Set the Night on Fire

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  Her mother wrapped both hands around her vodka gimlet. She looked like she might cry.

  Her father drained his glass and set it down. “Let me get this straight.” His voice was quiet but filled with rancor. “You want money to care for an … an Indian boy … who has no blood connection to you. Or us.”

  Alix started to feel panicky. “It’s not … as simple as that.”

  “But I’m close,” he barreled on. “I assume you know that TB takes forever to cure. If it can be cured at all. Between the doctors, the sanitarium, and his medicine, his needs—and expenses—could stretch out indefinitely.” His expression hardened. “Are you prepared for that?”

  Alix raised her chin. “Yes.”

  “Because he’s … he’s important to you. You and your … ” He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say the word, “boyfriend.”

  “Sir, I’d like to say something,” Dar interjected. “This boy is … well, he’s like … ”

  “Your son?” Her father raised his voice. “Is that what you were going to say?” He flicked his wrist. “You have no idea what it’s like to raise a child.”

  Alix felt a headache coming on. She massaged her temples.

  “But, sir … ” Dar removed his arm from the back of Alix’s chair.

  “Don’t ‘sir’ me.” He glared. “I’ll tell you the truth. I didn’t want to come here, but my wife said we should make an effort. Maintain our ties to our daughter, however flimsy. I’ve done my part. But what I’m seeing … well, we’ll never agree on what’s important. Therefore, there’s no use prolonging the inevitable. It’s time for us to go.”

  “Daddy …,” Alix made one more stab. “Please. Billy needs help.” She took a long breath. “If you help, I … I’ll come home.”

  “Alix!” Dar breathed.

  Her father sat back. Her mother’s lips parted, and she leaned forward. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, her father said, “It means that much to you?”

  Alix avoided looking at Dar. “Yes,” she whispered.

  Her father picked up his glass. “Nothing would give me more pleasure, Alixandra, than for you to come home where you belong. And it’s admirable that you feel that strongly. For that, I owe you an honest answer.” He took a swallow. “My stores contribute to charity on a regular basis. I’m sure we already contribute to Indian causes. If not, I’ll make sure we do. But that’s all. There’s a reason why only the strong survive. You can’t change that, Alixandra.” He looked at Dar. “And neither can you.”

  THIRTY–FIVE

  When Casey got home from work that night, Dar joined him in the living room to smoke a J. Casey could tell Dar was upset, but he didn’t want to pry. He knew Dar had gone to dinner with Alix’s parents. Casey kept the conversation light. If Dar wanted to talk, he would.

  They were still up when Payton came in an hour later. He’d had been spending more time away from the apartment, coming back only to shower, change clothes, and sleep. Tonight, though, he grabbed a can of pop and stretched out on the floor.

  “You’ve been scarce.” Casey relit the roach and passed it over.

  “Lots to do. You know how it goes. Or went.” He glanced at Dar while he took a hit.

  Dar looked away.

  “It’s okay.” Payton held in the smoke, then blew it out. “We have a bunch of committed volunteers. Even Teddy is coming around. In fact, we’re going up to Wisconsin this weekend.”

  “To see the judge?” Casey asked.

  Payton shook his head. “Teddy wants to show me something.”

  Casey was suspicious. “What kind of something?”

  Payton placed a finger on his lips. “You never know who’s listening.” Then he smiled. “You ought to come with, Dar.”

  “For what?” Casey repeated. If Payton didn’t want them to know, he wouldn’t have brought it up.

  But Payton was being cagey. “I can’t talk about it.” He passed the J back to Dar.

  “So you’re keeping an eye on Teddy?” Dar asked.

  Payton frowned. “What are you getting at?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Whoa … you just can’t let something drop.”

  “You just did.”

  “That’s different. State secrets.”

  Dar shrugged.

  “If you’re talking about Rain’s theory, she’s already come to me.”

  “She did?”

  “She’s paranoid. Has been from the start.”

  Casey looked from Dar to Payton. He felt left out. “What is she paranoid about?”

  “Rain thinks Teddy’s an informer,” Payton said.

