“No? Who raise you? Daddy?” He laughed. “Our mother said come, he won’t come. She died, he won’t come. What father? This is your father,” he said, beating his own chest. “I am a man before I’m a boy.”
Shakira stood between them. “Stop this. Stop this now,” she pleaded.
“It’s ended,” Truman said. “The house is sold. We’ll be out the end of June.”
Just like that, the house was sold from under him. The walls of his mother’s home would be torn down. He would be uprooted from his home as if he were a child with no voice. Although he had no place to go, he knew he would not live with them. As Truman said, he was a man. Why should he want to eat food he didn’t work for and be reminded of it? He said to Truman, “Just give me what is mine.”
To that Truman answered, “Our mother left college money. You don’t make grades for college.”
Thulani could not sleep. Truman and Shakira fought. Eula cried. The walls of his mother’s home were being torn down, and his father was too far away. His bed seemed too small for his body. He rolled from one side to another but couldn’t escape the stink of tobacco from the man’s cigarette. He tossed and turned and seethed, for he realized Truman had let that man into his room.
He went to the rooftop with his camera to take pictures. When he stepped out onto the roof, he saw the big man pouring tar over the shingles. The dovecote had been smashed to pieces, but the birds were not inside. He looked overhead and saw Bruno leading the birds in as he always had. Thulani waved frantically and shouted, “No! No!” but could not stop them from landing on the rooftop. He ran out onto the thick, sticky tar in his bare feet and put his arms out for his birds to perch on. Instead of flocking to his outstretched arms, they descended onto the tar. All of them.
Like his birds, Thulani’s feet also stuck fast to the tar. He watched, helpless, as his birds struggled, lifting their wings violently to break free. They pulled and fought until they all succeeded, leaving their pink feet in the tar. Some flew beyond the building; some flew just beyond the alley. At least three made it as far as the park. But one by one Bruno, Tai-Chi, Yoli, Dija, Esme, and the others dropped out of the sky. All he could do was watch.
Thulani woke up gasping. He was still in his bed. Ysa’s skirt still hung before him. His photo of his mother and father stood on his nightstand. His camera was on the dresser, and the box of old photographs sat next to the camera.
Thulani fell asleep. When he awoke in the morning, he took a hammer up to the roof. He opened the door and released his birds as he had done every morning for three years. He followed them with his eyes as far as he could, and when he lost sight of them, he raised the hammer and swung and swung until the dovecote lay in pieces on the tar.
SEVENTEEN
“It’s Saturday, Thulani. You don’t have to be to work until three. Come see the house with us,” Shakira coaxed.
Thulani shook his head no.
Shakira put Eula in his arms and said, “It has a big yard, front and back. I haven’t seen it, but Truman says—” His glare stopped the words in her mouth. Truman was not a name he wanted to hear.
Eula took a handful of her uncle’s dreads and put them in her mouth. Lately she put everything into her mouth, which amused Thulani, but he was still too angry at his brother to be distracted by his niece.
He said to Shakira, “You could have told me.”
“It wasn’t my place.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“I tried to tell you before, Thulani. Study. Have goals. Have a plan. Stick with school. Apply yourself for college. You don’t hear me.”
“By the end of next month I’ll be homeless. Without money. That’s not what my mother wanted.”
“Whya so stubborn, Thulani? Come out to Jersey with us. At least see the house.”
He knew Shakira wanted to keep everyone under one roof, one family. Still, he couldn’t give in. He wasn’t a part of the decision that would change his life. Only Eula should have her life dictated to her. No matter how much Shakira tried to convince him, he would not budge. He was no longer a child, as Truman had pointed out at the hospital. He’d have to find his own way.
He untangled his hair from his niece’s grip and handed her back to Shakira.
“I gotta go.”
He went straight to Ysa’s house and rang the buzzer. His life was falling apart, and he needed to be with her. To rest his head in her lap, or hear her say things in her way. He simply needed to know there was still something good and solid in the world and that he could touch it.
She swung the door open and leaped into his arms with the energy of a child. “I have news!” she said. “I can graduate next month!” She turned into the apartment and shouted in Creole to Tant Rosie, probably “I’m going out,” then closed the door behind her. She took his hand and led him down the block in the direction of the park. He had never seen her so excited, as bright as the colors she wore. She did not stop talking.
“I’ve already applied to Parsons and FIT and Purchase and Pratt. And there’s a school in San Francisco! Oh! And my counselor says my grades are so good I will get financial aid. I am set!”
He made himself say, “I’m happy for you, Ysa. You deserve it,” although he felt her leaving him, sliding away from him just when he had a grasp on her. It made his stomach sick.
Ysa was too excited to notice. She grabbed his hand and said, “You’re the first one I tell. Not even Tant Rosie knows.”
He could barely look at her. He said, “I knew you’d graduate early. Get into a good school.”
“I’m not in yet. I’ve just been sending applications, hoping I would graduate.”
“They’ll want you,” he assured her. “You worked hard. You’re talented. They’ll want you.”
“I feel good!” she said. “Happy.”
He forced a smile for her sake.
