Now, just like then, she told herself she would think of the task, not of Midnight himself, or else with all his thrashing and complaining, she might feel sorry and forget what was at stake. Daddy was weak, so she had to be strong, and that was that.
Sure enough, Midnight put up a fight. Even if he didn’t know what she was planning, he was angry to be pulled away from his milk, and he was wriggling from the start. Letitia was startled when she felt razor-thin stripes of pain across her forearm from Midnight’s claws, and then she felt angry. The anger helped. She clamped her knees around him and hooked one arm around his middle, tight. Despite the perspiration dampening her palm, she kept a firm grip on the knife and raised it to Midnight’s throat. Mama always used the throat.
Letitia wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t. She poked and then slashed with the knife, quickly, and even though the cut wasn’t nearly deep enough, she was amazed to see a ribbon of blood seep through Midnight’s fur, right above his tiny collarbone. While Midnight screeched and renewed his escape attempt, Letitia watched, fascinated, as two fat, crimson drops of blood fell to the dusty barn floor at her feet.
She kept her grip around the cat. Until the very last second, she almost forgot the prayer, but then she began, reciting it as well as she could remember: “Spirit, please help lift the curse and make my Daddy strong so he will go see about Br—”
“What in great red hell are you doing?”
It sounded like it might be God’s voice at first, albeit not as kindly as she’d thought God might sound, but when she gathered her senses above her racing heart, Letitia realized it was only Daddy’s voice. She looked up and she saw him standing in the doorway of the barn, wearing only his trousers. She saw his chest heaving up and down with his breathing. His expression was a combination of rage and shock she had never seen on her father’s face, and it seared her. The sight of him made her drop the knife, and Midnight scrambled from her arms, scratching her chest through her nightgown as he launched himself from her with his powerful hind legs. Letitia did not know if the blood on her gown was hers or Midnight’s.
“Letitia, what are you doing?” Daddy said.
“Mama said . . . she said . . . ” But Letitia couldn’t finish, because she felt too overcome.
Abraham and Isaac, she remembered. God had stepped in and sent Daddy.
Daddy fumbled for his belt, before he realized he wasn’t wearing it. His sleep-wrinkled face was growing more alert, more angry. He wanted to beat her, she saw. He wanted to beat her in a way he had never beaten her before.
“Mama said if I sacrificed Midnight, I’d break the curse and you would go see about Brother,” Letitia said, finally finding the words. She pointed to the droplets of blood that spattered the floor. “See, Daddy? I had to bleed Midnight, but I did it for Brother, Daddy. I did it so you’d go to the trial.”
Daddy stared at her pointing finger, then back at her face, than back at her finger, and his own face seemed to transform. The only light was the dim lantern she’d brought with the bowl of milk, but Daddy’s face wasn’t the same anymore. The only word for it, really, was haunted. He cradled his abdomen, as if a grown man had kicked him in the stomach hard.
“We have to save Brother, Daddy,” Letitia said, a whisper.
Daddy rocked in place, like he did when he’d had too much to drink. Then, he took a lurching step until he was no longer facing her. One step at a time, he walked away. He did not look at her or speak to her. She saw him climb the steps of the back porch, and he was back inside the house. He left the back door wide open. Bernadette wouldn’t like that, Letitia thought. All the mosquitoes could come in.
For a long time, Letitia called for Midnight outside. She finally heard him growling somewhere out in the bushes near the cotton patch, but he would not come to her. Maybe he would never come back, she realized.
But this time, she did not cry.
Letitia quietly washed her bloody scratches clean in the kitchen sink, blew out the lamp and climbed the stairs to go into her room. Daddy’s door was closed, but she could hear Bernadette’s voice through the door, wide awake. “Richard, what’s into you? I said to talk to me, goddammit. You put that suitcase down, you hear me? Do you know what time it is?”
Quickly, Letitia stole into her own room and shut the door. She suddenly needed to tear off every piece of clothing she was wearing, even though her body was shaking. She climbed into her bed, under her covers, seeking sanctuary while her breathing came hard and deep from her lungs. She had a headache. The memory of Midnight’s blood on the knife made her stomach twist, and she was afraid she would be sick.
