The Last Leaf of Harlem

by Lionel Bascom

  It was a wonderful diner. Both of them had been starved for fresh meat. Mrs. Edmunds’ face was flushed and there was color in her lips as if the good blood of the meat had filtered through her skin. Mr. Edmunds ate a pound and half of the two-pound steak and his hands seemed steadier with each sharp thrust of the knife.

  Over coffee and cake they talked contentedly. Mrs. Edmunds wanted to tell the truth about the money and waited for an opening.

  “We’ll move out of this hole some day soon,” said Mr. Edmunds. “Things won’t b like this always.” He was full and warm and confident.

  “If I had fifty dollars,” Mrs. Edmunds began cautiously, I believe I’d move tomorrow. Pay up these people what I owe, and get me a fit place to live in.”

  “Fifty dollars would be a drop in the bucket. You got to have something coming in steady.”

  He had hurt her again. “Fifty dollars more than you got,” she said uneasily.”

  “It’s more than you got too,” he said mildly. “Look at it like this, If you had fifty dollars and made a change, the relief folks would worry us like a pack of wolves. But say f’instance you had fifty dollars an I had a job, we could walk out of here without a howdy do to anybody.”

  It would have been anticlimactic to tell him about the money. She got up. I’ll do the dishes. You sit still.”

  BOUND TO GET A BREAK SOON

  He noticed no change in her and went on earnestly, “Lord’s bound to put something in my way soon. Things is got to break for us. We don’t live human. I never see a paper ‘cept when I pick up in the subway. I ain’t had a cigarette in three years. We ain’t got a radio. We don’t have no company. All the pleasure you get is a 10-cent movie one day a week. I don’t even get that.”

  Presently, Mrs. Edmunds ventured, “You think the investigator would notice if we get a little radio for the bedroom?”

  “Somebody got one to give away?” His voice was eager.

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, seeing how she could check with the party what give it to you, I think it would be all right.”

  “Well ne’ mind --” Her voice petered out.

  It was his turn to try. “Want to play me a game of cards?”

  He had not asked her for months. She cleared her throat. “I’ll play a hand or two.”

  He stretched luxuriously. “I feel so good. Feeling like this, bet I’ll land something tomorrow.”

  She said very gently, “The investigator comes tomorrow.”

  He smiled quickly to hide his disappointment. “Clean forgot. It don’t matter. That meal was so good It’ll carry me straight through Friday.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him about the jackpot, to promise him as many meals as there was money. Suddenly some one upstairs pounded on the radiator for heat. In a moment some one downstairs pounded. Presently their side of the house resounded. It was maddening. Mrs. Edmunds was bitterly aware that her hands and feet were like ice.

  “Tisn’t no use,” she cried wildly to the walls. She burst into tears.

  “Tisn’t nothing no use.”

  Her husband crossed quickly to her. He kissed her cheek. “I’m going to make all this up to you. You’ll see.”

  By half past eight they were in bed. By quarter to nine Mrs. Edmunds was quietly sleeping. Mr. Edmunds lay staring at the ceiling. It kept coming closer.

  Mrs. Edmunds woke up first and decided to go again to the grand market. She dressed and went out into the street. An ambulance stood in front of the door. In a minute an intern emerged from the basement, carrying a bundled child. Mr. Johnson followed, his eyes more bleary and bloodshot than ever.

  Mrs. Edmunds rushed up to him. “The baby,” she asked anxiously.

  His face worked pitifully. “Yes ma’am, Mis’ Edmunds. Pneumonia. I heard you folks knockin’ for heat last night but my hands was too full. I ain’t forgot about them windows, though. I’ll be up tomorrow bright and early.”

  Mr. Edmunds stood in the kitchen door. “I smell mean in the morning?” he asked incredulously. He sat down and she spread the feast, kidneys, and omelet, hot butters rolls and strawberry jam. “You mind,” he said happily, “explaining this mystery? Was that dollar of your s made out of elastic?”

  “It wasn’t a dollar like I said. It was five. I wanted to surprise you.”

