“You finished now? You got that shit off your chest? ’Cause you ain’t said shit as far as I’m concerned. How you gonna be in her house, drinkin’ her tea, and talkin’ shit about her while she’s out there tryin’ to help our asses?”
“Whitey guilt. That’s all that is. They do a little charity work and they don’t feel so bad when they pass us over for promotions and tell nigger jokes around the dinner table. Look, just answer me one question, what’s wrong with Black women?”
“I love Black women. They just…”
“They just what? Don’t talk to you if you ain’t got no money? Argue too much? Talk too loud? Dress too flashy? Wear too much jewelry? Expect too much from a brother? Won’t let you treat them like hoes? Act too much like hoes? Too bossy and domineering? Too hard and unfeminine? They don’t suck your dick and let you cum in their faces? All that’s bullshit and you know it. Those are just more fucked up stereotypes.”
“I was gonna say they’re too damned religious and they don’t give me no play anyway. Everytime I like a sista she disses me for some other brother. They all want light-skinned pretty boys with hazel eyes and wavy hair like you or big buff brothers with two percent body fat. An average nigga like me ain’t got a chance with nuthin’ but the neighborhood chicken heads and I ain’t willin’ to stoop that low. I want a woman that wants more for herself than the average bitch in the street. That’s why I don’t fuck with no sistas but Yolanda.”
“That’s ’cause that heavy bitch spoiled your ass. Now you done found another stupid hoe to kiss your rotten ass.”
This time it was my turn to shake my head in exasperation.
“Can’t a brother just have a little fun without it having to get all political and shit? Damn. I don’t understand why you hate White people so much anyway. I mean, how can you already hate people you’ve never even met? You got your mind made up about the whole race based on what you know about the handful you’ve met. There’s like two hundred million White folks in America. It ain’t like you know all of ’em.”
Huey poured more tea into the imitation Japanese tea cup with pictures of little Bonsai trees on the sides. He raised the cup to his lips and loudly slurped down the Ginseng brew.
“You should be asking yourself why you don’t hate all of them. You blame God for everything and let them devils off the hook when they’re the ones with our blood on their hands. That don’t make no sense!”
“I can’t hate them ’cause they ain’t did shit I wouldn’t have done myself if I was in their position. You think that if brothers was runnin’ shit we’d be anymore fair and compassionate? Just take a look at Africa. Brothers is always talkin’ about the white man’s nature but conquering and exploiting is just man’s nature. Fuck do you think would have happened four or five hundred years ago if Africans had guns and bombs and shit and traveled to Europe and found White folks over there chuckin’ spears? We would have kicked they asses and took all they shit. They would have been cleanin’ our houses and plowin’ our fields and we would’ve been rapin’ their women and sellin’ off their families just like they did to us. White folks would be the ones callin’ us devils. Shit, we was already conquering and enslaving our own people before the white man ever came to Africa. I ain’t sayin’ I don’t hate them in general. I ain’t got no love for no peckerwoods. I mean if there was a war goin’ on and we had to pick sides I’d have no problem droppin’ bombs on faceless White enemies, but when you deal with them one on one you realize that they’re just people like you and me. They ain’t no devils.”
“Except Scratch?”
“Yeah, except him.”
“And yet you worked for his ass too, killin’ your own brothers for him.”
“Dog, I’m all out of excuses for that shit. I just want to cap that devil and be done with it.”
Christina and Iesha stepped back into the apartment, each carrying a grocery bag and chatting excitedly. Iesha had been as suspicious and cynical of Christina as Huey, but now the two girls were gossiping like old friends. Huey glowered menacingly at the noisome duo and Iesha immediately fell silent, casting one last smile at the tall white girl before they shut the door behind them and walked into the kitchen to put their groceries down.
“Have you called your mother yet?” Iesha asked, and then, seeing the shock and fear wash over my face, added, “I—I’m sure she’s alright. It’s just–you know—don’t you think you should check?”
Horrible images flashed through my head as I looked over at the phone. My eyes, wide with fear and a sadness in the pit of my stomach, scanned the ashen faces of Huey, Iesha, and Christina. Their expressions were sympathetic, as if they had already assumed the worse.
I took a deep breath and told myself that everything was okay, that Scratch hadn’t gone to my house and murdered my mother after we’d left.
I’ma kill you and everyone you ever knew!
Scratch’s enraged voice boomed in my head as if I was still down in that basement with him. I rose to my feet and staggered over to my cell phone. Huey, Iesha, and Christina followed, crowding around me and placing consolatory arms around my shoulders. We didn’t even know for certain that anything had happened and I already felt like I was at a funeral mourning my mother’s death. I dialed the numbers in a daze as I thought of the reconciliation my mother and I had never had and the look of disappointment and disgust on her face as she watched me speed away from the scene of Yellow Dog’s murder. My stomach tightened painfully as the phone began to ring.
