gabe.”

  “You don’t need to be me either.”

  “I’m not anybody.” Joe laid his head on the table.

  “You don’t mean that,” answered Gabe. “Moment ago, you were proud of yourself. Keep that feeling.” He stroked Joe’s head. “You’re strong enough to carry the truth. I know you are.”

  Joe felt sorry when the gentle weight lifted from the back of his skull. Felt sorry he was here. Sorry Henry was a son-of-a-bitch. Sorry the tale wasn’t done.

  Gabe rasped: “I found them both sprawled on the kitchen floor. Hadn’t even made it to the bed. Clothes everywhere. Francine flat on her back, mouth open, ugly in sleep. Henry, on his stomach, his hand on her breast.”

  “I’m getting the hell out of here, Gabe. Out of Tulsa.”

  Gabe went on, relentless. “I started kicking Henry telling him to get the fuck up. Francine clawed at me, cursing. Liquored up, the both of them. I got some good punches in. Henry never once hit me. I just stopped. Francine tried to cover herself with her slip. Henry was still on the floor, cross-legged, his balls hanging, his face swelling up.

  “I asked ‘Do you love her? Do you love her, goddamnit?’ Henry said: ‘Thought you wouldn’t mind.’ I kicked him in his side. Henry fell over, his legs curled up like a baby. He lay there laughing. At me? Himself? I don’t know.

  “‘Do you love her?’ I demanded. Henry stared right through Francine:‘I don’t love anybody.’ Francine cursed, started battering Henry. I reached to catch her. But she righted herself: face pinched, hands flailing, screaming: ‘You said you loved me—amour—t’aime moi.’ Called us both niggers. Didn’t sound right with her accent. Such fury. At Henry. At me. Niggers.”

  Joe stood. “I don’t want to hear anymore, Gabe. Greenwood needs defending, then I’m gone.” He clutched the lamp, turning side to side, the light swaying, arcing across the walls, the stacked boxes. “Where’s the dynamite? Let’s get what you want, then get the hell out of here.”

  “Gotta tell you how I killed Henry.”

  Joe spun around, the light sliced across Gabe’s face.

  “I killed Henry.”

  Joe lurched forward. “Don’t joke, Gabe.”

  “Everybody knew what good friends we were,” Gabe said dully. “Nobody questioned things might’ve changed. Duty sergeant put us in the same trench.”

  “No, Gabe.”

  “We’d been under fire three days. Sweating our brains out during the day; water flowing out of our damn helmets. Our feet, sticky in thick boots. Nights cold. Shivering, teeth chattering cold.” Gabe was breathing heavily.

  “I told Henry ‘Don’t say nothin’. Not a damn thing. Don’t say nothin’.’ Three days we managed to get along. Three days firing at Germans. Ducking snipers. Hearing the boom of artillery. Shells showering dirt. The trench: miles long, deep and as wide as a grave. All of us told to be silent. Lay low. On the lookout for the enemy trying to breach the line.” Gabe was crying. Fat tears rolling, dropping off his face.

  “Night came. There’d been a lull. A few hours of quiet: no shelling, no fire. Henry and I standing side by side in our helmets, peering over our rifle scopes. Couldn’t see shit. Then, Henry turned to me and said: ‘Sorry.’ Nothing else. Just ‘sorry.’

  “I climbed all over him. We fought, grunting. Had to keep quiet. Enemy just over the line. We’re scuffling hard. My lip burst. Henry’s nose bleeding. We fought sloppy. Sloppy and tired. Hadn’t slept. Not doing any real damage. And all I could hear was ‘sorry’ and see brother man fucking Francine.

  “I pulled my knife. Henry knew I was going to kill him. Knew by my eyes. Knew there was no room to reason. I sliced at him. He dived, jerked back. Not much room to go. Pushing him into the corner, end of the trench, end of the line. He couldn’t get around me. I lunged and Henry scrambled out of the trench like a rat. He spun around. ‘Goddamnit, Gabe.’ He was standing straight up when the shell landed. Shrapnel tore through him.

  “He didn’t moan, didn’t cry out. Just kept calling, ‘Gabriel, Gabriel.’ I crawled on my belly. Another artillery shell went off, a piece of steel ripped into my side. I grabbed Henry’s hand and slid him, inch by inch. When I pulled him into the trench, he fell hard, no hands to break his fall. His guts spilled out, blood draining out his mouth, his eyes, nose, ears.”

  Gabe shook his head. He wiped his wet face. “Then he stopped.”

  Joe gripped the table’s edge, to keep from falling. “You said he told you he loved Mother. Told you to help me find Lena’s bones. You lied to me, Gabe.”

  Gabe didn’t answer.

  Joe thought about smashing the lamp, burning them alive. Thought about shooting Gabe in the eye. Thought about falling, laying on the floor until Ailey found him and carted him away, like a good nigger, to be lynched.

  And there, across from him, sat Henry. Handsome, charming Henry looking ready to play poker. Deal the cards. Joe laughed, hysterical, thinking he’d play poker with all his dead relatives. Tyler. Tyler’s father. A whole line of Samuels. Joe groaned.

  “I’m sorry,” muttered Gabe.

  Joe almost punched him. Gabe looked worn, pathet
ic in his old uniform. Four years, Gabe had been holed up in his shack with nothing. No family, no love. Henry was just as pitiful. A damn ghost wandering Tulsa. Trying to get Joe to stand in his place.

  Both men were asking forgiveness. Trying to help him now. Both men were his brothers.

  “Come on, Gabe,” he said softly. “Got to get to Greenwood. Folks needing us.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.” Joe extended his good hand. “Samuels men have always been selfish. Time we stop. All the pain in the world isn’t ours.”

  “I believe that,” Gabe smiled grimly, clutching his hand.

  Henry nodded.

  “You see him?”

  Gabe turned, looking at the empty chairs. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “Must mean he’s forgiven you. ’Cause I see him. He’s there.”

  “Henry?” asked Gabe.

  “He’s smiling. A big smile. Like a cat that ate a mouse.” Joe handed Gabe back his coat. “Come on, let’s get the dynamite.” The lamp glowed brighter.

  Gabe sighed. “I figure we can blow the Ambrose building. Destroy a good part of Main.”

  Joe imagined the hotel, revolving door, the elevator cage, and the shine boxes, all collapsing down in dust and smoke. “No, Gabe. We’ll defend Greenwood, not attack Tulsa.”

  “Okay, lieutenant.” Almost joyful, Gabe slapped Joe’s back. “A few sticks for defense. Is that all right?”

  “Yeah, that’s all right.”

  Gabe rummaged among the boxes.

  Melancholy gripped Joe. In his mind’s eye, he kept seeing his dream. Greenwood burning. Him cuffed. Will, he needed to remember that. Will.

  Joe looked at his brother. He could see Henry, glowing almost, outlined against the jumbled boxes of hardware. Joe felt angry, furious he hadn’t known his brother. Betrayed because what he now knew was so ugly.