The Kid (27 page)

“Chop-step, chop-step, de little green plants dat gonna be cotton gotta be chopped till dey ’bout dis much”—she raises her hands to her TV screen in the air, moves them about six inches apart—“from each other. Don’, dey choke each other when dey grow. Step raise yo’ hoe swing. Waste energy raisin’ it too high, too low gotta do it again. We struck out wit’ nothin’. Dis time I left in de middle of de night, wit’ Mary. Not so much I wanted her honest to tell but I didn’t want to be dragged back like befo’, ’n she knew I was gonna leave her. She knew ’n wouldn’t let me outta her sight. We lay down las’ thang I see is her eyes starin’ at me. She nevah let herself go to sleep first. When I wake up, she up. We walked. Don’ let no one tell you bein’ on de road is easy. We slept in ditches. I can remember snakes slidin’ cross us. But better dat than de two-leg snakes. Seed a hangin’ hear me. Hear me? I seed a lynchin’. Can still smell it. Like hair burnin’ but worse. Mary get hungry I give her a rock to suck on. We ate dandelion, roots ’n all, clay. I worked fields, yards, a woman take me in her house to clean. Try not to pay me. I crawl back in a window ’n under de bed ’n get de money out her box. Fool had de key to de box hangin’ on de underside of de bed leg. Hah! I seed it cleanin’ on my hands ’n knees like dey like you to do, don’ feel it’s clean if you ain’ crawlin’. People think you stupid ’cause you cain’t read ’n all, I may be, but dese some fast fingers, hah! From dere we runnin’ for our lives! If she miss it, we dead. Dey on wheel, we on foot, shotguns sticks, don’ even need no badge to kill you back den. Dey jus’ do it. We barefoot niggers. But I guess she don’ miss it. I buy us bus tickets to New York City. After de tickets had five dollars, you gotta remember a shoeshine ain’ even cost a dime, boy! A nickel was de fare to take you anywhar! We was rich to ourselves, ate chicken-fried steak at de rest stop—
at,
not
in
it. Dey hand you de food out de back door ’n you sit on de dirt or a rock or a garbage can to eat ’n be grateful to git it! Thas right, ate chicken-fried steak ’n dranked Royal Crown soda, RC! You cain’t even git dat too much no more.

“Lookin’ out de window, sleepin’, lookin’ out de window, stoppin’ towns along de way. Cain’t keep track of time, was we on de bus a week, two weeks? Or was it jus’ days? One day we lookin’ out de window ’n ain’ no more cows ’n roadside diners ’n everythang git bigger ’n closer together, trees forget theyself in de steel ’n cement, cars is buzzin’! It’s like a million parties goin’ in yo’ eyes. De driver holler. One half hour to New Yawk Citay! ’N we still a half hour from it? Everythang keep gittin’ closer ’n closer, even in de daytime, lights! Now stuff is all in de sky, buildings reachin’ up to heaven. Bus pull into a dark tunnel, den open into a long cement yard full of other buses ’n he holler, Last stop! New Yawk Citay! Port Authority, Forteee-second Street. Everybody off! Folks reachin’ overhead ’n under de seats fo’ cardboard boxes, grips, blanket rolls. I ain’ gotta reach up, what I got is on my back ’n in de seat next to me, big ol’ gal baby. I almos’ hate her. I don’ know why. She don’ cry or ask for nothin’. De station is de biggest buildin’ I evah seed in my life! So many lights look like dey done brought de stars indoors. People! Whew! More people ’n I evah seed, all movin’ at once.

“I look out ’n see him. At least dat how it seem at de time, I jus’ look’n see him. Later I find out he seed me way fo’ I seed him. In fact he been waitin’ on me. Well, not me me, but someone like me. He done noticed I ain’ got no luggage ’n I’m lookin’ at everyone but not fo’ no one. Some people on de bus had scraps of paper, envelopes wit’ letters in ’em, dey take out ’n read ovah ’n ovah, a cousin, sister. He got pointed-toe shoes de color of sweet potato pie, tan suit wit’ stripes, high drape pants, ’n a shirt de color of honeysuckle.

“You know what I remember ’bout dat day? He was so purty ’n shiny, I was thinkin’, scratchin’ my head ’n thinkin’, Is he real? Is he like some kinda angel ’n is dis place heaven? He walked ovah to me ’n Mary. I remember he surprised she only five ’n I’m only fifteen. I guess both of us look older den we is. I’m not really ugly at all, but I don’ find dat out till a few days later dressed up lookin’ in de glass at Beymour’s. But I’m gittin’ ahead of mysef. Beymour Waycross. I don’ know what he’s talkin’ ’bout, he say, I got a sportin’ house in Harlem.

“Dat’s good, I say.

“Yeah, I think so, he say.

What kinda sports you play? I only really know ’bout baseball ’n footraces de mens useta run on de plantation.

