The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter (92 page)

After dinner Rett, Eloise, and I sit on the couch and enjoy
Babe,
a movie Dawit adored growing up and that Lem and I still love. Toward the end she's yawning, and as Rett is putting her to bed, Dawit's old room, I glance in on them. He tells her a story, acting out the parts, her smile broad in anticipation of a tale that has obviously been relayed to her a thousand times. Rett portraying a playful bear begins to tease and tickle his child, she squealing in delight, and I'm moved to finally witness such carefree happiness in my ever heavyhearted nephew.

When he emerges twenty minutes later, Dawit instantly hits him with a proposal: they will go to Africa together, a plan he has just been outlining to his parents. Rett stares, seeming as confused and unsure as that twenty-one-year-old who came to stay with me in San Francisco so long ago. Dawit is as spontaneous as Rett is reticent. Finally my nephew speaks. “I can't. My daughter.”

Dawit frowns, having not considered this obvious factor. “But you can visit me for a couple of weeks. Togo?”

Rett quickly turns to me, and I'm not sure if he's feeling betrayed. Clearly I've told Dawit how his cousin's youthful desire to travel to that particular West African nation has as yet remain unfulfilled. But before my nephew can say anything, Dawit is chattering excitedly about the mud architecture, the markets, riding a camel, and Rett can't help but be drawn in, daring to imagine. For better or worse, Dawit is a boy who makes things happen.

This morning, after a nice breakfast with Rett and Eloise (my son and girlfriend having departed last night to return to their separate apartments of multiple roommates), my nephew and great-niece head off to the Brooklyn Children's Museum (as a dinner debate about the zoo proved inconclusive), thus lunch is a quiet affair with just my husband and me. Yesterday evening Lem had calmly offered Dawit whatever advice he needed with regard to his prospective trip, but as always in private he confides his concerns to me.

“He has to keep his wits about him, you know how his mind can wander. Of course he did fine in Ethiopia. Still.”

I'm nodding my agreement. A tiny chip on the edge of my dish. We've been together twenty-four years, there must be a chip in every plate. A daisy engraved into my fork, I never noticed that before. The spoon's design matches but the knife is plain. Lem's left hand suddenly on my right, holding it firm. “What is it?” and I realize my hand is a clenched fist.

“I guess. I hadn't time to think about it. With everyone here.” I put down my fork. “Remember yesterday, when the nurse came in to shoo you out?”

He nods.

“The doctor didn't come right away, and I dozed.”

“Yes. You told me there was a delay.”

“I dozed and when I woke. When I woke a man was standing at the foot of my bed. An old white man. Plenty of hair on his head, gray, white. He stood very straight. Distinguished. He had a cane, and was holding the hand of a little black boy. The man stared at me. Then he looked at my water pitcher. My name. Then he looked back at me. He saw then that I was awake and he was startled. Embarrassed. The nurse came in and said, ‘He's right over there,' turning the man to show him. As if the man had come to visit my roommate but was confused.” I'm quiet a moment.

“Maybe he
was
confused,” Lem suggests. “Old man.”

“The only visitor my neighbor had. He walked over and sat in the far corner near the window. He kept his eyes fixed on my roommate, who was asleep. The little boy sat on the floor, took out some coloring books and crayons and began to work quietly. The boy and man said nothing, but were clearly very familiar with one another.”

I fall silent again. Then, “You saw him! As we were leaving, when you came to take me out in the wheelchair. A tall man, though perhaps you couldn't tell with him seated.”

Lem shrugs. “I suppose. I didn't really pay attention, love. All I was thinking about was bringing you home.” But he must see the frustration on my face because he goes on. “What does it matter?”

“He was not confused! He stared at me because he
does
know me! I know
him!
I just can't remember how. As a younger man I knew him.” I look up at my husband. “Before you.”

A frown crosses my life partner's face. It's the first time I've ever glimpsed anything like jealousy in his eyes. He's always known about Keith and never felt threatened by his memory. But now I see worry. I'm sure he's unaware that his hand is clutching my fist tighter, uncomfortably so, and he repeats: “What does it matter?”

