My Name Is Leon (14 page)

26

There is hardly anyone at the allotments. No Mr. Devlin. No Tufty. Only a few old men in distant plots and Mr. and Mrs. Atwal sitting on chairs by their shed. Leon waves as he cycles past. He rides through the allotments, past Mr. Devlin's plot, past Tufty's plot and past five other plots, to the edge of the allotment where there are scruffy bits of land that no one wants, where tall, forgotten plants sprout seeds and prickly leaves, coarse and sharp, where there are gnarled trees and overgrown paths. And an old shed.

Leon parks his bike at the back of the shed and tries to open the door. It's made of heavy planks of wood nailed together. He has to pull it hard with both hands and when he steps inside it bangs behind him, clashing against the corrugated iron roof that shudders and moans. A heavy lump of light comes in through a broken pane of glass but the other window is covered in a veil of dust. No one can see him but people might have heard the
door. He peeks out. Nothing. Ropes of curling plants stick to the walls; spiders' webs, thick as cotton wool, nest in the corners and hang between the wooden struts that hold up the roof. There are dead moths and butterflies caught in white sticky traps. The whole place smells of hot soil and dry wood, not like Tufty's shed. There are plastic plant trays upturned on the floor, a metal chair on its side, and a crooked wooden table leaning against the wall, its legs splintered and uneven. Nobody looks after this shed. Nobody wants it. Leon leans against the heavy door and props it open with his backpack to let in some fresh air. He looks out of the gap in the glass. There are no neat rows of plants nearby, there are no wigwams, no water barrels, just wild sprouting plants as high as Leon's knees, clumps of coarse grass, dense, uneven bushes. Leon sits down on the step of the shed. It's perfect.

By the time Leon cycles back toward the gates, lots of people are around and some of them wave at him. He stops at Tufty's shed and goes to inspect the Scarlet Emperors. The shoots seem to grow taller every single day, working their way up toward the sun, coiled tight around the bamboo canes, plaited together, bright green heart-shaped leaves along the stem like a picture from “Jack and the Beanstalk.” Leon always gives them a bottle of water when he passes, even if Tufty's not around. He fills the plastic bottle from the water barrel and drips water over the base of each until the dirt is black and sodden.

“There you are, little plant,” he says, but as he's speaking he has a funny feeling. Something reminds him of Jake and he straightens up quickly as though he can hear him cry. Leon feels Jake so close that his heart begins to bang in his chest.
Jake! Jake! Where are you?
He turns around but everywhere he looks there are just old people bending over with their spades and forks, no babies, no children.

Maybe he heard something. Maybe Jake is living nearby. The
social workers could be lying when they said they didn't know. Again, he turns around and around, his eyes darting from the sheds to the hedges, everywhere and beyond, to the trees and to the tops of the houses and beyond and beyond, to the flats and maisonettes that he cannot see and beyond to the house where Jake lives without him.

He turns again, his eyes scanning the ripped white clouds, the hazy blue. How old is Jake now? If he can walk he might have escaped from his new forever family and he might be trying to find Leon like Leon is trying to find him. Leon feels the sun on his head and the full feeling in his chest and the pounding of all the questions that nobody answers and then all Tufty's plants float up past his eyes like wisps of dancing, fluttery green feathers.

When he wakes up, he is in Mr. Devlin's shed, sitting in an old leather armchair, and Mr. Devlin himself is leaning against the door.

“You're sick,” he says. “There's a drink of water next to you. Look. Drink it.”

Leon sips at the water from a metal army cup.

“When you've had that, get straight home. You shouldn't be out. You have a temperature.”

Leon sits up straight but his legs are empty and weak.

Mr. Devlin puts his hand out.

“No, not yet.”

His voice is different now. Soft like Maureen's.

“Just sit. Sit still. You'll feel better in a short while. It's the sun.”

“My bike,” says Leon.

“Yes, yes. Of course. Don't move. I'll go and get it.”

Leon gets up slowly and looks around. He likes Mr. Devlin's shed. Everything is all piled up and there are lists of things pinned to the walls. There is a walking stick tied to the ceiling
with bunches of onions hanging off it and upside-down plants tied up with string. There is a wooden bow and arrow up there as well, turning in the breeze from the door. It's too high for Leon to touch and it's all dusty like it's been there for years. There is an old brown and green rug on the floor with a hole in the middle and painted wooden boxes on their sides with pots in, old seed packets with faded pictures, an old toy train, a gas mask and a metal can with a lid, the white skull of an animal and a bird's wing. On the shelf above him are lots of old books, more books than there are at school, and a fancy teapot. There is a wooden spear with a carved head propped up in a corner. There are tools everywhere and cans of oil. Everything is old but nothing is dirty.

