Rails Under My Back

by Jeffery Renard Allen

  Maybe, if I leave now.

  Maybe.

  Before it gets dark.

  Before it gets dark.

  Yeah. It’ll be dark soon.

  Well, you know, you welcome to stay here.

  Hatch felt the words nest in his skin. You sure?

  You welcome.

  Thanks. His insides settled. He felt new space inside, space for the time he needed. I’ll go back in the morning. They should have things together by then.

  Call your mother and let her know you alright.

  I will.

  Call her now. Don’t let yo mamma worry.

  Hatch lifted the receiver to his ear. It felt cold, an ice compress. The line rang and rang, swelled into his brain. He counted the number of rings, hung up the phone, and settled back into the inner harbor of the couch.

  No answer?

  Hatch shook his head. Guess nobody there. She probably didn’t make it home from work, with the flood and all. Got to come all the way from the suburbs.

  You know her work number. You know it. Call her at work.

  Hatch dialed another number. Let it ring a few times. Counted the rings. Hung up the phone. Nobody there, he said.

  You sure?

  Hatch nodded.

  What about yo daddy? I know yo daddy worry, way he talk about you.

  The words startled Hatch. Lucifer talk about me? Webb was wrong, his memory mixed up, one of those things old people do. I didn’t even know he had a son. Lucifer never spoke his name to others. Webb probably meant Uncle John. Uncle John talk bout me all the time.

  Call yo daddy at work.

  At work?

  Yeah.

  Hatch thought fast. Maybe they had to go down South to see my grandmother. Yeah, that’s it. They had to go down South to West Memphis to see my grandmother Lula Mae. She sick.

  Oh yeah?

  Yeah. Cancer.

  Sorry to hear that.

  Thanks. That’s where they went. They go down there every two weeks or so. Hatch watched his own truth in Webb’s eyes and face.

  Well, try again later. Jus to be sure.

  I will.

  31

  GIVE ME A COPPER, the bum said, and I’ll tell you a golden story. Camouflaged in the city’s dirt, the bum sat with the building at his back, his legs straight before him. (Lucifer had almost stumbled over them.) A cardboard sign hung biblike from his neck: I’M A VET.

  Sorry, Lucifer said.

  You look like a military man. Are you a military man?

  Lucifer continued walking, silent in the slanting sun.

  You are a military man. I can always tell a military man.

  Sorry. Lucifer moved on. A plague of hot asphalt and city sizzle. New York, New York. The Big Apple. Back again. You brought me back. Called. There’s an ocean of time between Lucifer’s present and previous visits. The first many years ago. He left John and Gracie at the hospital after the doctor birthed them something that looked like a head of red cabbage. He pulled his savings from the bank (vet pay) and bought a plane ticket. He grinned broadly at the rush of takeoff. Speed hummed through his body. He settled into it. The stewardess—they were still called that then—smiled in the steam of the coffee she’d prepared. Neither female warmth nor coffee warmth relaxed him. He hated planes. Anxious boredom. He never knew if the plane was moving until it came to a stop. The plane hummed through a sea of clouds. New York was there somewhere beneath that sea. What would he see on descent? The Empire State Building? The Twin Towers? The Statue of Liberty? The Chrysler Building? The question vanished. He saw a swash of green and thought it green ocean, but as the plane descended, he recognized green-painted roofs. He saw what looked like houses, scattered over blocks of neighborhoods, but as the plane dropped closer, he saw these houses were really tombstones.

  High windows steamed bright light. Thick crowds of people edged through blocks of concrete on concrete. Traffic flowed in slow coils. A big machine. Yes, New York was a big machine.

  No one understood machines better than Spokesman. This was his city. He was the person to see. With Spokesman the facts were always the same. Facts. Spokesman was always willing to sit you down in a corner of his thoughts.

  Give me that shit say dynamite on the label, John said. I feel like something powerful tonight.

  Dallas passed John the 40 Acres, John’s and Dallas’s favorite cheap wine. John tilted the bottle to his lips, one hand on the bottle, one on the wheel. It was in a car that John felt most at home.

