Dad still wore his blue-gray postal pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his thick muscles as he lay on the floor and struggled to get our tree to stay up in its too-rickety stand.
Me and Johnny stood by holding the green-and-red string lights, ready to put them on as soon as Dad said go. My stomach growled loud enough for everyone to hear. Not my fault. The heavenly aroma from the canned ham heating in the oven, with circle-cut pineapple and brown sugar on top, overpowered the room, overpowered even the fresh pine-tree scent. I wanted to get the lights on, decorate the tree, eat, and get to bed. The sooner I got to bed, the sooner I could get up and find whatever surprises the Christmas tree held. “The Christmas stockings are next,” I said. “Tomorrow morning they’ll be filled with little prizes and candy canes.”
Johnny shook his head, “There’s no Santa Claus. I’m not fallin’ for that bunch of hooey, not anymore.”
Me and Johnny, we’d had this same discussion at least fifty times in the last three days. Johnny only said it to show off for Dad. He liked my dad, but wouldn’t come right out and say so. He wanted to sound grown up.
Dad said from under the tree, “If you don’t believe in Santa Claus, then you aren’t going to get anything for Christmas.”
“Huh?” Johnny said, “Oh, yeah, right. I’m not buyin’ that. Like I said, it’s nothin’ but a load of hooey.”
When Johnny had said it to me, those umpteen times all those days before Christmas, he used “crap” instead of “hooey.”
Dad came from under the tree. His expression of concern scared me. I didn’t believe in Santa Claus either, but this new development, Dad defending the charade, shook me up a little. What if I was wrong not to believe and there really was a Santa? I wouldn’t get the complete set of the Hardy Boys Mysteries like I asked for, or the real pipe dream, the two-wheeler bike. Dad saw my look and tried to hide a smile. I saw it and relaxed. Life turned good again.
Someone knocked on the door. I jumped, only because I hadn’t been ready for it. Dad got up, slapping his hands together to knock off the errant pine needles stuck there with sap. Like he always did, he stepped to the side window to check before opening up and “letting in the world.”
When he opened the door, a gust of ice-cold wind blew in. The blue flames on the stovetop fluttered.
Eli Noble, Johnny’s dad, stood on the stoop. He wore a stylish Afro, full and thick, compared to Dad’s hair cropped close to his scalp. Dad always said, why pay someone to do your hair when you could do it yourself for free.
Eli Noble wore black Dickie pants, a white shirt, and a black tie. He worked at Big Ed’s Grocery way up Central Avenue at 20th, a stocker and box boy. Seven years ago, after the Watts riots burned down our part of the city along with all the stores close to us, the rich storeowners never rebuilt. We had to drive a long way to find a good grocery if we wanted something the little corner market couldn’t supply.
Eli Noble said, “Evening, Johnson.” He said it in a haughty tone spiced with a hint of anger. I always thought Mr. Noble jealous of Dad’s great job with the postal service.
Dad said, “Merry Christmas, Eli.”
Eli Noble moved to the side to see around Dad. “Come on now, Johnny, time to git your ass on home.”
“Can’t I spend the night?”
We had not discussed spending the night, and Johnny looked at me with pleading eyes. “Can he, Dad,” I said, “please?”
Eli Noble said, “Hell no, not on Christmas Eve. Now come on.” He held out his hand to usher his son from the warm house out into the bitter cold night.
Dad said, “I’ll thank you not to talk that way in front of my son.”
Eli Noble opened his mouth and then shut it as if he’d been slapped.
Dad hesitated. “It’s fine by me, Eli, if Johnny wants to stay over.”
“Hell no, not on Christmas Eve.” He tried to reach around Dad to take hold of Johnny’s arm.
Dad shoved him as he stepped out on the porch and eased the door closed all but a crack. Me and Johnny moved up to peek through the crack and listen. Outside in the cold, Dad spoke. His words mixed with white fog from his mouth. “It’s not right what you have goin’ on over there, Eli. It jeopardizes the safety of your family.’’