And tucked behind all the interesting things are photographs of boys, lots of them, dozens; there are five or six different brown boys in the pictures and then lots and lots of one boy in particular. In some of the pictures he's a baby and in others he's three and then five and then seven or eight. He's so pretty he could be a girl. But best of all, on an old wooden bench are lots of knives and some of them haven't got any covers. Leon looks everywhere but he can't see the Kanetsune. Up high, just out of reach, is something that looks like a pistol. It's a real pistol. He can see it just on the edge of the shelf next to a dirty glass jar full of brown liquid. If he had something long he could reach it and knock it down. But he would have to catch it carefully otherwise it would blow everything up. Or he could stand on the arm of the chair and . . .

“Here it is,” says Mr. Devlin, wheeling Leon's bike to the door of the shed.

Leon is standing near the knives.

“You mustn't touch those,” he says and his gruff voice is back. “Best get off home now, if you're better.”

“What are all those things?” Leon asks.

“They are things that belong to me,” Mr. Devlin says and holds the door open wide.

“Is that a real gun?”

But Mr. Devlin doesn't answer. Leon wheels his bike all the way home because he still doesn't feel well, but there are things in Mr. Devlin's shed that he wants to see again.

27

Leon has swollen glands, so he has to miss a whole week of school. Sylvia says he has to tidy his room properly and help her take the weeds out of the front garden. He has to clean his school shoes. He has to help her rearrange the airing cupboard. He has to sweep the path and finally he has to go to the supermarket to help her carry some of the stuff for her street party. She buys lots of tins of salmon and bottles of juice and the bags are so heavy they cut into Leon's fingers.

Sylvia pulls a cart that is full to the top with tea bags and jars of coffee, bags of sugar and trifle mix.

“We're starting early. A little bit here and there and, on the day, we won't have so much to get. It's only six weeks now.”

But Leon just wants to go to the allotments, go to his shed, and make it nice. Get it ready. He has taken a tea towel from Sylvia's kitchen and a little hand broom from under the sink. He has got some tape for the hole in the window and lots of other things. And he needs to get a padlock, because Mr. Devlin has a
padlock and Tufty has a padlock and they do things properly. So after he has done all his jobs, he puts his backpack on and goes to the front door.

“Oi,” says Sylvia. “Where you going?”

“On my bike.”

“Where on your bike?”

“The big gardens.”

“You mean the park?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, “the park with the railings.”

She looks at him for a while, then she lights a cigarette.

“What's in the bag?”

“Nothing.”

“Like what? Give me an example of ‘nothing,' Leon.”

“Like a ball in case I see any of my friends.”

“Two hours,” she says and he races out the door.

It rained in the morning and it rained the day before so the road is slippery and black. He gets off his bike at the allotment gates in case Mr. Devlin is there and wheels it in. Mr. Devlin is kneeling down with a trowel. He raises it as Leon goes by. Tufty is standing with Castro with the ginger hair but as he waves at Leon his face changes. Leon looks behind. A group of men are walking into the allotment behind Leon. They ­haven't come to look at the plants and they're not wearing the right clothes for gardening. They have their hands in their pockets and one of them is kicking stones. They walk straight toward him and they look angry. Leon knows that they have come to take him away for stealing.

The Zebra warned him. Sylvia must have complained to her. He thinks about all the things he has stolen and what he will say. He tries to think of clever answers but all the time he wants to go to the toilet and he can't move. Sylvia has sent them to lock him up. The men are close now. Leon drops his bike. People are staring at the men, Mr. and Mrs. Atwal and Mr. Devlin and
everybody working at the allotments, because they aren't keeping to the path and some of them are walking on people's plants.

Leon takes his pack off and holds it in front of him. He'll say sorry and give everything back. He feels the pain in his chest again and wishes he was the Incredible Hulk and he could fight them all and run away. But the men walk straight past him and surround Castro and Tufty.

One of them is the leader. He has a leather jacket and a thin mustache with a leather belt under his belly. He's smiling at Tufty.

“Linwood Michael Burrows? Long time no see. Never took you for a Percy Thrower.”

Three of the other men have gone into the shed and Leon can hear things being thrown around. The whole shed seems to be moving. Another man is walking around, treading on things and kicking stones.

“And Earl Parchment, aka Castro. Either of you two fancy helping us with our inquiries, to coin a phrase?”

Tufty says nothing but Leon watches him move his feet apart. He sees Tufty make his lips small like he's trying not to let the words out and Leon knows exactly how he feels. Castro opens his arms wide.

