He continued under the hot stars. Chill struck through his clothes. His veins drew it in, then spilled it from the faucet of his head, down the pipe of his neck, and throughout the basin of his body. He moved with no exercise of will, only the habit to endure. He looked down at his feet. They were far off, almost out of sight, under black water. He felt himself slipping away in the dead moment before dawn. I am no longer the same person I was, he thought. He was going home. A forbidden city.
38
THE STREETLAMPS STRUNG THROUGH THE NIGHT LIKE BEADS. Hatch and Abu stood in the yard, their still eyes following the back of the receding ambulance.
Keylo, Hatch said.
What?
That was Keylo.
Who?
He followed me here.
What?
Hatch looked at the star-filled night and breathed deeply. Nobody, Hatch said. He had already said too much.
You said Keylo, didn’t you? Keylo from Red Hook?
Forget it.
How you know it was him?
Hatch said nothing.
What he doing round here?
Jus forget it. I was mistaken, that’s all.
Where you been?
Who said I been anywhere?
Yo mamma called looking for you.
Hatch searched for an answer. I was over at Elsa’s house.
Why you ain’t call?
I was busy. I was getting my groove on.
Oh. Abu redirected his embarrassed eyes. You get the tickets?
What?
The tickets. You know, for Spin’s—
Oh. Forgot all about that. They was closed.
Closed?
Yeah. You know, the flood and all. We’ll get them tomorrow. Hatch turned toward the house.
Abu followed behind him, trying to keep pace. What did T-Bone want?
Oh, you know.
What did he want?
It ain’t important.
If it ain’t important how come—
Hatch gave Abu a look for an answer. Stared him down. Looks have language. Abu turtle-shrunk into himself. Hatch reached the housefront. He did not stumble. The low-rising steps were easy flying.
Once inside the house, Hatch phoned Sheila to ease her fears. (He knew precisely what to say. Much practice.) Then he clicked off the lights. Abu made no complaint.
They had the house to themselves until the morning. (Abu’s parents worked nights.) In complete silence, he and Abu sat as one until dawn, their still eyes forming shapes to guard off the dark space of absence.
39
A BODY GETS AROUND. Traveling. To see the cities of men. Travel a little further and see as much as you can see.
Well, I hope you have a nice trip.
I plan to.
Porsha sat at the window — the sky has nearly forgotten the sun; how many days now? no sight no sound no touch — and watched the evening invade the avenue.
Why you so quiet?
Porsha said nothing. The receiver hummed at her ear like an empty well.
Hmm, I see. Um huh. I see.
The words echoed what she felt.
I’m sorry, Nia said. Sorry, I really am.
Porsha listened and waited.
I’m sorry but, you know, people shouldn’t cross roads in heavy traffic.
Porsha searched each word for the meaning she wanted to hear. Perhaps Nia was right. Perhaps it was all her fault. Then again, she had only followed the natural flow of her heart.
Next time you’ll know.
I thought we were talking about you.
Ain’t no need to talk about me. Evil as always.
What happened?
Same ole.
I’m coming over.
No need to.
Nia had missed the point. She needed to. I want to come over.
Stay away from me cause I’m in my sin.
You ain’t gon tell me what happened?
Who said anything happened.
Porsha could hear destruction in the words. But Nia was like that, secretive — something you either were or weren’t — holding and nurturing it all inside until she was ready to let another taste her bitter milk. Okay, Porsha said, be like that then.
I will. And you do like I always do. Find a hole and crawl into it.
Porsha felt the words roaring like ocean in the phone, roaring, as if they had enough wet force to will her into action. Well, I’ll talk to you when you get back.
Sure you don’t want to come with?
Porsha smiled into the phone. She pictured Nia sitting at her office desk, looking like a package somebody else had wrapped. No.
It’ll do wonders.
I’m sure it will.
Okay. I tried. Later, girlfriend.
Later.
THE WINDOW FRAMED A REMOTE WORLD. The day had drawn sure. The night was well along. But night is no hiding place. The earth and its corrupt works shall be discovered. What the cockroach has left, the locust has eaten. Cause the Good Book says that through the windows the locust shall go like a thief. She felt a hot melting urge. She greased her hands in petroleum jelly and eased them into the Lazarus 1 Ascension Aid, patent pending. She failed to levitate. Once again. She’d been unsuccessful for months. Nia had succeeded on her first try, her fat body bobbing balloon-fashion above the bare floorboards.
She returned to her seat before the window. She felt like a passenger in a waiting train. The hum of the air conditioner amplified her feelings. She clicked it off. Quiet. At that moment, she felt pain all over, pain that had been crouching and waiting in the silence and the dark. At first she thought her friend was paying the monthly visit, then the pain declared that it was different. She accepted this difference when the pain declared that it wasn’t pain at all but acute lethargy. She drew the blind cords. Raised the window. Warm night air expelled the musty air of the room. Moonlight gave depth to the objects around her.
Got two minds to leave here
Three tellin me to stay
She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Half-formed images blinked in and out of the ceiling plaster. Head and face a patiently crafted globe directly in the ceiling’s middle, glowing there in the lightbulb’s place. The face grew smaller and smaller until the features were indistinct. She had to think hard to imagine the eyes, the set of the mouth.
In all the folds of her body she felt tired dampness, summer weariness. But this was spring. Day had simmered down to brown evening and evening to blue night. She could string hours together in thin melodic lines but the rhythm had broken. Everything seemed impossible, far away, another world. To escape sleep, she took inventory of her physical being. Silence in her muscles. Her hands rubbed her legs in slow circles. She shut her eyes. Many a day he had met her at the train station. Piggybacked her home. Damn, you heavy. He would watch her walk about the room, loose her hair, take off her garments. Kneeling while she stood, he would kiss all her body. Now, he wasn’t here. A mile away or a million, all the same. Her hands worked. He don’t know what he’s missing. Her open sea scent. A whole life would not be long enough to survey, discover, and explore her soft, curving geography. His loss.
With hidden force, she lifted her body from the bed. She took a long time getting dressed, hindered and slowed by pain. Clothed in cutting elegance, she stepped out into the night. Flowers shone stronger than the moon but she carried the night’s chill — the first cool night in weeks — and trembled like a bird near a pond. She walked rapidly along the empty street beneath failing streetlamps where bugs crashed and whirled in halos of mist. Streetlamps that spread pools of soft fire at her feet. Her footsteps fell lonely and hollow. The night seemed a walking shadow. Her necklace shone like an illuminated noose. She admired herself in the mirroring dark.