Eli Noble raised his hand and pointed at Dad. “That’s none of yore damn bidness, you hear me. You’d better mind your own bidness before I make you eat those words.”
Dad stiffened. He eased the door closed the rest of the way until it latched. Low murmurs came through the door that we couldn’t understand.
Two minutes later, Dad opened the door. The cold blew in. He shut it behind him, his face flushed with anger. He took a long moment, then pasted on his best fake smile. “Johnny, you can stay over, but you have to go back first thing tomorrow, in the mornin’, you understand? Now you boys get washed up for dinner. Do a good job, you hear. I’ll be checking under those nails.”
Me and Johnny hurried into the bathroom and shoved back and forth over the hot water and fought over the one bar of soap. I shouldered him to get a better position. “What’d my dad mean ’bout it’s not right what your dad’s got goin’ on over there?”
“That’s none of your damn bidness, Bruno Johnson. Keep that big nose of yours outta my bidness or I’ll show you why.” He’d taken on the words and demeanor of his dad.
His eyes came at me fierce like a lion. I didn’t like it. If I took him to the deck like Dad taught me and gave him what for, Johnny’d be spending the night at his own house with a shiner, and I’d have a tanned butt. Then I’d have no one to talk to on Christmas Eve. I had plenty of time to work on him, to soften him up tonight after lights out. He’d eventually tell me. Nothing softened up a stubborn fathead like a canned ham with circle-cut pineapple, crusted over with glazed brown sugar.
Me and Johnny stood by the oven when Dad took out the ham. My stomach growled loud enough to be a pet dog.
My mouth dropped open.
The ham had shriveled something terrible.
“What happened to that big ol’ ham, Daddy?” I didn’t want to cry, but man, that was one sorry lookin’ ham.
Dad, in his big oven mitts, chuckled as he set the pan on the counter. “There’s plenty here for three hungry men.”
“That’s good to hear,” Johnny said with a straight face, “’cause there’s only a man and two boys.”
Dad turned away to snicker, then said, “Bruno, you pour the milk. Johnny, get the butter on the table for the bread.”
Dad put the ham on a dinner plate and sliced it. He took some butter squash off the stove and put that on the table as well. Steam rose into the air, filling the room with an aroma I forever after related to Christmas.
We ate all the ham and half the loaf of Wonder bread.
* * *
I woke and didn’t move. Johnny lay on the bunk right below. He’d snored as soon as his head hit the pillow, so we didn’t get to talk. He had told me many times that his brother and sister usually kept him awake all night. They slept on their bunks. He got the one bed at his house, in the same room. His brother and sister would get out of bed at night and wander, get into trouble, and make a lot of noise. His dad didn’t wake up or didn’t care. At our house, without anything to disturb him, Johnny slept like the dead.
I smelled something.
Smoke?
Through the wall of our house came a distant squeak, not a regular kinda squeak, and I identified it before it came again. Far off, a woman screamed. I jumped up and ran barefoot to the front door. Dad’s loud feet thumped on the wood floor behind me. “Wait, Bruno. You wait.”
I didn’t, and instead, threw open the door to let the world in. Dawn, in light grays and blues, peeked over the horizon that I only saw for a quick moment. A black cloud of smoke drifted across our front porch, obscuring all else.
I went out onto the porch, the morning bitter cold and absolutely still. The smoke caught in my lungs. I coughed. My eyes teared.
&
nbsp; I whispered, “Fire.”
Dad caught me by the shoulder, pinching hard, hurting me. He wouldn’t let me move another inch. To the right, bright yellow and orange and red flames with black smoke roiled and roared behind the downstairs windows of my best friend Johnny’s house, batting the curtains around and eating them in big gulps.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MEN’S CENTRAL JAIL, DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES CURRENT DAY
I STARED AT the wall while telling the story, transported back to another time, another world.
Marie snapped me out of it when she said, “What happened to Johnny’s brother and sister, little Jakey and Kari?”