“He look at me funny. Where you goin’?

“I explain to him here is whar we goin’. We done walked ’n walked, slept outdoors, cleaned folks’ house, chopped cotton, picked weed outta white folks’ yard to git bus fare. ’N now we here.

“So ah, he say, where you goin’ from here?

“From here? Dat’s crazy-soundin’. From here? From here? I hadn’t thought dat far. Pick up gold in de street? Whar to from here? We got no money, no place to go. Now what? My last ounce o’ spirit had gone to gittin’ us here. Now we was here, a million people ’n I didn’t know a one, signs all around ’n I couldn’t make out a one. I was fifteen years old, I coulda been five.

“He said, Come on, I take you uptown and you can get a feel for our little operation. If you like it, cool, if you don’t like it, you can move on! Slavery’s over! He laff at his own joke.

“Next thang I know, I’m in Harlem ’n I been here evah since.”

Roman says Capezio canvas split sole are the best but leather slippers last the longest.
The split sole is best. You got nice feet for a black boy.
I’ll get the Capezios.

Locusses!
What kind of shit is that? I try to think of something, anything except what I’m hearing. The skin is tightening on the cut side of my face. The pain feels good, takes me out of here. I could tear my own fuckin’ face off! I feel like I want to see my bones. I want to go back to St Ailanthus and stomp Brother Samuel. She’s still talking!

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!”

What is she talking about? Roach-ass bitch! OK, I got the deal, I don’t come from shit according to her ass? So she can shut up now. Just shut the fuck up! Not shit? I don’t come from shit? Ugly freak, she freaks me out in her dirty dress, rags. Roach! Hah! I put my hand over my mouth to stop the giggle coming out. See the feelers coming out of her stupid head, her curved scaly back. Antenna wiggle waft stupid mouth moving. She don’t need to be talking. I get up from my chair tiptoe across the room like she’s not staring right at me, open the cupboard under the sink. Ajax, boric acid, ammonia, bucket, oh, there we go—Raid! Kills roaches with one shot! Ha! Ha! I snatch the aerosol can! Leap toward her horrible lying ass.

“RAID! RAID!” I scream, pointing the nozzle at her old ass.

“You done lost yo’ mind!”

“YES!” And I’m getting ready to do a service to humanity like Brother Samuel said Hitler did. What Brother John say when I told him that? “Brother Samuel did
not
say that, and I don’t want to hear you say anything like that about him ever again. Hear? Hear?” And
I
don’t want to hear no more about hogs and Nigger Boy. I step closer.

“Shut up, Roach! Shut up, ROACH!!!”

Press the nozzle, hardly anything comes out. It’s all used up like everything in this fucking house! I shake the can, flinging some drops at her. She screams. It feels like my chest is being squeezed into a little box. I try to laugh at her screaming, but it comes out as a sob. I’m sobbing and sobbing. I can see everything even though my tears is blinding me. I see her on her back in the dirt giving birth, giant playing the banjo, and hogs, hogs, ugh, like pink worms. If I had some gasoline, I’d pour it on her, watch her burn, then go around to St Ailanthus and burn that whole shit down! Yeah, burn! My grandfather played a banjo, was named Nigger Boy? Please! I’m only a kid. My head aches. I walk back to the table, sit down, lay my face down like we do in time-out at school, UGH! My head pops back up. Shit! I laid down in the damn sperms! Ugh! I cry some more. I’ve never cried like this. I look at her. She’s wiping her face with the dirty dish rag. She hands the insecticide-smelling rag to me and like my looking at her was some kind of cue starts talking!

“Well, dis apartment was different back den, lemme tell ya! But dat subway was somethin’. Beymour say follow him. ’N we did. What else could we do? We stepped out in the street still light. Night was comin’ though in mo’ ways den one. You too young to know how dark it can really git! You don’ know nothin’ till you love somebody, nigguh! I was lookin’ fo’ my mama. I walked barefoot, I steal, mens take atvannage more den once. Know what atvannage mean? Mean you work all day in de field. Know what work all day in de field mean? Mean you ask dis person, dat person whar someone need a hand, show up whar dey tell you’fore sunup. Be a man in a straw hat leanin’ on a stick or hoe lookin’ like a daddy point to some fields heavy wit’ needin’ to do. It’s still mornin’ dark. You standin’ there with de locals, de live-ons, ’n de other drifters like yo’sef. You ain’t de only one got a kid, but you de only one wit’out a bandanna or straw hat, paper bag or pail wit’ some dinner. You work all day till you drop fo’ so little, so little. Look behind you, you walkin’ lookin’ to git somethin’ to eat, anythin’ to eat, lay down, den hit de road again in de morning. You thinkin’ which way north, but de nigger walkin’ behind you, followin’ you out de field, got yo’ money ’n yo’ behind on his mind. Ain’ like TV, don’ nobody save yo’ ass. Surprise me after dat anythin’ can scare me, but look like it de opposite, everythin’ scare me, startin’ with dat damn iron horse!