  Spokesman put his hand out the window, feeling the wind.

  Pebbles shot up under the car and clinked. The road before them was one long curving surprise as John’s red Cadillac zoomed through the hot white light of afternoon into tepid evening shade. Drinking and talking and philosophizing. Voices bubbling with alcohol. Spokesman said something and Lucifer said something and Spokesman nodded and smiled his approval and Lucifer felt like a bird flying above the car.

  There was something fascinating about listening to Spokesman. You hold your breath to listen. He had the answers. All of them. But how to find him? Lucifer fingered the old envelope bearing Spokesman’s address. Spokesman had supplied no phone number. Lucifer didn’t know Spokesman’s job title or place of work. What would he do, call or visit every Symmes Electronics store in New York? The only solution was to go directly to Spokesman’s home. Camp out there if necessary.

  What would he say to Spokesman? Words rushed through his head. So many ways to begin. Twice a month, Spokesman mailed Lucifer a letter thickly definite. Words bound to tell. Now, Spokesman’s words come to mind like photographs. Ancient words were written on durable clay tablets, and the Bible, parchment, a much more perishable material. Once the almanac is completed, I must publish it on some material that bridges the gap between ancient durability and modern flexibility. Spokesman wrote, by airmail—always airmail—from here to there, The gravity of physics rejects the presence of two identical forces staring each other in the eye. The letter would always end: If you ever get to heaven, I’ll be there. He would sign his simplest name, Spoke.

  What had inspired the almanac? A reputable agency had investigated Spokesman’s genealogy. Spokesman had discovered no less than fifty historical inconsistencies. No natural soil could have grown the proposed family tree.

  WHAT DO YOU WANT? the doorman said. An old black guy who looked like a military sentinel in his uniform. You don’t belong here.

  Lucifer showed him the envelope.

  Oh, Spokesman. Penthouse. Lucifer followed the doorman to the elevator. The doorman pressed the button P and waited for the metal doors to shut. Tell him Bill says hello.

  I will.

  Lucifer used this final rising moment to organize his thoughts. Why was he so nervous? Spokesman was an old buddy from the hood. Almost family.

  The way Spokesman skyed the ball, the way he palmed it high and made it stick to air, made it stick like the sun. The way he drove to the hoop, bogarting, all elbows, sharp elbows slicing at your guts and nuts. Short nigga spit science on the ball, marked it his. Jumped on Jimmy the Cricket legs and slid the ball in the hoop easy with grease off his palm.

  Dallas let his tongue hang loose, as he always did whenever he got frustrated. Spokesman came in hard, black and smoking. Palmed the ball and rolled it up Dallas’s chin and tongue, leaving skid marks. Rolled that ball smooth over the taller man’s head.

  Damn, John said. Damn. You gon let him do that shit to you?

  Stay out of it, Lucifer said.

  Damn. You gon let him play you like a chump?

  John, Lucifer said, why you always tryin to start some shit?

  Elevator doors parted. Spokesman stood waiting. For the first time in memory, he wore a suit, tailor-made from the looks of it. The same old bifocals though, big as binoculars.

  Lucifer and Spokesman stared at each other for a long minute. Lucifer looked away first and Spokesman smiled to himself.

  Lucifer, Spokesman said.

  Spoke.
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  They hugged like old war buddies. Come in, Spokesman said. Long time, no see.

  Yes.

  Spokesman took him through one room then another, all bare. The final room seemed crowded after the previous emptiness. A large living room with two plain wooden chairs (high backs but no arms) and a tall telescope that looked into a drawn curtain. Lucifer remembered: the windows and curtains were kept closed as light and circulating air would fade the furniture. But there was no furniture. Old habits.

  Have a seat. Spokesman motioned to one of the chairs.

  Thanks. Lucifer sat down in the chair.

  Spokesman squatted down on the other chair in the long light. They faced one another, a good thirty feet separating them, a second, curtainless window directly behind Spokesman. In the open, bare room, Lucifer felt that he could sit for days and absorb the atmosphere. The clear sky and meandering clouds above the green box of Central Park increased the mystery of being there. He had never felt this way in his life.