“If I could remember that,” I say softly, “I could remember him.”

We're silent a moment. Then Lem collects himself, reining in the emotion that had surprisingly manifested, loosens his grip and taps my hand affectionately before retracting his own to pick up his fork.

“Please eat, D. Your quiche is getting cold.”

**

Year since I lost all light an still I ain't use to wakin up the dark, no matter what time, 7 a.m. or noon, no matter how wide I stretch my eyes, dark.

Scratchin. What's at? Somebody writin? Nurse?

“Who's air?”

It stop. I heard it close, my neighbor gone, I heard it close to
me,
my
side.

“Who's air!”

Breathin. Swear I hear—

“Ernest.”

A child? “Ernest?”

Nothin.

“Who's Ernest?”

Nothin. My throat tight.

“Ernest? You come visit me? Somebody with ya?” My heart risin an a fallin.

“Paw-Paw.”

“
Paw
-Paw? Mean your granpaw?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your paw-paw got a name?”

Nothin.

“Ernest!”

“B.J.”

Oh! cry outa me.
“B.J.?”
Breath my breath heart so fast. “That
you,
brother?” An like automatic my hans movin with the words. “You gotta get over here, I cain't see! I did the close work all them years, it turn me bline, you gotta get close to me, brother, lemme feel ya!”

Nothinness. I wonder: I'm dead? If B.J. dead, that make me dead. Right? I'm fine with dead but I jus like clarification on the matter.

Then the chair scrapin, movin close. Beside me. An oh God: his right han touchin mine! I clutch it!

“B.J.! B.J.!” My tears streamin.

But gentle he loose my grip, start to move his hans, lemme feel my han on his: the words.

I'm here.

“I thought you was gone, brother! I thought I lost ya!”

No. I'm here.

“Oh my God. Oh my God sweet Jesus!” Gotta catch my voice fore I go on. “I was gonna be the donor. I was gonna give ya my bone marrow but we moved. I didn't get the letter your wife sent till a year later, it said you don't have the bone marrow soon you be gone. I thought. I tried to reach ya, I called but they said nobody your family at your apartment no more, I thought.”

He study on it fore he answer.

My recuperation took a long time. They had to replace me with another super. We had to leave.

“Aw, sorry to hear that.” When he bring his hans close to his face for the signs I feel his cheek, lips, yeah. My brother. My brother! “Where yaw go?”

Harlem.

“Harlem?”
I cain't help but grin. “Well how yaw like it down air?”

Up
there. One hundred Twenty-seventh Street.

“It nice?”

He wait again, thinkin fore he reply. Guess I jus have to get use to the hesitations.

It was. Too many white people moving in now.

I gotta laugh out loud! In a single lifetime my brother gone from Klan to colored! But wait a minute.

“Brother, I called. Your buildin, somebody tole me they heard you died. Now who gonna start a rumor like that?”

Again he wait.

They said the super died?

“That's what he heard.”

He must have been talking about Lloyd. The super before me. After I recovered, news came that Lloyd who'd retired a few years before had passed on. The person you spoke to must have confused the supers.

I grin. “Guess so, Who's on first. B.J.
B.J.!
” I jus like sayin his name! “But hold on. How you survive without that bone marrow?”

He spell it out. Deb Ellen.

“Deb Ellen?” I gotta rack my brain for that, some file a whole
pile
a decades old. “
Deb Ellen?
Our cousin?”

His han don't move. Why he bringin
her
up. Then I get it.

“Deb Ellen donated the bone marrow?”

Yes.

“Oh my God. You still been in touch?”

I'd been in touch with Leslie Jo, Benja's oldest. When I got sick, my wife wrote to Leslie Jo, asking if anyone in the family could help.

“An ole Deb Ellen stepped up huh. Well! How's
she?
An all them badass kids God, they muss have their own
gran-
brats by now!”

She lives with a woman. Joyce.

“A woman?” My forehead furrowin. “You mean she ain't with Calvin no more? She got herself a roommate?”

I mean she's not with Calvin and she lives with a woman.

