New Haven Noir

by Amy Bloom

  The boy wanted red shoes but the man said red was for girls. The man said he should try blue. The boy said no. His mother said his dress shoes were always blue. She said, You love blue. The boy said, I don’t love blue. I hate it. His mother said, God doesn’t want us to hate. You shouldn’t say things like that. So the boy said he was sorry. He tried on the blue and said he liked them. This was a lie but it wouldn’t make any difference because he was going to hell anyway. When they got in line to pay for the shoes, two of the big kids who went to Yale were standing behind them. The big kids who went to Yale all seemed to wear blue scarves or white sweaters with big blue Ys on them. One of the big kids who went to Yale asked the other why the line was taking so long, and the other big kid made a joke about Darktown ladies. At least the boy thought it must be a joke because the first one laughed. But his mother blushed and grabbed the boy’s hand and hurried him out of the store, and that was the day the boy decided that Yale had happened to his mother.

  * * *

  The boy thought his mother was very pretty. She had big brown eyes and smooth brown skin. She loved to play the piano. She loved to dress up. People called her elegant. The boy was not sure what elegant meant but he liked hearing people call his mother that. When his parents went out on Saturday night his father would always wait downstairs in the foyer in a gray suit, and when his mother came down in one of her fancy outfits he would say things like, The most beautiful woman in the world has arrived! or, Look, it’s the Queen of Sheba! Then he would hold out his hand and she would take his arm and they would walk out the door.

  The rest of the week his mother did not put on a fancy outfit. She worked at Yale. She wore a gray uniform with a white ruffled collar. She left for work very early, before the boy was awake. She had to take care of the offices before the professors got there. That was what she called it, taking care of the offices. She was not supposed to bother the professors, not ever. The boy did not know what a professor was, but in his mind he saw a big scaly blue monster, because of those blue scarves the big kids who went to Yale liked to wear.

  The boy liked when his parents went out. Nana would take care of him. Her hair was thin and gray. She wore very thick glasses. She loved to sit in the kitchen eating snickerdoodles and reading her magazines. The magazines had funny names. The League for the Freedom of Darker Peoples and All Oppressed or The Ethiopian World Federation. When his parents went out, Nana would feed him his supper and make sure he said his prayers. The boy knew the words to “Now I Lay Me down to Sleep” and one or two others, but his father told him it was better to come up with his own bedtime prayer, a different one every night. The boy found this hard, which was another reason that he was sure he was going to hell.

  Nana didn’t seem to care which prayers the boy said. If he wanted to say “Now I Lay Me down to Sleep,” that was fine with her. Then she would tuck him in and sit on his bed and tell him stories about how her own father had escaped from Virginia and how they sent a man to make him go back and her father had shot and killed him. Or about how when her brother went to France in what she called the First War, he was treated better there than back home. Or about how the Negroes of New Haven tried to build a college of their own a hundred years ago but the white folks wouldn’t let them. Or about how Marcus Garvey would have saved the whole darker nation except that the white folks wouldn’t let him. One night he asked her if the man her father had shot went to heaven. She laughed and said, He was a wicked man, but th’ Lord’s mercy don’t know no bounds. After the day his mother bought him the blue shoes at Malley’s, the boy asked Nana if maybe he could go to Europe one day. Nana laughed and said he could do pretty much anything he wanted.

  The boy decided that Yale had never happened to his Nana.

  * * *

  On Tuesdays through Saturdays the boy went to Vacation Bible School in the basement of the church. The boy liked Vacation Bible School. It was summer and the days were very hot. There were ten big signs around the walls, one for each of the Commandments. The kids would sit there in the basement sweating in the heat and Miss Deveaux would lead them in prayer. Miss Deveaux never sweated. She was very strict, but the boy liked her. She also had the best job in the whole wide world. She worked for the A.C. Glibert Company, painting the American Flyer trains. She was surrounded all day long by black engines and green Pullman cars and red cabooses. The boy wished he had her job. So he was going to hell for envy too.