“Hello?”
I nearly fainted. I was so relieved.
“Mom? It’s Malik.”
“Yeah?”
There was a strange tremor in her voice as if she’d been crying.
“Is everything alright? Did anybody come by looking for me?”
“You mean like the police or friends of that guy you murdered right in front of our home last night? The cops were here for hours asking me about you. They wanted to take me down to the station. I can’t believe you would kill someone right in front of me like that! I saw you! Is this the type of shit you’re into? Killing people? Is this what I raised you to become? I don’t even know you anymore. But don’t worry, I didn’t tell the police nothing. You’re still my child.”
“I— uh…I’m sorry.”
She snorted contemptuously.
“Nobody else came by while I was home, but I left about an hour after the police did,” her voice choked up again and now it was clear that she was crying, “I spent the rest of the night at the hospital.”
“Why were you at the hospital? What happened?”
“Your grandmother had a stroke last night. I would have called, but I didn’t know where you were.”
“Is she alright?”
“No…,” her voice softened and became very small, quivering with emotion, “…she passed away this morning. The funeral is tomorrow at 9:30 am.”
Mom continued talking, mostly chastising me about not being at the hospital to comfort my dying grandmother who loved me more than anything. I barely heard a word she said.
“Grandma?”
My friends had returned to their seats laughing at themselves in relief when they heard me talking to my mother, then when they saw the grief-stricken mask that my face had become, and heard the soft helpless, “God, no.” whisper from my trembling lips, they returned to where I stood once again throwing their arms around me. I closed the flip-top cell phone and stood there staring at it as if it had wounded me and not the cold tactless tongue of my mother. Tears flowed freely down my face as I stood trembling with a profound sadness I could not express and an anger I could not understand.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“My Grandmom died this morning. She had a stroke last night and went into a coma. Then she just passed away. The funeral is tomorrow.”
“Oh my God, Malik. I’m so sorry.” Christina’s eyes were filling up with tears as if she had just lost a relative. Irrationally, I felt possessi
ve of my grief and resented her attempt to share it with me.
“Malik, I—,”
“You can’t go.”
Huey, who had sat silently, staring at the floor, interrupted Iesha before she could offer her condolences. He was looking right at me and shaking his head. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My grief ignited in an explosion of white-hot fury.
“Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you fucking dare! Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Huey looked down at his feet as if he was sorry for what he was saying. Still, he repeated it.
“You can’t go, Snap.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I punched a nearby porcelain lamp and shattered it into a dozen pieces. Both girls jumped and let out a squeal. Huey didn’t budge.
“There’s just no way you can go.”
“Why the fuck not? What the fuck are you talking about? My grandmother is dead! Didn’t you hear me? What are you tryin’ to say I can’t go to her damn funeral? Who the fuck do you think is going to stop me?”
Huey kept his eyes glued to the floor watching my shadow rage across the carpet.
“Scratch. That’s who. If you go, that entire funeral will turn into one big bloodbath. You’d be a sitting duck at that funeral and you and I both know that Scratch wouldn’t miss such a perfect opportunity to take you out along with half your friends and family. It would be the perfect revenge. And that’s why you can’t go. Your Mom will be there. Your aunts, uncles, cousins, it would be ridiculous to risk it. I can’t protect you in a crowd like that and even if I could I couldn’t protect your entire family. I might accidentally shoot one of your relatives myself trying to get to Scratch. I know how you feel, but it’s just too much of a risk.”
I collapsed into the seat across from Huey. Iesha and Christina took the baby into the bedroom to change his diaper while Huey and I talked. I felt completely empty, like a used tube of toothpaste that had been rolled all the way up from the bottom until every drop was squeezed out of it then slit up the middle and scraped clean. No way I was gonna let Scratch rob me of the opportunity to properly grieve.
“You can’t possibly know how I feel. I spent the last four years raising hell in the streets and my grandmother still loved me despite all the rumors flying around about me. Even though they whispered behind her back at church because of the shit I was doing. She still loved me. Even when the cops showed up on her doorstep and ripped her house apart looking for evidence of one of my crimes, she never spoke bad about me. But, I can’t remember the last time I sat down and talked with her for more than two minutes. I was too busy doin’ dirt in the street to give my own grandmother the time of day, even when I knew she was old and sick. I can’t even remember the last time I told her I loved her. I know it might not make sense to you, but I need to tell her I love her before they put her in the ground forever.”
Huey issued a long sigh of capitulation and finally raised his head to look me in the eyes. Tears were stubbornly holding at bay in his eyes, pride preventing them from spilling. He reached out and placed his hand on mine. His palms were softer than a woman’s.
“Malik, you’re my dog and I love you, but the hurt you’re feelin’ now ain’t nothing compared to what you’ll feel if Scratch decides to spray the whole congregation to take you out and winds up killing your Mom or something. I really don’t think you should go— but if you insist, you know I ain’t gonna leave you hangin’ out there by yourself.”
