The Harlem Charade

by Natasha Tarpley

  “It’s complicated,” he said hesitantly.

  Alex elbowed him gently. “We can trust Dr. Whitmore.” Jin nodded in agreement, and the three of them told him the entire story, from Elvin’s grandfather’s attack to the encounter with the burglars at his apartment.

  When they finished, Dr. Whitmore studied Elvin for a moment. “Your grandfather is Jacob Morrow.”

  “Yes!” Elvin exclaimed, eyes widening. “Do you know him? Does everybody in Harlem know my grandfather?”

  “It is indeed a small and bizarre world we live in. Your grandfather and I were very good friends back in medical school. I was so sorry to read about the attack. I’ve been meaning to go look in on him, but these old bones aren’t what they used to be. I don’t get out much, except to go to the shelter. I hope he is recovering well.”

  “I haven’t been able to see him,” Elvin said sadly.

  “You will, son.” Dr. Whitmore squeezed his shoulder. “Did you know that your grandfather was at one time planning to become a doctor?” He asked. Elvin shook his head.

  “Well, he was, but his heart wasn’t really in it. You see, I come from a long line of physicians, so my fate was pretty much sealed. I had no choice but to become a doctor, but your grandfather was always more of an artist. Literature was his passion. He wanted to be a writer. He even founded an informal organization for those of us med students starving for a creative outlet. It was called the Union of Art and Medicine.

  “We’d sit at the kitchen table in his tiny apartment and talk about books, art, and music. It was a wonderful time. And this is what he’d always say to open up our meetings.” Dr. Whitmore stood and in a bellowing voice proclaimed, “ ‘Let our thoughts march unfettered around this table, as in the world. We allow no man to imprison our minds and hearts.’ ”

  “That sounds really awesome. I think I would like school more if I had a club like that.” Alex grinned.

  “So what happened after that?” Elvin leaned forward.

  “Your grandfather eventually dropped out of medical school, and we lost touch. I heard that he’d gotten involved in some sort of community arts organization. Several years passed without seeing one another, and then, one day, he showed up at my office.”

  Jin scooted to the edge of her seat. “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to speak to me in regards to a young woman with whom we were both acquainted. And also to give me something he felt was of great importance.”

  “What did he give you?” Alex asked.

  Dr. Whitmore paused. “Before I answer that, I’m afraid I have to tell you another long story. Will you indulge me?” Alex, Jin, and Elvin nodded enthusiastically, and he continued.

  “Back in the late 1960s, when I was young physician doing my residency at Harlem Hospital, I’d often take a stroll around the hospital to keep myself awake when I was on call nights. One evening, I encountered this striking young woman in the hospital lobby. Her hair was braided in two pigtails and she was wearing—what do you call them?—coveralls, that’s it, like a painter. But the most peculiar thing was that she was perched on top of a tall ladder, staring at a large blank wall. I asked her if she needed help, and she responded, ‘No, why do you ask?’—as if it were the most normal thing to find oneself sitting atop a ladder in a hospital lobby. I was struggling to extract my proverbial foot from my mouth when she started laughing, and I knew she’d been teasing me. Then she said, and this I remember clearly, ‘I was just envisioning.’

  “I later learned that she was a young artist who’d been hired to paint a mural in the lobby. From that day on, I made it my business to stroll by to observe her progress. She always looked hungry—and I’d often offer to split my lunch with her. She never said much, which was fine by me. I just enjoyed watching her work; the thrill of seeing people and objects emerge on the wall! The piece was a vibrant series of scenes from everyday life in Harlem: children playing, people doing their shopping, neighbors chatting, that sort of thing.” Dr. Whitmore smiled at the memory, and then frowned.

  “She told me that she’d been commissioned to paint a second mural in the hospital, and seemed pretty excited about it. But just as she was nearing completion of the first, her disposition changed dramatically. She became withdrawn, sad. When I’d ask her what was wrong, she’d simply say, ‘I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve ruined everything.’ I thought that she was talking about her painting, so I told her again and again how wonderful it was, but nothing seemed to cheer her up.

