Set the Night on Fire (18 page)

Payton threw a chilly glance at Billy. “I see.”

Dar followed Payton’s look. “I still don’t know what you want from me.” This time there was an edge to his voice.

“We want Hampton—and some of the Panthers—to appear at the convention.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . ” Payton spoke slowly as if he was talking to a child. “People need to know who their real brothers are. Come on, man. The Panthers start a breakfast program for kids, and the next day nineteen of them are busted. On trumped up charges. You don’t think it’s connected? They’re being systematically oppressed, and we need to show solidarity. Here . . . ” Payton rose and grabbed a few flyers off the coffee table. “Read these.”

Casey scanned the flyer, a mimeographed plea to send money to the Black Panther Defense Fund. It was co-signed by the Black Panthers, the Young Lords, and SDS.

“The least you can do is grease the wheels for us. Convince SDS we need the Panthers at the convention. To show a united front. You owe us. The collective, remember?”

Dar looked down at the chessboard. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Payton’s face smoothed out, and he actually smiled. “Far out. Hey. I’m going to Weiss’s for a brew. Anyone want to come with?”

T
he Chicago Eight were indicted on the first day of spring. Rain had given up her organic food kick and was teaching Alix how to fry chicken. She held forth while heating a frying pan filled with oil. “You should have been there, Alix. Judge Hoffman already has his mind made up. It’s a fucking joke. We need to stop it.
The Seed
is printing up posters announcing a mass protest.”

Following Rain’s lead, Alix coated a piece of chicken with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper and dropped it into the pan. “Is this right?”

“Not bad,” Rain said. “We’ll make a working woman out of you yet.”

“That’s bullshit,” Payton called from the other room.

“What?” Rain said acidly.

“Protesting against the trial. It doesn’t fucking matter. So what if they go to jail? You can’t jail the revolution.”

Rain rolled her eyes at Alix. A second later Payton appeared in the kitchen. “You can roll your eyes—I saw you—and plan demonstrations, but you and I both know the only thing that will make any difference is direct action.”

“You mean violence?” When Payton shrugged she added, “That’s not the answer—even in a repressive society. You’ve been spending too much time with the Panthers.”

“There is no choice. It’s the only thing the pigs understand.”

“That isn’t what SDS is all about. Ask Dar.”

“Dar doesn’t know shit any more.” He glared at Alix.

Alix gave Payton her back.

“Wake the fuck up,” Payton went on. “Student riots in France and Mexico. An uprising happens in Prague. This is a fucking international guerilla movement. SDS needs to be a part of that.”

Rain started to say something but was cut off by the sound of the intercom. Alix went to it and pushed the button.

“It’s me,” a thin voice said. Billy.

Alix pressed the buzzer while Payton kept blathering on. She went to the door and let Billy in. It was an icy, blustery night, and although Billy was wearing Dar’s old pea coat, he was shivering. Alix walked him into the warmth of the kitchen. His shoulders relaxed as the heat hit him. Then he started to cough. Long, wracking coughs that wouldn’t stop.

“Are you okay?” Alix asked.

“It’s just a cold.” He coughed again.

“Hold on. I’ll get you some cough medicine.” On her way to the bathroom she brushed by Payton, still leaning against the kitchen wall. He tugged at his ponytail, his expression flat, as if he was jealous of Alix’s attention to Billy.

Alix brought the medicine back to the kitchen. Billy’s shoulders were hunched, and he was still coughing. She poured the red syrup into a spoon and held it out. “Open up, champ.”

Billy gave the medicine a once-over.

“Come on. It’ll help.”

Billy opened his mouth and swallowed. He grimaced. “Stuff tastes like shit.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” She laughed. “And don’t say ‘shit.’”

Billy leveled a withering look her way. Rain, watching them, fought back a smile.

“Can I have some water?” he asked.

“How about tea?” Alix filled the kettle and put the flame on.

Billy started to take off his coat.

“It’s a mean night,” Rain said. “Why don’t you keep it on ’til you’re dry?”

“I’m fine,” Billy said.

Rain eyed him. “Keep it on anyway.”

Billy grumbled but kept the coat on.

“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” Alix said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be. Rain’s chicken is not to be missed.” Alix picked up a pair of tongs and turned the chicken over. “And now I have the recipe.”

Billy shrugged and went into the living room. She heard him ask Payton if there were any new comic books.

