Pool laughed. Now I know you lyin.
Hatch shared the laugh.
Seated on the high stool, Pool worked his invisible hands in the metal sink. I got to do some serious cookin today.
Pool, you like to cook.
The hell if I do. I learned from my grandmother. She put me in the kitchen and made me cook. Didn’t have to show me nothing. When you have to eat your own cooking, you learn how to do it right.
I still think you like to cook.
Well, I got to cook these rabbits for my wife. Seasoned them last night.
Rabbit?
Yeah. You ain’t never had no rabbit before?
Hatch shook his head.
Taste like chicken.
Yeah?
The dark in the room gave way to the first full light of morning.
Once you get the wild taste out. I told my wife, she buy em, I’ll cook em. You wait here til tonight. You can taste them.
I’d like to, I really would, wish I could stay, but I got some things to do today.
And yo mamma probably worried. Did you call her?
Hatch lied.
Well, come on in here and make you some breakfast before you leave.
POOL, FRY ME SOME FISH, Lee said.
What you gon do fo me?
Pool, you bad. You a bad man.
See this gap between my teeth. Pool pointed to it with his finger. That’s my nipple holder. I put your nipple between there, then flip my tongue like this—
Lee turned her head. You bad. You a bad man. Ain’t that right, honey?
Hatch hesitated. Pool, are you bad?
Hell yes.
Fry me some fish.
Lee, stop beggin. Can’t you see I’m resting here?
I’ll fry you some fish, Hatch said.
You don’t have to do that, honey.
No, it’s okay. I’ll fry you some. Hatch rose from his seat. You gon have fish for breakfast?
What, Pool said, you ain’t never had no fish and grits for breakfast?
No.
Pool shook his head. Where you been all yo life?
Leave him alone, Lee said. Go on, honey. Go on. Hold the grits.
The kitchen drew Hatch in. He followed Pool’s instructions from yesterday. Get the grease really hot. Put the flour in a paper bag with a little bit of cornmeal. Shake the fish around good.
Don’t burn it up in there.
I won’t. He fried the fish good on one side, then flipped it over with a spatula.
Don’t flip it with no fork.
I won’t. He fried the fish good on the other side, then lifted it from the popping skillet and laid it on a napkin-covered plate to drain the grease.
Don’t forget to turn off that skillet.
I won’t. He flipped the fish onto a fresh plate. He walked into the other room with the plate balanced traylike on his hand. He set it before Lee and laid out her knife, fork, and napkin.
Thank you, honey.
You welcome. Like something to drink?
No, thanks. This is fine.
Hey, Pool shouted, turn off that light in the kitchen.
Hatch complied. Returned.
Lee had already cut into the fish.
How it taste?
Good.
It better taste good. I taught him.
Now, Pool, how come you can’t be nice to me. Like this young man? Fried me up some fish. You did something nice for me. Someday I’ll do something nice for you.
THESE KIDS IS SHO LAZY, Lee said. I work eleven hours a day, five days a week.
Then why you over here runnin yo mouth?
Pool, you know you bad. You can sho talk some trash.
Ain’t that the milk callin the sugar white.
Don’t pay no tention to him, honey. He a bad man. Ain’t that right?
Hatch couldn’t decide whether to smile or nod. Pool, are you bad?
Hell yes.
Here, honey. I bought a book for you. Lee served the book on the table to Hatch. The Trick Life. Some people say this is trash, but you like to read. Don’t you? I can look at you and tell. Read this book. Then tell me what you think.
Hatch opened the book, fingered the pages, seeing the words but not reading them.
That book is not trash. He just tellin it like it really is. The Muslims sell it. I bought three or four of his books from them. And you know they don’t sell no trash.
Hatch nodded.
He just tellin it like it is. He used to be a pimp. You know that?
So I heard.
He talk about what the hookers have to do. Where the hookers hide their money. You know. How the cops treat them. And this man that dress up like a woman. And these women with the big bosom. You read it and tell me if it’s trash. When you get finish, return it to me. I put my address and phone number inside.