  “The last time I saw her was the night she finished the painting. I was there to witness the last brushstroke. However, instead of celebrating her accomplishment, the young woman calmly climbed down from her ladder and proceeded to rip up all the lovely sketches and miniature paintings that she’d made in preparation for the mural. I was so busy admiring the final piece, that I didn’t realize what she had done until it was too late.

  “ ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why ruin your beautiful work?’ She just shook her head. ‘No more beauty. I’m finished. It’s over,’ she said and left the hospital. I never saw her again.”

  “That’s sad,” Jin said.

  “What does this have to do with my grandfather?” Elvin asked.

  “Well, about a month after the young woman disappeared, Jacob came to my office. It turns out that he and the painter were friends and also members of the same artist collective. She had told Jacob of our acquaintance and asked him to give me her regards. He wouldn’t tell me why she’d left, only that she was fine. And he gave me this.” Dr. Whitmore stood up slowly, hobbled over to a desk on the other side of the room, and took a manila envelope out of the top drawer. “He told me to keep it somewhere safe, even if I never read it. To be honest, I never knew why Jacob would give me this. Back in med school, your grandfather had a reputation for foisting obscure books on his friends, as if we didn’t have enough to read already. I thought it odd that, after all those years, he would show up at my door with a book. In any case, I feel like you are its rightful owner,” he said, and held the envelope out to Elvin.

  Elvin opened it and slid out a thin paperback book, with a plain white cover that read The Life of the Invisibles in black block print. “It’s a book of poems,” he said, flipping through it.

  “The Invisibles. Wasn’t that the name of the artist group Elvin’s grandfather was in with Verta Mae Sneed?” Alex asked.

  “Oh, yeah, right. It was the Invisible 7,” Jin recalled, and turned to Dr. Whitmore. “Do you happen to remember the name of the young woman, the artist?”

  “Henriette something-or-other. I don’t remember the last name.” Dr. Whitmore scratched his head.

  “Could it be Drummond?” Alex asked.

  Dr. Whitmore smiled and nodded. “That’s right! Henriette Drummond!”

  “That’s the artist whose painting we’re looking for. This is getting really bizarre.” Alex glanced at Elvin and Jin.

  “The hospital!” Jin stood up suddenly. “Maybe that’s what Jarvis Monroe was talking about. I think you were right, Elvin. The painting may be at the hospital.”

  Elvin sat up. “We have to get to the hospital.”

  “Whoa, cowboy, even I have to nix that idea,” Alex said. “First of all, we were nearly killed. Second of all, you still need to rest. And third of all, the owner of the store near your grandfather’s apartment called the cops, remember? By now, they’ve probably got an officer posted at your grandfather’s hospital room. In a couple of days, maybe, but not tonight.”

  “I agree with Alex, and besides, I have to get home. It’s way past my curfew,” Jin said.

  “We should all be going,” Alex got up. “Is he okay to travel?”

  “He should be fine. I would just watch him overnight, and if he has any issues, bring him by. In any case, call me tomorrow to let me know how he’s doing,” Dr. Whitmore instructed.

  “Thanks again, Doc,” Elvin said as they headed out the door.

  Outside, they huddled against the cold for a
moment in the building’s entryway.

  “So what’s the plan?” Jin asked.

  “Clearly, we’ve got a lot to process. But for tonight, I’m going to stay at the apartment with Elvin, since Dr. Whitmore said someone should watch him. I’ll just tell my parents I’m sleeping at a friend’s house,” Alex said. Jin felt a slight twinge of envy. Why couldn’t Halmoni let her have more freedom like Alex’s parents?

  “Do you think you could bring the hat with you to school tomorrow?” Jin asked. “I’d like to show it to my friend Rose. She knows everything about fashion, and she might be able to tell us something about it.”

  “That’s a great idea, Jin,” Elvin said.

  “Yes, it is. I’ll definitely bring it, unless you want to take it now.” Alex held the box out to her. Jin shook her head.

  “I know Halmoni’s waiting up for me, and she’s going to ask me a million questions if I come in with it.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Alex raised her arm to hail a passing black livery car. The car swerved sharply and came to a stop right in front of them. The three got in and were whisked away into the night.

