The Street Sweeper (17 page)

*

‘I’m sorry,’ Diana said, opening the door to the Hispanic-looking man with the moving van who had come to move her boxes, ‘I didn’t hear you. I mean, I heard you on the intercom. I didn’t hear the … the knock. I’m just … you know … not quite … nearly though.’ The man looked at a piece of paper that he’d taken out of his pocket.

‘You’re … Diana, right?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘So how many you got?’

‘I haven’t counted. You can come in and take a look.’ The man took two steps in and didn’t seem to need to count the boxes to be able to ask, ‘Can I start taking them down to the van now?’ She didn’t want to go. Other than having children, she thought her life with Adam had been close to all she had wanted as an adult woman. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Okay.’ Her breathing sped up.

‘Anything fragile?’ the man asked.

*

‘Adam and Diana coming tonight?’ William McCray asked his son Charles later that day as they sat trying not to argue in Charles’ office in Fayerweather Hall on the campus of Columbia University.

‘Adam is.’

‘Something wrong with Diana?’

‘I don’t know. He left a message saying she wasn’t going to be able to make it.’

‘Is she unwell?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Maybe she has an after-hours school obligation. They’re working teachers harder than ever these days. But they still won’t pay them any more.’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t say on the message. You know, I think he calls me on this line when he knows I’m not here.’

‘Why doesn’t he call you at home?’

‘I don’t know. I think he’s avoiding me. I don’t think he wants to talk to me.’

‘You two have some kind of problem?’

‘We haven’t had an argument but we’re going to have a problem. He has a problem all right. It’s professional. It’s … it’s awful. Dad, he is … Adam’s in big trouble.’

‘What is it? You know you’ve got to give him the benefit of the doubt. Start that way at least –’

‘No, no, no one’s accusing him of doing anything unethical. Problem is, for the longest time, he hasn’t really done anything … at all. I mean he
is
fulfilling his teaching obligations, gives lectures, grades papers, turns up to departmental meetings. But he’s not doing any of his own work. He’s not doing any original research.’

‘Well, people have their ups and downs, Charlie. No one can be productive all the time. Has he got a project?’

‘No, that’s part of the problem, I don’t think he has.’

‘Haven’t you talked to him about it?’

‘I’ve tried but … Dad, he’s not going to be offered tenure.’ William didn’t seem to hear the end of the sentence.

‘What do you mean you
tried?
You’re chairman of his department. And you’re his friend, a very old friend.’

‘Dad, there’s a lot going on around here … as you can see. I’ve tried to talk to him but he’s not the easiest person to get a hold of these days.’

‘Neither are you so I guess that ought to bode well for his academic career.’

Charles tilted his forehead into his right hand. ‘I know there’s
some
kind of subtext here, Dad. I don’t know
exactly
how you’re attaching the blame for Adam’s predicament to me, but I’ve got a feeling you’ll tell me. Or are we talking about something else?’

‘No,
I’m
talking about Adam. Listen, you’ll see him tonight, take him to one side, explain the situation, how urgent it is for him to get something on paper and then give him extra time.’

‘Dad, you don’t understand. It’s not like that.’

‘Charlie, you must have some discretion at least as far as time is concerned. Cut him some slack. It’s Adam.’

‘I can’t do anything for him that I couldn’t do for anyone else. You’re a lawyer. You ought to know that better than most people.’

‘It’s
because
I’m a lawyer that I understand the nature of the decision-maker’s discretion. I’m sure you have some discretion in all this. I’m just suggesting you apply it favourably, especially since it would appear you’re late getting on top of this. It’s Adam, Charlie.’

‘Dad, I couldn’t do anything for anyone in his situation. He’s been here for over five years. One book in five years won’t cut it. And he knows that. I think that’s why he’s leaving messages for me when he knows I’m not here.’

‘At least he wrote about his father in his one book. He wrote about
your
father too in that book. It’s a fine book.’

‘You’re not a hundred per cent kidding with this, are you?’ William waved his hand dismissively. ‘I’m a historian of the Reconstruction. If you’d been around then I’m sure I too would have got around to writing about you by now. Sadly, you’re just not that old.’

