By the time they got home, Jam was recovered enough that he didn’t have to lean on anybody. “Maybe you should take me back to school, Mama, I feel a lot better.”
“So does that mean you were faking it before?” asked Mother. “What’s so bad that you want to get out of it and jeopardize your whole future by skipping school, not to mention jeopardizing my job by making me leave all in a rush to take you home?”
“If I could’ve talked I would have told the nurse not to call you.”
“Answer my question, Jamaica.”
“Mama, he was passing around a stupid stone, talking about alchemy as the forerunner of chemistry, and claiming it was a philosopher’s stone. Only it picked up a static charge and zapped Rhonda Jones’s hand and she dropped it, and Mr. Laudon was having a hissy fit, trying to make her pick it up even though she had already touched it and what’s the point anyway, he was just going to tell us that alchemy doesn’t work but chemistry does, so why should we all touch the stupid rock?”
“Let me guess. You saw injustice being done so you had to put your face right in it.”
“I just bent over to pick up the stone and I must have passed out because I woke up on the floor.”
“You didn’t pick it up?”
“No, Mama. You accusing me of stealing now?”
“No, I’m accusing you of having something seriously wrong with your health and having visions of getting called out of work next time because you turned out to have a faulty valve in your heart or something and you keeled over dead on a basketball court.”
“The only way I’ll ever get on a basketball court is if I’m already dead and they’re using me for a freethrow line.”
“I got too many hopes pinned on you, you poor boy. If only — I should have killed him instead of marrying him.”
“Don’t go off on Daddy now, Mama.”
“Don’t you call him Daddy. He’s nothing to you or to me.”
“Then don’t bring him up whenever anything goes wrong.”
“He’s the reason everything goes wrong. He’s the reason I have to work like a slave every day. He’s the reason you have to earn a scholarship to get to college. He’s the reason your poor brother is in that house on his bed for the rest of his life, your brother who once had such… so much… ”
And then, of course, she cried, and refused to let him comfort her until he made her let him hug her, and then it was him helping her into the house, making her lie down, bringing her a damp washcloth to put on her forehead so she could calm down and get control of herself so she could get back to work.
He closed the blinds and closed the door as he left her room. Only then did he go into the living room where Gan’s bed was, in front of the television, which he didn’t really watch, even though it was on all day. The neighbor lady who supposedly looked in on him several times a day would set the channel and leave it.
“How you doin’, Gan?” said Jam, sitting down on the bed beside his brother. “Anything good on? Watch Dr. Phil? I already got myself in trouble with a teacher — chemistry teacher, and a complete idiot of course — and then I passed out and smacked my head on the floor and threw up. You should have been there.”
Then, even though Gan didn’t say anything or even make a sound, Jam knew that he needed his diaper changed. It was one of the weird things that Jam had been able to do since he was nine, and Gan got brain-damaged — Jam knew what Gan wanted. He learned not to bother telling Mother or anyone else — they just thought it was cute that “Jamaica thinks he knows what Ghana wants, isn’t that sweet? Always looking out for his brother.” Jam simply did whatever it was Gan needed done. It was simpler. And it gave Jam a reputation among the neighborhood women as the best son and brother on God’s green earth, when he was no such thing. It’s just that he knew what Gan wanted and nobody else did, and nobody would believe him, so what else was there to do?
Jam got a clean diaper from the box and brought the wipes and pulled down his brother’s sheet. He pulled loose the tabs and then rolled his brother over. And this was the other weird thing that had started when Jam began taking care of his brother: His skin never actually touched the diaper or anything in it. It was like his fingers hovered in the air just a micron away, so close that you couldn’t fit a hair between, and he could pick things up and move them as surely as if he had an iron grip on them. But there was never any friction. Never any contact.
All that Mother noticed was that Jam was tidy and never soiled his hands. She still made him wash. Once, defiant, Jam had gone through the whole handwashing ritual without ever letting the soap or water actually touch his skin. But it took real effort to repel the water, not like fending off solid objects. So he didn’t bother pretending, when washing was so easy. Didn’t bother defying anybody, either. Except when somebody was being a bully. If he’d stood up to Daddy, got between him and Gan, maybe things would have been different. Daddy never hit Jam, it was only Gan he lit into, even at his angriest.
The diaper was a real stinker but it made no difference to Jam. It didn’t soil his hands, and he had stopped minding the smell years ago. Dealing with anybody else’s poop would make him sick, but it was Gan’s, so it was just a thing that needed doing. Jam cleaned off his butt — it took three wipes — and then folded the diaper into a wad and dumped it into the garbage can with the anti-odor bag in it.
Then he opened the clean diaper, slipped it into position, and rolled Gan back onto it. Now that everything was clean again, he didn’t bother fending — his hand touched the bare skin of his brother’s hip. He was about to fasten the diaper closed when suddenly Gan’s hand flashed out and gripped Jam’s wrist.
For a moment all Jam felt was the shock of being grabbed. But then he was flooded with emotion. Gan grabbed him. Gan moved. Was it a reflex? Or did it mean Gan was getting better?
Jam tried to pry Gan’s hand from his wrist, but he couldn’t — his grip was like iron. “Come on, Gan, I can’t fasten the diaper if you—”
“Show me,” said Gan.
Jam looked at his face, looked close. Had Gan really said it? Or was it in his mind, the way Jam always knew what Gan wanted? Gan’s eyes were still closed. He looked completely unchanged. Except for the grip on Jam’s wrist, which grew tighter.
“Show you what?”
“The stone,” said Gan.
A shudder ran through Jam’s body. He hadn’t told Gan anything about the stone. “I don’t have it.”
“Yes you do,” said Gan.
“Gan, let me go get Mama, she has to know you’re talking.”
“No, don’t tell her,” said Gan. “Open your hand.”
Jam opened the hand that Gan was gripping.
“Other hand.”
Jam’s right hand was still holding the tab on the diaper, preparing to fasten it. So he finished the action, closing one side of the diaper, and then opened his hand.
Right in the middle of his palm, half buried in the skin, was the stone. And it was shining.
“Power in the stone,” said Gan.
“Is it the stone that healed you?”
“I’m not healed,” said Gan.
Then, as Jam watched, the stone receded into his palm and the skin closed over it as if it had never been opened.
“It wasn’t there before, Gan. How will I know when it’s there?”
“It’s always there. If you know how to see.”
“How’d I get it? I never touched it. How’d it get inside me like that?”
“Your chem teacher. He serves the enemy who trapped me like this. He gathers power for him and stores it in the stone. Steals it from the children. When he has to tell his master that he lost it….” Gan smiled, a mirthless, mechanical smile, as if he were controlling his body from the outside, making himself smile by pulling on his own cheeks. “He’ll want it back.”