Set the Night on Fire (17 page)

T
he crowd on Maxwell Street was smaller than usual. Then again, it was a chilly November day. Most of the fair-weather shoppers were gone, but the merchants still showed up, and Alix felt lucky to find a space. She didn’t have a stall and didn’t want one—she didn’t have the money—but she was able to muscle a table into a spot between an appliance dealer and a couple who sold leather goods.

She was by herself today. At first Rain had come with her; Dar too, once he was back from India. But Rain was doing layout for
The Seed
, and Dar was in Wisconsin. Alix didn’t mind. The routine was familiar—she’d even mastered the El—and she was starting to enjoy the independence that came with making her own way. If her parents could only see her: the girl who’d gone to prep school and cotillion, raised to wear white gloves and diamonds, selling jewelry on Maxwell Street. The irony was it wasn’t so far-fetched. Her father, a self-made man, had earned a fortune in retail. She was just following in his footsteps.

She gazed down Maxwell Street, checking out the faces. Blacks, whites, Orientals, hippies, vets, all hoping to snag a bargain. Maxwell Street was the Ellis Island of Chicago, a place where, for over a hundred years, newcomers poured in to buy and sell and deal and barter. The cheerful chaos, somewhere between a church bazaar and a street festival, was especially active on Sundays, when stalls lined both sides of the street. They said the end of Maxwell Street was coming, that Mayor Daley had sold the land to the university, and the university would be expanding. Alix hoped not. Everything was so cheap and available here. As long as you didn’t ask what truck it fell off.

She nodded to a Blues guitarist playing a riff as she set out necklaces, rings, and bracelets. She’d been using silver and 24-carat gold wire in her designs, often incorporating a variation of a Celtic knot. Then Bobby showed her a ring made of several bands that seemed to be braided together but could be separated at will. She’d tried casting her own version. If it sold today, she’d make more.

By afternoon she’d sold a few things, including the ring, and she was famished. She made it a habit to try something new every weekend. Grilled sausage, fresh-baked pastries, gyros, food she’d never find in Indiana. She asked the owners of the appliance stall to watch her table while she went to Nate’s Deli for a pastrami sandwich.

The wait was longer than she expected, but finally she exchanged a smile with the black man behind the counter, and headed out with her bag, inhaling the tang of pastrami and pickle. Halfway across the street, she spotted a man with dark hair in a denim jacket and jeans at her table. He’d been lurking earlier, she recalled, watching her surreptitiously. Now he looked both ways, scooped up a few necklaces and rings, and stuffed them into his pocket.

“Hey!” She yelled. “Hey you! Stop! That’s my jewelry!” She started to run.

The man spun around. A kid, not a man. Fine black straight hair tied back in a ponytail. An impossibly high forehead and cheekbones. But a baby face. He couldn’t be more than fifteen. When he saw her, a look of panic broke across his face, and he bolted in the opposite direction.

“Stop him!” Alix shouted. “He’s stealing my stuff!”

Two beefy looking men near the appliance stall took off. The kid wasn’t fast, and they managed to tackle him before he’d gone very far. As they piled on top of him, Alix caught up. A crowd started to form. The kid’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his breath came in short little gasps.

She grabbed one of the men’s shoulders. “You can get up. He’s not going anyplace.”

The guy threw her a look, then planted himself more heavily on the boy. A muffled moan escaped the kid. He was having trouble breathing. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Right on. That’ll show the punk!”

“Really, thank you,” Alix repeated. “I can handle it from here.”

The guy refused to get up. “Goddam Injun,” he hissed. “Never shudda let ’em off the fuckin’ reservation.”

Alix remembered a discussion in the apartment about hippies and Indians. Payton claimed they were natural allies. The tribal culture could teach them how to live close to nature, how to barter, thus bypassing a materialistic society, how to chew peyote for spiritual gain.

“Sure, Payton,” Teddy had replied. “Try selling that to the tribes up north. Most of them are unemployed, sick, or alcoholics. I bet they’d just love to hear how much like us they are. Shit. The government screwed them more than the blacks.”

The discussion became heated, Alix recalled. She had to calm them down by passing the hash pipe. Which, Payton said, only proved his point.

Alix tugged again at the man holding the kid down. “He can’t breathe. Let him up.” This time the man slowly rolled off and stood up, brushing himself off. The kid didn’t move.

“I’ll get the cops,” the other guy said, pointing to one end of the block. “They’re down there.” He started down the street.

The kid turned his head to the side. He was coughing, and Alix saw scratches on his face where he’d hit the asphalt. Fear still contorted his face, but something else was there too. Guilt. He was ashamed of himself.