They found the bench that was now their bench and sat down. She said, “You never came by so early. What is wrong?”
How could he cry to her when she was so happy? Look at her, he thought. Graduating from high school a year early, getting scholarships. A future before her. What do you have? What can you give her?
“Nothing,” he answered.
“Ha! I know you. There is something wrong.” He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, so she took him by the chin. “Tell me.”
“I destroyed the dovecote,” he said. “The house for my birds. I took a hammer and smashed it.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I dreamed I tried to save my birds. Instead I killed them.”
She did not understand, and he could not explain. He only knew it was wrong to possess birds.
“Why would you dream such a bad dream?” she asked.
“I can’t help what I dream,” he said defensively.
“Tulani, something is wrong.” Her voice was no longer playful, no longer excited. “Something is making you feel bad inside.”
He shook his head no.
“Tell me. I can take it,” she said, but he wouldn’t budge. She became wild-eyed and said, “Your girlfriend. She sees us together and wants you back?”
Her jealousy stunned him so much he was slow to answer.
She pushed him with both hands. “Or you want her back? Is that it?”
He grabbed her before she could begin a tirade. “You’re my girlfriend.”
“That’s what you better say.”
He squeezed her tightly, and she delighted in being possessed. But still, he wasn’t all right. Holding her worked only for the moment. He relaxed his embrace and sank his face in his hands.
“What is it? Why do you feel so bad? You have to tell me.”
“My brother,” he said, uncovering his face. “He sold my mother’s house. He told me he’d sell it in two years, but I came home last night, and the house is sold. We have to be out by the end of June.”
“My Tuli, my Tuli” was all she could say.
> “It’s my mother’s house. When I’m in the kitchen, I remember her standing there. Or when I’m in the hallway, I see her at the linen closet.” He threw up his hands. “The new owner can’t tear down the walls fast enough.” He swore he wouldn’t cry, but anger filled his eyes with tears that rolled down his face. He turned away from her.
“Let me in,” she said softly. “Don’t push me away.”
That was what he had told her the other night. She leaned against him and said, “Oh, Tulani. Your home. I’m so sor—”
He took her hand. He didn’t want her to say that. He just wanted to be with her and let her back in.
“I’ll never meet your mother,” she said. “Will you show me her house?”
No one was home when he opened the door. He wanted to show off his fat little niece and for Shakira to say, “Madda Eula would have liked her.” Even so, he was glad that they had gone out to New Jersey. Truman was not fit to breathe in the same space Ysa occupied, let alone cast an eye upon her.
He showed Ysa the living room. The pictures of his parents. The curtains his mother made. Everything he could think of but his bedroom and the rooftop. When he destroyed the dovecote, he knew he would not return.
For Ysa everything was “nice” or “pretty.” It was as if she heard nothing, although her eyes never left him. He suspected she was nervous about being alone with him, but he would put her at ease. He had been with a girl before. He didn’t have to rush her.
Then he led her up the stairs to see his bedroom. He was about to open the door when it hit him: Her skirt was spread out and nailed to the wall. He felt his heart flickering. He would lose her without a doubt.
“Ysa…”
She said, “I’m not afraid.”
“No. It’s not that,” he said cautiously. “If I open the door…promise me you won’t run.”
“I’m here with you. Why would I run?”
He looked at her a last time. Once he opened the door she would scream. Run. First his mother’s house would be gone. Then Ysa. He’d have nothing, nothing, nothing.
“Let me first—”
“No,” she said. “Whatever it is…” She stepped inside. At first she saw only his bed, his dresser, the box and camera. Then she saw her skirt.
“I’ll take it down.”
“Leave it,” she said firmly. Then again, this time calmly: “Leave it.”
“We can go downstairs.”
“We can stay here.”
She removed her sandals and sat on his bed. “Come,” she said. “Let’s be here while we can.”
He took off his sneakers and sat beside her. He felt nothing but shame as the skirt faced them. She tugged at him to lie down, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to explain.
“That was all I had of you when I didn’t know you but thought of you every day. Or when I’d find you and you’d disappear. Or when you made me mad.” At this she smiled. “I never let anyone in my room because I didn’t want anyone to see it, touch it, or ask me about it.” He paused, hoping she would forgive him. “I’ll have to take it down soon.”
She lay down on the bed and pulled him on top of her. “We won’t think about that.”
This was all he wanted. To lie with her and kiss her and feel her and smell her and possess her. He needed only to be with her, squeeze her until they were one body. But Ysa was restless. Her hips spoke this restlessness. Finally she asked, “Tulani, do you have…protection?”
He nodded.
Didn’t he want this? More than anything? Wasn’t this what he burned for night after night? Somehow, even wanting her so much, all he could think of to say was “I’ll hurt you, Ysa.”
“I’ve been hurt, Tulani. You won’t do that to me.”
“No, Ysa. Feel me,” he said, placing her hand on his penis. “I will hurt you, and I can’t do that.”
She took his hand and slid it inside her pants against her lips. “You feel? You see? I want you too.”
