by Libba Bray
“Impossible,” Memphis muttered to himself. “Impossible.”
Behind him, he heard somebody’s sharp whistle. It was answered with another whistle, and another. One by one, Dutch Schultz’s men showed themselves from their hiding places. They looked ready for a fight. Shit, Memphis thought. He looked over his shoulder. Two more of Dutch’s men were on the sidewalk. One of them carried a nasty-looking lead pipe.
Memphis walked faster. The whistling bounced back and forth between the men, a signal, a game. Memphis broke into a run, but by the time he reached the next street, Dutch’s men had him cornered. Memphis counted five of them in all, and who knew how many more might be hiding in the shadows?
“Well, if it ain’t one of Papa Charles’s boys,” the man with the lead pipe said. He had a football player’s build and a quick meanness about him that Memphis had seen before. The kind that could turn on a dime. Maybe that was how the fella had gotten the burn scar down one side of his face. Memphis knew this one was as dangerous as any hungry ghost.
“We hear Papa Charles has been dealing with Owney Madden, plotting against Dutch. Dutch don’t like that. And you’re gonna tell us exactly what your boss is up to.” The man smacked the pipe against his open palm to get the message across.
“Roy, Boss don’t wanna start a war,” one of the others said nervously.
“Boss ain’t here!” the one named Roy barked. Even his smile was mean. He held up the pipe. “He said to get answers. And that’s what I aim to do.”
Memphis put out his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Listen, fellas, I don’t want any trouble.…”
“That’s a shame. Looks like you found it.”
Roy reared back for a hit when out of nowhere, the crow dove down and pecked at his face, drawing blood. With a cry, he covered his eyes. The lead pipe clattered to the ground, and Memphis picked it up, swinging it in a circle. Blood ran over the gangster’s fingers as the crow kept pecking. The crow leaped to the second man’s head, digging into his skin with its pointed claws and beak until he fell to his knees, screaming.
The third man drew his gun, but Memphis knocked it away with the pipe. The crow flitted in front of the fourth man, threatening.
“Shoo! Shoo, you crazy bird!” the fourth man said, backing away.
Memphis didn’t wait. He took off running, slowing only when he reached an alley and saw that he was not being followed. He dropped the pipe and sagged against the bricks, panting heavily. A minute later, the crow found him. It settled onto a window ledge and made a soft, whirring sound that was a cross between a gentle coo and a sad cry. Memphis’s mind stretched nearly to its breaking point as he tried to make sense of it all:
Messengers of the dead. Move between worlds. Promised she’d watch over you from beyond.
For a price.
“Berenice?” Memphis said, and it felt as if the world had narrowed to just him and the bird blinking at him from the ledge. “No. Can’t be.”
But then he held out his hand. “Mama?” he whispered.
The bird hopped onto his open palm and nuzzled its head against his skin, leaving small streaks of the gangsters’ blood.
“I’m gonna heal you, Mama.” He put his hand on the bird and it squawked away with a great ruffling of feathers. The bird moved its beak back and forth, as if shaking its head. “Okay. Okay, Mama. I’m sorry.”
The bird hopped back onto Memphis’s open hand.
“But I promise you this: I’m going to free you, Mama. I will free you.”
But first he was going to free his brother.
“Mama, I need to know—is there something not right about Blind Bill? Is he hurting Isaiah? Tap the ledge twice for yes.”
The crow blinked at him. Memphis felt ridiculous talking to a bird. He’d hit a new low. But then, very deliberately, it tapped its beak against the stone—once, twice.
THE VOICE OF TOMORROW
Memphis found Blind Bill at home on Octavia’s settee listening to a radio program with Isaiah. Just the sight of the old man next to his brother made his stomach turn.
“Need to talk to you, Mr. Johnson,” Memphis managed.
“Shhh! I’m trying to hear!” Isaiah said.
“This can’t wait. I’ll be out front,” Memphis said.
A few minutes later, Bill came tapping out onto the sidewalk. “What’s eating you?”
