Three-Fifths

by John Vercher

  Bobby understood why it was funny to wonder out loud if Sally Ride slowed down the trip into space by stopping to ask for directions.

  He understood that Reagan had to do something, and fast, about the towel-heads bombing the U.S. Embassy in Beirut.

  And he understood how nothing spoke to the decline of our country like a nigger Miss America.

  The more Grandpap talked, the smarter he seemed to Bobby. There was nothing he didn’t know, and it made Bobby feel lucky to have learned well enough to shut up and listen, because if he was lucky, he knew he’d turn out to be half the man Grandpap was.

  He knew that because Grandpap said so.

  One especially hot afternoon, they stayed inside all day. Bored with Spider-Man reruns, Bobby snuck outside while Grandpap slept in his recliner, another Iron City hanging precariously from his fingertips. The humidity filled Bobby’s lungs and he patted his empty short pockets. He’d left his inhaler inside, but he didn’t want to go back in and risk waking Grandpap. He had told him not go outside alone, especially in the alley.

  Don’t want to get caught alone with those hoodlums down the street, he’d said.

  Bobby would nod dutifully, though this was one of the lessons Bobby struggled to understand.

  The “hoodlums” were the grandchildren of an elderly black couple a few houses down the block that stayed with them during the summer months. They wore shirts and ties to church and helped their grandmother with her groceries. They tossed around a football and always apologized when it ended up in Grandpap’s patch of lawn. They sat on their porch steps and read comics. And just then, they were in the back alleyway, and they looked like they were having fun.

  They laughed hysterically and slapped each other five. Fourteen-year-old Darius, the eldest of the brothers, held the hips of an invisible someone and humped the air. He wore a mesh tank top and his forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat. Miles and Kevin, his two younger brothers, right around Bobby’s age, giggled at his charades until they couldn’t breathe. Kevin looked up and wiped tears from his eyes, and when he saw Bobby, he waved him over while they all signaled for Bobby to be quiet, in possession of some secret to tell.

  Bobby looked back towards Grandpap’s house. He remembered the beer can slipping out of his hand, like a long fuse on a stick of cartoon dynamite. He hadn’t come storming out the door yet. It had to have fallen by now, and he still hadn’t come looking for him. He knew he shouldn’t join these boys, but something stronger than Grandpap’s admonitions pulled at him. The boys looked so excited to see him. He had no other friends in the neighborhood and he wanted to have fun, too.

  When he reached them, he saw they had an issue of Penthouse. Bobby recognized Vanessa Williams from the television press conference when they took away her Miss America crown. Miles and Kevin grabbed Bobby by his arms, shook them with their excitement until they felt limp, and asked him if he’d ever seen a naked woman before. Bobby felt a throbbing in his shorts, and he thought by the way they asked him that they most certainly had, so he gave a nonchalant nod and crinkled his chin like it was no big deal. Miles and Kevin held out their hands for a high-five. Bobby hesitated, then happily obliged.

  Grandpap’s block was filled with people just like him, grumpy and medicinal-smelling when they crowded Bobby in the pews at church. There were never any kids, at least none that he’d been allowed to play with. He’d made Bobby terrified of these boys, but in that moment, he felt he’d known them his entire life.

  Maybe Grandpap didn’t know everything.

  “Where did you get this?” Bobby asked. “I mean, are we supposed to be looking at this?” The three brothers stopped laughing and looked at each other, then back to Bobby.

  “Hell, yeah!” they said in unison. Darius explained that when he took the trash out, the bag snagged and ripped and the magazine fell out of the bottom. They guessed it was their grandfather’s and Darius made a jerking motion in the air. Miles and Kevin made gagging noises and burst into laughter again, then shushed each other for being too loud. Bobby laughed, too, then looked back again to Grandpap’s house.

  They flipped through the photos, beginning to end and then back again. Miles and Kevin boasted about how she should be their woman, and Darius checked them, telling them they wouldn’t know what to do with her. They shot back that he didn’t even have a girlfriend, how would he know. Bobby even joined in, and Miles and Kevin howled. Darius did, too. Then his tone became more serious.

  “Not right what they did to her, though,” said Darius. His brothers shook their heads and sucked at their teeth in disappointed agreement.

  “What do you mean?” Bobby asked.

  “Not letting her be Miss America. That’s not right. Nana said she needs to get some church in her, but they would have never done that to her if she was white.”

  Bobby was confused. Maybe they didn’t understand how things were. How Grandpap told him they were supposed to be.

  “But she’s supposed to be white,” Bobby said. “A nigger can’t be Miss America.”

  Darius’s arms dropped to his sides. The wrinkled magazine hung from his fingers by a partially torn page. Bobby became aware of the intense heat, the smell of cut grass, the high whine of a weed-whacker a few houses down. Sweat trickled into his ear but under Darius’s stare, he dared not move.

  Why? What had he said wrong? Why did Darius seem so angry?

  Bobby glanced to Kevin and Miles. They didn’t look as angry as Darius. Their eyes went from Bobby to Darius and back again, frightened. Bobby was scared, too. Why hadn’t he listened to Grandpap? His words echoed.

  Stand your ground.