  Just as she suspected, Halmoni was waiting at the front door in her bathrobe when Jin got home. But before she could start yelling, Jin rushed over and tightly wrapped her arms around her. She hadn’t planned to do it, but seeing her tiny grandmother standing in the doorway of their tiny apartment, sent a wave of relief through her entire body. Halmoni hugged her until her body went limp and she was nearly asleep on her feet. With all that had happened that night, Jin realized how happy—and lucky—she was to be back home.

  Halmoni waited until Jin had changed into her pajamas and climbed under the covers, then she sat down on the edge of her grandaughter’s bed with her arms folded. “What’s going on with you, Jin? You in trouble?” She frowned.

  “No, not exactly,” Jin sighed, barely awake. Halmoni, clearly not willing to leave it at that, did not budge. Jin rubbed her eyes and forced herself to sit upright. Leaving out huge chunks of the story—namely the parts about the mysterious painting, breaking into the building, and being chased by dangerous thugs—she told Halmoni about how she and Alex had been helping Elvin to find out what had happened to his grandfather, and how they had taken him to see Dr. Whitmore after he had tripped and hurt himself earlier that night.

  “We have to help this poor boy,” Halmoni said quietly, lost in thought.

  “Are you … okay, Halmoni?” Jin ventured. Halmoni absentmindedly patted her leg.

  “You go to sleep now, Jinnie.”

  “So I’m not grounded?” Jin knew it was a risk asking. After all, she didn’t want to remind Halmoni to ground her if, by chance, she’d forgotten.

  Halmoni shook her head. “Not yet, but still possibility. You must be careful, Jin. You come to me and Harabeoji if you need help, understand?” Halmoni said firmly.

  Jin nodded. But she knew she would eventually have to disobey Halmoni in order to track down Jacob Morrow’s attacker. She hated lying to her grandmother, but sometimes rules had to be broken for the greater good.

  The next morning before school, Jin headed down to the bodega earlier than usual. She swung open the door, and then a thought made her stop abruptly. Halmoni. Her grandmother had left the apartment for the store long before Jin got up, so they hadn’t had a chance to talk any more about last night. Even though she hadn’t grounded her, it wasn’t like Halmoni to just let something serious go. Jin braced herself for whatever scolding her grandmother might be waiting to unleash.

  Surprisingly, when Jin reached the counter, Halmoni just nodded at her. “Eat something. You miss dinner yesterday,” she said, and stuffed a fried egg sandwich into her granddaughter’s hand, as Jin slid into her secret cubby behind the deli counter. It had been less than a week since she’d last visited her special place, but so much had been going on in her life during that time, she’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be here.

  Jin took a bite of the sandwich and opened her notebook. Her original plan for this morning was to update and organize her notes, adding the information that she, Alex, and Elvin had learned at Dr. Whitmore’s yesterday about Elvin’s grandfather and Henriette. But now that she was sitting, cocooned and hidden from the crazy world outside, she didn’t feel much like doing that at all. The notes could wait, she decided and opted instead to do a little collecting. Since she started hanging with Alex and Elvin, Jin had seriously been neglecting her “interesting moments” collection. This was a perfect time to record some new moments, ones that were totally unrelated to mysterious attacks and paintings.

  After a few minutes of observing a stream of men and women in business suits rushing into the store to grab a newspaper and coffee for the train ride to work, and moms lugging heavy strollers and toddlers stopping to buy snacks for a day at the park, Jin concluded that she hadn’t missed much. She started packing up her stuff to get ready for school just as Ameenah Hardwick, who owned the vegetarian restaurant and juice bar a few doors down, sashayed in, wearing a long skirt that swished around her ankles and a gigantic red, green, and yellow head wrap perched on her head like a beacon. In her arms, hugged tightly to her chest, was a stack of orange flyers.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Yi,” she called to Halmoni. “I’m just making the rounds to remind local business owners about the Harlem World meeting tonight.” She peeled a flyer off the top of the stack and placed it on the counter. Halmoni didn’t move to pick it up.

  Jin’s ears perked up as she leaned forward to hear the conversation.

