My Name Is Leon (10 page)

18

Sometimes, on Saturday mornings, Leon can have the television all to himself to watch
Tiswas
and
Swap Shop
. If the cartoons are on, Sylvia will watch them with him but she talks all the time or paints her toenails, making a horrible smell. Everything Sylvia likes is purple because she wants it to match her hair. Afterward they have to go to the shop where Sylvia works part-time, to collect her money.

She always spends ages talking to the man who gives her the brown packet. He holds on to it until she tugs it away with a fake smile and when they get outside she calls him a bastard. On the way back she always gets her magazine and some cakes and Leon gets a comic. Sylvia sits at the kitchen table and licks her fingers and turns the pages and eats the cakes and licks her fingers again. She always buys Leon a doughnut but he can't have it until after lunch. Once Sylvia bought herself a bunch of flowers wrapped in a crinkly pink paper with a ribbon round it. She looked angry when she was putting them in the vase but
when she saw Leon looking she smiled and said, “If I don't, who will?”

“My mom and dad have a massive garden,” he tells Sylvia when she puts him to bed. “With lots of trees and grass and flowers and a shed. I used to grow everything with seeds that I planted myself. Zucchini and mangetout. I used to chop down trees if they got too big and dig the weeds out. My dad gave me a sharp knife and I used to help him. It's hard work but I don't mind. There's no one to look after it now if I'm not there.”

Sylvia turns out the light.

“Well, why don't you go straight to sleep and have nice dreams about your garden? Night, night.”

Leon hates it when the curtains move in the breeze but he's too scared to get out of bed and close the window. He turns over and tries to think of nice things like when Carol had a special bouquet for her birthday. It was wrapped in plastic with a bow made of white satin but because she didn't have a vase she had to prop the flowers up in the sink and then in the bath. Every time she looked at the bouquet she would say, “Must have cost a fortune.” Later on that night, when his dad came, Leon heard her saying, “Byron, stop it!” but she was laughing, so he didn't have to worry.

All Sylvia's housework jobs last until lunchtime, when she makes him a sandwich and he can have his doughnut. But since he got his bike, Leon doesn't want to watch his shows.

“Can I go out on my bike, please?”

He stands near the back door with his hand on the knob. He always takes his backpack because he shows Tufty the soccer cards he's collecting or a picture of a bike because Tufty knows everything about them. He knows the way by heart now and he knows how to get off his bike at the gate if Mr. Devlin is around.

“Where?” she says, squinting because of the smoke from her cigarette.

“Just on the roads, on the sidewalks.”

“All right then. But only around the block. You go up to the lights and right and then right again and you come to the bottom of the hill. Show me which is right and which is left.”

He holds up the hand he writes with.

“Right,” he says.

“Okay then. Now you watch that traffic. And if you get lost you ask a policeman. Second thoughts, if you get lost, ask a lady, any lady. You give them this address and you tell them to show you the way.”

“Okay,” says Leon and he opens the door.

“Hold on. What is this address, Leon?” She tilts her head to one side, looking like a teacher.

“Ten College Road.”

Sylvia raises her eyebrows. “Off you go then. Back for your tea.”

He puts his pack on and wheels his bike through the entry between the houses and out onto the road. He goes up to the traffic lights, crosses over, along the busy road, and all the way to the allotments. He gets off his bike at the railings in case Mr. Devlin is there and wheels it along the path by Mr. Devlin's brick shed and then, when he's absolutely sure Mr. Devlin isn't around, he gets back on so he can ride fast for thirty-seven seconds right up to Tufty's wooden hut.

It's a bright, bright day and because it's been raining all the green looks greener and all the blue looks bluer. The bloodred flowers in Mr. and Mrs. Atwal's garden have fallen over in the wind and beads of water drip from the cherry blossom onto ­Leon's back as he speeds past. Tufty waves when he sees Leon and calls him over. He hands him a packet of seeds.

“I can't read them little words, Star. Read this for me.”

He hands Leon the packet and folds his arms.

Leon reads slowly but nice and loud.