  She did not look at him and her voice was breathless. She had decided to wait until after the investigator’s visit to tell him the whole truth about the money. Other wise they might both be nervous and betray themselves by their guilty knowledge.

  “We got chicken for dinner,” she added shyly.

  “Lord, I don’t know when I had a piece of chicken.”

  They are and the morning passed slowly. With Mr. Edmunds help, Mrs. Edmunds moved the furniture and gave the flat a thorough cleaning. She liked for the investigator to find her busy. She felt less embarrassed about being on relief when it could be seen that she occupied her time.

  The afternoon waned. The Edmunds sat in the living room and there was nothing to do. They were hungry but dared not start dinner. With activity suspended they become aware of the penetrating cold and tattling windows. Mr. Edmunds began to have that wild look of waiting for the investigator.

  SUPERINTENDENT’S BABY DIED OF PNEUMONIA

  Mrs. Edmunds suddenly had an idea. She would go and get a newspaper and a package of cigarettes for him.

  At the corner she ran into Mr. Johnson. Rather he ran into her for he turned the corner with his head down and his gait was as unsteady as if he had been drinking.

  “That you, Mr. Johnson,” she said sharply.

  He raised his head and she saw that he was not drunk.

  “Yes ma’am, Mrs. Edmunds.”

  “The baby is worse?”

  Tears welled out of his eyes. The Lord done too her.”

  Tears stood in her own eyes.

  “God knows I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Thank you, Mrs. Edmunds ma’am, but ain’t nothing nobody can do. I been pric’in funerals. I can get one for fifty dollars. But I been to my brothers and he ain’t got it. I been every where. Couldn’t raise no more than ten dollars. He was suddenly embarrassed. “I know all you tenants is on relief. I wasn’t fixin to ask you all.”

  “Fifty dollars,” she said weakly, “is a lot of money.”

  “God’d have to pass a miracle for me to raise it. Guess the city’ll (pay) to bury her. You reckon they’ll let me take flowers?”

  “You being the father, I guess they would,” she said sadly.

  When she returned home the flat was a little warmer. She entered the living room. Her husband’s face brightened.

  He jumped up and crossed to her “I declare I don’t know how to thank you! Wish that investigator’d come. I sure want to taste them.”

  “Go ahead and smoke,” she cried fiercely. “It’s none of her business. We got out rights same as working people.”

  She turned into the bedroom. She was utterly spent. Too much had happened in the last twenty four hours.

  “Guess I’ll stretch out for a bit. I’m not going to sleep. If I do drop of, listen out for the investigator. The bell needs fixing. She might have to knock.

  At half past five, Mr. Edmunds put down the newspaper and tiptoed to the bedroom door. His wife was still asleep. He stood for a moment in indecision, then decided it was long past the hour when the investigator usually called, and went down the hall to the kitchen. He wanted to prepare supper as a surprise. He opened the window, took the foodstuffs out of the crate that in winter served as (an) icebox and set them on the table.

  The doorbell tinkled faintly.

  He went to the door and opened it. The investigator stepped inside. She was small and young and white.

  “Good evening Miss,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to call so late,” she apologized. “I’ve been busy all day with an evicted family. But I knew you were expecting me and I didn’t want you to stay
in tomorrow.

  “You come on up front, miss,” he said. “I’ll wake up my wife. She wasn’t feeling so well and went to lie down.

  She saw the light from the kitchen, and the dark rooms beyond.

  “Don’t wake Mrs. Edmunds,” she said kindly, “If she isn’t well. I’ll just sit in the kitchen for a minute with you.”

  He looked down at her, but her open, honest face did not disarm him. He braced himself for whatever was to follow.

  “Go right on in, miss,” he said

  He took the dishtowel and dusted the clean chair. “Sit down miss.”

  He stood facing her with a furrow between his brows and his arms folded. There was an awkward pause. She cast about for something to say and saw the table.

  “I interrupted your dinner preparations.”

  I was getting dinner for my wife. It’s chicken.”

  “I looks like a nice one,” she said pleasantly.

  He was baffled. “We ain’t had chicken once in three yeas.