“Not here.”
Memphis led Bill across Eighth Avenue and into St. Nicholas Park, guiding him to a remote area. The spires of City College poked up above the newly budding trees.
Bill cocked his head, listening. He saw grainy silhouettes of trees. “What we doin’ in the park?”
“I know what you’ve been doing to my brother.”
“Don’t know what you talking about. Ain’t got time for this foolishness,” Bill grumbled, turning away on the path.
“I know…Guillaume,” Memphis said louder. “I found the old records in the museum basement. I know you’re Guillaume Johnson, the Diviner who could steal the life from things. And I know you’ve been using that power on my brother. I know everything!”
Bill stood very still. He could sense Memphis’s coiled rage ready to snap. “Then you know what they done to me. What that Walker woman done. How she let those Shadow Men take me away and break me. Tell me: How old I look to you?”
“Don’t have time for this—”
“How old?” Bill demanded, striking the path with his cane.
“Sixty. Sixty-five.”
“I’m thirty-seven years old. They did this to me. Sister Walker and them Shadow Men. It ate me up inside. Took my sight. This is what’s left.”
Memphis let this sink in for just a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t care! You hurt my brother. You’re the reason he’s been having all those seizures. You’re the reason Isaiah gets so sick—’cause you’re using whatever power you’ve got to draw the life out of him.” Memphis’s anger boiled over. His brother. His little brother! He’d trusted Bill. “There’s nobody around in this park right now. Just you and me. I ought to kill you.”
“You could. Nobody would blame you. But you don’t know what it’s like to take another man’s life. It changes you. You can’t never get yourself back, not the same way.”
“If it means keeping Isaiah safe, I’m fine with that.”
“I never meant to hurt the boy.”
“I don’t wanna hear it.”
Bill leaned on his cane. “I needed a number, and Isaiah, he had the sight. Dutch’s men was coming for me. I… I didn’t mean to hurt the boy. But then I could feel your healing power running in his veins, flowing into me, giving me little bits of my sight back. I knew it was coming from you, and I figured I might could heal myself up that way. I was wrong, though.”
“You’re a monster.”
“You think you know everything? You don’t know shit, boy! You. Don’t. Know. Shit,” Blind Bill thundered. He took a stuttering breath and wiped away tears with a calloused hand. “I seen things you ain’t never seen. I done things, things they made me do, things that ate my soul up—that still eat my soul. If you’d a healed me up like I asked, none of this had to happen! But you couldn’t be bothered to help an old blind man, could ya? Too fulla yourself, Mr. High Hat!”
“Shut up!”
“Or maybe you ain’t as good as you say.”
“Shut up!”
“You wanna prove yourself? Put your hands on me.” Bill slapped his big, weathered hands hard against his chest. “Come on! Show me what you can do, boy!”
“Don’t call me boy,” Memphis snapped.
“Gimme back my sight or kill me. Huh? Do it. Go on. Put so much juice in me I fall out dead. Or you afraid of that? You ’fraid to really put it to the test? To know what you got deep down inside you? Maybe it ain’t so fine. So good,” Bill said, the word a sneer. “Maybe we ain’t all that different.”
Blind rage rose up inside Memphis. He’d never wanted to hurt somebody as much as he wanted to hu
rt Bill Johnson. With a roar, he rushed Bill, taking the big man by surprise as he knocked him down and pressed his palms against Bill’s eyes. Bill’s shouts joined Memphis’s battle cry. Lightning crackled around the two of them. Memphis leaned in with all he had, until his body shook and he blacked out.
When he came to, he was sprawled on his back on the path in St. Nicholas Park. His legs trembled. His hands ached and burned. The skin of his thumbs were blistered where they had touched Bill’s eyes. What happened?
Nearby, Bill Johnson lay on his side, still as death, his blind man’s cane gripped in his left hand.
“Mr. Johnson? Mr. Johnson!” Memphis said.