  After prayers the class would sing a hymn and then one of the kids would read a psalm and then Miss Deveaux would read them a story from a thick brown book. One morning the story was about a boy named Dick who was trying to win the prize for never missing a day of third grade. Dick was so proud of never missing. Then one day he saw an old man who needed help with his apple cart. Dick helped the man and missed a day of school. The moral of the story was that helping the old man was better than winning the prize. The boy didn’t know if that was right. What if Dick really needed that prize? What if Dick was a Negro and the prize was a trip to France? What if the prize was an American Flyer train set? But the boy never asked questions like that. Just thinking those questions was probably enough to send him to hell.

  After story time, the class would sing another hymn and then Miss Deveaux would read them another story, like about why Jesus came and how he died for them, or about how Hannah wanted a baby and prayed until God gave her one. Then they would stand up and make a circle and join hands and sing some more, and then it was time for lunch and school would be over for the day. Usually the boy had to stay late, because his mother could not pick him up until three o’clock. Miss Deveaux or Mrs. Percy would look after him and a few of the others whose mothers had to work. Mrs. Percy would shake her head and say how terrible it was that a woman should have to work. Supporting the family was the husband’s job, she would say. The boy wondered whether that meant it was sinful for Mrs. Percy to run the candy store.

  On Saturday mornings the boy’s father would come to Vacation Bible School. He wore the same black suit he wore for Sunday services. Miss Deveaux would warn the kids to be on their best behavior while the senior deacon was talking. Then she would fold her hands and sit quietly, just like the kids. The boy’s father would stand in the front of the room. He would talk about why it was important to listen to their elders and do what they were told. He would tell them how God had put them on this earth not to do what they wanted but to do what was right. He would tell them how the only way to know what was right was to listen to their parents and their teachers and go to church and also read the Bible with their families. Sometimes he would go around the room and ask each of the kids their favorite Bible verse. Some of the kids would say things like John 14:6 or Matthew 8:27, and some would say things like the story about the loaves and the fishes. His father would nod and go on to the next kid. But if one of them didn’t have an answer, his father would write a note to the parents, and the kid would have to bring it back the next day signed. And the kids who didn’t know any Bible verses were always so embarrassed that they knew five by the next time the boy’s father came. The fact that the kids were all scared of his father was another reason the boy was so proud of him, even if he was scared of him too.

  After Vacation Bible School on Saturdays, the family would climb into the big black Buick and go motoring. That was what the boy’s father called it, motoring. Nana usually stayed home. Sometimes they motored to the beach. Sometimes they motored to a state park. But what the boy loved best was when they would motor up to West Rock and park by the fence and get out of the car and watch the men blasting a tunnel through the mountain. The men wore helmets with lights on them. They would go into the tunnel pushing a cart on a track and a little while later there would be a big explosion. The fence would shake. The boy would think about Christopher getting his leg blown off by a mine. But it looked like a very exciting job. All of the men digging the tunnel were white. The boy watched closely for any injuries. It’s dangerous work, his father would say as
they motored back home in the shiny black Buick. Let’s remember to pray for them tonight. His father had been in the war too but he still had both of his legs. The boy wondered if the men digging the tunnel prayed for the Negroes.

  Vacation Bible School had Mondays off, and so the boy would stay home all day with Nana. After he did his chores she would let him read comic books and sometimes even listen to the radio. When his parents were home, they usually listened to music or shows with important-sounding names like America’s Town Meeting of the Air. But Nana liked to sit in her room with her eyes closed and her feet up and listen to the radio preachers. Or she might tune in Aunt Jenny’s Real Life Stories and listen to the recipes and say things like, No, no, Jenny, that’s wrong, you don’t use paprika. Nana was always complaining about the heat, so the boy would go down to the kitchen and pour her some lemonade even though his mother did not really allow it upstairs. He would sit with Nana and rub her feet. When it was the boy’s turn to pick a radio show, he chose The Answer Man and Ripley’s Believe It or Not! And if he did a few extra chores, Nana might let him listen to The All-Star Western Theatre or The Lone Ranger, even though she knew his father disapproved. But there she would draw the line. The other kids were always talking about Amos ’n’ Andy and Baby Snooks, but Nana would say, No, boy, you know what your father says, they are forbidden in his house. Then she would close her eyes again. Nana’s feet were big and wrinkled and knobby. Sometimes while the boy rubbed her feet she would call him by his father’s name.