  “I understand,” she said sincerely. “Sometimes I spend my whole salary on something I want very much.”

  “You ain’t much like an investigator,” he said in surprise. “One we had before you would’a raised Ned.” He said down suddenly, his defenses down. Miss I been wanting to ask you this for a long time. You ever have any men’s clothes?”

  Her voice was distressed. “Every once in awhile. But with so many people needing assistance, we can only give them to our employables. But I’ll keep your request in mind.”

  He did not answer. He just sat starring at the floor, presenting an adjustment problem. There was nothing else to say to him.

  She rose, “I’ll be going now, Mr. Edmunds.”

  “I’ll tell my wife you was here miss.”

  A voice called from the bedroom “Is that you talking?”

  “It’s the investigator lady,” he said. “She’s just going.”

  Mrs. Edmunds came hurrying down the hall, the sleep in her face and tousled hair.

  “I was just lying down ma’am I didn’t mean to go to sleep. My husband should’ve called me.”

  “I didn’t want him to wake you.”

  “And he kept you sitting in the kitchen.”

  She glanced inside to assure herself that it was sufficiently spotless for the fine clothes of the investigator. She saw the laden table, and felt so ill that water welled into her mouth.

  “The investigator lady knows about the chicken,” Mr. Edmunds said quickly. “She --”

  “It was only five dollars,” his wife interrupted, wringing her hands.

  “Five dollars for a chicken?” The investigator was shocked and incredulous.

  “She didn’t buy that chicken off none of your relief money,” Mr. Edmunds said defiantly. “It was money she won at a movie.

  “It was only five dollars,” Mrs. Edmunds repeatedly tearfully.

  “We aren’t trying to conceal nothing,” Mr. Edmund’s snarled. He was cornered ad fighting. “If you’d asked me how we come by the chicken, I’d have told you.”

  “For god’s sake, ma’am, don’t cut us off,” Mrs. Edmunds moaned. “I’ll never go to another movie. It was only 10 cents. I didn’t know I was doing wrong.” She burst into tears.

  The investigator stood tense. They had booth been screaming at her. She was tired and so irritated that she wanted to scream back.

  “Mrs. Edmunds,” she said sharply, “get hold of yourself. I’m not going to cut you off. That’s ridiculous. You won five dollars at a movie and you bought some food. That’s fine. I wish all my families could win five dollars for good.”

  She turned and tore out of the flat. They heard her stumbling and sobbing down the stairs.

  ***

  “You feel like eating?” Mrs. Edmunds asked dully.

  “I guess we’re both hungry. That’s why we got so upset.”

  “Maybe we’d better eat, then.”

  “Let me fix it.”

  “No.” She entered the kitchen. “I kinda want to see you just sitting and smoking a cigarette.”

  He sat down and reached in his pocket with some eagerness. “I ain’t had one yet.” he lit a cigarette, inhaled, and felt better immediately.

  “You think,” she said bleakly, “she’ll write that up in our case?”

  “I don’t know, dear.”

  “I don’t know that neither, dear.”

  She clutched the sink for support. “My God, what would we do.”

  The smoke curled around him luxuriously. “Don’t think about it till it happens.”

  “I got to think about it. The rent, the gas, the lights, the food.”

  “They wouldn’t hardly close our case for five dollars.”

  “Maybe they’d think it was more.”

  “You could prove it by the movie manager.”

  She went numb all over. Then suddenly she got mad about it.

  It was nine o’clock when they sat down in the living room. The heat came up grudgingly. Mrs. Edmunds wrapped herself in her sweater and read the funnies. Mr. Edmunds was happily inhaling his second cigarette. They were both replete and in good humor.

  The window rattled and Mr. Edmunds looked around at it lazily. “Been about two months since you asked Mr. Johnson for weather strips.

  The paper shook in her hand. She did not look up. “He promised to fix it this morning but his baby died.”

  “His baby! You don’t say!”

  She kept her eye glued to the paper. “Pneumonia.”

  His voice filled with sympathy. He crushed out his cigarette. Believe I’ll go down and (talk with him a while).