  “What?” Casey sat back, startled.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  “Who knows?” Payton flicked his eyes to Dar. “Maybe she wanted to ball him but he didn’t reciprocate. So she decided to get back at him.”

  “Bullshit,” Casey said. “Rain’s not like that.”

  “What do you say, Gantner?”

  “Forget it, Payton,” Dar said. There was a catch in his voice.

  “Why? Can’t stand a little heat on the reservation?”

  Dar shifted. “What does that mean?”

  Payton tilted the can of pop to his mouth and took a long swig. “Just that you’re too busy with your girlfriend and your sick little Indian brave to do anything for anyone else.”

  Just then Alix appeared in the hall. She was wearing Dar’s shirt, and her hair was tousled.

  “I didn’t know you were up,” Dar said.

  She rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about, Payton?”

  “I was just talking about your boyfriend’s commitment. You won, you know. You’ve turned him into a political eunuch.”

  “You know something, Payton? You can say whatever you want. I don’t care,” Alix said. “There are more important things than the fucking Movement.”

  Both Casey and Dar stared. Alix never used profanity.

  “That’s why the best you can hope for is a safe house,” Payton fired back.

  Alix planted her hands on her hips.

  “When the revolution comes, you’ll have to leave the heavy lifting to others. But you can have a safe house if you want. That’s what you’ve been doing with this place, isn’t it?”

  “That’s a shitty thing to say,” Dar said. “You’ve been living in her ‘safe house’ for over a year.”

  Payton shrugged, as if that just proved his point. But whatever was fueling Alix suddenly evaporated. “It’s all right,” she said tiredly and sat next to Dar.

  Casey got up and turned on the radio. The DJ introduced a song called Wooden Ships from an upcoming Jefferson Airplane album. A good song usually softened his innards. This time, though, he couldn’t shake off a premonition of doom.

  “Turn it off,” Payton snapped. “You shouldn’t listen to establishment media.”

  Casey tensed. “What are you talking about, man? It’s The Spoke. FM.”

  “AM–FM, it doesn’t matter. They’re all owned by corporations. What you hear is what they want you to hear.”

  “That’s not true. The Spoke plays an entire side. With no commercials.”

  “You’re naïve. Music is only fodder for ads. And fantasies that pass for entertainment. It’s designed to suck you in. Distract you. The only thing worth listening to is the weather forecast.”

  No one said anything. Then Casey deadpanned, “I hear they missed you at Woodstock.”

  Everyone laughed, except Payton. But it did ease the tension. Temporarily.

  “You know what your problem is?” Payton asked. “You’ve all allowed the system to corrupt you. What we need are some self-criticism sessions around here. To reorient your thoughts.”

  “My thoughts are just fine,” Alix replied.

  “Said like a true member of the privileged class,” Payton shot back.

  “Lay off, Payton,” Dar said. “It’s been a tough day.”

  “Every day�
�s a tough day for the oppressed.”

  “Hey, guys. How about we go up to Wrigley tomorrow?” Casey said brightly. “The Cubs are closing in on the pennant.”

  THIRTY–SIX

  With no money for a private sanitarium, and a six-month waiting list for the MTS, Billy began treatment at a city clinic on Division not far from the boarding house. The regimen was long, slow, and highly specific, with pills that had to be taken at precise times each day, every day. At first, Alix and Dar took Billy there.

  “Hey, I’m not a baby,” he complained after a week of being chaperoned. “I can go by myself.”

  “It’s only for a little while,” Dar said. “When you’re stronger, you’ll go on your own.”

  Alix wasn’t counting on it, though, and said so to Dar. “Billy’s still a kid. When he starts feeling better, he’s going to think he’s cured and stop going.”

  “We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t.”

  “How are ‘we’ going to do that? And what if he starts to freak out? He could bolt. Or even lie about going.”

  “So what do you propose?”

  “I’ll keep taking him.”

  “That’s a huge responsibility.”

  “There’s no other choice.” She shrugged. “The jewelry business will have to slide.” She sighed. “It’ll make a significant dent in our income.”

