Bloodbrothers

by Richard Price

  "Oh my God!" Phyllis covered her mouth. "What you do?"

  "I fainted. I woke up. I was in bed with a clean gown on. For a while I thought the whole thing was a dream, until I saw the look on Marcus' face the next morning."

  "Disgusting." Phyllis shook her head.

  "I should've known then that Albert was gonna be heartache. It was a bad omen."

  "Oh stop, Marie."

  "Everybody has a cross to bear in this life, Phyllis, and Albert's mine."

  "Marie, don't talk like that." Phyllis flinched. "He's such a sweet baby. All he wants to do is please you."

  "Ten years between babies ... why'd I do that?"

  "You tell me."

  "Thirty-seven's too old ... with the diapers, the screaming, the sickness all over again. I used to wake up with him crying and whining and I would have this fantasy ... this thing ... I would imagine getting up, putting on my coat, taking the Christmas Club money, one suitcase, and grabbing the first bus out of Port Authority to wherever it's going. One time I actually got down there, suitcase and everything. I remember that night. Albert started crying about two in the morning. Sometimes I would just lay there forever until he stopped crying. That night I lay there an hour. He wouldn't stop. Finally, I just got up, put on that green dress I had, threw some underwear and jewelry in a suitcase and walked out of the house. I had about seventy-five dollars on me. I took a cab down to Port Authority and I got in line where they got that big map of the country with all the cities lit up. When I got up to the counter the man said, 'Where to?' I looked up at the map and said, 'Buffalo'; then he said, 'Round trip?' and I felt like I didn't understand him and he said, 'Round trip?' again. I just said, 'What?' Then he got pissed and looked at me like I was a Puerto Rican or something. I got so embarrassed I ran away from the counter. I remember sitting down in the waiting room and crying for about half an hour. Some nice fella came over with a cup of coffee from a coffee machine and sat down next to me. A very good-looking tall guy. He gave me the coffee and offered me his handkerchief. He said he was meeting his wife in half an hour. She was coming in on a bus from New Jersey. She was a singer in a club there, but they lived in the city and he was trying to get a better job so she wouldn't have to keep up this schedule and she could sing at only the clubs she wanted to. He asked me if I was coming or going. I said I wish I knew. Anyways, we talked and talked and talked and I felt terrific, like I totally forgot everything and then his wife came over. She was very beautiful with dyed red hair and this guy introduced us. At first I think she was sizing up the situation but then she saw I had been crying. Anyways, the three of us went into a place for coffee and we talked for a long time. Her name was Francine Etter but she sang under the name Marlena King. She did that hoping that some people would confuse her with Morgana King. His name was Larry Etter. He worked in the post office as a foreman but he was going to night school at Bronx Community College to be a mechanical draftsman. I never seen two people so much in love in my life. I got all sorts of excited and I told them about that time I was on Ted Mack's radio show with my girlfriends Maureen and Felice and we sang 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' and 'Hold Tight' and the program director told us we sounded just like the Andrews Sisters even though we didn't win and the next day when we went back to James Monroe we were celebrities and all the kids heard us the night before on the radio and our pictures were on the front page of the school paper." Marie stared past Phyllis. "Anyways, we exchanged phone numbers and promised to get together over the holidays and I was talkin' about everybody going up to the Neville Country Club in Ellenville for Memorial Day ... real crazy things like that. And they both kissed me goodby and I felt like they were my best friends in the world. But the minute they left I started thinkin' about the baby, about Tommy, about the apartment and I got this feeling like I couldn't breathe. I wound up cryin' again and I took the subway up to my mother's place on the Concourse. It was six-thirty and the sun was just comin' up and everything looked really quiet and peaceful and I remember wishin' that the Bronx could always be like that. I go up to my mother's place and I didn't want to wake her so I just lay down on the couch in the living room and next thing I know somebody's shakin' my shoulder. My mother's standing over me yellin' in Italian. I see it's ten o'clock. I got in a panic and I jump up, run downstairs and grab a cab back to the house. I run into the bedroom and there's this godawful stink and I see there's shit all over everything. Stony was standing over the crib trying to change Albert's diaper. He was ten years old, can you imagine that? He even fed Albert a bottle. He couldn't figure out how to heat the formula so he filled the bottle with cream soda. I tell you, I could've had ten kids like him."