  I don’t believe it, Spokesman said. Lucifer Jones. Sitting right here before my eyes. Is that really you?

  It’s me.

  I don’t believe it.

  Believe it.

  I don’t believe it.

  Lucifer smiled. He felt a rush of warmth pass through him.

  How did you travel?

  By train.

  Train?

  Lucifer nodded.

  I hope you brought along some good reading. One should always have something sensational to read on the train.

  Lucifer said nothing. Made sense to him. Pure Spoke.

  Man, I been trying to reach you. You never responded to my letters.

  Been meaning to.

  I’m glad you finally came down to see me. A pleasant surprise.

  Glad to be here.

  Where’s your luggage? Behind bulletproof glass, Spokesman’s weak eyes searched Lucifer’s surroundings.

  Lucifer cleared his throat. Back at the hotel.

  Hotel?

  Yes.

  Spokesman said nothing for a minute. Oh, I see. You here on vacation?

  Not exactly.

  Spokesman seemed puzzled. He twisted his lenses as if to focus them. What brings you?

  John.

  John? Spokesman said. Speaking the name, the person, as if he’d never heard it. Spokesman’s memory was infallible. He could look at any technological device once, take it apart, and put it back together again to the last screw, washer, or microchip without help of blueprints, notecards, or memos.

  Where is he?

  Spokesman’s naked lenses floated before his invisible eyes. Why do you ask me?

  You and John were always close.

  Spokesman nodded in agreement. All that man dares do, I would do.

  Lucifer smiled at the thought. Word had it John, Spin, and Spokesman had commandeered a hootch at base perimeter, fortified it with sandbags and an electric fence. Word had it they never wore boots or any rubber-soled footwear. Rubber is dimagnetic. Two of many rumors. You guys were famous, Lucifer said.

  Yeah, Spokesman said. Things were wild over there. We were wild. John, Spin, and me—we painted like the eclipse of the sun, half black and half red.

  Lucifer was aware of something inside him trusting Spokesman, trusting wholly and heavily. So John—

  I can’t help you.

  The words fell to the floor at Lucifer’s feet. But I thought—

  I can’t help you.

  You know, he came for the march in Washington.

  Is he in trouble?

  Well, he—

  Original relations, Spokesman said. He shook his head.

  Yes, relations. He is my brother. That’s why I’m here.

  You look worried.

  No. I wouldn’t say that. Concerned. His wife is worried.

  Still married?

  Yes, Lucifer said.

  To the same woman?

  Yes.

  Spokesman looked Lucifer up and down, making no effort to hide his disgust. Lucifer didn’t hold it against him. He felt the same way about Gracie.

  John said he was coming to see you. Did you go to the march?

  Chickens can’t fly, Spokesman said.

  Lucifer held his breath, hoping that Spokesman would go on and say something else. Spoke, I thought—

  Have you seen Dallas?

  Why was Spokesman steering away from John? Lucifer answered him. I can’t remember the last time.

  You remember that time Spider got him a job at the Zanzibar Motel? The memory played itself on the two screens of Spokesman’s glasses.

  Yeah. And the manager found Dallas asleep in one of the beds, dead drunk.

  Lucifer and Spokesman rode a wave of shared laughter.

  Now John and Dallas, Spokesman said, they were tight.

  So you haven’t—

  Wish I could help. To know more, we must assume more. Spokesman’s eyes hovered over him. Lucifer could feel their energy. The eyes gave the talk weight. But they also made Lucifer uncomfortable. Had they always made him feel like this? Prediction is our best means of distinguishing science from superstition.

  Please, Spoke. The words rushed to Lucifer’s lips. I’m trying to clear up this confusion about John. When was the last time—

  He asked me for a loan.

  When was that?

  A few months back.

  Did you give it to him?

  Do I look like Boo Boo the Fool? John rather cut out his heart than give you a dime.

  This was true.

  Spokesman began singing.

  Captain, did you hear

  All yo men gonna leave next payday,

  Baby, next payday

  You remember that one?

  Lucifer nodded. One of John’s favorites.