She had left Daddy’s pocket-watch lying on the barn floor, she remembered. And Bernadette’s bowl from the kitchen. They would be mad about that, she thought. She thought she’d best get out of bed and go fetch them, but she couldn’t move from where she lay.
Letitia heard the door to Daddy’s room open across the hall, followed by his heavy footsteps. She couldn’t see him, of course, but somehow she knew he was wearing his best brown suit and white shirt, with his brown Sunday derby. He was wearing the clothes that told everyone that he was Richard Reaves, a business-owner, and he was not a hard-luck sort of man.
Bernadette had given up shouting, but now she was outright begging instead, the way she liked to hear Daddy beg. “Richard . . . you aren’t thinking clearly. Do you know what they’ll do to an uppity yellow nigger who thinks he can just walk in there and have a say? Think of it, Richard! Don’t be a fool. Don’t get your name mixed up in this mess. That boy’s gonna be all right. You aren’t thinking. What about your family? What about me and Letitia? I swear to Jesus, if you don’t stop this foolishness, I won’t be here when you come back.”
Bernadette’s voice trailed the heavy footsteps down the stairs. Through her open window, Letitia heard the front door open, and the sound of Bernadette’s voice in the night, suddenly shrieking like a woman in pain. “Richard, don’t do this—I love you!”
But Bernadette’s professed love, to Letitia, just sounded like the same old hatefulness. No matter, though. She had bled Midnight, and the curse was broken. Daddy’s ears belonged to himself again and he had his strength back.
Letitia heard the engine to Dad’s choke and sputter, than roar to life. Letitia closed her eyes, smiling. The sound of that purring engine as it drove away was as sweet as the memory of Daddy’s laughter with Brother on the porch that night. As sweet as Christmas morning and as gentle as the stinging of Mama’s loving hands when she pulled her hair into tight plaits between her knees, the way only Mama really knew how.
For once, Letitia’s third eye—what Daddy called her magic eye—wasn’t working. Brother’s future was very blurry and far away, not for her to know. All she knew for sure was that Richard Reaves was on his way to the trial in his good suit to try to save Brother. And that knowledge would last her as long as she would live.
Nalo Hopkinson invited me to submit a short story to her anthology Mojo: Conjure Stories. I wanted to “fix” a broken piece of my family history—my grandmother, the late Lottie (Powell) Sears Houston, clearly remembered her half-brother being on trial for his life, and her father was too intimidated to testify on his behalf, which she considered cowardly for the rest of her life—though I can only imagine the institutional racism standing in his way. Her brother died on Death Row.
Did Brother die in this story? Maybe, maybe not.
But at least Lettie gave her father strength enough to try.
Carriers
I know Dr. Ben was very worried
I might make somebody sick.
Patient Zero
September 19
The picture came! Veronica tapped on my glass and woke me up, and she held it up for me to see. It’s autographed and everything! For you, Veronica mouthed at me, and she smiled a really big smile. The autograph says, To Jay—I’ll throw a touchdown for you. I couldn’t believe it. Everybody is laughing at me because of the way I yelled and
ran in circles around my room until I fell on the floor and scraped my elbow. The janitor, Lou, turned on the intercom box outside my door and said, “Kid, you gone crazier than usual? What you care about that picture for?”
Don’t they know Dan Marino is the greatest quarterback of all time? I taped the picture to the wall over my bed. On the rest of my wall I have maps of the United States, and the world, and the solar system. I can find Corsica on the map, and the Palau Islands, which most people have never heard of, and I know what order all the planets are in. But there’s nothing else on my wall like Dan Marino. That’s the best. The other best thing I have is the cassette tape from that time the President called me on the telephone when I was six. He said, “Hi, is Jay there? This is the President of the United States.” He sounded just like on TV. My heart flipped, because it’s so weird to hear the President say your name. I couldn’t think of anything to say back. He asked me how I was feeling, and I said I was fine. That made him laugh, like he thought I was making a joke. Then his voice got real serious, and he said everyone was praying and thinking about me, and he hung up. When I listen to that tape now, I wish I had thought of something else to say. I used to think he might call me another time, but it only happened once, in the beginning. So I guess I’ll never have a chance to talk to the President again.