She made a split-second decision. “No cops!”

The beefy guy whirled around.

“It’s okay. I just want my stuff back.”

The guy tried to talk her out of it, but she stood her ground. She thanked both men and offered them a necklace. They refused. One of the guys still looked like he wanted to beat the kid to a pulp, but after a while he walked away. The crowd started to disperse.

The kid was still on the ground, but he was breathing more easily.

“You can get up,” Alix said.

He didn’t move.

“It’s all right.” She started to pull him up. He struggled awkwardly to his feet. Underneath his thin denim jacket he was wearing a t-shirt. His jeans were threadbare, and he was so skinny that his face looked too big for his body. The bruises on his cheeks were already turning purple. He started to shiver.

The guilt Alix thought she’d seen on his face turned into a dogged, almost defiant expression. It was the look a kid on the outside would throw. A kid who’d been ignored or bullied but wouldn’t allow you to pity him.

“I’ll take my things now,” Alix said.

He fished his hands into his pockets and came up with the chains, which he handed to Alix.

“And the rings.” He dug them out of his pocket and dropped them into her hands, refusing to look her in the eye.

Alix put them in her bag. One of the stragglers in the crowd called out. “Lady, you should press charges. Can’t have trash like him thinkin’ he can get away with it.”

Someone else said, “What do you expect? He’s an Indian.”

The kid flinched, but the wind hurled a chilly gust their way.

“What’s your name?” she asked. He didn’t answer.

“I’m Alix,” she continued as if they were having a friendly chat.

His back straightened, but the movement caused him to cough.

“I’m not gonna call the cops.”

The few remaining bystanders melted away. It was just the two of them.

“I just didn’t want you to rip off my stuff. I paid for the materials, and I worked really hard on the designs.” The moment she said it, she wondered why she sounded defensive. He was the thief. She’d done nothing wrong.

When he still didn’t answer, she shrugged. “Well, I’ll be going now. See you around.” She headed back. She didn’t feel like sticking around. She was folding her table when a reedy voice called out.

“Billy.”

She looked up. The kid was in the middle of Maxwell Street, hands in his pockets.

“My name is Billy Two Feathers.”

“
R
osebud,” Billy said between spoonfuls of pea soup. “I grew up on the Rosebud rez.” They sat on a stoop on Maxwell near Halsted. The buildings sheltered them from the worst of the cold, but the wind still whipsawed, making Alix sniffle. She’d gone back to Nate’s and spent most of her day’s earnings on soup. From the way Billy was spooning it down, this was probably his first meal in days.

“South Dakota, isn’t it?”

“Right. I’m Lakota.”

“I don’t know much about Indians,” Alix said apologetically. It was an understatement. The only thing they’d taught her in Indiana was that Indians were kind, gentle creatures who’d shared their corn—no, maize—with the Pilgrims. “When’d you leave?”

“Last summer.”

“Why?”

“My mother died. And my father . . . well . . . ” He shrugged. “My uncle told me if I wanted to survive, the best thing would be to get away. My brothers and sisters, too.”

Alix had a brother, Phil, but they weren’t close. He was five years her senior and five years was tantamount to a generation during the Sixties. She was envious of people who came from large families. “Why Chicago?’

“I know some Lakota here. Up on Montrose.”

Alix studied him. Something about him—his voice, maybe, so clear and matter-of-fact, or the way his eyes were like magnets, drawing her into his thin face—reminded her of Dar. Or maybe it was his acceptance, at such a young age, that life was full of pain.

“Are you staying with them?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

As he scooped up the last of the soup, a little color crept back into his cheeks. For some reason, that made her happy.

“Your stuff isn’t bad,” he said, motioning toward her jewelry.

“Thanks.” 

“But it could be better.”

Alix was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Billy wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. “You need to work with stones more. And real metal, not just wire. Like that ring you had earlier. Try silver. It’s easier than gold.”

She felt the stirrings of professional jealousy. “How do you know?”

He leveled her with a “how dumb do you think I am” look, the kind only a fifteen year old can master. “My mom—before she got sick—made jewelry. I helped.”

“Is that so?” When he nodded, Alix thought about it. “Maybe you could help me.”

“You mean like a job?” When she nodded, he cocked his head. “How much can you pay?”

“More than you’ll get stealing.”

* *

Billy showed up at the apartment a few days later. Rain was suspicious, especially after Alix told her how they’d met, but Dar said he’d hang around to make sure Billy didn’t rip them off. Aside from an unusual interest in their food, which he eagerly consumed when invited, he didn’t exhibit any sticky fingers.

