Holding Pattern (16 page)

Mamma started singing.

Water drained from Lee’s eyes.

Cry, baby, cry, Mamma said. She touched a ball of cotton to her lip. Wipe yo weepin eyes.

She touched the cotton to her lip.

Cry, baby, cry. Wipe yo weepin eyes.

I ain’t no crybaby, Lee said.

Then why you cryin?

Pop hit you.

So? Do you see me cryin?

Nawl. But he hit you.

But I ain’t cryin.

Why not?

Ain’t got nothin to cry bout.

But he hit you.

How come you gon cry, if I ain’t gon cry?

He hit you.

We make a deal. I won’t cry, if you won’t.

Lee is ten:

In the library, he studied his father. Avoided the man’s eyes. This way he hoped to close out his mother’s suffering. Block out the deep hurt that showed in his father’s face. Pop put one small hand over the stump where it fitted into the hinge of his wooden leg. He deserved to suffer. Lee wished that he could make the pain worse.

Silent, his father retired to bed.

Lee stole away to his mother. Rubbed wintergreen alcohol on her wounds. Massaged cocoa butter into her scars. He invented his own space, his own world. Mamma’s lumpy flesh a bag full of stones beneath his hands. The wintergreen a weak wind tickling his nose.

I should just take you and go away.

That’s right, Mamma.

He ain’t no good for you.

No good.

But he need me.

No, he don’t. The wintergreen made Lee sneeze. He concentrated harder on his world.

I need him.

No, you don’t.

He needs us.

Let’s go.

Where we going? He need me. I love him.

Lee was eighteen:

New muscle. He worked up the courage to confront Pop.

Pop.

What?

Don’t hit my mamma.

What? He gave Lee a cold glance. Lee had expected a blow.

Well, suh—he felt his courage slipping—she might kill you.

Pop looked at him. Did she tell you that? He showed his teeth.

No, suh. It’s just that people don’t like nobody hitting on them.

Pop’s lips strained over the stalactite of teeth, biting in a laugh. Lee?

Yes, suh.

Pop leaned in close. A fever reached Lee’s face. That’s the best way a man can die. At the hands of the woman he loves.

Yes, suh. Lee didn’t know what else to say. Some feeling struck him at the root of his belly.

Lee?

Yes, suh.

What is an avenue?

What did his question have to do with anything?

What is an avenue?

I never heard of that, suh.

I’ll tell you. It’s a type of street made like a U. You go down one way, and when you get to the end, it curves back around like that. He demonstrated with his small hands. It’s like that horseshoe up there. He pointed to the object over the door.

Yes, suh.

They got many avenues in Paris. Saw them during the war. They make their streets real close to a curb. This close. He used his hands. We’d drive by in a jeep and some joker be standing on the street and we drive by and slap him just like that, slap that joker right upside the head. Only time in my life that I got to hit white folks. He laughed.

Lee laughed. He saw nothing funny.

Up north, they like to call everything an avenue. When you go up there, don’t be fooled.

Yes, suh. When? Lee thought. He had no plans.

If it don’t look like that horseshoe, it ain’t an avenue.

Yes, suh.

That night, Lee’s mother stood in the kitchen, hard at work with her fold out closet board. Her new electric iron. The only woman in town who could afford one. She sprinkled water from an empty pop bottle onto Pop’s shirt. She was singing.

Mamma?

Baby.

He might kill you. He mean to.

No. I’m gon kill that nigger.

When?

Lord, forgive me.

When?

You know it wrong to kill.

But he gon kill you.

Let me tell you something.

What?

A person kills with the head and not the heart.

These were just words for Lee.

He tell you all that stuff bout a man needin brains and discipline. Well, I say this. Give your brains to books, but give your heart to Jesus.

Lee couldn’t confess that since the age of about seven—yes, he’d concealed the secret that long—he hadn’t believed in God. He didn’t believe in the goings-on at the Mount Zion Baptist Church. Don’t let him kill you.

He can’t kill me. The Lord take me when it’s my time to go.