After Veronica gave me my picture of Marino, I asked her if she could get somebody to fix my TV so I can see the football games. All my TV can play is videos. Veronica said there aren’t any football games, and I started to get mad because I hate it when they lie. It’s September, I said, and there’s always football games in September. But Veronica told me the NFL people had a meeting and decided not to have football anymore, and maybe it would start again, but she wasn’t sure, because nobody except me was thinking about football. At first, after she said that, it kind of ruined the autograph, because it seemed like Dan Marino must be lying, too. But Veronica said he was most likely talking about throwing a touchdown for me in the future, and I felt better then.
This notebook is from Ms. Manigat, my tutor, who is Haitian. She said I should start writing down my thoughts and everything that happens to me. I said I don’t have any thoughts, but she said that was ridiculous. That is her favorite word, ridiculous.
Oh, I should say I’m ten today. If I were in a regular school, I would be in fifth grade like my brother was. I asked Ms. Manigat what grade I’m in, and she said I don’t have a grade. I read like I’m in seventh grade and I do math like I’m in fourth grade, she says. She says I don’t exactly fit anywhere, but I’m very smart. Ms. Manigat comes every day, except on weekends. She is my best friend, but I have to call her Ms. Manigat instead of using her first name, which is Emmeline, because she is so proper. She is very neat and wears skirts and dresses, and everything about her is very clean except her shoes, which are dirty. Her shoes are supposed to be white, but whenever I see her standing outside of the glass, when she hasn’t put on her plastic suit yet, her shoes look brown and muddy.
Those are my thoughts.
September 20
I had a question today. Veronica never comes on Fridays, and the other nurse, Rene, isn’t as nice as she is, so I waited for Ms. Manigat. She comes at one. I said, “You know how they give sick children their last wish when they’re dying? Well, when Dr. Ben told me to think of the one thing I wanted for my birthday, I said I wanted an autograph from Dan Marino, so does that mean I’m dying and they’re giving me my wish?” I said this really fast.
I thought Ms. Manigat would say I was being ridiculous. But she smiled. She put her hand on top of my head, and her hand felt stiff and heavy inside her big glove. “Listen, little old man,” she said, which is what she calls me because she says I do so much worrying, “You’re a lot of things, but you aren’t dying. When everyone can be as healthy as you, it’ll be a happy day.”
The people here always seems to be waiting, and I don’t know what for. I thought maybe they were waiting for me to die. But I believe Ms. Manigat. If she doesn’t want to tell me something, she just says, “Leave it alone, Jay,” which is her way of letting me know she would rather not say anything at all than ever tell a lie.
October 5
The lights in my room started going on and off again today, and it got so hot I had to leave my shirt off until I went to bed. Ms. Manigat couldn’t do her lessons the way she wanted because of the lights not working right. She said it was the emergency generator. I asked her what the emergency was, and she said something that sounded funny: “Same old same old.” That was all she said. I asked her if the emergency generator was the reason Dr. Ben took the television out of my room, and she said yes. She said everyone is conserving energy, and I have to do my part, too. But I miss my videos. There is nothing at all to do when I can’t watch my videos. I hate it when I’m bored. Sometimes I’ll even watch videos I’ve seen a hundred times, really a hundred times. I’ve seen Big with Tom Hanks more times than any other video. I love the part in the toy store with the really big piano keys on the floor. My mom taught me how to play “Three Blind Mice” on our piano at home, and it reminds me of that. I’ve never seen a toy store like the one in Big. I thought it was just a made-up place, but Ms. Manigat said it was a real toy store in New York.
I miss my videos. When I’m watching them, it’s like I’m inside the movie, too. I hope Dr. Ben will bring my TV back soon.