  “He’s not there,” she said hastily. “I met him when I was going the store. He said he’d be out all evening.”

  “I bet the poor man’s trying to raise some money.”

  She let the paper fall in her lap, and clasped her hands to keep them from trembling. She lied again, as she had been lying steadily in the past twenty-four hours, as she had not lied before in all her life.

  He didn’t say anything to me about raising money.”

  Wasn’t no need to. Where would you get the first five cents to give him?”

  “I guess,” she cried jealously, “you want me to give him the fast of my money.”

  “No,” no he said.: “I want you to spend what little’s left on yourself. Me, I wish I had fifty dollars to give him.”

  “As poor as you are,” she asked angrily, “you’d give him that much money? That’s easy to say when you haven’t got it.”

  “I look at it this way,” he said simply, “I think how I’d feel in his shoes.”

  “You got your own troubles,” she argued heatedly. “The Johnson baby is better off dead. You’d be a food to put fifty dollars in the ground. I’d spend my fifty dollars on the living.”

  “Tain’t no use to work yourself up,” he said. “You ain’t got fifty dollars, neither have I. We’ll be quarreling in a minute over make-believe money. Let’s go to bed.”

  Mrs. Edmunds woke at seven and tried to lie quietly by her husband’s side, but lying still was torture. She dressed and went into the kitchen and felt too listless to make her coffee. She sat down at the table and dropped her head on her folded arms. No tears came. There was only the burning in her throat and behind her eyes.

  She sat in this manner for half an hour. Suddenly she heard a man’s slow tread outside her front door. Terror gripped her. The steps moved on down the hall, but for a moment her knees were water. When she could control her trembling, she stood up and knew that she had to get out of the house. It could not contain her and Mr. Johnson.

  She walked quickly away from her neighborhood. It was a raw day and her feet and hands were beginning to grow numb. She felt sorry for herself. Other people were hurry past in overshoes and heavy gloves. There were fifty-one dollars in hr purse. It was her right to do what she pleased with them. Determinedly she turned into the subway.

  In a downtown department store she r
ode the escalator to the dress department. She walked up and down the rows of lovely garments, stopping to finger critically, standing back to admire.

  A salesgirl came towards her looking straight at her with soft expectant eyes.

  “Do you wish to be waited on madam?”

  Mrs. Edmunds opened her mouth to day “yes,” but the word would not come. She stared at the girl stupidly. “I was just looking,” she said.

  In the show department, she saw a pair of comfortable (shoes made in a fine leather). A salesman lounged toward her, “Something in shoes?”

  “Yes sir,” That comfort shoe.”

  “Size? His voice was bored.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “I’ll have to measure you,” he said reproachfully. “Give me your foot.” He sat down on a stool and held out his hand.

  She dragged her eyes up to his face. “How much you say those shoes cost?”

  “I didn’t say. Eight dollars.”

  She rose with acute relief. “Oh, I didn’t bring that much with me.”

  She retreated unsteadily. Something was making her knees weak and her head light.

  Her legs steadied. She went quickly to the down escalator. She reached the third floor and was briskly crossing to the next down escalator when she saw the little dresses. A banner screamed that they were selling at the sacrifice price of one dollar. She decided to examine them.

  She pushed through the crowd of women and emerged triumphantly within reach of the dresses. She searched carefully. There were pinks and blues and yellows. She was looking for white. She pushed back through the crow. In her careful hands lay a little white dress. It was spun gold and gossamer (transparent).

  CLOSE TO TEARS ALL THE WAY HOME

  Boldly she beckoned a salesgirl. “I’ll take this, miss,” she said.

  All the way home she was excited and close to tears. She was in a fever to see Mr. Johnson. She would let the regret come later. A child lay dead and waiting burial.

  She turned her corner at a run. Going down the rickety basement stairs, she prayed that Mr. Johnson was on the premises.

  She pounded on his door and he opened it. The agony in his face told her instantly that he had been unable to borrow the money. She tried to speak and her tongue tripped over her eagerness.