I looked at her, not seeing her at first, my lovely wife. “What? Oh, I ah … you sure you wanna hear this?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
I nodded, wishing she’d said no. “Johnny’s dad and Mrs. Bingham, a nice white lady, the wife of the owner of the grocery where Mr. Noble worked, climbed out of the second-story window, both stark naked. I still remember exactly what she looked like, her skin whiter than white next to Johnny’s dad. Her skin instantly turned pink in the cold. Naked. I couldn’t believe she was naked. I was eight years old and I’d never seen a naked white woman. For that matter, I’d never seen any naked woman.
“Up on the roof, flames jumped out at them from the bedroom window, where they’d just escaped. They moved to the edge of the overhang. They were still ten feet off the ground. Mr. Noble yelled at my dad, ‘Xander, for God’s sakes, get the children. Get my son and daughter.’”
Marie gripped my arm, her nails digging in.
“Dad stood next to me and said, ‘Oh, my God.’ He ran toward the house as a black-and-white sheriff’s prowl car zoomed up to the curb and stopped. Two deputies got out and ran to the burning house. Dad stopped running and yelled, ‘There’s two children still inside.’
“The black deputy didn’t hesitate or even slow down. You should’ve seen him. He bounded up on the porch and kicked the door in. Fire burst out and blew him back, laid him out flat. Mr. Noble kept on keening, again and again, ‘Get my babies. Please, get my babies.’
“The black deputy got up and went at the open door again, which now had billowing flames four feet long that ate the desiccated wood. Instantly charring it black, turning it to that alligator kinda skin. His partner grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. I couldn’t believe that guy, his unflinching bravery.”
I paused, took a breath.
“The fire department arrived in time to rescue Mrs. Bingham and Mr. Noble.”
I swallowed hard. “Johnny’s sister and brother perished, smoke inhalation. That’s what they said, but I don’t think so, not as hot as that fire burned.
“The horrible part, the absolutely horrible part about this whole tragic Christmas morning, was that Johnny’s dad had gotten tired of the two younger children getting up in the night and tearing up the house. He used soft restraints and tied the two kids into the bunk beds. They couldn’t have gotten out of that house if they wanted to.”
Marie’s mouth dropped open. “And you saw all that when you were only eight? Oh, I’m so sorry, Bruno.”
She sat and watched me for a long moment.
Now, decades later, I could look back at what happened with a more mature perspective. Or maybe telling Marie about the event, talking about it for the first time in more than thirty-five years, I realized that Mr. Noble might’ve tied those two children in their beds because he didn’t want them to get up and see Mrs. Bingham, see what their father was up to. That had been what Dad referred to that Christmas Eve when he spoke with Mr. Noble out on our stoop, when he’d said, With what you got goin’ on over there.
“Mr. Eli Noble,” I said to Marie, “went a little crazy. No, that’s not true. Eli, he went over the edge deep into batshit-crazy. I felt so sorry for Johnny. He hurt something fierce over the loss of his siblings. He cried at night when he thought I was asleep.
“Mr. Noble, he just up and disappeared three days later, never saw nor heard from him again. Six months after that, long about June—I know because it was summer vacation—Johnny was still living with us. When social services came looking for him, Dad told them he didn’t know what happened to the child called Johnny Noble. Two years after that, Dad filed the papers and officially adopted him. He gave Johnny the choice of his name. Johnny no longer liked the name Johnny. I think because his dad ran off and left him without so much as a good-bye. But Johnny also wanted to keep his last name so Johnny Noble became Noble Johnson, my brother.” The door to the visiting room rattled.
* * *
The door opened. Noble stood there and stared at me. His face looked so much older, the wrinkles, the droopy skin over his eyes, I hardly recognized him. Gray laced his eyebrows and his hair. A long jagged scar started on his forehead and came down across his left eye, the eye milky and dead, an injury I was sure had been earned in gladiator school, the state prison system.
We looked at each other, our expressions grim, neither one of us wanting to blink first. His presence sparked a thousand images and events that flashed by in one beat of the heart and made me ache for days past.