Bill Johnson’s arms and legs twitched once, twice. And then he gulped in a lungful of air like a beached fish. He coughed as he sat straight up. The cane fell from his hand and clattered to the walk as he pressed his hands to his eyes with a great shout. And then, just as suddenly, he was laughing, a great hiccuping of joy. His eyelashes fluttered, like wings trying for flight. “I can see! Oh, sweet Lord, I can see!”
He turned his newborn eyes to Memphis. “You… you healed me,” he said in wonder.
“Yeah.”
“I thought you was gonna kill me.”
An exhausted Memphis sat up gingerly and cradled his knees. “I wanted to. But any fool can do that.” He meant it as a slap. So maybe he wasn’t over wanting to hurt Bill just yet.
Bill shook his head. “I don’t deserve your mercy.”
“My mother would say that Jesus forgives. But I ain’t Jesus. I better never catch you around my brother again. Get your things outta my aunt’s house and go. Understand?”
Bill nodded. “Can I at least say good-bye to the boy?”
“No. I want you gone.”
“All right,” Bill whispered. Tears still streamed down his cheeks. The night was all lit up like a carnival. The light stung, but his eyes couldn’t get enough. There were constellations peeking out beneath the bright haze of the city. Down the path, some lovers had stopped to kiss under the honeyed glow of a street lamp. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Won’t throw away my second chance.”
“I don’t care what you do. Just get gone,” Memphis spat back. He examined his hands, wincing. But as he watched, the blisters began to fade.
Memphis looked over at Bill Johnson and caught his breath.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Bill said. He’d lived in darkness for fifteen years. Now that he was free, he didn’t want his miracle to disappear like a dream.
“Your hair,” Memphis said, pointing. “The gray. It’s fading.”
As promised, Bill gathered his things and left without saying good-bye to Isaiah. Out on the stoop, under the porch light, Bill already seemed years younger. “I know you don’t wanna hear from me. But you gotta watch out for them Shadow Men. Don’t you let ’em even know about what you and Isaiah can do. Keep yourselves real quiet, understand? You don’t want them coming after you or your friends.”
“I can look out for Isaiah and me,” Memphis said, shutting the door in Bill’s face. He slipped into the bedroom he shared with his little brother and took off his shoes.
Isaiah stirred. “Thought I heard Uncle Bill leaving.”
“Thought you were asleep,” Memphis said, peeling off his socks and garters.
“Did he go?”
“Yes.”
“How come?”
Memphis took a breath. “Just had to. That’s all.”
“Where’s he going?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. He’s not family.”
“Is to me,” Isaiah said sulkily.
“Well, he’s not. I’m your family. Me and Auntie.”
“Didn’t he like living with us? With me?” Isaiah asked. He rolled over to look at Memphis. His eyes shone with tears.
Memphis’s heart ached. His brother had lost so much in his short life. And now Memphis was taking away someone Isaiah had come to love and trust. Well, the world was full of people and things you thought you could trust, and that trust gave you a black eye for it. Just because Mr. Conrad, who ran the five-and-dime, smiled and gave Isaiah a penny candy when they came to shop didn’t mean that the same Mr. Conrad would open his door to them if they were in trouble. Just because you loved somebody with your entire soul didn’t mean they wouldn’t break your heart. And just because somebody loved you didn’t mean they’d be able to stop themselves from hurting you to get what they wanted. Day by day and ghost by ghost, it was getting harder for Memphis to hold on to hope and faith in the goodness of people. But he wouldn’t take that from Isaiah.
“It’s not about you. Just something that had to happen,” Memphis said hollowly.
“Like Mama,” Isaiah said, and Memphis’s heart felt like it would burst.
“Is Mama in heaven? Is there a heaven, Memphis?”
Once, Memphis would have answered yes. No question, no doubt. But he was no longer quite so sure. Of anything. Even the idea of a heaven made him a little angry. Why place his faith in some peaceful, distant country when the one they lived in needed so much work right here and now?