For a moment I couldn’t say anything. This was the most emotion I’d ever seen from Huey aside from when Tank was murdered. I stared at him for so long that he self-consciously dropped his head back down to stare at the inarticulate shadows on the floor. I reached out for Huey’s hand and he looked up once again and met my gaze.
“I love you too, brother, and I’m going to grandma’s funeral.”
Christina and Iesha finished changing the baby’s diaper. They carried him back into the room fussing over him like two schoolgirls playing with a doll. Iesha held the bottle in his mouth, while Christina cooed and kissed at him. My eyes followed them as they paced back and forth. I couldn’t stop staring at the child. He smiled, gurgled, cooed, threw-up, pissed, and shit, but never seemed to cry. His eyes stared back at me without love or hate, but with expectancy and patience. He seemed to be waiting for something. Something I wasn’t sure I was willing to give. I would kill Satan for him, but I would never forgive him for my people’s pain. I had no right. No one man did. He could forgive me if he liked, but I would keep my hate. I needed it for what I had to do.
“You still think that kid is Jesus Christ?”
“What?” Christina asked, half giggling.
“Oh, that’s right. We didn’t tell you two yet. Your boyfriend here thinks he rescued the baby Christ from Satan and now Satan is gunnin’ for both of them.”
Iesha and Christina both turned to look at me.
“There’s no doubt in my mind that Scratch is Satan. So, I guess that means I believe that kid is Jesus too.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?”
“No, baby, I’m serious. You didn’t see what I saw. If you did then you’d believe it too.”
“But why, dog? I mean, what about him has you so convinced? He’s just a kid.”
“Huey, man, just look at him. I mean just look at his eyes. You see that pain? You see that peace? You see that love? How could an infant have such ancient eyes? This is Jesus, dog. This is Jesus Christ.”
“I thought you always said the Black man didn’t have no savior?”
“He don’t. But I guess Jesus does. Us.”
“A damn crackbaby,” Huey walked over to the baby still cradled in Iesha’s arms and looked at him for a long moment, “If this is Christ then he’s been damned too.”
“Just look at his eyes. You ever see a baby with eyes that wise?”
Nothing I said would have convinced Huey, but I could tell that when he looked into that child’s calm peaceful eyes he saw. He knew. He believed. He knew like I did, with some primal metaphysical awareness that defied both faith and reason and went straight to instinct, to some genetic memory of our creator. But Huey would never admit it to himself. Even though I could see his legs tremble. Before that moment, I had never thought it possible for him to be afraid.
“S-so if he’s really Jesus then you really think Scratch is…”
“Satan. And not just figuratively or metaphorically. I ain’t talkin’ about that racist Muslim shit. I’m not just sayin’ he’s got evil in him. I’m sayin’ he is evil. Evil made flesh. I’m sayin’ that Scratch is the literal Satan. Lucifer himself. And if we let him get his hands on this kid the sun is gonna set on all of us forever.”
“Yeah, well, as long as this mutherfucker can bleed ain’t no way he’s gonna do shit to this kid.” Huey reached out to rustle the baby’s thin whispy hair and drew his hand back quickly when the child turned his tiny head and smiled at him.
“See, fool! Now you got me all spooked.” Huey chided with half a frown and half a smile fighting for control over his face. Christina and Iesha were both staring at the baby trying to see what we had seen in him. Huey was frowning, trying hard not to believe.
Christina and I had finally adjourned to the bedroom leaving Huey and Iesha alone on the long tattered couch. The baby was once again lying in the center of the bed between the pillows. We left him there and lay down on the floor beneath her queen-sized comforter. A sheet lay between the thin carpet and our naked bodies. Christina was wound up tight with sexual tension, but trying to hold back, not sure if I would be in the mood so soon after hearing of my grandmother’s death. Honestly, I was trying to mourn, remembering the strong, loving, cantankerous old woman that used to bake me pies every Sunday for desert, but my flesh was responding to the heat radiating from her, the wetness of her sex against my leg, and the subconscious gyrations of her hips. I rolled her over and entered her.
“Thank God.” She gasped as my manhood
slid deeper into her, “I thought I was gonna explode if you didn’t take me soon.”
We made love slowly, with uncharacteristic warmth and affection, both of us delaying our orgasms until they built into a massive eruption that shook us violently; our juices commingling in a rushing wave of mutual ecstasy. I drove myself so deeply into her that I could feel her heartbeat. When it was over we held each other in silence. I slept almost immediately and had a pleasant dream in which I never woke up— then the morning came and the dream ended.
It was a windy, October morning, cloudy and damp. The trees were ablaze with reds, yellows, and oranges that fluttered to the ground in pastel colored heaps. A thick layer of clouds covered the sky to the horizon with a somber ceiling of gray. Funeral weather.
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