Marie jumped up and without hesitation hugged him. Noble broke his concentration and looked down at Marie. A smile leapt to his face and instantly reminded me of the Johnny Noble from our childhood: ice cream socials, marble games, trick or treating, basketball, foot races, and just staying up late at night talking about the future.
I smiled, too, and stood. That’s when I noticed what I should’ve seen right off. Noble wore the green jail uniform of a K-nine, a keep-away, an “escort only.” Green was one level down from the highest, a red suit, an escape risk. The green meant segregation, it meant he wasn’t housed in genpop, general population. Green meant protective custody for one of two things: he’d ratted, or he was what the inmates called “a baby raper,” booked in on a child molestation charge.
Noble couldn’t return the hug; waist chains restricted his movement, as did the leg irons on his ankles. He held onto Marie’s waist. I fought the desire to pull her away from him. I didn’t want him touching her. Old emotions died hard.
The escort deputy put his hand on Noble’s back and eased him farther into the small confines of the room. Noble’s chains rattled. The deputy reached for the door. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He closed us in with Noble Johnson the brother, Noble Johnson the killer, and now, apparently, Noble Johnson, the rat.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARIE TOOK HOLD of Noble’s arm. “Please, sit down.”
Noble waited, watching my eyes. I nodded, barely moving my head. He let a hint of a smile creep out as he wiggled into the chair, his chains restricting him.
“Why are you a K-nine?” I asked.
Noble closed his eyes and shook his head. “After all the years we missed together, that’s the first thing outta your mouth?”
“I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for Dad.”
“Well, believe you me, I wouldn’t have asked you if you weren’t the very last choice in this entire screwed-up world.”
“That right?”
“That’s right.”
“Boys,” Marie said, “play nice.”
He smiled at Marie, gave her the big smile that he kept exclusively for wooing the girls. You can bet there hadn’t been a lot of girls or women in the last two-and-a-half-decades. “You got yourself a real looker here, Bruno, you lucky son of a bitch.”
“Watch your language, this is my wife.” The word wife sounded alien and reminded me of a much larger responsibility.
“Your wife? Well, congratulations. My big brother definitely got the better end of that deal.”
“Why, thank you,” Marie said. “I won’t stand on modesty here and I’ll agree with you.” She leaned over and gave me a light kiss on the cheek. “My name is Marie.”
“Nice to meet you, Marie.”
“What can we help you with, Johnny?” I asked.
“Don’t be that way, Bruno, you don’t need to call me that. You know my name’s Noble.”
Marie jumped in, “So, your letter said you’re having problems with your family. I’m kinda tryin’ to catch up here, and without being too insensitive, what family are you talking about? I thought you only had Bruno and Bruno’s dad, Xander.”
Marie had only seen the second letter and not the one that mentioned Dad giving Noble supposed tuition money for his son Ricardo and daughter Rebecca.
Noble looked surprised. “Dad didn’t tell you about my grandson and granddaughter?”
“What?” I asked. “What are you taking about? Grandchildren? I thought these were your kids we were talking about?”
“Wait, wait.” Marie waved her hand. “Excuse me, but I thought that … I mean, I was told that you’ve been in prison for twenty-five years.”
“I have been, and he’s the one who put me here.” He pointed a finger with a hand restricted to his waist.
I jumped forward in my chair. “How dare you blame this on me. You killed two kids, gunned ’em down as they ran away from the store.”
Noble struggled up out of his seat “That right? That’s the way it’s gonna be? I say bullshit on you, big brother. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.” His voice went higher with each word. “Those dumb-assed cops wouldn’t have tumbled to who shot those armed robbers, tryin’ to take my life, if it hadn’t been for you. The Great Bruno, The Bad Boy Johnson. That’s right, I heard the stories about you. I’ve had to live in here with the people you threw in the slam. Every one of ’em came in here shot or beat ta shit. What was that all about, brother, huh?”
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