Ling believed in the beautiful universe. In the hallelujah glory of atoms transforming, exploding, and becoming something new. Sister Walker had believed in fighting for justice. Henry had his music. Sam, his mission to find his mother. Mabel fought for the rights of workers. Even Evie believed in something, that something being Evie a lot of the time.
Memphis laced his fingers through his brother’s smaller, softer ones. “Little man, I believe in this right here. I got you. You got me. We got us.”
Isaiah broke into a rapturous, slightly embarrassed grin that warmed Memphis through. That was it, then. Memphis believed in the hope and love shining out from his brother’s eyes. That was the greater power he wanted right there. He’d believe in that love; he’d fight for that hope.
Isaiah yawned and rolled to face the wall. “Tell me a story.”
Memphis hugged his brother close. “Once upon a time, there were two brothers, and nothing in this world or the next could tear them apart.…”
Memphis talked until his brother snored softly. For the first time in ages, truth came down inside Memphis, and he sat with his notebook to try to capture it.
THE VOICE OF TOMORROW
America, America, will you listen to the story of you?
You bruised mountains, purpled by majesty.
You shining seas that refuse to see.
You, haunted by ghosts of dreams,
From the many, one; the one, many.
I am in you and of you, America.
You of amber waving grain, shining
Like fool’s gold in a plentiful river.
I am the dream coming, yes,
The Voice of Tomorrow
Ringing in freedom’s ear.
Do you hear it now?
Calling, calling, all:
Listen, America—
I am the story.
I am you.
I am.
Memphis’s pencil rested. He folded up his poem and stuck it in an envelope. On the front, he wrote, Attention: Mr. W. E. B. DuBois. The Crisis. And though it was the middle of the night, he mailed it in.
It was almost tomorrow, after all.
The moon smiled down on the bright skyscrapers, full of promise. It shone on the graveyards, where the restless spirits rose up, hungry and full of rage. It hovered above the houses where the ghosts prowled, getting closer to the people. It followed the brown sedan as it prowled the city streets, looking for Diviners.
The phone was ringing in Evie’s suite when she entered, and Evie grinned when she heard Jericho’s voice on the line.
“Is this the famous Sweetheart Seer?” he said. His voice had deepened. It did things to her stomach.
“Two shows a week. Don’t touch that dial,” Evie purred.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Evie lay back on the bed, picturing Jericho’s face the way he looked when he was thin
king about something and the light caught the edge of his face like a fire. “How is life upstate? I’ll bet you sit by the fire with wolfhounds at your feet now. Tell me the truth: Are you wearing an ascot?”
Jericho laughed. It was a hearty laugh, surprising for Jericho, and it made Evie grin like mad. “No ascot. No wolfhounds. But I’ll be sure to ask Marlowe if I can have both. I can see that I have a reputation to uphold.”
Evie giggled. Flirting. He was flirting? This was a new Jericho. He sounded happier, and she was glad. Going with Marlowe had obviously been the right thing to do, no matter how much Evie disliked him. She wanted to tell Jericho everything that had been going on since he left, but she wasn’t sure if anyone might be listening in. After all, she knew Jericho’s letters were read before they were sent. So instead, they talked of spring coming and made jokes. Evie felt lighter than she had in some time. She ached to see him.
“Is everything really okay there?” Jericho said suddenly.
“Yes, fine,” Evie said. She didn’t want to worry him. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“That would be nice. Seeing you, that is,” Jericho said, making Evie’s face go warm. “And I hope to have news for you about that antique you were curious about. Nothing to report yet.” And then: “I miss you. I wish you were here. It’s lonely without you.”
I miss you. So simple and honest that it took Evie’s breath away. That was the thing about Jericho that made him different: He was not cynical or guarded. He did not play games.
“I miss you, too.”
“Be careful, won’t you?”
“I will,” Evie said. “Give my regards to the wolfhounds.”
“I’ll name one Evie. It will, naturally, be my favorite.”
His favorite. Evie bit her lip to keep the smile from taking over her face.