“It like Beymour pullin’ us down inside de world’s pussy ’n dat train come rumblin’ out, bull eyes burnin’ yellow, de cement ground shakin’, I mean shakin’, sparks was spittin’. Mary pee on herself. What is it? I ain’ gittin’ on it. Is you crazy! Make a awful sound when it stop. Doors open, de people jammed in like a bunch of maggots, but I do git in. De people pours out ’n Beymour pushin’ hard pushes me in!

“We get out 145th Street, so long ago, so long ago. All de folks movin’ so fast, so much cement, blacktop street, peoples dressed up like Sunday, like angels! Nothin’s like Mississippi! I cain’t keep my eyes off de women dressed up like dey white! Hair pomaded straight ’n shiny, high heels, stockin’s—cinnamon was de tone back den, tight bright dresses. You, no,
I
never seen de like. Every other place we pass, Beymour nod his head. That’s Hi Boy’s Playhouse, that’s Moore’s Bar & Grill, piano combo Mon, tappers come in Tuesday, big name Friday and Saturday, jam session afterward, Thursdays hot, maids got that day off and they party hard soon’s they git away from them white folks’ nasty kids! You’ll see, he promise. ’N he didn’t lie. ’N after some of dese folks party, dey come to us! Baby, Harlem gotta fast lane ’n we part of it! It’s a river flowin’, de bedrock de music ’n de feets dancin’ is de water. Life short, gotta live it! Pass a butcher shop, shoe repair, a man haulin’ a cart on his back full of rags, den some little hole in de wall smell like a picnic! That’s the best barbecue in town, chitlins, potato salad, greens, whatever you had back there, we got here only ten times, no a hunnert times, more!

“We git to 805 St Nicholas, I forgit de day, de year even. We wadn’t big on countin’ months ’n stuff back in de country. You look at a tree or yo’ kids to see how dey done grown how ol’ dey is to tell you ’bout yo’self. Jazz was big, blues in all de clubs, not dat banjo shit like Nigger Boy play but stuff wit’ electricity behind it, damn near kill you to listen to it. But anyway we git to 805, doorman open de door. Shit, nowadays we hardly got a door much less a doorman! De floors shine like white summer sky, all dat white marble, de floors, walls, all marble. I nevah seed de like! Dere was a statue in de middle of de lobby of a naked person, I say I nevah seed de like. Chandeliers make de light look like a hunnert little candles burnin’ all at once. Now, I ain’ nevah been in a elevator befo’, I still remember de feelin’ inside my pussy when de door closed ’n we zoomed up, EEH! I’m so tired, though everythin’ seem like a dream.

“When I walk in here, I think it’s de mos’ beautiful place, better den de white folks I had cleaned fo’. De floors was shiny as mirrors, even had chandeliers in de hall, yes indeed. Boarders stole mos’ of our stuff ovah de years, but I tell you when I walked through dat door, I couldn’t believe dis was a place colored people live in. Dis place finer den de white woman’s house I steal de bus money from. How a nigger git a house like dis? I remember de floors mos’ly befo’ dey got all covered wit’ linoleum. Paisley’n cypress pattern, man say when he come to put it in, I hated it, one layer wear out ’n dey put on another wit’out takin’ de ol’ one up. I hated it. Hated de way de house went down after Beymour. Beymour was a young man on his way up, you hear me!

“Beymour introduce me to Betsy first thing. Who is mo’ like she got a magnet in her den dat she’s so pretty. Yo’ eyes jus’ pulled to her in spite of yo’sef. She dark, daddy was Chinese, so she got dem eyes, big titties, little behind. Betsy look at me ’n Mary, den she look away, like one look is enough!”

She stops talking and gets up with the filthy rag in her hand and wipes up the blob of sperms on the table. She goes to sit back down without looking at me.

“Yeah, de way Betsy look at me ’n Mary make me wonder what I looks like to her. I don’ think I evah thought nothin’ like dat befo’, what I look like to somebody. I look at Mary like I nevah seed her befo’. We been on de road almos’ starvin’ till de end, but she don’t look it. She almos’ up to my shoulder. Nigger Boy almos’ de tallest man on de plantation. She bigger around de shoulders den mos’ girls, coulda picked a lot of cotton. But she nevah worked a day in her life. Her hair so tuff it sit on her head in beads. I cain’t comb it. Shit, didn’t even comb my own. Like mos’ babies got big eyes, she was nevah like dat, had little bitty shiny black eyes like bullets.

“They’s just up from Mississippi, Beymour tell Betsy. Ain’t got too much of nothin’. But this here is an honest girl tryin’ to make it. Willin’ to work hard, ain’t ya? He look at me I nod yes. She look at him. Well, what you want me to do, Bey?