  Phyllis looked at Marie incredulously. "Marie, you're outta your mind. How come you never told anybody about that night?"

  "What was I supposed to say? I ran away from home like a kid? It's over . . . it's ancient history."

  "Did you ever get in touch with those people?"

  "What people?"

  "The singer and..."

  "Oh ... oh ... nah."

  ***

  "Heya, Chub."

  Stony opened the apartment door to make way for his uncle.

  "Hey, Stones." Chubby faked a grab for Stony's nuts and walked in through the ivy-vine-wallpapered foyer and headed for the kitchen.

  "Where's your dad?"

  "He got the lobster shift."

  "What! It's Monday. Thought Carmines got it on Monday."

  "Carmines's sick."

  "Ah shit."

  Stony walked into the kitchen. The top half of Chubby's body was obscured by the open refrigerator door.

  "You were gonna do somethin'?"

  Chubby stood up holding three hard-boiled eggs. "Nah, just go to Banion's or somethin'...what're you doin'?"

  Stony shrugged. "Hangin' around."

  Chubby regarded him for a minute. "You wanna get shit-faced witcher uncle?"

  "Sure." Stony smiled.

  ***

  "Whassamatta?" Chubby asked. Stony was playing with the swizzle stick in his Scotch, staring at the table and not drinking.

  Stony shrugged. He wouldn't look at his uncle. "That's good fuckin' Scotch, Stones, you don't want it..." Chubby reached for the glass. Stony grabbed it and downed the shot in one gulp.

  "Woo!" Stony smiled in spite of himself, but he still wouldn't look up. Somebody played the juke box:

  two faced woman an' a jealous may-on,

  thas how awl the trouble in th' worl' be-gay-on.

  Stony snickered. He had taken the shot a little too fast.

  "You like that nigger shit?"

  "What?" Stony finally looked up. Chubby nodded toward the juke box without taking his eyes from Stony's face.

  "What's that? James Brown, right?"

  Stony shrugged again, still smiling, looking down now.

  "Yeah, I ain't that old." Chubby grinned.

  "I didn't say nothin'," Stony mumbled.

  "I seen that guy once on Ed Sullivan. If I could make all that bread screamin' like a momo faggot pimp I'd quit work tomorrow."

  Stony imagined Chubby on TV dancing like James Brown. He chuckled.

  "That's funny, hah?" Chubby downed his Scotch, then nodded to Banion for two more. Banion zoomed down in his wheelchair.

  "Mikey." Chubby grabbed Banion's hand. "You know who this is?" He nodded at Stony, who studied his reflection in a small puddle of liquor on the bar. "Guess who's kid this is."

  "Tommy's?"

  Chubby cackled. Banion squinted at Stony, who wouldn't look at him. "You goin' in?" he asked Stony.

  "Hah?"

  "You goin' in? The 'lectricians."

  "I dunno." Stony turned to him. He focused on the network of red veins in Banion's nose.

  "You got a good uncle," Banion said, still squinting, his mouth slightly open, "and a good father." He pushed a button and the wheelchair glided backward, away from Stony.

  "I'll tell you about nigger music." Chubby sipped his drink. "It die
d wit' Nat King Cole." He paused, waiting for that fact to sink in. Stony gulped half his Scotch during that comment. "I used to say Johnny Mathis, then I read he was queer. Stony, what the fuck is goin' on wit' you?"

  Stony was startled. "Nothin'," he answered in a cracked voice.

  "Stony, don't bullshit a bullshitter, it's Cheri, right?" Chubby grabbed Stony's wrist. "She got you doin' a hurtin' dance. I know the fuckin' signs, baby. The first sign is you don't talk to your fuckin' favorite uncle when he takes you out for a good time."

  Stony shrugged and halfheartedly tried to remove his hand from his uncle's beefy grip.

  "It's Cheri, hah?" Chubby squeezed.

  Stony rubbed his other hand across his eyes. "Chub, you don't know."

  "Stony, I remember when you was born. I remember the shit smell of your diapers if you wanna be honest. Baby, I remember stuff about you that you ain't gonna wanna know for a million years."