October 22
I made Veronica cry yesterday. I didn’t mean to. Dr. Ben said he knows it was an accident, but I feel very sorry, so I’ve been crying too. What happened is, I was talking to her, and she was taking some blood out of my arm with a needle like always. I was telling her about how me and my dad used to watch Marino play on television, and then all of a sudden she was crying really hard.
She dropped the needle on the floor and she was holding her wrist like she broke it. She started swearing. She said Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit, over and over, like that. I asked her what happened, and she pushed me away like she wanted to knock me over. Then she went to the door and punched the number code really fast and she pulled on the doorknob, but the door wouldn’t open, and I heard something in her arm snap from yanking so hard. She had to do the code again. She was still crying. I’ve never seen her cry.
I didn’t know what happened. I mashed my finger on the buzzer hard, but everybody ignored me. It reminded me of when I first came here, when I was always pushing the buzzer and crying, and nobody would ever come for a long time, and they were always in a bad mood when they came.
Anyway, I waited for Ms. Manigat, and when I told her about Veronica, she said she didn’t know anything because she comes from the outside, but she promised to find out. Then she made me recite the Preamble to the Constitution, which I know by heart. Pretty soon, for a little while, I forgot about Veronica.
After my lessons, Ms. Manigat left and called me on my phone an hour later, like she promised. She always keeps her promises. My telephone is hooked up so people on the inside can call me, but I can’t call anybody, inside or outside. It hardly ever rings now. But I almost didn’t want to pick it up. I was afraid of what Ms. Manigat would say.
“Veronica poked herself,” Ms. Manigat told me. “The needle stuck through her hot suit. She told Dr. Ben there was sudden movement.”
I wondered who made the sudden movement, Veronica or me?
“Is she okay?” I asked. I thought maybe Ms. Manigat was mad at me, because she has told me many times that I should be careful. Maybe I wasn’t being careful when Veronica was here.
“We’ll see, Jay,” Ms. Manigat said. From her voice, it sounded like the answer was no.
“Will she get sick?” I asked.
“Probably, yes, they think so,” Ms. Manigat said.
I didn’t want her to answer any more questions. I like it when people tell me the truth, but it always makes me feel bad, too. I tried to say I was sorry, but I couldn’t even open my mouth.
“It’s not your fault, Jay,” Ms. Manigat
said.
I couldn’t help it. I sobbed like I used to when I was still a little kid. “Veronica knew something like this could happen,” she said.
But that didn’t make anything better, because I remembered how Veronica’s face looked so scared inside her mask, and how she pushed me away. Veronica has been here since almost the beginning, before Ms. Manigat came, and she used to smile at me even when nobody else did. When she showed me my picture from Dan Marino, she looked almost as happy as me. I had never seen her whole face smiling like that. She looked so pretty and glad.
I was crying so much I couldn’t even write down my thoughts like Ms. Manigat said to. Not until today.
November 4
A long time ago, when I first came here and the TV in my room played programs from outside, I saw the first-grade picture I had taken at school on TV. I always hated that picture because Mom put some greasy stuff in my hair that made me look like a total geek. And then I turned on the TV and saw that picture on the news! The man on TV said the names of everyone in our family, and even spelled them out on the screen. Then, he called me Patient Zero. He said I was the first person who got sick.
But that wasn’t really what happened. My dad was sick before me. I’ve told them that already. He got it away on his job in Alaska. My dad traveled a lot because he drilled for oil, but he came home early that time. We weren’t expecting him until Christmas, but he came when it was only September, close to my birthday. He said he’d been sent home because some people on his oil crew got sick. One of them had even died. But the doctor in Alaska had looked at my dad and said he was fine, and then his boss sent him home. Dad was really mad about that. He hated to lose money. Time away from a job was always losing money, he said. He was in a bad mood when he wasn’t working.
And the worse thing was, my dad wasn’t fine. After two days, his eyes got red and he started sniffling. Then I did, too. And then my mom and brother.
Ghost Summer, Stories Page 22