Payton sighed dramatically. “When are you going to stop wasting your time on that trash, my little warrior?”

“When you stop acting like you know what’s best for everyone,” Billy shot back.

In the kitchen Alix suppressed a giggle. Even Rain managed a grin.

* *

The chicken crackled, sending a hearty aroma through the apartment. Alix was draining a few pieces on paper towels when Rain said, “Alix, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

Rain turned from the stove. “Have you ever wondered why we’re the ones always cooking and cleaning, and the guys don’t do shit?”

“That’s just the way it is.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been organizing down at
The Seed
.”

“Organizing what?”

“A women’s caucus. We do all the grunt work. But men make the decisions and take the credit. That has to change.”

Alix reached for the spatula. “What does a women’s caucus do?”

“It will start to raise consciousness that women are just as oppressed as—the blacks, say—and need to be liberated.”

“Oh, come on, Rain. Black people and women are equally oppressed?”

“Come on, you. Who’s in the kitchen frying chicken?  Do you see any of the men helping? We aren’t much more than cooks to them. Or wombs.”

“You can’t change biology.”

“Biology gave us brains as well as vaginas. We are half the population. Have you ever thought what the world would be like if women had an equal voice? We need to create our own power base.”

After a pause Alix said, “I don’t know, Rain. You know I’m not political.”

Rain’s glasses reflected the light, making them sparkle. “This isn’t politics. It’s survival.”

“I just don’t know. Between Billy, and the jewelry, and Dar . . . ”

From the living room, Billy coughed again. Alix stiffened.

Rain turned back to the frying pan. “Oh, never mind. You’re hopeless.”

A
lix and Billy were selling jewelry on Maxwell Street on a warm Sunday in June, well past the end of flu season, when Billy started coughing again. He picked up a white paper napkin and covered his mouth, the way Alix had taught him, but when he balled it up and pitched it in the trash, the napkin was pink.

Alix, who’d been laying out turquoise necklaces, straightened up. “How long has that been going on?”

Billy bent over the table. “I don’t know.”

“I thought the cough was gone.”

He wouldn’t look at her. “It’s only been a couple of days. It’s not bad.” He started to arrange the necklaces in straight lines. “How many necklaces did you bring?”

Alix knew she wasn’t supposed to be over-protective. Dar had told her a kid like Billy needs to feel independent. That, in a strange way, he’d earned it by running away and forging his own path. But Alix felt responsible. “Well, if it keeps up, we’ll have to do something about it.”

He shot her an impatient look. “How many necklaces?”

“Seven.” She finished laying out the jewelry. “So, what do you want to eat? A Polish? They have these kielbasas on a stick. Or a burrito?”

Billy shrugged, which meant he didn’t care. She settled on the Polish, but when she brought back two hot dogs, loaded with fixings, he only took a bite of his. “You don’t like it?”

“I ate breakfast late.”

That was a lie—Billy always ate when she or Dar fed him, which made her think he ate poorly—or not at all—when they weren’t around. In fact, now that Alix was studying him, he looked pale under his olive skin. And thin. Part of that was his clothing. It was June—he wasn’t bundled up in bulky sweats or sweaters. Still, she insisted he come home with her.

The apartment was empty when they got there. The SDS convention was due to start in a few days, and Dar, making good on his promise to Payton, was meeting with the leaders to discuss an appearance by the Panthers. Teddy was with them, and Rain and Casey were at their jobs.

Alix told Billy to hole up on the sofa while she heated soup. Maybe the food on Maxwell Street was too spicy. He only took a few spoonfuls of soup but drank the 7-Up she poured. He fell asleep on the sofa almost immediately.

Over the next two days Billy didn’t get better. He was still coughing, sometimes bringing up specks of blood. Alix made him stay at the apartment and dosed him with aspirin and cough medicine. He didn’t complain but was lethargic and slow. He wasn’t even interested in comic books.

“We need to take you to a doctor,” Alix said the next day.

“No!” His answer was emphatic.

“Billy, there’s something wrong. A doctor can fix it.”

“I don’t like doctors. I’ll get better. I promise. I’ll take all my medicine.”

Billy’s mother had died after a long illness. Although he’d never admit it, Alix figured he associated doctors and hospitals with death. Dar told her later that distrust of “white man’s” medicine was embedded in Indian culture. She sighed and gave him more cough medicine.

