"Would you. Sonny, would you really have?"
"You know I would have."
"Yeah, I guess you really did care for me."
"Yeah, I guess I did."
I told her that I had to go to see some customers. She didn't want me to go, but she knew we didn't have anything more to talk about. She hesitated, and then she said, "Sonny, whatever happened to Alley Bush and his crazy self?"
I said, "Oh, Alley is a Muslim now. He's down there on 125th Street and Seventh Avenue hollering and raising hell.'*
"Everybody has grown up and gone his own way, huh?"
"Well, I guess that's what life's all about, Jackie. Look at you. You seem to have grown and gone on your own way."
"Sonny, I don't know what I'm doin'. I know that I've got to do it, and that's all I know. Whatever it is, regardless of how little sense it makes, I've go to do it. . . . Okay, if you have to be so straight, can't we still be friends even though we've got different ways to go?"
"Jackie, the way I feel about you, you'll always be one of my dearest friends." She smiled. I said, "I've got to go, but I'll see you around."
She went to the door, and as I came by, she kissed at me. I touched her on her lips and said, "Take it easy, baby."
I had a funny feeling about everything, about the past, about my childhood, and I kind of wondered if Jackie had been real, if the childhood had been real, if we had all gone through all that stuff. I wondered if it weren't really just a dream. I couldn't understand Bucky's not being around. It just never made sense. I guess you just had to take it as it was.
I started meeting a lot of new people when I was selling cosmetics. There were some discouraging moments, but I felt that I had good products to sell to people. Chicks would swear they didn't even have enough money to buy food. They'd say they had only a few pennies, and they really wished they could afford it. Some chicks would start talking that talk about how much they wished they could afford it, and then they'd start opening their robes a little more.
What was so discouraging was that some women wouldn't come out and just say that they didn't like the stuff or didn't want any. They'd swear to all kinds of gods that they didn't have any money. Then the numbers man would come up and knock on the door to get his list of digits for the day, and the same chick who was just telling you that she only had money to buy a little bit of food for the day and didn't know how she was going to make it to the end of the week would start reaching in her brassiere or hej stocking and ptlTling out dollar bills from everywhere. That was just the way it went. I didn't feel too bad. I'd been in Harlem just about all my life, and I knew how people felt about the numbers. I knew that if they did nothing else, they were going to play numbers.
Sometimes you'd meet some girls you really liked. There were other moments when you'd hear about some of the things that happen to women. It made it seem as though
women in Harlem were really getting messed over right and left.
I went to a woman's house one morning, and she said she didn't have any money. I said, "Well, this is the day that you told me to come by."
"Yeah, but dammit, I ain't got no money."
I just stood there in the doorway and looked at her for a while. She kept screaming, "Everybody! Everybody's got theii hand out in this goddamn town!"
"Look, lady, I'm sorry. I'll come back some other time."
As I turned, she stopped raving. She said, "Wait a minute, wait a minute, mister, I'm sorry. I had no business blowin' off and cussin' at you Hke that. You ain't did nothing to me. I ain't got nothin' against you."
I said, "That's okay. I'm glad to have been here, if you had to let it out. Sometimes it helps."
She said, "How much do I owe you for that soap?"
"A dollar seventy-five."
"Want to come on in a minute? I'll get my change purse."
I came in and sat down. She said, "Damn. You work so hard, and you try so hard to earn a Uving and make enough money so you can send your kids to school and keep some clothes on their backs, and these no-good damn doggish men ain't gon try and help you. Not only is they not gon try and help you, they gon try and stop you from doin' anything."
"Yeah, well, that's the way it goes sometimes."
"That old no-good damn doggish husband of niine had to go and get himself in jail, just for bein' so goddamn doggish."
"Yeah, I suppose all men have a little bit of dog in them."
I remembered the times I'd followed Mama from one room to another when she'd be cleaning house. She'd turn around and say, "Boy, why don't you stop walkin' up under me? Go sit down, or go someplace and play or somethin'."