It take me a sec. Then I get it! “Deb Ellen! Why didn't I figure that out before?” I gotta chuckle over that! “Now tell me boutcher daughter, that Iona. See, I remember her name! April sent me her little kindergarten picture, it been settin on the mantelpiece all these years with resta the family. What she doin? You turned out to be the bookworm a the Evanses, bet you sent your daughter on to college.”

Now his hans take to flyin.

“Slow down!” I say, laughin. “This is new, brother, feelin your hans, not seein em. An been a long while since I engaged in a signin conversation, take it easy on me.” But I'm happy! I'm happy!

She graduated from her public high school with honors. She went to college in Atlanta and majored in music composition. She sings and plays the piano and the guitar and the accordion and various African flutes and harps and drums and assorted percussions. She spent six months in Vienna on a fellowship. She's married with children and still composes and occasionally performs.

“Well whadda ya thinka that.” I'm all wonder, what B.J. the head saw operator from the mill done brought out into the world.

“B.J. He Iona's? Your granbaby?”

His hans don't move at firs.

Yes, this is Ernest. He's seven.

“Ernest! You gonna come say hi to your great-uncle Randall?”

Somethin goin on, I know Ernest an his granpaw signin back an forth. Arguin, I guess. Finally the boy, “Hello” from where he standin.

“You gotta come closer! I'm a ole bline man, I got to touch you.”

Their hans goin wild.

Then B.J. come back to me. He doesn't want to.

The water in my eyes. “Please, B.J.?”

I shouldn't have brought him. He's staying with me tonight because he has a dentist appointment tomorrow, his dentist is in Harlem.

“Jus this once! Promise I won't never ask again.”

Somethin goin on. Then I hear the boy sigh, drag hisself near me, but leanin his body gainst his granddaddy for protection.

“Well hello there, Ernest. You gonna lemme touch your face?” I reach out for it. I feel him turn away, not obstinate but like he lookin up at his granpaw, This okay? I reach, get a good feel. I see him.

You said his face, not his hair.

“I know, I jus wanted—”

Yes, he's black.

“I don't care, I love him! He's my blood. All the same.”

Ernest signin to B.J., pretty sure he askin can he go now. “Ernest, you go on back to playin.” He still don't move, guess seein if it okay with his granpaw. Then he quick run off. “What
are
ya doin? Drawin?”

“Colorin.”

Well! He answer me without checkin in with his grandfather firs. “I used to like doin at! Your age.” An it occur to me I ain't feelin no pain, an painless is somethin I ain't felt in months. An happy like this somethin I don't remember since my Randy a little boy,
great day!

“Hey B.J. How you find out I'm here? New York?”

Leslie Jo texted me.

I sigh, hospital musta called her after I give em her name. And guess she did care, a little. Now I feel his han lettin go, maybe he afraid I gone to sleep, I snatch it back!

“You ain't said. How's that wife a yers?” He don't answer. “Well. I loss my Erma. 'Eighty-nine. And Randy, my boy. He was jus nineteen, he died in the military trainin exercises.”

I didn't know. I'm sorry, Randall.

“Yeah, well.” I sigh. But also I notice B.J. signed my name for the firs time. I swallow, I cain't say nothin for a little bit, an jus when I think B.J. no intention a ever sharin any pain with me, he do.

She's gone. My wife. Seven years ago.

“Oh. Oh I'm sorry too, brother, I truly am. Lord, she musta been young?”

Fifty-seven. His hans still a while. Diabetes. Her family.

“Aw. Your little girl. How ole was she then?”

Twenty-one.

“Well. Guess if it ain't one thing it's the other. Our family, we had the cancer curse. Cep Pa. That damn head saw blade.”

Somethin distractin him.

The nurse says I have to go.

“What? What! You jus got here!”

You were asleep a long time. She'd come in with a note saying she needed to examine you when visiting hours were over, that I would have to leave, that she would let me know when.

“But cain'tcha stay till after she done?”

Visiting hours are over.

“I bet they make an exception I ask em! B.J.! You the onliest visitor I ever had!”

His hans is still a second.

I have to go.

I hear him bringin his chair back to the corner, I hear the boy puttin his crayons together, movin toward the door.