  * * *

  Then one Friday Nana could not get out of bed. The boy’s mother took her to Grace–New Haven Hospital and came home that night and told the boy’s father that they were keeping her in the ward while they did some tests. His father nodded his stern head and went out on the porch. The boy asked what was wrong and his mother said to leave his father alone just now. They stood by the parlor window and looked out at the dark street. After a while the boy asked his mother if having tests meant that Nana was going to die. His mother’s eyes got teary and she gave him a hug and kissed him and took him upstairs to wash and say his prayers and get tucked in.

  On Sunday the pastor asked everybody to pray for Nana. He called her Our Sister. After church his parents took him to the hospital. It was a big brick building with dark hallways. It smelled. There was a new wing that was brighter but Nana was in the old part. There were twelve beds in her ward and there was a woman in every one of them. A lot of them had bandages, and a lot of the bandages were dirty. There wasn’t much light because the windows were mostly blocked by the building next door. There were liquids spilled on the floor. There seemed to be only one nurse. Nana was in the last bed, down by the wall. Screens were set up between the beds. Each bed had a wooden chair, so his mother sat next to Nana and held her hand, and his father stood on the other side and held her other hand. The boy wanted to rub Nana’s feet but they were covered with a sheet. His mother and father did not pay attention to him, so he decided to go look at the other women. No one seemed to mind as he wandered along the row of beds, peering past the screens, trying not to step in any of the spills. He noticed that all of the women in the ward were Negroes. Maybe white people never got sick.

  That night the family ate cold fried chicken from the Frigidaire. His mother did not believe in leftovers on Sunday but she served them anyway. She seemed sad. His father looked just as stern as he did every other day. He scolded the boy for getting crumbs on the cloth. He scolded the boy for being too slow clearing the table. After prayers, he told the boy that because Nana was in the hospital, she would not be able to take care of him tomorrow. The boy wondered if that meant he would be able to listen to Baby Snooks. But his father was still talking. Neither I nor your mother can take a day off just now, he said, so you will have to go with me to work tomorrow.

  The boy was surprised. To the hotel? he asked.

  That’s where I work, his father said. Pray for Nana tonight, he said, and his voice sounded funny.

  In bed that night the boy could hardly sleep. The hotel! He had never seen his father at work at the hotel. His father never talked about what he did there. But the boy was proud that his father worked at the hotel. It was taller than the church spires on the Green. It was taller than almost all of Yale. It was built out of red bricks, except the top stories, which were covered in white stone. People were always talking about the time Babe Ruth had stayed there. And Albert Einstein, although the boy only knew he was famous; he did not know exactly who he was. The president of the United States had stayed there too, although the boy had no idea which president. The other kids said the hotel had even been in a Hollywood movie, but the boy wasn’t sure whether to believe them.

  * * *

  On Monday morning the boy’s father put on a dark suit and a white shirt and a dark tie. He carefully combed his hair. He told the boy to put on nice clothes and his new blue shoes. They boarded the trolley even though the hotel was not that far away. His father said, We can’t afford to be sweaty. The boy liked the streetcar, the way it clacked along the tracks ignoring the other traffic. The engineer would blow his horn and the cars would get out of the way. Some of the drivers honked back. The boy listened to the crackle of the pantograph. He said it would be fun to drive a trolley when he grew up. His father said, I expect more than that of you. Besides, he continued, the city will be getting rid of the streetcars soon and there will only be the buses left. The boy asked why.

  Money, his father said, with that stern disapproving look.

  The boy gazed out the window as they passed Yale. He was watching for blue professor monsters. But he only saw the big kids who went there. All of them were white. Nana had told him that when his father was young he used to shine shoes for the Yale kids. He was not allowed to go into the buildings where the boys lived, she said, so he would stand under the window and the Yale kids would throw their shoes outside. He would take them home and shine them up and bring them back the next day. He would knock and one of the Yale kids would open the door. He would take the shoes and say, Wait here. Then he would close the door. The boy’s father would wait. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Sometimes half an hour. Then the same Yale kid would open the door again. He would pay the boy’s father for the shoes he shined, fifteen cents a pair. That was a lot of money in those days, Nana would say. A lot of money.