He knew what it felt like to enter a girl and to thrust once he was inside inside. He didn’t know what it would be like for her and why he didn’t care with Julie. And now, as she urged him, her face willing and fearful, he removed his clothes. He said, “If you want to, you have to do it.”
He lay on his back with his knees up. “I’m here,” he said. “But you have to do it.”
“Don’t move…,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“…until I’m ready.”
She lifted her leg over his hips and knelt over him.
“Just be still,” she said. “Stay.”
“We don’t have t—”
“Shh, shh. Stay. I come down slow.”
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m here.”
She began to descend, her hands reaching for his. As she made her way down, half an inch at a time, it was all he could do not to move. He was flooded with her and the colors she carried in her. Now in him.
When she met him fully, he watched her eyes open and close in what he knew was pain, and what he prayed was the flush of vibrant colors. Behind her hung a sea of indigo and one hundred gold and turquoise eyes that would not blink.
EIGHTEEN
“Are you all right?”
They had been sitting on their park bench waiting until the sun went down, which was when he usually brought her home.
She laughed at him. “You asked me that yesterday, the day before, and the day before that.”
He still worried. He could not help thinking he had brought back the pain inflicted on her almost a year ago in the alley. While she smiled and assured him otherwise, he could not believe her completely. Even so, he also knew he would not undo any of it. If he never felt another thing in his life, he had felt Ysa, and that was not to be taken back.
He said, “I have to make sure you’re all right. You’re my girl.”
“Look at me, Tulani,” she said, her eyes shining bright under the park lights. “I am smiling even when I am not.”
“Okay.” he gave in. “Then kiss me here”—he pointed to his lips—“and here”—to one eyelid—“here”—the other eyelid—“then we’ll go.”
Then he kissed her as she did him but resisted the urge to give her one last squeeze before they started toward her house. He took her hand and remembered what she once asked of him: to let go when it was time to let go.
Thulani came in quietly and lifted the lids on pots on the stove to see what Shakira had cooked for supper. He made himself a small plate of oxtails and vegetables and sat down to eat. He chewed around the bone and said to himself, I’ll show her Mommy’s recipe before they go.
Thinking of the move only reminded him he had no plan. The contentment he felt from being with Ysa faded.
“Good, you’re here,” Shakira said. Her voice was excited.
Truman followed behind her. From his expression, the exasperation of having been cut off in mid-speech, Thulani knew they had been arguing.
“Here he sits,” Truman said. Thulani filled in the rest, which was “eating my food.”
“Eat!” Shakira ordered Thulani. “Eat everything. There is more in the refrigerator.”
“What did I walk into?” Thulani asked.
“I’ll tell you, braa,” Shakira said. “Eula and I are not going to Jersey. We’re going to Lincoln Place.” Lincoln Place was where her parents lived.
Thulani put his fork down.
“Eat! It is our food. Not his,” she said, pointing to Truman, “not mine, not yours. Our food. Eat well, because I’m packing up me and Eula to go home.”
“Shakira, stop your drama. You’re my wife, and my wife and daughter comes with me.”
Shakira said, “Give Thulani his money. Then your wife and your daughter come with you.”
“You’re messing with tings not your business,” Truman warned, but Shakira did not seem to care, or change her stance.
“Not my business? What? Truman d’na marry I and I. Truman marry Shakira. True?”
Th
ulani nodded. True.
“One flesh, one blood, true?” she asked her husband. “Cha! How can I sit in my house and enjoy my washing machine, my flower garden, when I know Thulani roam the streets with no home? You think that makes me happy? You think I can have peace? Raise my daughter to be decent when we steal from her uncle?”
“Thulani has a place with us. This is how I planned it.”
“But this is not what Madda Eula wanted. I sat with her, Truman. These are not her wishes, and I’m not a thief. I canna live in a house not mine.”
Truman turned to Thulani. “You see you cause? I try to keep the family together, you split everyone t’hell apart.”
When he came home the next evening, Thulani found a bankbook on the table. It was in both his and his mother’s names. He opened it. The deposits had begun the year he was three and ended the year he was thirteen. The interest had added up through the years. He closed the bankbook and put it in his wallet.
“You have to make your way on that, Thulani,” Shakira said. “And y’beddanot make me out a fool. Y’hear me?”
He hugged his sister-in-law and promised he wouldn’t disappoint her. By the same token, as he hugged her, a world of things occurred to him, now that he had means.
NINETEEN
“I will be gone a month,” he told Mr. Moon.
“No job when you come back,” Mr. Moon replied.
“How can you be like that, Mr. Moon? I have to see my father in Jamaica.”
“No come, no job.”
In spite of the finality in Mr. Moon’s tone, Thulani was not worried. He could get his job back if he had to. It just wouldn’t be easy.
He lifted his newly repaired camera to take a picture of Mr. Moon. As usual Mr. Moon quickly put his hands up.
Ysa, on the other hand, posed for many pictures in her graduation dress, which she had designed herself. She had chosen a bright white fabric that picked up colors when hit by the sunlight. Iridescent, she called it.
Every Time a Rainbow Dies Page 10
