Saved and SAINTified (23 page)

“I completely understand that. I mean, my mom obviously loved me but she was at work all the time and my entire family was involved in gang life. It was just irresistible at one point in time. I knew better, but like you
I just wanted to fit in, to belong, and honestly, I had some anger issues and they let me be me. It was destructive though. I looked up to my cousin, Theresa. She is dead now, got shot point blank in the head during a drive-by. I know what it is like to look up to someone, like you did with Bomb. You seemed to really admire him.”

“
Xenia, a long time ago you asked me how and why I could never judge you for your involvement with the Bloods. First of all, that’s not me. Your past is your past. You are a good person, a great woman with a beautiful heart. Aside from that, this is also the reason why, baby,” he said, caressing her chin.

“Mmmm, that is incredible. Isn’t it amazing when you look back on how far you’ve come?”

“It is like from another world, a different time. But it was a part of my life. The block parties, little babies out at all hours of the night, young mothers high to the ceiling, unemployment like at eighty percent. ... All the races gettin’ along though—that was a silver lining. Racial beefs rarely happened and that is also another positive I took from that. Extreme racism never made sense to me. I wasn’t raised that way. I didn’t grow up around it and I saw everyone getting along. Then you get into the real world and realize folks are fucking nuts.”

“
L.A. wasn’t like that,” Xenia argued. “There was always some racial shit going on.”

“
Xenia, I’m not saying racism wasn’t going on—it was; it just wasn’t nearly as common and people didn’t get killed over it where I was living. I got teased, too. But no one wanted me dead or hated me because of my ethnicity. I never got that impression. Everybody was making deals with everyone, partying with everyone—all races were screwin’ each other, it was no biggie.” He chuckled. “If you were singled out, nine times out of ten, it was because they just didn’t like your ass.”

Xenia
burst out laughing.

“
I was skinny and awkward and racially ambiguous. I got picked on, got into fights just like everybody else, but I was accepted into that strange, twisted world. Some of the cats back then, the old heads especially, would see me comin’ and call me, ‘little pharaoh’.”

Xenia
laughed. “That’s cute. You never told me that!”

“Yeah
.” Saint looked down into her sparkling eyes. Her amusement warmed his heart. “I went back there one time and was all broken up because one of the buildings I grew up in was totally gone. It was the one I had the best memories of. There is a new building and a row of houses across the street. They’ve cleaned it up a great deal over there. Some evidence still remains, a few burnt out buildings still exist. Some are historical buildings and protected as such, including some of the old stores, but for the most part, it looks little like it did when I was growing up there. It really looked like something out of a damn post-apocalyptic movie or somethin’. We walked over big chunks of concrete, glass and rubble … fractured glass streets. None of that is there now.”

“Sounds very depressi
ng.”

“But you know, out of that depression, filth and corruption, Hip Hop was born.  When more African Americans moved in, it started
—and the Puerto Ricans and the blacks would get together and make music and dance moves. Everyone would break dance; it’s where it all started, right there where I lived. Then, when you had beef with someone, you’d dance.”

“And you know I’m all over that. I remember when I interviewed Doug E. Fresh, Saint. It was one of the best interviews I ever conducted. I learned so much about the time frame you are talking about—about
New York in general as far as Hip Hop is concerned. That’s one of the things that tickled me so much about you, how entrenched you are in your music and now I can see even more so why. You saw it being born.”

“
I did. I like that take on it, baby. I never thought about it like that but yeah,” he grinned at her, “When you see something developing and you love it, you feel like you have a stake in it. You want to see it succeed.” He briefly reflected. “Things were wild and crazy, but in that tiny world within a world, we were okay, you know? You were safe. Dare I say, fucking happy ... ”

They shared a delicious slice of silence.

“And even though things were so volatile, it was still tolerable until...”

“C
rack cocaine hit the scene.”

“Bingo.”

Xenia shook her head. “I know, I know. That’s how it was in L.A., too.”

“Yeah. Once crack hit,
it was a wrap. There was no brotherhood and sisterhood anymore. People were fuckin’ strung out and then babies were born addicted to the shit. And they grew up and became violent, souless mothafuckas. Crack babies grow up after the withdrawl, but their brains are still fucked up. Before that, it was magic, Xenia, pure magic. That was when my love for hip hop and dance started. I saw it all morning and night. People literally danced in the goddamn street … danced good, like ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ good. We took that shit serious. Hardly anyone was going to school. They just gang banged, clubbed, fought and danced. A lot of really talented taggers came out of that era as well. It was what we did to not lose our fuckin’ minds…”

Xenia
rubbed his arm.

“I was not as poverty stricken as you were, S
aint—but I do understand that attraction to the gangs. You know my story.”

“I do, baby.”

“When something is missing in a person’s life, they look for a family. I was looking for my father in all the wrong places. I know why you’re thinking about all of this. This new baby, Hassani and Dakarai … it makes you think of your own youth, your own childhood.”

“Yes, it does.
Xenia, I don’t want them to feel like they need to be followers, to look for a mother or father figure like you and I did. I don’t want them grow up afraid or hungry. You and the kids mean the world to me. I’d die without you.” He reached down and caressed her stomach. He could feel the power, the movement. Xenia was completely unaware of it. He smiled faintly as he continued to run his fingers over her skin. Life grew inside of her; the zygote forming all ready. His seed was flourishing…

He kissed her forehead and laid her down flat on the bed with him,
then simply stared at her as he held her hand. He loved these special times with her, more than she’d ever realize.

