Set the Night on Fire

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  It didn’t take long for Alix to find out that the “friends” on Montrose he was supposedly staying with didn’t exist. He’d been living hand-to- mouth, crashing at hostels, YMCAs, sometimes sleeping in the park. She told Casey, and a day later, he found Billy a room in a boarding house a few blocks from the apartment. The landlady, a frequent patron of the restaurant where Casey worked, would charge ten dollars a week. Alix made sure he had enough to cover the rent.

  It turned out Billy knew a lot about jewelry. Alix had taught herself the basics of casting and soldering, but Billy showed her how to water cast to create unusually shaped pins and pendants. He also showed her how to metalsmith in a way that didn’t require many tools. Over the next few weeks, in addition to beading and wirework, she began to experiment with more sophisticated designs in silver and gold.

  Bobby sold them as quickly as she and Billy produced them, and between going downtown for supplies, casting the jewelry, and taking it to the head shop, Billy was hanging around several days a week. He usually managed to show up at mealtime, and Alix made sure there was food. Rain kept proclaiming the benefits of organic food, but it tasted like cardboard and cost a fortune, so Alix learned how to make spaghetti, tuna casserole, and, much to Rain’s chagrin, macaroni and cheese. Billy began to look better, Alix thought. His eyes grew clearer, his skin smoother. He may have even put on a pound or two.

  The most unexpected—and gratifying—aspect of Billy’s presence was his relationship with Dar. Dar perked up when Billy came around, and they hit it off in some macho, guy way. Alix figured they must see parts of themselves in the other. She did: the same lean bodies, coloring, intense expressions. After Dar gave Billy some of his old sweatshirts and jeans, they even started to smell alike. In fact, Dar fussed over Billy almost as much as Alix, making sure he ate, bathed, had a decent winter coat. Once in a while, when it was too cold or snowy, Dar made him spend the night at the apartment.

  For his part, Billy clung to Dar and Alix. Rain didn’t like it. “You can’t just adopt a person like a pet. What are you going to do when you get tired of him? You’d be better off with a dog.”

  Alix bristled. “You and Payton keep saying we should reach out to oppressed people. Seems to me Billy qualifies.”

  “But this is a collective. We make decisions equally. You and Dar can’t play house by yourselves.”

  Alix turned away from the stove where she was stirring spaghetti sauce. “I’m paying for his food. Dar’s giving him clothes. Aside from inviting him to spend the night occasionally, which you and Teddy and Payton do with your friends, we’re just looking out for a runaway who otherwise would be on the street. It’s not playing house; it’s charity.”

  Rain arched her eyebrows. “Kind of bent out of shape about this, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Alix lied, “I just don’t understand why you have to be so … so political all the time. Why can’t we go a day without talking about the ‘system’? Why can’t we go to shopping? Or even … God forbid … a movie? Isn’t there more to life than … than ranting against the establishment?”

  Rain peered at her oddly, then unexpectedly backed down. “It’s a free country. Do what you want.”

  That was Rain. Always testing, nudging, uncovering motives. She’d take you right up to the edge of conflict, have you hanging over the precipice and then backpedal, as if she’d just realized she didn’t like what it said about her. Not like Payton, who’d race everyone to the edge, fling himself over, and take down as many with him as he could.

  Casey’s fears about Teddy turned out to be unfounded. Teddy came back to Chicago after the weekend in Wisconsin. In fact, something about seeing his father seemed to rekindle his commitment to the Movement. Before, he only occasionally spent time with them. Now, he stuck close to Payton, accompanying him to the south side where Payton had started hanging out with the Panthers.

  Dar had stopped TM, but with Billy and Alix filling his life, he didn’t go back to Movement politics. Casey didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure how they’d sustained their anger and energy for so long, anyway. Sometimes it was exhausting. Casey came to love the pools of calm when Payton and Teddy—and even Rain—were gone.