I'd be following her around, asking questions. Mama would be walking from one end of the house to the other, cleaning, talking to herself, cooking, and looking in the pot. She'd be saying, "That old no-good high-yella hussy. I'm gon throw some hot water on her or somethin'."
I'd say, "Mama, what's a hussy?"
She'd say, "Boy, why don't you go on out from here and leave me alone?"
I'd be quiet and wouldn't say anything, and Mama would go back, and she'd start talking. I'd walk behind her. When
we got to the other end of the house, I'd say, "Mama, what's a heifer?"
She'd say, "Child, why don't you ... a heifer is a cow. Now, would you please go someplace and leave me alone?"
I'd just be more puzzled. I'd say, "Mama, you gon throw some hot water on a cow?'*
"No, I'm talking about that old light-skin heifer that's always comin' around here to see your daddy." She'd stop and sit down, maybe take me on her lap, and say, "One day, you'll probably imderstand . . . when the dog in you starts comin' out."
I'd say, "What dog in me. Mama?'*
"Every man's got a Uttle bitta dog in him. Your daddy got a whole lotta dog in him too.'*
"Yeah, well, I sure hope I ain't got no dog in me. Mama." Mama would just laugh. She'd rock me a few times, put me off her lap, and start walking from one end of the house to the other, cleaning up here and cleaning up there.
I didn't understand that dog thing, not right then anyway. Then one day I heard a girl say, "A nigger is nothing but a dog." And I remembered Mama telling me, "Boy, don't be so doggish," when I would bring home one girl one day and another girl the next. I got the meaning of the dog in the man. "Yeah, all men have a little dog in them," I repeated to myself.
"Yeah, but they ain't suppose to be that doggish,'* the woman said now.
I didn't initiate the conversation, and I didn't feel as though I were in a position to ask her anything, so I just sat there.
She continued after a little pause. She said, "Here I'm sending my fifteen-year-old daughter to school, and this nigger gon be goin' to jail for fuckin' his daughter."
"Yeah, well ..." I felt uncomfortable when this came out I felt as though I had to say something pretty fast. I just said, "Yeah, well, you can't trust those stepfathers sometimes." I figured it must have been a stepfather.
"No, that ain't none of her stepfather. That's just her natural daddy, just a doggish old nigger, that's all."
I just didn't know what to say behind that.
"I just think about it. He might have been doing it for a long time, until my son caught him."
"Yeah, well, sometimes when people get drunk they don't know what they're doing."
"He wasn't no damn drunk." Then she started crying. She said, "He's just a dog!" She put her head down and went on crying.
I felt foolish being there and wanting money, when this woman had troubles much bigger than the dollar and seventy-jSve cents that she owed me. I just left.
I had to get out, get to the beauty parlor, see some of the smiling beauticians. I always dug those chicks. They seemed to be the strong women in Harlem. They had a lot of confidence. They were pretty slick, and they thought they knew everything. I liked to be around them when I felt kind of blue. I used to think about these women. I used to wonder how cats who came up in Harlem with mothers like these could be anythi
ng but strong men, because they came from such strong women.
Three days after Dad had put Pimp out, Mama got a letter from Bellevue Hospital. They had him down there.
A panic had hit Harlem. Whenever the inflow of drugs in [the country is slowed down to where there's none on the ; streets, the junkies panic. The junkies go around and break into doctors' offices looking for drugs. They stick up drugstores and pharmacists. They stick up dentists. They stick up everybody with a white coat, everybody even remotely associated with medicine. Some junkies even start punching holes in their arms, not with hypodermic needles, but with just regular needles. They go through all kinds of things.
The panic was on two days after Dad had put Pimp out. About three days afterward. Mama got this note from Bellevue Hospital saying that they had her son. It was a relief for everybody.
Mama went down to see Pimp, take him some cigarettes, and find out what it was all about. He had gone into Harlem Hospital's emergency section the night before and attacked a doctor. He started crying, "Give me some shit or kill me.'* His habit was down on him, and, like most' junkies, he panicked. They gave him some morphine that night, then sent him over to Bellevue, where there's a ward for treating addicts.