YOU SAY YOU MET MY UNCLE JOHN? Hatch could talk now, now that Lee had left, now that they were alone. He would leave here, had to leave, leave and soon. He was shot through with things unsaid.
Once or twice. Lucifer brought him by.
What did you think of him?
Nice. We all vets.
Hatch thought about it. Tried to follow the wandering voice inside. You ain’t seen him since?
No. I’d like to. You bring him by sometime.
I will. He studied Webb. Someday he would dress like that. He would wear old man’s clothes. Wear these clothes daily without pride or shame, a uniform in a civilian world. He could feel it now. Inside him. The old man growing, inning the out, preparing for his day in the sun. Pool, he said, you been bad, you done wrong. What you gon say on Judgment Day?
Lord, let me in there. I ain’t gon screw nwine one of them angels.
35
LUCIFER RENAMED NEW YORK the City of Trains. All rails glowed with the memory of those speeding colorful objects his eyes had witnessed years before. A babel of color inside and out. Scrawled tongues twisting into a mute vision of motion and voice. So his nostalgia had formed. But the trains had changed. New cars, clear cars. He found graffiti on concrete highway embankments, eye-catching billboards, the sides of parked and moving trucks, buildings—each brick a painted face—dolled-up girls sitting on stoops, traffic signs, everywhere but the remembered place. Tiled mosaics offered something of the old color. He celebrated, in the city of memory.
In the same way bridge joined water to land, rails joined earth to sky. (People here even called the El the subway.) You went deep inside to rise high to the outside world, ass to mouth. Bridge and train stitched borough to borough. New York was an island, all of it. In a city like this, each day might be an adventure. Travel within to other places. Take a little bit at a time. Archipelago to archipelago, pearl to pearl. He thought, I could live here. I want to live here. I will live here. Someday. He had thought this years before and was thinking it again now, a concentration of energy that vanished the instant after the hope, the intention took shape. Ah, New York. The City of Trains.
To be one of the first to enter the car and win a prized seat, you had to box out the other passengers, the same way you boxed out another basketball player to snatch a rebound. Back home, the seats faced to the forward or backward motion of the train. Here, long bench rows of seats faced one another, the left side of the car watching the right—never look any of the passengers opposite directly in the face—and the right side watching the left. An open middle between, standing room for millions.
He had spent the night in the City That Never Sleeps—the sky the deepest blue above the buildings and the buildings themselves, dimly lighted from within, like jack-o’-lanterns—not sleeping, tossing and turning on a hard mattress in a noisy Times Square hotel, the same hotel from his first visit many years ago. Only the rates had changed. A walk-up building—like so many others in the city—with wide stairwells, space in the landing, a fire escape zigzagging up the facade, and a printed warning to keep the escape window locked. The hotel bears no responsibility for lost or stolen items. A sailo
r and a hooker fucked in the sweaty shadows outside his room. Pardon me, folks. Don’t let me interrupt you. Inside the room, he found a bed made for a man a foot shorter than himself under a hanging bulb with a saucer-shaped lamp. He turned off the bulb and fell on the bed, a rock hitting the softness of water.
The sink gargled its steel throat. Bed legs from the room above him bucked from one end of the ceiling to the other, and the ceiling showered peeling paint down on him. He curled into sleep. Dreamed close to the surface.
His bed drifted. He woke and turned on the lights. Rats—five or six of them—scattered for the dark. He pulled a candy bar from his shirt pocket and tossed the two halves into two corners.
The new day dawned fair and fresh. Found him here. Coney Island. To discover ocean in New York, lower Manhattan was the obvious, convenient choice. But the long train ride to Coney Island offered the illusion of journey. He journeyed here to ocean because over there he had never been aware that ocean was ocean, hadn’t been convinced, even after he was told. Sea was just another word. Water was water. And the water felt like the waters back home, Tar Lake, hot summer waters, even if it had a salt smell and taste. He wanted to feel the ocean, this ocean.