****

One day later in Cairo, Egypt…

Nzism
tossed about under the midnight moon of Egypt. His expansive bedroom featured a seventy-foot high steeple ceiling made of shatter-proof glass. His dark eyes glowered at the flickering stars as he scratched at his olive skin. Sweating profusely, he relived the nightmare that had unfolded just moments ago in his psyche. His close shaved, jet black hair and clean shaven face basked in the light from the nearby three-tier candles that burned, flickering wildly. His third wife awoke.

“
Nizsm, what is the matter?” she asked.

He ignored her and flung his
bare legs over the side of the expansive royal bed. “Nizsm, you screamed out. Did you have a bad dream?” She gently reached out to him, her dark hand taking him lightly around his wrist. He looked over his shoulder, down at her. Her dark plum complexion shined so beautifully, he was always struck by her beauty, no matter what mood he was in. He studied her, looking for solace and reprieve.

Her coarse,
thick hair, adorned with a gold headband, was her crown of glory, as well as a sparkling white smile, with perfectly straight teeth. She was his ebony sky, right there in his bed. He’d found her in Sudan and immediately brought her home. He never told anyone, but she was his favorite. Nizsm had seven wives, yet Nyanath had set his heart on fire. She was a warrior, trained to fight—yet soft and sweet. The polar duality stirred his loins. He didn’t love his other wives the way he did her, and jealousy brewed among them. Though they all had bore his children, Nyanath was the one he had the most with. She was his unguilty pleasure.

She was the one he invited to his bedroom mo
st often. He gave them all the same value in gifts—catered to their particular liking—but Nyanath was repeatedly shown preferential treatment behind closed doors. He couldn’t help himself. Though one woman would never be enough for him, he knew that Nyanath embodied so much of what he needed in one person. She was as close as he could get to finding his perfect mate, and he was happy to have found her. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. He’d accepted it as his cross to bear and hoped that one day; he’d meet someone who could rival her. As of yet, no one had come even close...

“Yes, I had a bad dream
,” Nizsm ran his hand over his head as he looked away, feeling cross. “Nyanath, please go back to sleep. I am going to go out for some air.” He abruptly rose from the bed, slid his long, dark pajama pants on and made his way out into the courtyard.

Standing in the middle of the rose garden, he surveyed his land as he tried to regain his composure. After a few moments, he removed his cellphone from his pant
s pocket and dialed.

“Azizi, I had the dream again, two nights in a row now. I know that it is true!”
Nizsm began to pace nervously back and forth, the dark green foliage framing him in the picturesque Egyptian evening scenery. “Someone is pregnant with the Princess of Life. I need to speak to the Oracle.”

“
Nizsm, I assure you that—”

“No, Azizi! My dreams are never wrong! I need to know
who
it is, and the pregnancy must be terminated at once!” Nizsm slammed his phone closed, and swallowed harshly as the heavily perfumed, humid air brushed past him. Dark gray smoke escaped from between his lips. He gritted his teeth, then returned inside his grand house.

****

Three weeks later…

“Dad, this is all you brought?” S
aint rolled his eyes as he looked at his father’s modest, dated brown luggage bag. “You said you could stay here for two weeks. How will this be enough?” Saint shook his head as he continued to escort his father back into the guest house.

“It’s plenty! I can re-wear most of the items. Are we going somewhere fancy?”
His father shrugged.

S
aint unlocked the front door of the sprawling ranch. The hammering and banging of the nearby construction crew continued on, causing Saint to have to elevate his voice.

“We may. Dad, you need some new clothes, on the serious tip
,” Saint teased as he looked back at his father then maneuvered through the guest house toward the master suite.

“No
, I don’t. You’re the flashy one. You’ve always been that way, even as a little boy.” The older man smiled. “Your mother and I would take you out to get a birthday gift, and you never looked at the price tag but would manage to pick out the most expensive action figure, big wheel or train set available. Of course, we couldn’t get it for you. I have no idea how you got that way.”

“I like nice shit! There is no crime in that.
Just because we had a shoestring budget didn’t mean I didn’t want the whole damn kick ... gotta reach for the stars.” Saint grinned. “That blue cardigan you have on there has so many lint balls on it, it looks like you raked it with a damn boar’s hair brush before putting it on! Come on, man. Pops, you gotta do better, man.” Saint laughed gruffly.

Mr. Aknaten rolled his eyes at his son and looked around the spacious surroundings.

“So, you said those men are building Xenia a studio? That is very nice. I think that’s a really good compromise. It is important for a mother to be around her children, especially when they are young.”

S
aint nodded. “Yeah, it’s for her. It’s going to really work out great, I believe. She’s got the backing she needs and the fan base. Now that she has her own show, she can call the shots and has more leeway. And she won’t have to put her career on hold; she’ll be right here with them. We will still use a nanny while she does the show in the mornings, but—”

“Nanny? You’re getting a nanny?
Why would you do that? The boys don’t need a nanny if she’s going to be here. That’s the problem nowadays. Parents don’t—”

Saint waved his arms.
“Dad, stop. No. You don’t understand.”

“I do. You said you’re getting a nanny.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Saint looked at his father, perplexed. “Why is that a problem?”

“Well, Hassani is in school now and I thought your mother-in-law and the babysitter watch Dakarai when she is away in the mornings.
Look.” His father shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know it’s not my business, but you and Xenia always seem to put the kids first. I just don’t understand all of this.”

S
aint smiled and took his father by the shoulders. “Dad, Xenia didn’t want to say anything yet, so whatever you do, don’t let it slip out, but … we’re expecting again.” He watched his father’s face light up. “That’s why we need the nanny. We will have a newborn and two young kids in the house and she’ll be working full time. She will need the help.”