Mama said she went down and talked to him. She told me I could go down and see him Sunday. I didn't pay too much attention to what Mama said. Every time Pimp -got himself halfway* straight, he was always telling her that he was going to kick his habit. Mama started talking that talk
385
about, "I really believe this time that Pimp is ready to do right."
I looked at hen I was a little annoyed that she could be still so stupid. She just went on. We were sitting in the living room. She said, "Yeah, I really think he's learned his lesson now. They had him in a straitjacket for about six hours after he went into Harlem Hospital. Now he's all right, and I really think he's going to make it. He's quieted down. He don't have that nervous look about him no more. I think if anybody was ever ready to get off that stuff, he's ready."
I didn't say anything. After a while. Mama paused. I guess she was waiting for some kind of reply or some kind of agreement. I said, "Yeah, Mama, sure he's ready to get off it," and that was all.
She said, "Yeah, I knew he wasn't gon be no junkie like all the rest of these old crazy junkies out there. I told that boy when he first started messin' with that stuff, I said, 'Pimp, are you usin' that stuff?' When he started eatin' all that sugar and not eatin' no food and lookin' sleepy all the time, but. Lord, I sure am glad that boy woke up to himself and found his senses and gon stop messin' around with that old dope out there."
I just got mad, and I couldn't take it any more. Before I realized what was happening, I was shouting at her. "Mama, why don't you stop bein' so damn stupid! You know the nigger ain't gon put it down. He already said that three times. Now how many times somebody got to tear his ass to show you that he's not gon to?"
"Boy, you know you ain't got no faith in your brother. That boy ain't stupid. He can make it He made up his mind, and I believe he's gon do it now."
I said, "Do what. Mama?"
She said, "Everybody deserves another chance.
"Chance, shit, Mama, you know that's bullshit. The nigger done went out here three times and blew. Every time he gets back on the street, he talks that same old shit about doin' it."
I hadn't realized what I was saying. There I was, ranting and raving. I didn't even know where I was. I was burned up. Here she was, a damn idiot. She'd seen the junkies, and she knew what was going on, but here she was saying, since it was her son, everything was going to be altogether different. I was pissed off at her refusal to see that her son was a
junkie. Shit, junkies are junkies, and all junkies talk that shit about kicking their habits.
While I was raving, I heard Dad say, "That's the goddamn truth. That's one nigger who ain't got no sense. He's just a damn fool, and that's all he's gon be is a damn fool. He don't want to do nothin' but get out there and take a whole lot of dope with the rest of them junkies and go around and nod, and be scratchin' all the time, lookin' like he's sleepy. He can't do nothin'; he can't hold no job or nothin'. He ain't comin' back in this house, I don't care how many tears anybody sheds around here, and I don't care who believes what he says. Christ could believe it if he wants to, but I ain't gon believe it, I know damn well he ain't comin' back in this house no more."
When Dad started ranting, it sort of woke me up to myself and what I was saying. I looked at Mama, and she looked so pitiful. It was as if I'd been beating her and Dad had jumped in and started beating her too. I felt kind of shitty. As a matter of fact, when I heard him, all my anger just left. I wasn't mad at Pimp or Mama any more. I'd just had to get this thing out. I felt that what I had said was more than enough and that Dad was just sort of running it into the ground.
It seemed as though the only way I could stop him was to say, "I don't know. Mama. Maybe you're right. He might be ready now. Everybody wakes up some day. You remember how bad off Danny use to be, Danny Rogers, and he straightened up, and he's still straight, Mama. He's been straight for about a year or more."
Mama said, "Yeah, and I remember when Danny use to stand right out there on that comer, on 145th Street and Eighth Avenue. He'd be so doped up, looked hke he was standin' on his feet sleepin'. Looked like his head would hit the ground and come back up. Pimp ain't never been that bad. He might get doped up and go to sleep, but he ain't never been so bad that he would sit out there on the stoop and just nod and nod half the day and half the night. He ain't never caught those fits like Danny use to have out there, jumpin' up and down in the middle of the street 'and stoppin' traffic."