A breeze strolled down to the boardwalk where the sand began. He dared not go barefoot on the beach. (He’d heard that dope fiends left their needles in the sand.) He walked, the impact of his steps darkening the sand, leaving puddles. The white sand broke loose in footprint after footprint. Clouds sailed in a westward armada. Gulls scratched through a rusty sky, circling ocean for minute after minute on a single wingbeat. Flocks of them wandered the beach on stick legs. The sea swelled, curled, broke in a long line, washing foam up on the beach, and slipped back down the beach to come back and re-form, break again in a long line, and slice back again, sound retreating with the wave to travel some invisible place and spill a great surge of noise. Lines of woven hemp trailed out into the ocean. Skeletal driftwood. And seaweed like discarded wigs. The green sea broke into silver on the beach. Lucifer stooped over sand—fish scales glistened like coins—grabbed a fistful, then stood, the sand dribbling out of his hand. He stooped again to gather pieces of seashell almost purple from the brackish water. Then he stood and looked at the sea, the waves now white and slow as sheep. All he saw was surf out there, more and more of nothing. He wiggled his toes, a wet feeling causing him to look down at his shoes. He had ruined them, a good pair. Sand spilled from the laces. The sides breathed like gills.
36
HATCH SMELLED THE CITY’S CHOKED SEWERS. He curled through the tangled streets of South Lincoln. John had brought him here. And Jesus. He had been drawn into the elongated circle of their will. He grafted unknowns to unknowns. If he had winged eyes, they could fly and find John. If he could make boats of his words, they would sail and find Jesus. How could he halt what had already been set in motion? Maybe blood ain’t—
An angle of brick stabbed him. The concrete snatched him down. His eyes spilled spinning suns. He rubbed his head. His fingers felt no blood. The wheeling slowed to a stop. He and another boy both sat on their butts with their arms extended behind them. The boy pulled himself up on an invisible string. He was slow to follow.
Sorry, he said.
Bitch, why don’t you watch where you going?
He felt sun on his shoulders. Listen, ain’t no need fo all that.
You don’t like it? The boy poked his hard face into Hatch’s. He’s the same height as me. Why, he’s the spittin image of—He wore a hat, bomb-pointed crown aimed at the sky above, straps dangling like girl’s pigtails. Bitch, I’m talkin to you. The boy had eyes like sucked-out shells. Dry ice or frozen spit. A nasty gray light glowing in them.
I was jus turnin the corner.
Bitch, I ain’t ask you what you was jus doin. The words bat-flew out of the boy’s black grave mouth. Hatch breathed in gravedigger breath. He saw. Face behind the words. Face behind the breath. Little fly hairs of mustache. A black hole of mouth. Oh, he’s smilin. That’s what he’s doing. Grinning. Sneering. Crooked tombstones of teeth. I wanna know what you gon do now.
Hatch said nothing.
Bitch. I didn’t think so. The boy’s eyes traveled the entire orbit of Hatch’s body. I oughta smoke you. The boy slid his hand in the breast pocket—Napoleon-like—of his athletic jacket. Least make you suck my dick. His eyes ran a second orbit. Bitch, get outa my face.
The words pushed Hatch away. Made his legs move as fast as they could. But not fast enough. At the next corner, the boy leaned his face out of a red ambulance. Buck! Buck!
Hatch ducked to the safety of the sidewalk. Tried to camouflage himself in concrete. Laughter rose from beneath burning tires. Bitch. The ambulance speeded away.
37
THE SHADOW-SWAMPED TREES shimmered like black ghosts. Thinned against the stars. Moon burned over the rim of the horizon. Blackened headstones blazed in the night, cracked old people’s faces, leaning, here and there a name or date barely legible. What did it matter? The years telescoping, he might have lived out the rest of his life in this single discovery.
He continued under the hot stars. Chill struck through his clothes. His veins drew it in, then spilled it from the faucet of his head, down the pipe of his neck, and throughout the basin of his body. He moved with no exercise of will, only the habit to endure. He looked down at his feet. They were far off, almost out of sight, under black water. He felt himself slipping away in the dead moment before dawn. I am no longer the same person I was, he thought. He was going home. A forbidden city.