By Wednesday, though, he still wasn’t better. Alix knew he had to be seen, but she wasn’t sure where to take him. Back in Indiana, Dr. Dougherty made house calls, usually bringing medicine with him, or writing a prescription her mother promptly filled. Alix had only been in a hospital once, when her tonsils were removed. She didn’t remember much about it except for ice cream and Jello.

Here in Chicago, though, there was no Dr. Dougherty. And no money  if he had been. In fact, being young, healthy, and full of energy, the idea of getting sick had never occurred to her. She wanted to talk it over with the others, but, except for Casey, they were all at the SDS convention. Even Rain was covering it for
The Seed
and crowing about her press pass—the establishment media had been banned.

The Moon Palace, where Casey worked, was only three blocks from the apartment. She told Billy she’d be right back and hurried over. It was a hot, sticky night, and by the time she got there, sweat clung to her neck and shoulders.

Casey was in the kitchen, washing dishes. When Alix pushed through the door, the clatter of dishes and machines was overlaid by Jimi Hendrix’s guitar, making it impossible to talk. Casey’s face brightened when he spotted her, and he shouted, “Alix! What’s doing?”

It was hotter here than outside. She blew a breath upwards to fan her face. “I’m worried about Billy.”

He turned off the spray of water and turned down the radio. “What’s wrong?”

“I think he should see a doctor, but I don’t know where to go.”

Casey loaded the dishwasher with the blue and white plates every Chinese restaurant seemed to use. “How about the emergency room?”

“Yes, but which one? I . . . I don’t have any experience with hospitals . . . at least in Chicago.”

Casey shrugged. “Northwestern would be good. Or maybe Children’s Memorial.”

“Billy’s almost sixteen.”

“Then take him to Northwestern.” He stopped. “Wait. Fullerton Hospital is only a few blocks away. That’s the place to go.”

“He’s not going to be happy. He hates doctors.”

“Have Dar go with you.”

“He’s at the convention.”

“Can’t it wait till he gets back?”

“Casey, he’s coughing up blood.”

He turned on the dishwasher and wiped his hands on his apron. Then he reached up and snapped off the radio. The quiet was unnerving. “Why don’t I come with you?”

“Really? Will you?”

“I’m off at eleven.”

She let out a relieved breath.

* *

Fullerton Hospital’s emergency room was all white walls, fluorescent lights, and color-coded stripes on the floors. A stout nurse with a peaked cap, sat behind a high counter doing a crossword puzzle. She wiped sweat off her face with a tissue. “Can I help you?”

“He needs to be seen.” Casey motioned to Billy.

“Name?” She put down her paper and slid a clipboard toward Alix.

“Billy.”

“Billy what?”

“Billy Two Feathers,” Alix answered.

The nurse frowned imperceptibly as she wrote down his name. “What is his problem?”

“He’s coughing. It won’t stop, and there’s blood in it.”

“How much blood?”

“Enough to turn a Kleenex pink,” Alix answered.

“How long has this been going on?”

“About four days. Although . . . ” Alix stopped short.

“Yes?”

“He was coughing a couple of months ago. But it went away.”

“I see.” The nurse tapped the pencil against the counter. “And what is your relation to him?”

“Relation?” Alix asked.

“That was the question.”

“He’s . . . ”

“Nephew,” Casey cut in. “He’s our nephew.”

“Your nephew.” Her gaze swept over them. Alix’s throat tightened. They were only a few years older than Billy. Casey’s hair was down to his shoulders. She was wearing a “Stop the War” t-shirt. Not to mention they were white, and Billy was an Indian.

The nurse narrowed her eyes. “Does your . . . ‘nephew’ . . . have insurance?”

“No.”

“Who is going to be responsible for the charges?”

Casey’s jaw worked. “We will.”

“You.”

Alix and Casey exchanged a glance. Casey nodded.

The nurse looked at Billy, then back at them again. Alix waited for her to kick them out. To tell them she knew they were lying. But all she did was let out a long-suffering breath. Then she passed them a form. “Fill this out.”

Relief washed over Alix. She took the form and led Billy over to a chair in the reception area. When Casey joined them, she whispered, “Why’d you say he was our nephew?”

“I didn’t think they’d see him otherwise.”