  He enjoyed the lightness Billy brought to the apartment, too. For all the hard knocks he’d endured, Billy was still a kid. He had a sly sense of humor, and he liked corny jokes. He and Casey discovered a mutual love of comic books, so Casey started to bring home the latest R. Crumbs, Bijou Funnies, even Mad magazine. Payton frowned on such superficial reads, of course, so Casey would slip Billy the comics in a brown paper bag, preceded with raised eyebrows and furtive gestures, like they were secret agents.

  One cold February night all of them except Rain were in the apartment. Alix made dinner, which Casey supplemented with egg rolls and fortune cookies from the restaurant. Afterwards, Casey sprawled on the floor reading Fritz the Cat; Payton and Teddy were on the sofa rolling joints. While Alix washed dishes, Dar tried to teach Billy how to play chess.

  Casey watched over the edge of his comic book. Listening to Dar’s instructions on how to move the knight, Billy absentmindedly fingered a turquoise and silver pendant around his neck. His mother had made it for him, Alix said. He wore it all the time, refusing to take it off even when he showered.

  Casey had never seen Dar so content. When Billy moved his knight correctly, Dar leaned over and ruffled his hair. Billy grinned back. They were all becoming a family, Casey thought. A weird, unconventional family, but a family. Sure there were a couple of rambunctious siblings, who went off half-cocked. But didn’t that always happen? Alix and Dar managed the nest. The others ventured out to flap their wings, but always came back to roost.

  “Good job,” Dar said to Billy, who’d gotten his knight across the board. “You get it.”

  Billy flushed in pleasure.

  “Now let’s talk strategy.”

  Payton licked a rolling paper. Content was not a word to describe Payton. He was always in motion, tapping his feet, rolling a J, scrutinizing everything. Payton didn’t say much about his background, but Casey knew he’d grown up in a small Iowa town near the Nebraska border. His father had split when Payton was an infant, and his mother worked two jobs to make ends meet. Payton had more or less raised himself. He was smart—he’d gone to Iowa on a full scholarship, at least until he dropped out. But he was angry: at his father for cutting out; at his mother for not spending time with him; and at the world, for letting him down. Casey watched as Payton struck a match and took a hit. Holding in reefer as long as he could was the only time he sat still.

  “Gantner, what’s happened to you, man?” Payton blew out a haze of white and passed the J to Teddy.

  Dar looked up from the chessboard. “What do you mean?”

  “You used to be … shit … you used to be Dar Fucking Gantner! We heard about you all the way in Iowa. No one could speak like you, organize like you. I mean, next to Hayden, you were SDS. Now look at you.” He waved a hand.

  Casey tensed, but Dar seemed unperturbed. “I guess I’m moving on, Payton. You have to keep growing.”

  Teddy jumped in. “Dar, the only reason I got on that bus for Chicago last summer was because of you. You convinced me we could make a difference. That we could stop the war. Create a new order. But now … ” Teddy, who was wearing an ID bracelet he’d brought back from Wisconsin, shook his wrist. The chains on the bracelet clinked.

  Alix appeared at the kitchen door. The strains of Crosby, Stills and Nash on the radio broke the silence.

  “What’s your point?” Dar asked.

  “We need you back, man.”

  Dar put down the rook he’d been holding and looked at Payton. So did Billy. Alix folded her arms. All the attention was focused on Payton, Casey noted. Just the way he liked it.

  “For what?” Dar asked.

  “Well, for one thing, you know the SDS leaders.”

  “So do you.”

  “But you really know them. You have clout. I need your
help. For the SDS convention.”

  “That’s not until June,” Dar said.

  “I know.”

  “What do you need?”

  Casey watched Alix. Her face was blank.

  Payton went on. “Okay. Here it is. You know who Fred Hampton is, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Billy looked confused.

  “He started the Chicago branch of the Black Panthers,” Dar said.

  Payton nodded. “He’s an amazing brother. Came over from the NAACP, you know. Was gonna be a lawyer but started doing community outreach in Maywood. He reminds me of you, Gantner. He’s really smart. And committed.”

  Dar looked interested. Payton wasn’t stupid. He was playing to Dar’s ego.