The following Sunday, he and Mamma walked out of the church, into the blazing shimmering sun, and there was Pop, in the square, his wooden leg blazing fire. Pop had dropped his bottle. Or it had spilled from his fingers. He had doused himself in alcohol. The hot sun had ignited it. A hot wind whipped Lee’s pants legs. The heat beat into his back and legs. Mamma took off after Pop. Lee shielded his eyes from the sun, which sprayed like buckshot in his face. Maybe the fire would burn Pop’s entire body.

Mamma tackled Pop. He fell backward, slipping on an invisible banana peel. Mamma smothered the flames with her short torso, no longer than Pop’s leg. From where he lay, Pop punched Mamma in the face. The blow threw her off the smoking leg—maybe fingers of flame had pushed her hot—onto the square’s pavement. Lee walked home, alone.

That night, Lee changed the cotton gauze he had placed over the gash above Mamma’s eye. Withdrawn so far into his own space, even the smell of wintergreen couldn’t reach him.

Lee?

Ma’am?

You a man.

Yes, ma’am.

Do something for me.

Ma’am?

Remember. Give your heart to Jesus.

He tried to kill you.

Yes. And a person can be a fool for only so long. Her voice exploded in Lee’s mind. He concentrated on his space.

The following morning, Lee discovered Mamma had buried a hatchet in Pop’s head. The red blade indistinguishable from the red of the head. Mamma had slit her throat with a knife, the butcher knife that had cut bread gripped firm in her hand, to prevent it from slipping away. Blood swam in Lee’s head and red-hot fish swam in the blood.

Lee put the bodies in two liquor crates. Buried them in the yard behind the house. Took the money from the safe. Slipped inside the blue truck. Drove north.

The city didn’t surprise Lee. But the light was different. Every day he could taste the sun on his tongue like salt.

To save his money, he got himself a small studio apartment, drank water, and ate peanuts and liver sausage. Managed the Red Rooster, a greasy chicken joint, while attending business school at night. Concentrated on accounting and systems analysis. Finished school. Found employment with BAM, Black Accountants on the Move, and, when the opportunity came, bought the Black Widow Exterminating Company. Thought sharp. Dressed sharp. Slapped on the best cologne. Knew he could impress no one with his face. Then he met Loretta.

She was nineteen.

Stood, dark, behind the cashier’s counter at the Lucky Seven, a small grocery store. (As he would learn, she lived in a small room above the store. Slept on a bed with a thin mattress. Stacks of spirit-filled books crowded the room from floor to ceiling.) Yes, dark. Almost black. Had she survived a fire? Her hair short. Her body thin. Even thinner in baggy men’s chinos. She had large black eyes that made you want to look into them.

As a first step in resurrecting his new company, Lee developed new products that could be sold to the average customer. His chemists had started a new product, Rat Hotel—it would soon spark the public’s interest and put the company back on its feet—and Lee was personally bringing it to stores and asking store owners to give free samples to customers.

Is the owner in?

No.

Lee explained his product and purpose.

Why do you want to kill rats? Loretta asked.

It’s what I do for a living. Lee laughed. A genuine laugh for a genuine joke.

Don’t you know that every rat has a soul?

He could tell that she was serious. Large black eyes, two little pools of oil. He caught himself. He was slipping in. That’s one I never heard before.

Everything has a soul. Don’t you know about reincarnation?

No.

Why not?

I don’t believe in God.

Why not?

I’ve never seen him. He chuckled, hoping to lighten things up.

Don’t waste your time looking for a Christian God. He don’t exist.

Well, what kind of god are you talking about? Are you a Buddhist?

I ain’t no Buddhist. But I know a little bout that too. We live in a multidimensional universe. God is all the dimensions.

Lee had to consider this.

Here, I got a book for you. Her hand disappeared under the counter. Emerged gripping a worn paperback. Slid it toward him.