It didn’t take long for Alix to find out that the “friends” on Montrose he was supposedly staying with didn’t exist. He’d been living hand-to- mouth, crashing at hostels, YMCAs, sometimes sleeping in the park. She told Casey, and a day later, he found Billy a room in a boarding house a few blocks from the apartment. The landlady, a frequent patron of the restaurant where Casey worked, would charge ten dollars a week. Alix made sure he had enough to cover the rent.

It turned out Billy knew a lot about jewelry. Alix had taught herself the basics of casting and soldering, but Billy showed her how to water cast to create unusually shaped pins and pendants. He also showed her how to metalsmith in a way that didn’t require many tools. Over the next few weeks, in addition to beading and wirework, she began to experiment with more sophisticated designs in silver and gold.

Bobby sold them as quickly as she and Billy produced them, and between going downtown for supplies, casting the jewelry, and taking it to the head shop, Billy was hanging around several days a week. He usually managed to show up at mealtime, and Alix made sure there was food. Rain kept proclaiming the benefits of organic food, but it tasted like cardboard and cost a fortune, so Alix learned how to make spaghetti, tuna casserole, and, much to Rain’s chagrin, macaroni and cheese. Billy began to look better, Alix thought. His eyes grew clearer, his skin smoother. He may have even put on a pound or two.

The most unexpected—and gratifying—aspect of Billy’s presence was his relationship with Dar. Dar perked up when Billy came around, and they hit it off in some macho, guy way. Alix figured they must see parts of themselves in the other. She did: the same lean bodies, coloring, intense expressions. After Dar gave Billy some of his old sweatshirts and jeans, they even started to smell alike. In fact, Dar fussed over Billy almost as much as Alix, making sure he ate, bathed, had a decent winter coat. Once in a while, when it was too cold or snowy, Dar made him spend the night at the apartment.

For his part, Billy clung to Dar and Alix. Rain didn’t like it. “You can’t just adopt a person like a pet. What are you going to do when you get tired of him? You’d be better off with a dog.”

Alix bristled. “You and Payton keep saying we should reach out to oppressed people. Seems to me Billy qualifies.”

“But this is a collective. We make decisions equally. You and Dar can’t play house by yourselves.”

Alix turned away from the stove where she was stirring spaghetti sauce. “I’m paying for his food. Dar’s giving him clothes. Aside from inviting him to spend the night occasionally, which you and Teddy and Payton do with your friends, we’re just looking out for a runaway who otherwise would be on the street. It’s not playing house; it’s charity.”

Rain arched her eyebrows. “Kind of bent out of shape about this, aren’t you?”

“No,” Alix lied, “I just don’t understand why you have to be so . . . so political all the time. Why can’t we go a day without talking about the ‘system’? Why can’t we go to shopping? Or even . . . God forbid  . . . a movie? Isn’t there more to life than . . . than ranting against the establishment?”

Rain peered at her oddly, then unexpectedly backed down. “It’s a free country. Do what you want.”

That was Rain. Always testing, nudging, uncovering motives. She’d take you right up to the edge of conflict, have you hanging over the precipice and then backpedal, as if she’d just realized she didn’t like what it said about her. Not like Payton, who’d race everyone to the edge, fling himself over, and take down as many with him as he could.

* *

Casey’s fears about Teddy turned out to be unfounded. Teddy came back to Chicago after the weekend in Wisconsin. In fact, something about seeing his father seemed to rekindle his commitment to the Movement. Before, he only occasionally spent time with them. Now, he stuck close to Payton, accompanying him to the south side where Payton had started hanging out with the Panthers.

Dar had stopped TM, but with Billy and Alix filling his life, he didn’t go back to Movement politics. Casey didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure how they’d sustained their anger and energy for so long, anyway. Sometimes it was exhausting. Casey came to love the pools of calm when Payton and Teddy—and even Rain—were gone.

He enjoyed the lightness Billy brought to the apartment, too. For all the hard knocks he’d endured, Billy was still a kid. He had a sly sense of humor, and he liked corny jokes. He and Casey discovered a mutual love of comic books, so Casey started to bring home the latest R. Crumbs,
Bijou Funnies
, even
Mad
magazine. Payton frowned on such superficial reads, of course, so Casey would slip Billy the comics in a brown paper bag, preceded with raised eyebrows and furtive gestures, like they were secret agents.

One cold February night all of them except Rain were in the apartment. Alix made dinner, which Casey supplemented with egg rolls and fortune cookies from the restaurant. Afterwards, Casey sprawled on the floor reading
Fritz the Cat
; Payton and Teddy were on the sofa rolling joints. While Alix washed dishes, Dar tried to teach Billy how to play chess.

