Birdleg, where rain come from?
Stars. Stars are holes in the sky that let the rain through.
That’s not right, Hatch said. Rain falls from clouds.
Yeah, Abu said. Rain falls into the clouds way up from Mars cause the devil be beating his wife and God squeeze the rain from the clouds.
Clouds ain’t no sponges, Hatch said.
Know where babies come from? Birdleg tested.
From they stomach.
Out they navel.
Out they testine.
No.
Where, Birdleg?
A bubble of water. Inside a bitch’s stomach.
BIRDLEG WOULD CLEAN HIS HANDS in dog slobber. Walk right up to a dog and put his hands under the slobbering faucet of mouth.
Damn, nigga. That’s nasty.
Shut up. Know what’s really nasty?
What?
Blackbirds. Buzzards. They drip vomit. That’s why you always see them flying in a circle.
Why?
Stupid. Ain’t you never looked in a sink and seen a drain? The water flying in circles?
What?
Birdleg had a way with dogs. His footsteps summoned them like drums. One snap of his fingers could make a raving dog heel. Two snaps could sic the dog on an enemy. Bear witness:
Stonewall Aces rolled proud and true through the red valley, the jets above reflecting menacing shadows. A rival crew rolled forward, six or seven big boulders, and blocked the path. Red-tied bandannas, threatening, gallows rope.
Damn. What yall sposed to be?
Natty lump lump lump.
Bitch plus three.
The four tricks.
So, nigga. Speak up.
Yeah. Represent represent.
Represent.
Well … Who yall—
Yo mamma, Birdleg said.
Bitch, I’m gon kick yo ass.
Birdleg stooped, rested his palms on his bent knees. Jesus must have blinked, because when he opened his eyes a pit bull shot out from between Birdleg’s skinny ankles. Destruction took over. A black blur of violence, snapping teeth and crunching bones. Like a matador’s cape, red bandannas bringing out the anger bringing out the hate bringing out the violence in the pit bull. And red blood drew more attacking teeth.
Stupid. Bulls are color-blind. All animals are.
Dogs too?
That’s right. Yo mamma too.
The red boulders dissolved into black dust that took to the air, filled the sky. Justice done, the pit bull ran for Birdleg’s skinny ankles and disappeared, yo-yo yanked back up into Birdleg’s stomach.
WHO YALL REPRESENT
Sciples.
A laugh let go Birdleg’s mouth. Stupid. That’s a set.
Vice Kings.
Stupid. That’s a set too. Not the source.
Who you callin stupid?
Don’t you know what a source is?
I’m BP Nation. Chapter One.
Me too. Chapter Thirteen.
AK. Aerosol Kings.
TNT. Too Terrible Testaments.
Killer C’s.
Cobra B’s.
Stupid. Stupid. Is you People or Folks?
Jesus searched the faces of the circle of boys, seeing his face in theirs. Blinked into Birdleg’s bold black outline.
Stupid. People and Folks. That’s the source. Sets come from them.
Yeah, Jesus said.
How you know?
A timeworn train clanked in the distance.
Yeah, Birdleg, how you know?
Birdleg looked at Jesus, unblinking. White eyes. Frozen milk. Yall ever heard of Fort?
Yeah, Jesus said. The words flew from his mouth instant like vomit.
Hightop?
Yeah, Jesus said.
Sure, Hatch said.
Sure, Abu said.
Fort from Stonewall—
What was his real name?
Stupid. Fort, he from Stonewall.
Yeah?
Well, he ain’t from nowhere. He dead. But he lived in my buildin. Buildin A.
Nigga, you lyin.
Let him tell it, Jesus said.
And Hightop from Red Hook.
Something ran a course, through, under, around, behind, and between the words. Crickets hummed. Grass whispered.
They were cousins. And they were sanctified.
The words fell to the bottom of Jesus’s heart and what was at the bottom came out, swirling, turbulent. Sanctified?
They went to church eight days of the week. Sometimes nine.
What you talkin bout, Birdleg?
Yeah, Abu echoed Hatch. What you talkin bout?
Why you talkin bout church?
Yeah. Church.
Hatch scrunched up his face. You tryin to Bible me? The words blew hot as steam. Steam lifted.
I like the Bible, Abu said. I’m a Christian.
Jesus wet his tongue. Gripped his elbows to keep them from flying away.
Stupid. I said they were sanctified. Didn’t say they stayed sanctified. Birdleg revealed a fan-shaped row of teeth. Stupid.
Why you always callin somebody stupid?
Shut up. I’m tryin to learn yall something. Do you talk in school?
What?
I say, do you talk in school?
No.
Well shut up then. Light caught the white in Birdleg’s eyes. Fort and Hightop, they was way back in the old days. Way back. When niggas used to be sleeping on lawns in the summer and cookin in the snow in the winter. See, Fort and Hightop, they used to dance every Sunday in church. Then they started dancing at sets. Everybody knew these niggas had the best steps, so everybody get them to dance gainst one another. Course Fort had the best steps. This one time, he pulled his do-rag off his head, jumped way up in the air, clicked his heels twenty-five times, and polished his shoes befo he landed back on the ground. And he land on one toe and he hold his ground for an hour. He looked like a statue, a stone.
Damn.
Hightop tried to be like Fort. He jumped up and fell down. Well, his toes stuck right into the floor. Yeah, he standing up there on his tippy toes stuck in the floor. Like one of them ballerinas. Five big niggas had to pull him out. People be like, what kind of step is that? Hightop flashed the V sign. He yelled, Vice Forks Love, but everybody thought he said Folks. But since Fort held his ground, he yelled Power to the P-Stone Nation.
How you know?
Stupid, I know.
Jesus was saturated with a soft feeling. He didn’t believe.
What the P stand for? Birdleg tested them.
P for people.
P for power.
P for peace.
P for prayer.
P for pussy.
P for punk.
Words disappeared in the sheen of sunlight.
Okay, pussy, punk. Better not let no Disciples hear you say that. They ain’t as nice as me.
Hatch and Abu sat picture-still. Silent.
Who you represent? Birdleg blinked.
What? Jesus said.
Who you represent?
Well …
What bout you, Hatch?
…
Abu?
Damn, yall don’t represent?
Friends.
Forks.
Persons.
Stupid. It’s People and Folks. I’m People.
Then I’m People too, Jesus said.
I’m Folks, Hatch said.