  "Like what?" Stony freed his hand. He felt a little looser.

  "Like you don't wanna know." Chubby finished his drink. "Take my word for it."

  "Like what?" Stony persisted.

  "Like that time when you first got a piece?" Chubby laughed.

  Stony remembered that night when he was fourteen and drunk doing somersaults in the living room and accidentally kicking in the screen of the three-week-old color TV. Tommy went to belt his ass but Chubby got his old man in a bear hug until he cooled down. Chubby had poured them all a victory Scotch. For a second Stony was flooded with a feeling of love for his uncle. He flushed and felt a corny lump in his throat.

  "You remember that, hah?" Chubby lightly punched him on the biceps. "So don't tell me I don't know."

  "Every time ... every time I think about her, Chub, I get so sick. I love her so bad. She puts out like her cunt was spare change, and it hurts me, like I wanna break somethin', you know? She used to be so ... so innocent." Stony's face was twisted with grief. He searched his uncle's eyes for some kind of answer.

  "I get this ... itch ... this hunger in my head when I'm around her like I got poison ivy inside me and I can't scratch it. I feel really clutchy, like I can't have her out of my sight ... out of my arms almost. I keep driven' her crazy. Sometimes it feels like anything I say comes down to 'Do you love me?' in some way or another. An' when we're screwing an' I feel like that I feel like I weigh six hundred pounds on top a her. I don't know what I want from her. It makes me so crazy sometimes. When I'm home alone I feel so lost in space I gotta put on some record that's real familiar to me, some Sly, some James Brown, an' I gotta sit down an' lissen to the music an' let it hook me back to Earth ... like I'm stoned or something. I can't swing it no more. Somethin's gotta give."

  Chubby stared at the ice cubes in his drink. He wasn't laughing. He looked Stony in the eye. "Stones, you're seventeen now ... in my book that makes you a man. You're still a kid in a lotta ways but in the heart you're a man."

  Stony frowned at Chubby.

  Chubby chewed on his thumb and stared beyond his nephew. "O.K. I'm gonna tell you somethin'. Stones. I'm gonna tell you a story that only me an' your old man know about."

  Stony felt better for telling his uncle about his grief.

  "I wanna tell you about Sooky."

  "Who?"

  "Lissen, lemme ask you something. Whatta you think a your Aunt Phyllis?"

  "Whada you mean?"

  "You know." Chubby shrugged, pouting. "You know." He curved out a female form on the bar. "Whada you think?"

  Stony was embarrassed. "I dunno."

  "Yeah, bullshit you don't know. She got a nice ass, hah?" Chubby smiled.

  "I dunno." Stony blushed. He didn't think so.

  "I dunno," Chubby mimicked in a moronic bass. He downed his Scotch and the rest of Stony's. "I seen you lookin'." Chubby made a jerk-off motion. Stony started to protest. "Screw that." Chubby waved his hand. "Sooky ... Sooky made Phyllis look like a rag." Chubby nodded his head. "Twenty-fuckin'-eight years ago." Banion brought another round. "Met her in Surinam in the war. I was fuckin' twenty years old." He looked astonished at the thought. "God, I was a sleek stud!" Chubby banged the bar, then screwed his face in disgust. He grabbed Stony's hand. "I made you look like a goddamn pissant faggot then!" Stony was too scared to be insulted.

  "She was Javaneese, Stony, you know what that means?"

  "A Jap?"

  "No, lissen, Ja-va-nese."

  "I dunno."

  "A Dutch Chink!" Then to himself in a slow whisper, "Naked."

  Stony conjured up an Oriental face bordered with flaxen bangs.

  "Naked." Chubby clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. "Ooh, baby, that fuckin' smoky bitch. God, she had nipples. Stony, those were friggin' jungle titties." He threw down the rest of his drink.

  Stony flashed on green shimmering jungle. The flax turned wet black in his mind.

  "I just took the bitch!" Chubby whispered, "Soft ... Sooky." Banion brought another round of drinks. Chubby gulped his. "Fuckin'...cunt..." He was weaving on the barstool. Stony got scared. He didn't know whether to steady his uncle. He raised his arm to catch him if need be. Stony had the vague fear of being punched.

  "Blackest ... sweetest," Chubby trailed off.