“ ‘Red-Flowered Runner Bean Scarlet Emperor is excellent for freezing and for showing. Runner beans are a good source of vitamin C and iron, and have a high fiber content. Height: ten feet. Spread: twelve inches.' ”

“Hmm,” says Tufty. “What does it say about when you plant it?”

“It says, ‘Ideal for the kitchen garden. Flowering time July, August. Sowing months April, May indoors. Transplant outdoors when the risk of frost has passed, in full sun.'”

Tufty nods. “Okay, good.”

“Has the risk of frost passed?”

“Well,” says Tufty, “never can be sure. But it's the sixteenth of May. Sunny and warm. And in my little shed, they'll be safe. Yep, today's the day.”

He goes back inside his hut and when he comes out the cycling pants are gone. Tufty's wearing baggy shorts, a sweater, and dusty beige boots with no laces. He puts a knitted hat over his bald head.

“Come in,” he says to Leon. “You'll learn something.”

Leon steps through the door and into Tufty's shed. The hut still has its special smell, like the gardens but stronger and sweet. Even with the folded chairs, there is lots of room inside. There is a little paraffin heater, a stool, a cooking pot, and some metal plates and mugs. If there was a bed this could be a halfway house as well. But there is dust and dirt on everything and piles of earth on the floor; tendrils of plants push in from the outside. Leon takes his backpack off and looks carefully at the pictures on the wall. They are all posters of black men: one in a suit and tie with a mustache, one who looks like a king, and another one with his fist in the air and a medal around his neck. Leon looks at them all one by one. They are all serious, not like Tufty with his wide smile and big teeth. The men look down at Leon and he imagines how they might talk and what they might say and if
any of them would help him find his brother. He reaches out and touches the man with the medal. The poster crinkles and the man's chest contracts like he's breathing. Underneath the man in big writing it says “Black Power.” Leon makes a fist and holds it up.

Tufty turns round and sees him.

“Yeah,” he says, “he was a brave man. Now, watch.”

Tufty rips the top off the packet of Scarlet Emperor seeds.

“Hold out your hands.”

Tufty tips five seeds onto Leon's palms.

“Press one seed into each compartment. Like this. See?”

Leon presses the smooth, brown seeds down into the soil.

“Make sure it's covered over with the compost. You have to put them to bed so they can wake up. Keep them warm.”

Leon carries on until all the compartments have one seed but there are still some left in the packet. Tufty folds the top over and puts them on a shelf. There are lots of other packets of seeds on the shelf and Leon takes one down. It has no writing on it.

“What are these?”

“These?” says Tufty, looking inside. He takes one seed out and holds it up to the light. He squints and shakes his head.

“Call them ‘Take-A-Chance.' ”

“Take-A-Chance,” says Leon.

“Yeah, you plant them and water them but you don't know what you're getting. You just hope for the best.”

Tufty puts the seed back in the packet and hands it to Leon.

“Keep them.”

“Thank you,” says Leon. He folds the top of the seed packet over like he saw Tufty do and puts it in his pocket.

“Look, now,” says Tufty. “You got your seeds but you got to look after them. They got their blanket, they got food in their belly, but what else do they need?”

“Something to drink,” says Leon.

“Right!” says Tufty, slapping him on the back. “Yeah, man. You got it. You do gardening at home?”

“No.”

“Well, you're a natural then. Right, water is what we need. See that? Take it and fill it up from the soda bucket.”

Leon fills a miniature watering can and dribbles water onto the seeds, drop by drop.

“Not too much,” says Tufty. “Good, good.”

“How big will they grow?” asks Leon.

“Taller than me and you,” says Tufty as he walks outside. “Work to be done. Watch yourself, Star,” he says. “Close the door after you.”

Leon sees a ten-pence piece by the seed tray. It's got dirt on it and probably no one even knows it's a ten pence. He grabs the coin and takes his Take-A-Chance seeds out of his pocket. He puts them both in his pack and goes back outside.

He sees Tufty pick up the big garden fork and plunge it into the earth. Leon watches for a long time. Tufty sings to himself as he breaks the soil and turns it over, throwing stones over by the hedge. It's easy for Tufty because he's got big muscles. Leon feels the top of his arm and wonders when his muscles will grow. Then Leon gets on his bike and rides carefully along the little paths. The Indian lady waves at him and he waves back. He goes right to the end of the allotments where there's a tall wire fence and then he cycles on a different path toward the gate. He stops when he sees Mr. Devlin, gets off his bike, and wheels it over. Mr. Devlin is holding the Kanetsune again and wearing his army jacket.