I said, "Yeah, Mama, Pimp ain't never been that bad. Maybe there's a chance of him making it."
She said, "Yeah, you know, I feel for sure that he's gon make it this time, because that boy has really got his mind
made up. He knows all the trouble he's done caused his family, and ie says that he's in love with this little girl on 143rd Street. Ma>^e he'll want to get married or somethiu'."
I just said, "Yedh, Mama. Maybe this time. I'll try and help him too." I knew that this was what she wanted to hear. I watched her as I said it. She looked hopeful, as if to say, "Everybody's not against me, and everybody's not beatin* on me." It was as if what Dad said didn't matter.
Dad said, "Yeah, you and your Mama, go on; y'all believe all that bullshit. Hear? And when that boy go out here and get himself kiUed, it ain't gon be nobody to blame but you and your Mama. Y'aU killin' that boy. Y'all kiUin' that boy by listemn' to all that bullshit he's talkin', and he's been talkin' for so long, instead of tellin' that boy that he's just got to stop messin' with that damn dope, and throwin* him out on his own, and makin' him see that he got to stop messin' with it Y'all just keep him around here and keep listenin' to all that bullshit. He ain't no baby no more, you know. I want y'all to know that."
I didn't say anything. I just kept looking at Mama. I couldn't say anything to Dad, because his argument was too strong. As a matter of fact, it was my argument too. It was just impossible for me to say anything against it Mama kept looking at me as if she wanted me to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn't do that. I didn't believe he was wrong.
I went down to Bellevue the following Sunday. Pimp said, "Sonny, it's only gonna take me a little while, man, to kick this thing, because it's in my mind now."
I looked at him, and the cat looked serious. But I wasn't sure whether he was serious but wouldn't be able to do it or whether the seriousness was also an indication of newfound strength. I said, "Pimp, what are you doing? I mean, what do you plan to do? What's in your mind for the future, when you get out of here?"
"Well, Sonny, I want to put some time in school, man, and finish out my high school so I can get that diploma."
"Yeah, man, that's good." This was something that I had been telling Pimp for a long time now, to go back to high school and finish up. He only had one more year to go. I felt th
at he was telling me this now because he knew that this was what I wanted to hear. He was just giving me back all the stuff that I had tried to give him to straighten him up.
He looked at me and said, "Sonny, you don't beUeve me,
huh? You don't think I'm ready to make it? I guess that's natural, man, because you've been in my corner a long time, and I blew, ail those times. It's natural for you not to believe me now."
"Pimp, I'd like to believe you, but I can't do it, baby, I just can't do it any more. But I'll tell you something. I believe you can do it. I think if you want to do it, it doesn't mean a damn thing who doesn't believe you. If you are going to do it, you're going to go on and do it, regardless. It's the same way with your usin' your drugs. Shit, if you're going to do it, man, you just go and do it. It doesn't mean a fuckin' thing what I say or what anybody else says. Man, when you get out of here, I'll know what you're going to do by what I see."
He said, "Yeah, Sonny, I'm glad you're takin' it that way, man."
About five weeks later, Pimp was released from Bellevue. His arm was clear. He didn't have his spike track any more. He started working.
About a month after he got out, he was still clean. He still had his job, and he started going to evening high school. Things were looking pretty good. He had a nice girl, and they were talking about getting married after he got his diploma and could get a decent job.
Everybody was pleased, especially Mama. Every time I saw her, I'd ask about Pimp, and she would say with pride, "Oh, he's doin' fine," with that "I told you so" in her voice.
I felt happy for her and happy that my httle brother was showing so much strength. He was kicking his habit. He'd been on stuff about eighteen months, and he was kicking it and staying in the neighborhood. I felt that Pimp was out of the woods now. After he'd been going to school for a month and a half, he started talking that college talk. I said, "Wow, that's danm nice! It's wonderful I" When I heard that, I was certain that he was out of the woods.
Manchild in the promised land Page 46