  “He’s started the Free Breakfast Program. And he wants to start a health clinic. After-school programs, too. You know what he’s into now?” Payton didn’t give Dar time to answer. “He’s trying to broker a peace between the street gangs in Chicago. The Panthers, Young Lords, Blackstone Rangers. Think about it … if the gangs aren’t fighting each other, they can fight the system. Together. It’s fucking brilliant.”

  “And long overdue,” Dar admitted.

  “But that’s not the best part,” Teddy cut in. “He wants to reach out to us.”

  Dar arched his eyebrows.

  “He’s creating what he calls a ‘Rainbow Coalition.’ He wants us to be part of it.”

  “It’s an intriguing idea,” Dar said, after a pause. “But do we really have the same goals as the Panthers?”

  “How can you even ask, man? We’re all oppressed. White, black, even red … ” He gestured toward Billy, who ducked his head.

  “I get it,” Dar replied. “But beyond the war, what’s our mission? Theirs is to improve conditions for black people in the ghetto. What’s ours?”

  “Mission?” Payton’s ponytail bounced as he shook his head. “You know our fucking mission. People are sacrificing their lives for a society that refuses to meet their needs—and discriminates against them on top of it.” An irritated look came over him. He took another hit off the joint. “Why are you hassling me, man?”

  “A lot has gone down since the convention,” Dar replied evenly.

  Payton threw a chilly glance at Billy. “I see.”

  Dar followed Payton’s look. “I still don’t know what you want from me.” This time there was an edge to his voice.

  “We want Hampton—and some of the Panthers—to appear at the convention.”

  “Why?”

  “Because … ” Payton spoke slowly as if he was talking to a child. “People need to know who their real brothers are. Come on, man. The Panthers start a breakfast program for kids, and the next day nineteen of them are busted. On trumped up charges. You don’t think it’s connected? They’re being systematically oppressed, and we need to show solidarity. Here … ” Payton rose and grabbed a few flyers off the coffee table. “Read these.”

  Casey scanned the flyer, a mimeographed plea to send money to the Black Panther Defense Fund. It was co-signed by the Black Panthers, the Young Lords, and SDS.

  “The least you can do is grease the wheels for us. Convince SDS we need the Panthers at the convention. To show a united front. You owe us. The collective, remember?”

  Dar looked down at the chessboard. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Payton’s face smoothed out, and he actually smiled. “Far out. Hey. I’m going to Weiss’s for a brew. Anyone want to come with?”

  THIRTY

  The Chicago Eight were indicted on the first day of spring. Rain had given up her organic food kick and was teaching Alix how to fry chicken. She held forth while heating a frying pan filled with oil. “You should have been there, Alix. Judge Hoffman already has his mind made up. It’s a fucking joke. We need to stop it. The Seed is printing up posters announcing a mass protest.”

  Following Rain’s lead, Alix coated a piece of chicken with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper and dropped it into the pan. “Is this right?”

  “Not bad,” Rain said. “We’ll make a working woman out of you yet.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Payton called from the other room.

  “What?” Rain said acidly.

  “Protesting against the trial. It doesn’t fucking matter. So what if they go to jail? You can’t jail the revolution.”

  Rain rolled her eyes at Alix. A second later Payton appeared in the kitchen. “You can roll your eyes—I saw you—and plan demonstrations, but you and I both know the only thing that will make any difference is direct action.”

  “You mean violence?” When Payton shrugged she added, “That’s not the answer—even in a repressive society. You’ve been spending too much time with the Panthers.”

  “There is no choice. It’s the only thing the pigs understand.”

  “That isn’t what SDS is all about. Ask Dar.”

  “Dar doesn’t know shit any more.” He glared at Alix.

  Alix gave Payton her back.

  “Wake the fuck up,” Payton went on. “Student riots in France and Mexico. An uprising happens in Prague. This is a fucking international guerilla movement. SDS needs to be a part of that.”

  Rain started to say something but was cut off by the sound of the intercom. Alix went to it and pushed the button.

  “It’s me,” a thin voice said. Billy.