Leon stares at it.

“Kanetsune,” says Mr. Devlin. “Remember? Japanese.”

Leon reaches for it but the man moves it out of the way.

“Too sharp. Dangerous for children.”

On a deck chair outside the door of his hut, there is an old
wooden box with a lid. It is open and inside there are packets of seeds squashed up.

“Are you planting Scarlet Emperor?” asks Leon. “Sowing time is April or May.”

The man looks at Leon and then at the seed box.

“I am. But not today.”

“You have to transplant outdoors when the frosts have gone,” says Leon. “That's in the summertime.”

“Not quite that late, young man. Nearly.”

Leon can see another small knife with a short blade on the chair next to the seeds.

“Is that Japanese as well?” he says.

“That is a pruning knife. Needs oiling.”

Leon shrugs. “I know how to oil a bike, my dad showed me.”

Mr. Devlin walks to the chair, puts the seeds and the small knife on the ground, and sits down. He puts the big knife on his lap and picks up a bottle of linseed oil. Leon puts his bike on the grass and walks over.

“Move that bicycle out of the way. It's a hazard.”

Leon picks up the bike and rests it carefully against the brick wall of the hut. He stands by Mr. Devlin and watches.

“Linseed oil,” he says, “is for the handle here.”

He shows Leon the handle. It's smooth, black wood with a blue line running through it and a silky blue tassel on the end.

“Oil the handle. Never the blade.”

“Is it sharp?”

“Pick that dandelion and pass it to me.”

Leon picks the yellow-headed flower and gives it to the man. Up close, Mr. Devlin has hair in his ears and nose. He has dirt deep in the lines on his face and crusty, dry lips that make Leon thirsty.

“The Kanetsune is the name for a group of knives. They have
steel blades. Sharp as a witch's tongue. Stroke the blade with the stem of the dandelion. Softly, now. Gently, like so.”

He holds Leon's hand and draws the stem of the flower all along the edge of the blade but before it gets to the end, the stem splits open; half of it falls on the grass. Mr. Devlin takes a little breath in.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly. “Imagine the damage it does.”

Leon pulls his hand away. Loads of knives can cut dandelions. The little knife is on the grass and Leon picks it up and hands it to Mr. Devlin.

“You're a very determined boy, aren't you? What are you, twelve? Eleven? Sit down and take a piece of that cloth now.”

Leon looks around.

“The T-shirt,” says Mr. Devlin, “that there.”

He points at a pile of cloth and Leon picks it up.

“No,” he says with a sigh. “A piece of it, a piece.”

He grabs it off Leon and with a swish of the big knife he separates a sleeve from the pile. Leon stares at the man.

“Wow!” he says.

“Yes, wow, as you say.”

Leon uses the linseed to oil the handle of the pruning knife. It's very sharp and Mr. Devlin keeps reminding him, saying “careful” and “slowly.”

“Do you have a name?” says Mr. Devlin after a while.

“Leon Rycroft. And I've got a brother. I know your name. You're called Mr. Devlin.”

“Just Devlin. I used to be Señor Victor. Can you say Senhor Victor?”

“Senhor Victor.”

Mr. Devlin stares at Leon and then whispers, “Or Papa.”

“Papa.”

“Ah,” says Mr. Devlin.

Leon shows him the handle of the knife.

“Now wipe it over with a clean cloth.”

Leon rubs it all over with the T-shirt while Mr. Devlin watches. “That's it,” he says.

“Are you from America?” Leon asks.

“I've been called some bad things in my time. That's one of the worst. I am an Irishman, child. Dungannon is where I was born but I haven't seen it for many a year.”

Mr. Devlin stops suddenly and turns his head like he hears something. Leon stops as well. Mr. Devlin mutters, “Twenty years precisely.”

Leon wipes the knife along his leg.

“Don't do that,” says Mr. Devlin. “You'll pierce your jeans and your mother will be after me.”