Alix bit her lip. The threadbare carpet, institutional chairs, and dingy walls didn’t speak to the hospital’s prosperity. Still, the room was filled with people: black, white, even some Orientals. Some were doubled over in obvious pain, others had the vacant expressions that come with long waits and hopelessness. She’d never seen suffering like this back in Indiana. She’d always dealt with it from a distance: school-sponsored canned goods drives, wrapped presents for the “unfortunate” at Christmas. The despair and misery made her heart ache.

“I want to go home,” Billy said.

Alix brushed her hand across his forehead. He was sweating. She got up, got him a tissue, then started filling out the form. “When’s your birthday?”

“I don’t like this place,” he said.

“Neither do I. When’s your birthday?”

“Why?”

“We have to write it down for the doctor.”

He shrugged.

“Billy . . . please.”

“October 20
^th
,” he finally spit out.

“You’ll be sixteen, right?”

He nodded.

Alix checked the form, then tugged on Casey’s arm. “What do I put here?”

Casey looked. “Address?” He paused. “Use ours.”

“You’re sure?”

“I feel better.” Fear tightened Billy’s features. “Let’s go home. Please.”

That’s when it dawned on her why Casey was lying. And why Billy didn’t want to be here. He was a runaway. If they found out, they could take him away. She let out a breath. Sometimes she was as dumb as a box of rocks. She grabbed Billy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She wouldn’t let that happen.

It was three hours later before another nurse in a white uniform came out, clipboard in hand. She cleared her throat. “Billy Two Feathers?” 

Casey and Billy had been napping, but Billy woke with a start and dug his fingers into Alix’s arm. She patted his hand to calm him, ignoring the indentations on her skin.

The nurse led them through a set of doors into the main ER. Several desks, pushed together, took up most of the room. They were surrounded by about eight curtained areas. The smell of disinfectant was strong. A closet off to the side was open. Inside was a crush of equipment: oxygen masks, metal instruments, bandages, and bowls.

The nurse showed them into one of the curtained areas. “Are you family? If not, you can’t stay here.”

“We’re his aunt and uncle,” Casey said, with more bravado than Alix felt.

“Really.” The nurse let her gaze linger on them just long enough to let them know she knew they were lying. Then she turned to Billy. “Take your jeans off. And your shirt.” She handed him a gown. “Put this on.” Billy shrank back, as if the gown was contaminated. The nurse looked at Billy, dropped the gown on the gurney, and left.

Fifteen minutes later there was a commotion on the other side of the curtain. Alix pushed it aside. Across the room several nurses and two men crowded around two curtained-off areas. One of the nurse’s uniforms was streaked with red. Everyone was shouting. Above the voices, Alix heard groans.

“Casey, what’s going on?” 

Casey got up to look. “I don’t know.”

They waited another thirty minutes before a young doctor in surgical scrubs hurried in, carrying a clipboard. His name tag said Schindler. He looked from the clipboard to Billy, who was dozing on the gurney. “What’s the problem?” he asked brusquely.

Billy woke up. His brows drew together, eyes wary.

Alix explained.

Schindler asked the same questions as the intake nurse. As Alix answered them, the noise in the main room grew louder, more frantic.

“What is it?” Casey asked.

Schindler turned around. “Someone got shot. Bullet’s lodged in his spine. We’re taking him up to the OR.”

Alix recoiled. “Someone was shot?”

The doctor looked at Alix as if he wasn’t sure what planet she was from. He turned back to Billy with an expression that said he’d rather be dealing with the gunshot wound than a young boy’s cough. “Fever?”

“Off and on,” Alix said.

The doctor took out his stethoscope, bent over, and placed it on Billy’s back. “Breathe.” The doctor moved the stethoscope. “Again.” After more repetitions, he straightened up. “We’re going to need an X-ray. I’ll let them know.” He nodded. “And I’ll get you some antibiotics. That should take care of it.”

They waited another hour. Nothing happened. No X-ray, no antibiotics. The noise and commotion in the ER subsided, and they could hear static from a police radio. Casey went out to check the time. “It’s practically dawn,” he said when he came back. “We’ve been here for five hours.” 

Alix pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the ER room. No one was there. She walked back into the reception area. Only a few people were waiting, and someone had turned on a radio. Easy listening. A new nurse sat behind the counter.

“Excuse me, but we’ve been waiting all night for antibiotics. We’re in curtain area five. Dr. Schindler said he would bring them to us.”

The nurse consulted a sheet of paper. “Schindler went up to the OR. But he’s off now.” She must have seen Alix’s distress, because her next words were surprisingly kind. “Let me see what I can do.”