  They’ll stab you in the back.

  Never run away, never look away.

  Bobby looked back to Darius and returned his glare. The page tore through and the magazine dropped to the ground. Bobby never saw him swing.

  Light flashed behind his eyes. They filled with water and the blood in his mouth tasted hot and metallic. His nose throbbed. He’d never been hit before, but he told himself not to cry. Miles and Kevin looked on in shock. They whispered to their brother to be calm, to come inside with them. Darius stood in front of Bobby, shoulders heaving, hands balled up, waiting for Bobby to move. To say something else.

  Bobby turned on his heel and yelled for Grandpap. He saw the screen door open and Grandpap look down the alleyway, at Bobby running towards him. He ducked back in and then reappeared quickly, limping down the back steps to meet his grandson. Bobby saw the sun catch something in his hand. He wiped the tears from his eyes and skidded to a stop in the gravel when he saw Grandpap’s old service revolver.

  The brothers saw it too and yelled. They ran back into their house. Grandpap put his arm around Bobby and led him inside.

  Isabel was in the kitchen when they returned. When she saw Bobby, she screamed. Grandpap sat him in a chair and told Bobby to pinch his nose and tilt his head back. Blood ran down the back of this throat. Isabel squatted in front of him and touched at the bridge of his nose. She winced when he hissed in pain but pressed at it again like she didn’t believe it was real and had to touch it again to be sure. Grandpap handed Bobby a dishrag filled with ice.

  “Quit your shrieking and leave him be,” he said. “Boy’s fine.”

  “This is what happens when I leave him home alone with you?” she said. She pressed the ice firmly to his nose and he whimpered. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.”

  “What are you even doing here?” Grandpap asked. “I said leave him be. He can hold his own ice. He’s all right.”

  “Work was slow and they asked who wanted to go home,” she said. “I figured I’d come home and spend time with my baby. What the hell happened? You’re supposed to be watching him. And don’t you dare tell me what to do with my son.”

  “Don’t yell at me, girl. And don’t pretend you came right home, either.”

  “What?” Isabel asked.

  “I can smell it on you,” Grandpap said. “That’s what.”


  He was right. Even with his blood-clogged nose, Bobby smelled that familiar sweet-sour odor. He pulled his face away from her touch. She tilted her head and reached for him again but he pulled back further, much to her confusion. Bobby held the ice to his nose and tilted his head back. It throbbed every time his heart beat.

  “So I stopped for a drink on the way,” she said to Grandpap. “One.”

  “It’s the middle of the day,” Grandpap said.

  “And how many have you had so far, Dad? Huh? Were you passed out? Again? Where was he? Who did this to him?”

  Bobby’s head throbbed. From the punch. From the shouting. He was angry that he still felt so scared, and scared about how angry he was, with himself for not listening to stay away from those boys, with Isabel for yelling at the man who protected him, kept him safe better than she ever had. Late or not, he was there. She was at the bar. The thought enraged him and he spit the answer to her question.

  “It was those niggers down the street!”

  Isabel slapped him hard, then jerked back the same hand and covered her mouth. She reached both hands out for his face and apologized. Bobby cried so hard his ribs hurt. It wasn’t just the punch to the face. It was all the nights he’d put himself to bed and the mornings she wasn’t there. Bobby shook with ragged sobs. She couldn’t calm him down. The only word he could utter was “why?”

  Why did you hit me? Why are you never home? Why did you have to drink so much? Over and over, “why” poured forth like a fire hydrant opened up in the middle of the street. Grandpap grabbed Isabel and pulled her to her feet.

  “What the hell did you hit him for?” he shouted.

  “This is what you teach him?” she asked. “No wonder he got punched!”

  “Save your hippy bullshit, Isabel.” He lifted Bobby’s head by his chin. “Calm down, calm down,” he said to Bobby. Bobby snuffled and wiped at his nose but he couldn’t stop crying. “Come on, you’re all right. Took your lumps like a man, I’ll tell you that much. Don’t you listen to your mother. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Yes, he did,” Isabel shouted. “You can’t make him think it’s okay to talk like that, to think like that. Like you.”

  He turned from Bobby and walked Isabel down putting her back up against the stove. “I put a roof over your head, food in this kid’s mouth, and try to teach him to be a man, and Lord knows this boy needs it. What do you do? You aren’t even here half the time, and when you could be, you’re getting drunk.”

  She glanced at Bobby, then back to Grandpap with a look that said not to say those things in front of him. He looked back at Bobby, then back to her and laughed.

  “What, you think he doesn’t know why you’re never here? That it’s all just work? Go ahead, ask him. Ask him what he thinks about you. Don’t you want to know?”

  Isabel looked down at her feet. Grandpap bent his knees to make eye contact but she kept moving her head away from him.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said. He lifted her chin to make her look at him. “He needs a man in his life. To tell him the way things are. So you tell me why it’s so bad if this kid turns out even a little bit like me. Hell, he’s the boy I should have had.”

  At that, Isabel’s face changed. The shame went away.

  “You want to know why it’s terrible if he turns out like you?” Isabel asked. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, a cornered wolf. “Because his father was a nigger.”