  Alix pressed the buzzer while Payton kept blathering on. She went to the door and let Billy in. It was an icy, blustery night, and although Billy was wearing Dar’s old pea coat, he was shivering. Alix walked him into the warmth of the kitchen. His shoulders relaxed as the heat hit him. Then he started to cough. Long, wracking coughs that wouldn’t stop.

  “Are you okay?” Alix asked.

  “It’s just a cold.” He coughed again.

  “Hold on. I’ll get you some cough medicine.” On her way to the bathroom she brushed by Payton, still leaning against the kitchen wall. He tugged at his ponytail, his expression flat, as if he was jealous of Alix’s attention to Billy.

  Alix brought the medicine back to the kitchen. Billy’s shoulders were hunched, and he was still coughing. She poured the red syrup into a spoon and held it out. “Open up, champ.”

  Billy gave the medicine a once-over.

  “Come on. It’ll help.”

  Billy opened his mouth and swallowed. He grimaced. “Stuff tastes like shit.”

  “Don’t be such a baby.” She laughed. “And don’t say ‘shit.’”

  Billy leveled a withering look her way. Rain, watching them, fought back a smile.

  “Can I have some water?” he asked.

  “How about tea?” Alix filled the kettle and put the flame on.

  Billy started to take off his coat.

  “It’s a mean night,” Rain said. “Why don’t you keep it on ’til you’re dry?”

  “I’m fine,” Billy said.

  Rain eyed him. “Keep it on anyway.”

  Billy grumbled but kept the coat on.

  “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” Alix said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You will be. Rain’s chicken is not to be missed.” Alix picked up a pair of tongs and turned the chicken over. “And now I have the recipe.”

  Billy shrugged and went into the living room. She heard him ask Payton if there were any new comic books.

  Payton sighed dramatically. “When are you going to stop wasting your time on that trash, my little warrior?”

  “When you stop acting like you know what’s best for everyone,” Billy shot back.

  In the kitchen Alix suppressed a giggle. Even Rain managed a grin.

  The chicken crackled, sending a hearty aroma through the apartment. Alix was draining a few pieces on paper towels when Rain said, “Alix, we need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  Rain turned from the stove. “Have you ever wondered why we’re the ones always cooking and cleaning, and the guys don’t do shit?”

  “That’s
just the way it is.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been organizing down at The Seed.”

  “Organizing what?”

  “A women’s caucus. We do all the grunt work. But men make the decisions and take the credit. That has to change.”

  Alix reached for the spatula. “What does a women’s caucus do?”

  “It will start to raise consciousness that women are just as oppressed as—the blacks, say—and need to be liberated.”

  “Oh, come on, Rain. Black people and women are equally oppressed?”

  “Come on, you. Who’s in the kitchen frying chicken? Do you see any of the men helping? We aren’t much more than cooks to them. Or wombs.”

  “You can’t change biology.”

  “Biology gave us brains as well as vaginas. We are half the population. Have you ever thought what the world would be like if women had an equal voice? We need to create our own power base.”

  After a pause Alix said, “I don’t know, Rain. You know I’m not political.”

  Rain’s glasses reflected the light, making them sparkle. “This isn’t politics. It’s survival.”

  “I just don’t know. Between Billy, and the jewelry, and Dar … ”

  From the living room, Billy coughed again. Alix stiffened.

  Rain turned back to the frying pan. “Oh, never mind. You’re hopeless.”

  THIRTY–ONE

  Alix and Billy were selling jewelry on Maxwell Street on a warm Sunday in June, well past the end of flu season, when Billy started coughing again. He picked up a white paper napkin and covered his mouth, the way Alix had taught him, but when he balled it up and pitched it in the trash, the napkin was pink.

  Alix, who’d been laying out turquoise necklaces, straightened up. “How long has that been going on?”

  Billy bent over the table. “I don’t know.”

  “I thought the cough was gone.”

  He wouldn’t look at her. “It’s only been a couple of days. It’s not bad.” He started to arrange the necklaces in straight lines. “How many necklaces did you bring?”