  Yes. I told him to fly down so we could do some hunting. Many good spots upstate.

  Lucifer’s mind churned as Spokesman spoke. Spokesman liked spot hunting. John would shine his flashlight in the deer’s face and Spokesman would blast it.

  I formed a new company. We stage live re-creations of the war for film, stage, and television. A lotta work these days, believe it or not. I offered John a job. He didn’t refuse or accept.

  Lucifer wondered why Spokesman hadn’t offered him a job, too. Why he wasn’t offering him a job now. So you haven’t heard from him?

  I wish I could help. Spokesman smiled, walrus teeth. Good fortune had not convinced him to correct his teeth.

  Am I right?

  I can’t help you.

  What are you saying?

  I’m saying that I don’t know why you came here to see me.

  Because you and John were always tight. Close. Because—

  Of course we were tight. Some things can’t be destroyed. If a hologram is cut or blemished, it retains the image of the whole in each portion of the film. Spokesman nodded with the possibility.

  Interesting, Lucifer said. But—

  More than interesting. It’s real. The war should have taught you that. Spokesman’s angry eyes testified to the validity of every word.

  Lucifer didn’t let the anger bother him. It wasn’t clear to him where this might lead, but he intended to keep on with it. Teach me what?

  That life is based on awesome immutable laws. Ignorance of those laws does not excuse anyone from the consequences of the nonapplication of those laws or, worst, the breaking of those laws. Spokesman’s head and teeth pumped a stream of words, a barking, spitting dog.

  Lucifer sat and listened. He made an effort to vocalize his thoughts.

  What? Spokesman said.

  Lucifer rose from his seat and moved to the window behind Spokesman. He looked out on the green park and felt scared of the sky’s beauty. Where’s Spin?

  Spin?

  I need to speak to Spin.

  He can’t tell you anything.

  Do you know where I can find him?

  It’s not what you know, it’s what you can acknowledge.

 
Lucifer turned from the green and the sky and faced Spokesman. He leaned into the words. I need to know.

  He lives in Queens, Little Asia.

  Little Asia?

  Yes.

  But I thought he lived in Harlem?

  No. His company—

  The Royal African Company.

  Yes. His company is there.

  I see.

  He lives next to the cathedral with the cemetery out front. I know that cemetery because I designed some of the tombstones. Plastic. They last forever. Spokesman smiled with fanged pride.

  You have the address?

  You have a pen?

  Yes.

  Spokesman gave Lucifer the address. Lucifer wrote it down.

  You’ll need the password, Spokesman said.

  Password?

  Yes. Spin only associates with those in the know. Fame will do that to you. Make you a prisoner.

  What’s the password?

  Spokesman gave Lucifer the password. Lucifer wrote it down. Thanks.

  Thank you.

  Why was Spokesman thanking him?

  Don’t worry, Spokesman said.

  I’ll try not to.

  No, I mean it. Don’t try. Do it. No need to worry.

  Why? Lucifer felt on the edge of something.

  History is all matter, and matter cannot be destroyed. The moon pulls on the tides. The earth on a passing comet. But the object itself is not changed. Simply its path, the track or trace. And that track is external, nonessential to the object itself.

  Spoke, Lucifer said, you’re not human.

  32

  BUT YOU GOT TO GET AWAY from a woman who love you too strong. I used to have this woman who would drive my car after I fell asleep. Then in the morning, hide my shoes so I can’t go back to my wife.

  Damn, Hatch said. Damn.

  Women is something.

  You ain’t married no more?

  Yeah. Well, separated. Guess that’s what you’d call it.

  She left you?

  I left her. Lazy. My wife got a good job workin for the city. A social worker. She be ready to retire next year. But she lazy. That’s why I left her. I work all day and have to come home and cook for her and clean the house. All I wanted was a little help. She be out shopping.

  Man.

  And the kids tryin to talk back to me. My daughter so lazy she throw out the silverware with the garbage. And my son got a smart mouth. No respect. I told my wife, I’m gon leave you with these bad-ass kids. See how you like that. She go, Pool, you know you won’t. I did too.