Casey watched over the edge of his comic book. Listening to Dar’s instructions on how to move the knight, Billy absentmindedly fingered a turquoise and silver pendant around his neck. His mother had made it for him, Alix said. He wore it all the time, refusing to take it off even when he showered.

Casey had never seen Dar so content. When Billy moved his knight correctly, Dar leaned over and ruffled his hair. Billy grinned back. They were all becoming a family, Casey thought. A weird, unconventional family, but a family. Sure there were a couple of rambunctious siblings, who went off half-cocked. But didn’t that always happen? Alix and Dar managed the nest. The others ventured out to flap their wings, but always came back to roost.

“Good job,” Dar said to Billy, who’d gotten his knight across the board. “You get it.”

Billy flushed in pleasure.

“Now let’s talk strategy.”

Payton licked a rolling paper. Content was not a word to describe Payton. He was always in motion, tapping his feet, rolling a J, scrutinizing everything. Payton didn’t say much about his background, but Casey knew he’d grown up in a small Iowa town near the Nebraska border. His father had split when Payton was an infant, and his mother worked two jobs to make ends meet. Payton had more or less raised himself. He was smart—he’d gone to Iowa on a full scholarship, at least until he dropped out. But he was angry: at his father for cutting out; at his mother for not spending time with him; and at the world, for letting him down. Casey watched as Payton struck a match and took a hit. Holding in reefer as long as he could was the only time he sat still.

“Gantner, what’s happened to you, man?” Payton blew out a haze of white and passed the J to Teddy.

Dar looked up from the chessboard. “What do you mean?”

“You used to be . . . shit . . . you used to be Dar Fucking Gantner! We heard about you all the way in Iowa. No one could speak like you, organize like you. I mean, next to Hayden, you were SDS. Now look at you.” He waved a hand.

Casey tensed, but Dar seemed unperturbed. “I guess I’m moving on, Payton. You have to keep growing.”

Teddy jumped in. “Dar, the only reason I got on that bus for Chicago last summer was because of you. You convinced me we could make a difference. That we could stop the war. Create a new order. But now . . . ” Teddy, who was wearing an ID bracelet he’d brought back from Wisconsin, shook his wrist. The chains on the bracelet clinked.

Alix appeared at the kitchen door. The strains of Crosby, Stills and Nash on the radio broke the silence.

“What’s your point?” Dar asked.

“We need you back, man.”

Dar put down the rook he’d been holding and looked at Payton. So did Billy. Alix folded her arms. All the attention was focused on Payton, Casey noted. Just the way he liked it.

“For what?” Dar asked.

“Well, for one thing, you know the SDS leaders.”

“So do you.”

“But you really know them. You have clout. I need your help. For the SDS convention.”

“That’s not until June,” Dar said.

“I know.”

“What do you need?”

Casey watched Alix. Her face was blank.

Payton went on. “Okay. Here it is. You know who Fred Hampton is, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Billy looked confused.

“He started the Chicago branch of the Black Panthers,” Dar said.

Payton nodded. “He’s an amazing brother. Came over from the NAACP, you know. Was gonna be a lawyer but started doing community outreach in Maywood. He reminds me of you, Gantner. He’s really smart. And committed.”

Dar looked interested. Payton wasn’t stupid. He was playing to Dar’s ego.

“He’s started the Free Breakfast Program. And he wants to start a health clinic. After-school programs, too. You know what he’s into now?” Payton didn’t give Dar time to answer. “He’s trying to broker a peace between the street gangs in Chicago. The Panthers, Young Lords, Blackstone Rangers. Think about it . . . if the gangs aren’t fighting each other, they can fight the system. Together. It’s fucking brilliant.”

“And long overdue,” Dar admitted.

“But that’s not the best part,” Teddy cut in. “He wants to reach out to us.”

Dar arched his eyebrows.

“He’s creating what he calls a ‘Rainbow Coalition.’ He wants us to be part of it.”

“It’s an intriguing idea,” Dar said, after a pause. “But do we really have the same goals as the Panthers?”

“How can you even ask, man? We’re all oppressed. White, black, even red . . . ” He gestured toward Billy, who ducked his head.

“I get it,” Dar replied. “But beyond the war, what’s our mission? Theirs is to improve conditions for black people in the ghetto. What’s ours?”

“Mission?” Payton’s ponytail bounced as he shook his head. “You know our fucking mission. People are sacrificing their lives for a society that refuses to meet their needs—and discriminates against them on top of it.” An irritated look came over him. He took another hit off the joint. “Why are you hassling me, man?”

“A lot has gone down since the convention,” Dar replied evenly.