38
THE STREETLAMPS STRUNG THROUGH THE NIGHT LIKE BEADS. Hatch and Abu stood in the yard, their still eyes following the back of the receding ambulance.
Keylo, Hatch said.
What?
That was Keylo.
Who?
He followed me here.
What?
Hatch looked at the star-filled night and breathed deeply. Nobody, Hatch said. He had already said too much.
You said Keylo, didn’t you? Keylo from Red Hook?
Forget it.
How you know it was him?
Hatch said nothing.
What he doing round here?
Jus forget it. I was mistaken, that’s all.
Where you been?
Who said I been anywhere?
Yo mamma called looking for you.
Hatch searched for an answer. I was over at Elsa’s house.
Why you ain’t call?
I was busy. I was getting my groove on.
Oh. Abu redirected his embarrassed eyes. You get the tickets?
What?
The tickets. You know, for Spin’s—
Oh. Forgot all about that. They was closed.
Closed?
Yeah. You know, the flood and all. We’ll get them tomorrow. Hatch turned toward the house.
Abu followed behind him, trying to keep pace. What did T-Bone want?
Oh, you know.
What did he want?
It ain’t important.
If it ain’t important how come—
Hatch gave Abu a look for an answer. Stared him down. Looks have language. Abu turtle-shrunk into himself. Hatch reached the housefront. He did not stumble. The low-rising steps were easy flying.
Once inside the house, Hatch phoned Sheila to ease her fears. (He knew precisely what to say. Much practice.) Then he clicked off the lights. Abu made no complaint.
They had the house to themselves until the morning. (Abu’s parents worked nights.) In complete silence, he and Abu sat as one until dawn, their still eyes forming shapes to guard off the dark space of absence.
39
A BODY GETS AROUND. Traveling. To see the cities of men. Travel a little further and see as much as you can see.
Well, I hope you have a nice trip.
I plan to.
Porsha sat at the window—the sky has nearly forgotten the sun; how many days now? no sight no sound no touch—and watched the evening invade the
avenue.
Why you so quiet?
Porsha said nothing. The receiver hummed at her ear like an empty well.
Hmm, I see. Um huh. I see.
The words echoed what she felt.
I’m sorry, Nia said. Sorry, I really am.
Porsha listened and waited.
I’m sorry but, you know, people shouldn’t cross roads in heavy traffic.
Porsha searched each word for the meaning she wanted to hear. Perhaps Nia was right. Perhaps it was all her fault. Then again, she had only followed the natural flow of her heart.
Next time you’ll know.
I thought we were talking about you.
Ain’t no need to talk about me. Evil as always.
What happened?
Same ole.
I’m coming over.
No need to.
Nia had missed the point. She needed to. I want to come over.
Stay away from me cause I’m in my sin.
You ain’t gon tell me what happened?
Who said anything happened.
Porsha could hear destruction in the words. But Nia was like that, secretive—something you either were or weren’t—holding and nurturing it all inside until she was ready to let another taste her bitter milk. Okay, Porsha said, be like that then.
I will. And you do like I always do. Find a hole and crawl into it.
Porsha felt the words roaring like ocean in the phone, roaring, as if they had enough wet force to will her into action. Well, I’ll talk to you when you get back.
Sure you don’t want to come with?
Porsha smiled into the phone. She pictured Nia sitting at her office desk, looking like a package somebody else had wrapped. No.
It’ll do wonders.
I’m sure it will.
Okay. I tried. Later, girlfriend.
Later.
THE WINDOW FRAMED A REMOTE WORLD. The day had drawn sure. The night was well along. But night is no hiding place. The earth and its corrupt works shall be discovered. What the cockroach has left, the locust has eaten. Cause the Good Book says that through the windows the locust shall go like a thief. She felt a hot melting urge. She greased her hands in petroleum jelly and eased them into the Lazarus 1 Ascension Aid, patent pending. She failed to levitate. Once again. She’d been unsuccessful for months. Nia had succeeded on her first try, her fat body bobbing balloon-fashion above the bare floorboards.
Rails Under My Back Page 48