“You blood-clat, Babylon! You beast boys can't come in here for we. You don't have nothing on we.”

“Sorry?” says the man. “Didn't catch that.” He takes a step back and looks around. All the people in the allotment are looking over.

“DC Ronald Green, Springfield Road police station, folks,” he shouts. “Nothing to worry about. A driving matter.”

The other policemen start to laugh and DC Green puts his finger to his lips and says, “Sssshhhh.

“Now,” he continues, “it so happens, I'm not looking for either of you this time. Where's Rainbow? That's what I want to know. He's your mate, isn't he? Your ‘brethren,' your ‘spar,' your
‘idrin.' That's the lingo, isn't it? And as for you, Castro, my little carrot head”—he pushes Castro in the chest—“don't come with any of your blood-clat bullshit here. I don't like it.”

Tufty holds Castro's arm. “Leave it, Castro, man. Leave it.”

“Yeah,” says the policeman. “Listen to your reasonable friend. He likes the quiet life, just like his old dad. Does as he's told. Don't you, Tufty? Always just a bystander, aren't you? Perhaps your balls haven't dropped yet, is that it?” DC Green pretends to shudder. “That's an image I don't care to dwell on. Anyway, as I was saying, we're looking for Rainbow. Or, as we know him, that shit-stirring windbag with the tea cozy on his head, Darius White. Where is he?”

There are five policemen in all. Leon counts them but none of them are wearing police uniforms like the lady who gave him the doughnut when Maureen was taken to the hospital.

“He's done nothing,” says Tufty.

“Oh? That's not what I hear. There was a disturbance on Carpenter Road a few nights back, incited, I do believe, by the ever-­eloquent Rainbow. We heard he was leading a pack of you all right down the middle of the road, chanting and spear-­chucking and war-dancing. He was shouting something. What was it now?”

DC Green looks around at the other policemen.

“Down Babylon,” one of them says and they all laugh again but it's not real laughing.

“That's it! Down Babylon. Yes, he had posters and placards and everything. Learned to write at Her Majesty's pleasure, so I understand.”

Castro spits on the ground.

“Yeah, Rainbow speaks for all of we.”

“Then you were there, eh, Castro?”

They surround Tufty and Castro until Leon can't see them anymore but he can hear Castro shouting in fast West Indian. Mr. Devlin is standing close. He beckons Leon toward him, so he
runs over and Mr. Devlin rests his hand on his shoulder. Then the fighting breaks out. Leon's glad that he's standing by Mr. Devlin because of the Kanetsune. He's seen Mr. Devlin using it and, although he doesn't look strong, Leon knows that he really is and he could chop down people just like he chops down bushes and trees. Three of the policemen grab Castro; he starts to buck and struggle but he can't get free. DC Green stands back and shoos everybody away.

“Resisting arrest. Nothing to see. Off you go. Off you go.”

It takes four police officers to drag Castro out of the allotments. He's shouting and fighting and twisting his body. One of the policemen has his arm locked round Castro's neck and Castro's trying to pull it off. Spit comes out of Castro's mouth like he's a wild dog. One of his shoes comes off. His jeans are pulled down to his ankles and DC Green is smiling all the time and tightening the belt on his trousers.

Tufty is shouting, “Leave him! Leave him! He can't breathe!” But DC Green points one long finger and holds it against Tufty's chest, prodding and poking with every sentence.

“Excitable, isn't he, your mate? Whereas you've always been sensible, up to a point. Now, if you'd like to save him a couple of nights in the cells and yet another offense on his rather dense list of priors, you could tell us where to find Rainbow.”

Tufty takes a step away from the policeman. Everyone is watching Castro being dragged away but not Mr. Devlin and Leon. They are watching Tufty. He goes into his shed and he comes out with a shovel. He holds it like a sword right up in DC Green's face then slams it into the ground. It slices through the wet earth just in front of the policeman's toes. It judders back and forth and then stands dead straight.

“This is my land,” says Tufty. “My piece of the earth. My fucking land.”

DC Green puts his hands in his pockets and laughs. He
throws his head back and laughs so loud that all the fat on his belly wobbles.

“Oh, dear me, Linwood. Something rattled your cage, has it? You all make me laugh. You're all the same with your big mouths and your big lips and your ‘pussy' this and ‘ras-clat' that. But when it comes to it . . .”

He kicks the shovel and it falls to the ground.

“Spades don't scare me, Linwood. Not one bit.”

The policeman walks slowly away, kicking a stone in front of him and whistling. Nothing happens for a few minutes then Tufty looks straight at Mr. Devlin. He opens his arms wide, splays his fingers.