  The boy and his father got off the trolley at the corner of Chapel and College. The boy took his father’s hand. He stared up at the hotel. He was very excited. They walked right past the big glass doors. His father did not even turn to look. The boy was surprised. Aren’t we going in? he asked. His father told him to shush. They walked around the side all the way to the back where there was a wooden door that said Staff. Inside was a hallway. It was very crowded. People were walking this way and that. Most of them wore brown uniforms. The men had brown hats with shiny black bills. The women had little brown caps. The boy was proud of his father again because he was wearing a suit. There were a lot of doors in the hallway. One of them said Staff Men Dressing. His father told him to wait here. He went in. The boy waited. There was nowhere to sit so he stood up. There were notices on the wall about all the things the staff was not allowed to do while on duty. The door opened and a tall man came out. He was wearing the brown uniform and the brown hat with the shiny black bill. He walked straight toward the boy and held out his hand and at first the boy was scared until he saw that the man was his father. His father took his hand and led him to another room. The sign said Men Staff Lounge. The letters were faded. Inside were some old tables and chairs. A couple of men were sitting by the window with their uniform blouses open. They were smoking cigarettes. The boy’s father drew him into a corner and pointed to a bench and said he had to stay here and be quiet all day. The boy could not stop staring at this stranger in his brown uniform. His father said he would have a break in three hours and he would come and take him to the bathroom. He said there was a drinking fountain in the hall. His father was starting to s
ay more when a man walked into the room and went straight up to him like people always did on the street. The boy wondered if he needed advice. But the man did not ask the boy’s father for advice or shake his hand. The man was fat and white and bald. He called the boy’s father by his Christian name and told him he was late and he’d better get about it if he expected to keep this job. Then he looked down.

  Oh, he said. Who’s this?

  He’s my son, sir, said the boy’s father. With his grandmother in the hospital, I’m afraid—

  The fat white man interrupted him. He spoke to the boy directly. You just keep out of the way, boy, he said. We can’t be having you causing any trouble now, can we?

  The boy said, No sir.

  The fat white man smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. Then he walked away. The boy’s father had a funny look on his face, a look the boy had never seen before. He took his son’s hand and sat him on the bench.

  Stay right here until I get back, he said. Do you understand?

  Yes sir, the boy said.

  His father left.

  For a while the boy sat there. He was embarrassed. He had never seen anybody talk to his father like that. He wondered who the fat man was. Other men kept walking in and out in their uniforms. One or two of them glanced his way but mostly they did not pay him any attention at all. The boy sat on the bench. He glanced down at his shiny blue shoes. He was still upset about the way the fat white man had talked to his father. The boy kept expecting his father to come back, but when he looked at the big clock only half an hour had gone by. Finally he could not stand to wait any longer. It was wrong to talk to his father that way. He would have to find somebody to tell. He slipped off the bench and walked down the hall the way his father had gone. Nobody stopped him. He opened the door. He was in a big kitchen. He smelled fried food. He smelled spices. There was a lot of yelling back and forth. He saw the people in uniform going out a little passage off to the side, so he went that way too. He wound up in some kind of room with shelves and suitcases. He went out another door. He was in the lobby. The lobby was very bright and cheerful. The floor was tiled. The ceiling was two stories high. There were chandeliers. There was music. White people in fancy clothes were coming in through the front doors. Luggage stood on shining gold carts. Black men in uniforms pushed the carts. One of the men was his father. He was walking with a young white couple, a man and a woman, pushing their luggage on a golden cart. He walked with the couple to the front desk. The man was wearing one of those Yale scarves. He turned to the boy’s father and said, Thanks, boy, and gave him some money. His father said, Thank you, sir, that’s very generous, and if there’s anything else I can do for you, just call down and ask for me. He gave them his Christian name. The white couple was talking to the clerk behind the desk. The boy’s father just stood there waiting with the cart. Then the clerk handed over the key and the boy’s father and the white couple went off toward the elevator. The boy followed them. His father said, I’ll meet you upstairs with the bags, sir. The white man turned around. He said, Can you shine my shoes for me and have them back in an hour? His father said, Of course I can, sir. It would be my pleasure. Shall I pick them up when we’re upstairs? The white man said, Well, I can’t very well give them to you now, can I? Not when they’re still on my feet. His father nodded his head and smiled and said, No sir, I expect you’re right. Here’s the elevator now, sir. Another Negro in a uniform stood inside. His father said, Take these nice young folks to the eleventh floor. He said to the white man, I’ll see you upstairs, sir.