  “Councilman Markum is scheduled to lay out his plan for the development. It is of vital importance that we, as entrepreneurs, be there to make our voices heard. We must protect our interests,” Ms. Hardwick said, full of passion and indignation.

  “What good will it do?” Halmoni exploded. “Markum so sneaky, so full of tricks. Nothing we say will stop him from getting his way.”

  “I respectfully beg to differ, Mrs. Yi,” Ameenah Hardwick argued. “I was just reading in the paper the other day that the mayor’s office isn’t completely on board with Harlem World. That means that the city council is going to try to delay the vote on this until they get a feel for which way the mayor is leaning on the project. One man should not get to decide what makes Harlem special. I think we still have a shot at convincing them that Harlem World will ruin the fabric of our neighborhood. And besides, we’ll never change anything if we don’t try.”

  Halmoni picked up the flyer. “I’ll be there,” she grumbled, folding and tucking it in her apron pocket.

  Great, Jin nearly groaned out loud. Now there was no way she’d get a look at that flyer. Halmoni never took her apron off while she was working, and Jin doubted that she’d voluntarily show it to her, especially since she’d given her a big lecture about avoiding bad guys last night. Jin would have to get her own copy.

  She scrambled out from her cubby. “Off to school now. See you later!” she said as she raced past Halmoni.

  “Be careful! No stay out late tonight!” Halmoni called after her.

  Outside, Jin saw Ameenah Hardwick coming out of a cell phone store across the street. “Miss Hardwick! Miss Hardwick!” She yelled from the curb, pausing to look both ways before darting to the other side. “I was wondering if I could have one of your flyers. I want to take it to school for a project we’re doing on our neighborhood,” Jin said once she’d caught up with her neighbor.

  Ameenah Hardwick beamed. Up close, she smelled of frankincense and oranges, an unexpectedly pleasing combination, Jin noted. She watched Miss Hardwick’s head wrap bob and tilt, threatening to topple over as the woman nodded approvingly. “Good for you. I love to meet young people who are involved in making a difference in their community.” She handed Jin a flyer.

  “Thanks!” Jin said. As she ran off in the opposite direction toward school, she thought about that word: community. Harlem was a diverse place full of all sorts of people, but they had one thing in common. They cared about
the neighborhood. It really was a special place, and if Miss Hardwick and Halmoni were any indication, Councilman Markum was in for a fight.

  “I have something to tell you,” Jin and Rose said at the same time. It was later that afternoon and Ms. Weir had given Jin’s history class some time to work on their neighborhood projects. Jin, Rose, and Alex had migrated to a table in the back of the classroom so they could work together.

  “You go first,” Jin said.

  “No, you go first.” Rose giggled.

  “I’ll go first,” Alex huffed. “Yesterday, we went to Elvin’s grandfather’s apartment and we found something that we’d like you to take a look at.” She lowered her voice. “It’s a hat,” she said, and handed Rose a brown paper shopping bag with the hatbox inside. Rose lifted the lid of the box and peeked at the hat. She let out a loud squeal.

  “Girls!” Ms. Weir shot them a sharp glance from the front of the room.

  “It’s amazing,” Rose whispered.

  “We need to know everything you can find out about it. But please be careful with it. And you can’t tell anyone about this,” Alex instructed.

  Rose crossed her heart with her index finger. “I promise. It’ll be my pleasure to do some research on the hat, but I have one condition. I also get to use my findings for my neighborhood project, which is about Harlem fashion.”

  “As long as you don’t give any details about where it came from, I don’t have a problem with that.” Alex looked at Jin, who nodded in agreement.

  “Yes!” Rose squealed again.

  “One more outburst and I’m separating you three,” Ms. Weir warned.

  “Sorry, Ms. Weir,” Rose apologized, and turned back to Jin. “Now what was it that you wanted to tell us?”

  Jin reached into her backpack and pulled out the flyer. “Councilman Markum is holding a community meeting about Harlem World tonight.”

  Alex grabbed the flyer from Jin. “We are so there!” she said excitedly. “This’ll be great for our project. I can’t wait to watch Markum squirm.”