  Dar kissed the top of her head. “I’ll pick up an extra shift at the bookstore, and see if they’ll put me on as a delivery man at the Moon Palace.”

  Alix would have preferred that he help out with Billy.

  In September Payton and Teddy went downtown to the Chicago Seven trial. The roster of defendants had been reduced from eight to seven after Bobby Seale was separated from the others. Supporters weren’t allowed into the courtroom, but they demonstrated outside as a show of solidarity. By October 9th the National Guard was called in to control the crowds. Payton and Teddy came home with stories about uptight guards and imminent brutality, but nothing ever materialized.

  October also brought the “Days of Rage,” billed as a massive revolutionary antiwar action. The Weather organization expected thousands of people to gather and show their contempt for the “state,” but only about five hundred did. They stormed a few neighborhoods, caused some property damage, and fought with police.

  One of the protestors was tackled by Richard Elrod, the city’s “law and order” attorney who happened to be on the street during the event. The cops said Elrod was kicked and beaten with an iron pipe; the Weathermen, including Payton and Teddy, claimed Elrod fell. Regardless of whose story you believed, Elrod broke his neck and was temporarily paralyzed. The Chicago papers gushed with sympathy for Elrod, and what little support the Weathermen had eroded. The group began to be shunned, which made them shift even farther left.

  But the defining moment of late 1969 was the assassination of Fred Hampton. On December 4th the Chicago police raided the Black Panther leader’s apartment on Monroe Street in the middle of the night. Hampton was killed, and several other Panthers were wounded. The cops claimed they’d been attacked by “violent” and “vicious” Panthers and offered photos showing bullet holes made by Panther fire.

  But this was the Chicago police, and no one bought their story. An internal police investigation exonerated the officers involved, but most people saw it as part of an orchestrated strategy to destroy the Black Panther Party. Over five thousand people attended Hampton’s funeral, including Payton, Teddy, and Dar. Rain covered it for The Seed, and even Casey felt an injustice had been done.

  “If they were gonna assassinate someone, he was the one to hit,” Rain said the night after the funeral.

  Casey was lying on the couch, one arm flung over his forehead. “How do you figure?”

  “He was smart, articulate, and charming. Tons of charisma. The Bobby Kennedy of black people … ”

  “In other words, he was a threat.”

  Rain nodded.

  “The cops claim it was a fire fight.”

  “At four in the morning, with everyone in bed?” Rain snorted. “How much you want to bet the cops had a little help?”

  Casey propped himself up on an elbow. “The FBI?”

  “Hoover had to be involved. He’s been trying to get the Panthers from the beginning.” Her eyes turned sad. “I guess he’s finally succeeding.”

  Casey fought a sense of despair. He had the feeling everything was unraveling.

  On New Year’s Eve Alix wanted to take Billy over to Bobby’s to watch the Times Square ball drop on TV, but Bobby refused to let him in. She talked about borrowing a TV from the guy who owned the film studio and setting it up in Billy’s room, but Payton kept criticizing her for sinking to the level of the masses, so she gave up rather than argue. Instead, she ordered Chinese food from the Moon Palace and took it to Billy. Dar was making deliveries, but Casey had the night off and came with her.

  While Alix set out the food on a tray in the landlady’s kitchen, Casey went up to Billy’s room. It was a small, cramped space on the third floor of an old house on Eugenie Street. Billy had tacked up a few psychedelic posters as decoration, but his mattress was threadbare, the bureau wobbled, and a sour smell hung in the air.

  Billy still looked sick. His face was pale, and his breathing was labored. He’d lost so much weight that his eyes dominated his entire body. Casey put on a mask from a stack at the door. Billy had been taking his medication for over three months now—shouldn’t he be showing improvement? Casey was relieved they hadn’t taken him to Bobby’s. He tried to conceal his concern. “How you doin’, man?”

  Billy shrugged. His mouth and nose were covered by a mask as well.

  “Alix has enough Chinese food downstairs to feed an army.”

  Billy gave him a listless nod.

  “And look what I got.” Casey pulled out a paper bag from under his jacket and tossed it on the bed. Billy peeked in and slid out a new R. Crumb comic and the new Mad magazine.