“What? You got something to say? I didn't invite them in here. Don't say nothing, all right? Don't open your fucking mouth.”

He picks the shovel up, goes inside the shed, and throws it down. Everybody goes back to their gardening except Mr. Devlin. He looks at the mess that the police have made of the path. He looks at the plants their black boots have trampled.

“They're the same all over the world,” he says. “Small minds, big feet.”

He walks away.

Leon has been told over and over always to ask a policeman for help but these policeman didn't even have uniforms on and they didn't give Castro a chance. Leon walks over to Tufty's shed and looks inside. Tufty is sitting on a stool, picking up pieces of paper. All his posters have been ripped off the wall. The man with the fist and the Black Power has had his head ripped off. Tufty's seeds and little baby plants are in a terrible mess on the floor.

“Don't come in here,” he says and his voice is sharp like he is still talking to the police. “Can't you see it's all a mess? Don't walk in here with your shoes on. I have to see what I can save.”

But most of the plants are broken or stamped on. All the pictures are torn. Tufty picks one up and shows the pieces to Leon.

“You see this man? He says we mustn't fight. Says we can all live in peace. Says don't cause no trouble.”

Leon can only see half a black man's head.

“Yeah? You see him? Well, they killed him. Yeah, shot him dead.”

Tufty stands up suddenly and looks around, kicking the plants and the torn posters and slamming his stool against the wall and flinging the plastic pots all over the place and making even more of a mess than before. When he stops, he's panting.

“Let me tell you, Star. Stand up for yourself. All right? You see me?” He stabs himself in the chest with his finger. “I try, you know. I try hard. Keep my head down, don't cause no trouble. It's how I was brought up but sometimes—” Tufty kicks the side of the shed so hard that one of the planks comes loose.

“Go home,” he says.

Leon backs away, picks up his bike, and pedals home to Sylvia.

But at bedtime, Leon can't sleep. He doesn't want to be in his room on his own and he creeps along the hallway and pushes the door open a little bit. Sylvia is in the sitting room watching one of her programs. He can hear her shouting the answers louder than usual. She's drinking her favorite dark brown beer with the white foam and laughing when she gets the answers wrong.

“Blankety Blank!” she shouts or “Tiebreak!”

Leon opens the door wide and Sylvia turns around.

“Five minutes, you!” she shouts. “Bed at the end of this.”

They watch until the end of the program, then Sylvia herds him back to his room. She stands in the doorway while he gets into bed.

“What's up?” she says.

“I saw some policemen today and they were fighting with two black men.”

“Well, as long as you keep out of trouble you've got nothing to worry about.”

“Can you tell me about the rabbit's adventures?”

“What?”

Sylvia sits down heavily on Leon's bed and flicks her cigarette ash into the palm of her hand. “Rabbit?”

“The one with the permanent wave.”

Sylvia laughs so hard that she can hardly breathe. She takes ages to stop and then she goes to the bathroom and flushes her cigarette away. She comes back and takes a deep breath.

“Right. Rabbit. Let me see.”

She's smiling now and Leon can smell the beer on her breath; he sees how she's trying to sit up straight.

“All right. Well, the rabbit ran off into the woods. He's still waving but obviously the man and the woman have gone now, so he's just waving at the other animals. He waves at a squirrel and the squirrel waves back. He waves at a beaver and a weasel and, what else, a badger, yeah, a badger, and they all wave back and they say to themselves, ‘Wow, what a really friendly rabbit.' So word gets around in the woods that there's this nice little rabbit going about and everyone starts looking out for him. Anyway, he gets into the middle of the woods and, he sees a bear. And he waves at the bear and the bear calls him over. ‘How you doing?' says the bear. ‘Yeah, I'm fine, thanks,' says the rabbit. ‘Do you like it in the woods?' asks the bear. ‘Yeah, it's great,' says the rabbit. ‘No problems?' asks the bear. ‘None, no,' says the rabbit. ‘I'm A-one okay.' ”

Sylvia is a little bit drunk.

“The bear says, ‘That's great. I wonder if I could ask you a question.' ‘Fire away,' says the rabbit. ‘Well,' says the bear, ‘you know when you go to the toilet, for a number two, how do you get the shit off your fur?'”

Leon starts to laugh.

“‘The shit?' asks the rabbit. ‘Yeah,' says the bear. ‘Do you find it difficult to get the shit off your fur?' ‘No,' says the rabbit. ‘It comes right off.' ‘Great,' says the bear and he picks up the rabbit and wipes it over his arse.”