He read the entire thing that night. Found it totally unconvincing, but it gave them something to discuss the following day. She gave him another book. He read it. The pattern was set. Their conversations continued. Reincarnation. Soul mates. Astral traveling. Demon possession. The eternal validity of the soul. Ghosts. He felt warm whenever she was near. When she spoke about a subject, her deep black eyes held a small but intense light. Lee warmed by the glow of her body beneath the baggy men’s clothes. The feeling was strange and good. But there was also a feeling of desperation and separation. He was glad that she led the conversation; however, about her past, she formed an impenetrable wall. All he knew: she’d had a difficult childhood. Or so he figured. She never discussed her family. One day they came close to destroying the barrier:

My mamma, she say that death is in our pocket all the time, Loretta said.

What else does she say?

Not too much.

Is your mother alive?

Maybe.

Is your father alive?

Maybe.

How come you won’t tell me? Don’t you trust me?

No.

Why not?

I don’t know. She sounded sincere.

My parents are dead.

Don’t tell me.

My mamma—

She put her hands over her ears. Don’t tell me.

And he never did.

It was more than three months after they met before they made love. The romance started with Lee giving her chaste kisses on the cheek. And she loved to hug. Started wearing dresses and tight-fitting pants. Tried to grow her hair long.

One night, in her book-crowded room above the store, she clutched him tightly. He was amazed at her strength. Was she trying to squeeze his spirit into her body? She smelled like a woman. Especially when he buried his nose in her short hair. He didn’t know how long they’d been hugging, but after what must have been at least a half hour, her hug hadn’t weakened.

I’ll always be here for you, Lee said.

All men say that.

Well, I just ain’t all men. He laughed. I love you.

I don’t need your love.

Everybody needs love. He hated saying this. Loved her but hated saying it.

You just want a hole to stick your dick in.

Lee felt a tug in his chest. Loretta had never used such language before. No. I love you, he said.

Well, keep your love. Tender feelings are pointless.

He kissed her forehead.

Keep your kisses.

He kissed her cheek.

I don’t need your kisses.

He kissed her neck. He continued. His kisses soft and slow, and searching. Following the soft curves of her body until they found her lips.

The first time Lee and Loretta made love, she wouldn’t let him get on top. She got on top of him and moaned down in his face. He kept his eyes open. He didn’t want to miss anything. Afterward, their bodies were covered with sweat as light as dew. He could taste the salt.

A month later, they married. Without ceremony. They got three witnesses—three of Lee’s employees—and said their vows before the justice of the peace. So Loretta wanted it. Not that Lee had a single friend.

Life flowed fine during the first months of their marriage. The business was coming along. Lee purchased his first buildings. They leased a large apartment. Loretta quit her job at the grocery store. Lee ran the business during the day, while Loretta explored her interest in the paranormal. One day, Lee arrived home from work and saw Loretta in the kitchen with a glass of tea.

Lee?

What?

I need your help.

Anything for you, baby girl.

Help me find somebody.

A strange request. She had never mentioned any friends.

Who?

Phil.

Lee’s skin got hot. Who?

Phil. He dead.

Lee laughed until his stomach hurt.

He dead. Loretta sipped her tea. Her eyes black stones in her face.

Dead?

Got killed in a car accident.

Lee didn’t say anything.

On Easter. Four years ago. I need to find him.

Now I heard everything, Lee thought. He decided to play along.

We was in love.

Something kicked inside Lee’s belly.

But he was married and had a child.

So you want me to resurrect your dead lover? Lee avoided her black eyes. He could taste the bitterness in his voice.

Don’t be jealous.

I’m not jealous.

I love you.

Oh, I see. But you love him too?

That was a long time ago.

Not long enough.

Don’t be that way. I love you.

Right.

I just need to find him and find out if he all right.

He dead, ain’t he?

I love you. Don’t be jealous. I need to know if he all right.

Jesus.

Sometimes when a person dies so badly, their soul can’t rest.

Which book is that from?

He ain’t no danger to you. I was fifteen. He was twenty-five. A grown man.

Lee didn’t say anything.

It was a long time ago. He was married and had a child.

Did you fuck him too?

Now, don’t be like that. We never did anything but kiss. A couplea times we grinded. But he was married and had a child.