  "She was black?" Stony asked amazed.

  Chubby opened his eyes. "She was gold ... took the bitch! First time." His head started bobbing. "She had a cunt like a wet black rose ... loved her so bad."

  Banion caught Stony's eye and winked. Stony didn't know what the wink meant.

  "Cat face ... cat..." Suddenly he stopped and straightened up. "She never fuckin' said nothin', ever. Big slanty eyes, but she would never never say nothin'. I would ram her right up..." He cut himself off and motioned for another Scotch. "Phyllis don' mean shit."

  Chubby stared at the bar top tight-faced. He looked at Stony and for an instant Stony knew exactly how his uncle would look in his coffin. "You only get one shot, Stones. Don't fuck it up."

  Stony got up from the bar. "I gotta go home, Chubby."

  Chubby rested his head on his folded arms. Stony walked out. After a while Chubby struggled to his feet and staggered to the john, supporting himself on the shoulders of the men sitting along the bar. The last shoulder he grabbed was Sylvia's. Startled, she spun around, saw Chubby and quickly turned back to her drink. Chubby stood weaving for a second before going into the bathroom. He slouched over the urinal, his forehead pressed against the cool wall, his body gently rocking back and forth, his dick in his hand.

  6

  SATURDAY, 5:30 A.M., Stony moved under the covers like a shifting mountain range. Only his hair was exposed like a small black shrub. Albert had been up a half-hour, teeth brushed, hair combed, shoes tied. He sat on the edge of his bed watching Stony's sleeping shape. Every time Stony's snoring pattern changed or he rolled over or he scratched himself, Albert jumped up, and when Stony settled into sleep again, Albert plopped down on his bed in anguish. Between five-thirty and six-thirty he changed his shirt five times. At a quarter to seven he brushed his teeth again. At seven the sound of cartoons and the shifting silver reflections of the TV screen had Stony sitting up in bed dazed blind and fuckfaced.

  Albert sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the TV. He turned when he heard Stony struggling. "Is it too loud, Stony?" Stony grunted and coughed. His eyelids were sealed with crud. "You want some coffee, Stony?" Stony coughed again, a noise like some prehistoric bird in a Japanese monster movie. He groped under his pillow for his Marlboros. Albert's stomach twisted when Stony lit up but he was afraid to bug his brother this particular morning so he didn't say anything.

  "Wha' the fuck time 'zit?" Stony mumbled.

  "It's about eight o'clock, Stony. We gotta go soon." He moved toward the kitchen.

  "Wait wait wait." Stony waved him back with a clumsy motion. Grabbing his clock he held it in front of his face. "Aw jeez fuckin' Christ, Albert, it's fuckin' seven a clock." He ditched the cigarette, fell back on the bed. Albert started twisting his fingers anxiously.
He felt a lick of panic under his skin.

  "Stony? Stony, we gonna be late, we gotta go soon."

  Stony exhaled heavily through his nose, rubbed his hands over his closed eyes but made no motion to sit up again. "Hey, Albert, the fuckin' movie don't start till noon, O.K.? That's five fuckin' hours. Gimme a break, O.K.?"

  "But they could get sold out." Albert fidgeted and squirmed in his insistence.

  "Hey, the goddamn box office don' open until eleven-thirty, O.K.? Look, lemme sleep till nine o'clock. Nine o'clock, and we'll go right down there an' buy tickets, O.K.?"

  It wasn't O.K., but before Albert could respond Stony was snoring away. Albert went into the dinette and opened the Friday New York Post to the movie section for the sixteenth time since Stony told him last night he'd take him to a movie today, and studied the red-tinted ad for any minute detail he might have missed. Across the top of the ad in letters of broken bamboo read THUNDER PUNCH—KUNG FU THRUST OF DEATH! Under that was a gigantic bloodstained fist smashing through what looked like the paper the ad was printed on. Over the fist was the face of its owner. A long-haired head-banded Chink with eyes clenched shut in rage and a mouth frozen open in the middle of a kill-shriek. On each side of the fist were two more Chinks locked in mortal kung fu combat. At the bottom of the ad, two eyeballs lay in a pool of blood staring up at the fist. Albert knew every drop of blood by heart.