  Bobby pulled the ice away from his face and his crying stopped. Grandpap took a step back and let out a laugh that sounded more like a shout.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “That boy’s as white as I am.”

  Isabel stepped towards him and wiped tears from her eyes. “Look at me,” she said, pointing at her face. “Tell me I’m lying.”

  Grandpap’s smile faded. She looked past him to where Bobby sat shell-shocked. She mouthed “I’m sorry.”

  Bobby’s ears rang and his jaw ached.

  Grandpap backhanded Isabel. It cracked so loud that Bobby thought he broke either his hand or her face. She fell back against the stove and put her hand to her cheek. Bobby launched himself at him and pounded on his wide back. Grandpap reached back with his thick hand and palmed Bobby’s face. Isabel screamed for him not to touch him and pushed him aside. She wrapped her arms around Bobby and pulled him down to the floor with her. Bobby spun around and slapped at her. He caught her in the same reddened patch of skin where Grandpap hit her. She dropped to her rear end and held her face again. Bobby stood over her with his hands balled up. His shoulders heaved and his chest tightened.

  A metallic clatter came from the front of the house and all heads turned. A police officer stood on the porch and pounded on the screen door. Darius’s grandmother stood behind him. Grandpap cursed to himself. He stored his pistol in its case and returned it to the top shelf of his pantry. He jabbed a finger in the air towards Isabel.

  “I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he said under his breath. He smoothed back his thin white strands, then called out to the officer at the screen door by his first name. Bobby ran from the kitchen and up the stairs. On his way out, Isabel whispered, “Robert.”

  “Grandpap knew the cop who came to the door. Basically made it out like the kid’s grandma was hysterical, making the whole thing up. He even flipped it around, said he should have called the cops on her grandson for assault.”

  “Did he?” Robert asked.

  “Nah,” Bobby said. He half-smiled at Robert. “He had other things on his mind.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Bobby lit a cigarette and offered his pack to Robert. He waved it off, but then grabbed for the pack before Bobby could take it away. Bobby flicked his Zippo and shielded the flame from the breeze. They inhaled and exhaled simultaneously. “So then what?”

  “We left,” Bobby said. “Mom wasn’t having it anymore. Stuffed my clothes and comics into a gym bag and left.” Bobby laughed to himself.

  “What?”

  “He didn’t even try to stop us. He practically raised me. And you know what he said on our way out the door?” Robert shook his head. “Nothing. Not one word.”

  “Did that make you angry?”

  “You know what made me mad? So we’re driving away, and I can’t even look at Mom, let alone talk to her. So I dig in my bag to find my favorite comic. This X-Men annual with some cheesy villain in it named Horde. But it’s kind of a spotlight on Wolverine, so I’m in, you know?”

  Robert shrugged. “Who doesn’t love Logan?”

  Bobby leaned away from Robert in surprise. “You were into comics?”

  “Were?” he said. “Am.”

  “Huh,” Bobby said. “Anyway, I’m paging through it and I stop on this panel I never gave much thought to before. Wolverine kisses Storm. I tossed it in the backseat and never read it again. That’s the shit that made me mad. Not Grandpap letting us leave. That Mom had done what she had done and lied to him.”

  “Seeing Ororo and Logan kiss,” Robert said. “It made you think about your mother and me. Made you think about the thing that made you lose your grandfather. Is that why you decided to pass for white all this time?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Bobby,” he said, then stopped. He shook his head and laughed to himself.

  “Weird, right?” Bobby said.

  Robert nodded. “I’m a physician. Busted my ass to get to where I am. But there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t look in the mirror that I don’t see a black man before I see a doctor. Because I have to. To survive. I’m a damn doctor, Bobby, but that’s what I have to do to survive. In order to keep myself safe, I have to remember that there’s a lot of your Grandpaps out there, who see me the same way. Black first. Not remembering that can get me killed. And I think you know that. You know why?”

  Bobby shook his head.

  “Because I think every day, you do the same thing. I think you look in that mirror and tell yourself you’re white because you think it
’s what you have to do to survive. That it’s what makes you happy and keeps you safe.”

  Bobby looked away from Robert.

  “Can I ask you something?” Robert said.

  Bobby kept his face averted from Robert but nodded.

  “Has it made you happy?”

  Bobby shook his head.

  “Has it kept you safe?”

  A tear fell from Bobby’s eye. Then another. He shook his head and wiped at his face with his sleeve. He heard a beeping sound and turned to see Robert leaning back to unclip a pager from his waist. Robert read the screen and dropped his head with a sigh. “Oh, come on,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Kid they brought in two nights ago. Somebody caved his head in with a brick. We’d gotten him stabilized, but he wasn’t out of the woods. He just died. God damn it, I just saw him last night.”

  Bobby felt the top of his head go hot. He willed the sweat away from his forehead and denied the bile roiling in his stomach from rocketing into his mouth, where his tongue now felt covered in paste, clinging to the roof of his mouth.

  “Do they know who did it?” Bobby said.

  Robert shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard, but they’re looking. Probably going to be looking a bit harder now.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “You all right?”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Robert said, “you seem a bit, I don’t know. Provoked.”