  “Thanks, man.” Billy’s eyebrows smoothed out and the muscles under the mask shifted. He was smiling.

  Casey smiled back, hoping it didn’t look as forced as it felt.

  Billy was watching him. “Casey, I need a favor.”

  “Sure, pal.”

  Billy rolled off the bed and retrieved a paper bag from the floor underneath the mattress.

  “This is for Alix. It’s her Christmas present.” He held up a silver chain with heavy links, like an ID bracelet. “It’s kind of like the one Teddy always wears, you know?”

  Casey was surprised Billy had noticed. “But I want to work some turquoise into it,” Billy said. “I’ve got the turquoise … ” He fished in the bag and pulled out the turquoise pendant he used to wear—the one his mother gave him. “But, see, the thing is it needs to be reshaped. I can’t do it. I don’t have the right tools, and I can’t borrow Alix’s ’cause it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

  “So what do you need?”

  “Go down to Jewelers Row on Wabash and talk to the guy we buy from. He can do it. I’ve got the bread. I’ve been saving up.”

  “That’s all?” When Billy nodded, Casey smiled. “I thought it was something tough.”

  THIRTY–SEVEN

  But Casey never got the turquoise reshaped for Billy. Two weeks into the new year, on a blustery, frigid evening, Alix and Casey found Billy coughing up massive amounts of blood and struggling for breath. They rushed him to the ER in a cab. The ER attendants took one look at him, slipped him onto a gurney, and raced through the double doors. Casey and Alix were sent to the waiting room. Dar met them there.

  A few minutes later, a nurse gestured to them from the corridor.

  “He’s not good,” the nurse said. “They’re trying to intubate him, but he’s bubbling up blood, and they’re having a hard time getting it in. They think he might have ruptured a bleb in one of his lungs.”

  “What does that mean?” The waiting room was warm, even stuffy, but Alix shivered.

&nbs
p; The nurse pretended not to have heard Alix’s question. “The doctor wants to know what drugs he’s been taking.”

  Alix told her.

  “Has he been taking them every day?”

  “I’ve been taking him to the MTS clinic on Division for three months. Why?”

  The nurse shook her head. “I have to go back. The doctor will come out when he can.”

  “Please.” Alix grabbed her arm, her face a sea of grim anxiety. “You have to tell me what’s happening.”

  The nurse sighed. “We could be seeing a drug-resistant form of the disease. Or maybe the medication isn’t doing its job. Sometimes the quality of the pills isn’t what it should be.”

  “We’re getting them from the city health department.”

  “Or,” the nurse said, “it might be that it’s just too little, too late. The type of TB he has is usually due to a flare-up of a previous infection.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “He’s probably had the disease since he was young. If we’d known earlier … if he’d gotten the right kind of help six years ago … even six months … ” She threw Alix a compassionate glance. “You need to prepare yourself.”

  “No!” Alix cradled the sides of her face with her hands. “Don’t let him die.”

  But an hour later, in the winter-gray period before dawn, Billy took his last breath.

  Dar stayed at the hospital to make arrangements and try to contact Billy’s family—or what was left of it—at Rosebud. Casey took Alix back to the apartment, where she went into her bedroom and shut the door. Dar came back an hour later, spoke to no one, and went into their room.

  A minute later Alix came out and sat on the sofa. Her face was blank, her gaze vacant, but Casey could feel her grief gust in like cold air through an open window. He knew she was torturing herself with recriminations and might-have-beens. He draped a blanket around her shoulders. She made no sign she knew he was there, but for the first time since she and Dar had been a couple, Alix slept on the couch.

  The memorial service was quiet and sad. Alix went through the motions with a glazed look that never quite came into focus. Bobby, the owner of Up Against the Wall, asked the man who’d married Donna and Linda to deliver a eulogy, and Rain made a surprisingly eloquent speech about the immortal life of the spirit. Payton showed up, which surprised Casey—Payton had disapproved of Billy and his relationship with Alix and Dar. But there he was, in a clean pair of jeans and a white shirt. Teddy, too. Dar was there, of course, but he didn’t talk to anyone.