‘I nearly am. I feel it … sitting here.’

‘Dad, between the administration, the teaching, the departmental politics
and
the university politics, I’m having trouble getting round to doing my own work too. All I want to do … Hell, I’m a historian of the Reconstruction and I –’

‘Yes, you said, Mr Chairman.’

‘Dad, what do you want me to do? I just want to be left alone to do … to read and write on my own area. But I keep getting waylaid and blindsided by all this other crap all the time.’

‘Adam’s not “other crap”!’

‘Dad, please, how can I confide in you if you’re going to be like this? Please, you know what I’m saying.’

‘I
do
know what you’re saying. You’re saying things are very hard for you and you wish someone would cut you some slack.’

‘Why do I feel like you’ve just boxed me in?’ The phone started to ring. ‘Don’t worry; I’m not going to take it.’

‘You can take it.’

‘I’m not going to.’

‘You can take it.’

‘I’m not going to.’

‘Take it!’

‘I won’t.’

‘Charlie, it could be Adam. You’re here
now
. Take it!’

The phone stopped ringing. The two men looked at it and neither of them spoke for a few moments.

‘Charlie, listen to me. You talked about a coalmine before. Remember, a little while ago you said something ‘bout a coalmine? The canary in the coalmine gives you its life and you don’t even know.’

‘Oh, here we go,’ Charles said to a third person who wasn’t there. ‘A canary!’

His father continued. ‘Did you even know it was dead? It looks dead but actually it isn’t. It’s you now. You’re the canary. You think you’re out of the coalmine but you’re not. No doubt about it. You’re still in the coalmine. Only question is: who’re
you
going to save?’

*

Adam continued the lecture. ‘The Lutheran Church in Germany was divided in protest against the “Aryan Church” legislation. By May 1934 a breakaway group had established a new church, the Confessing Church. Bonhoeffer, then only twenty-eight, was one of its leaders.

‘Badly needing to train new pastors, the Confessing Church established an illegal seminary. It was led by Bonhoeffer. Where was it? In Finkenwalde in Stettin on the Oder River in what is now Zdroje in Szezecin on the Odra. This is where between 1935 and 1937 a group of German students were taught, among other things, “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”. Bonhoeffer talked to his students about his experience in New York and about the position of African Americans, saying that he saw parallels between the situation of blacks in the United States and the Jews in Germany.

‘In 1937, the Gestapo closed Finkenwalde. In 1938, equating Jews simultaneously with Bolshevism
and
with international finance, and then attributing to them super-human conspiratorial powers, Hitler threatened that “If the international Jewish finance people inside and
outside Europe, if they succeed in getting the nations of the world into a world war, the result will not be the Bolshevism of the world and so the victory of the Jewish people. No, the result will be the destruction of the Jewish race in Europe.” After
Kristalnacht
, the night of broken glass, on 9 November 1938, a pogrom in which Jews were killed, taken away and Jewish property was confiscated, not even the Confessing Church would dare protest and its members remained silent. All but Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who said, “Only he who cries out for the Jews may sing Gregorian chants.” He continued to maintain the centrality to Christianity of Christ’s Sermon on the Mount but now, when confronted with the evil of Nazism, he jettisoned Jean Lasserre’s pacifism and Gandhi’s belief in non-violent resistance. He felt that in this situation he had no choice. His brother-in-law, Hans Von Dohnanyi, had already by this time recruited him to the
Abwehr
, the office of military intelligence and the secret centre of resistance to Hitler.’

*

Towards the end of the day at the time when afternoon and evening vied for ascendancy, Michelle McCray stood in her kitchen as her fourteen-year-old daughter Sonia, crunching into a carrot, made what Michelle considered the loudest sound she’d ever heard involving a vegetable, an almost ostentatiously loud sound.

‘No problem with your teeth, I see,’ Michelle said to her daughter.

‘What?’ she said, crunching.

‘No problem with your teeth …’

‘I can’t hear you when I’m eating this –’

‘That was my point … sort of … What are you reading?’

‘Nothing,’ said Sonia, having now swallowed the last of the carrot.

‘What’s the book?’

‘Oh, it’s not one
I
chose. It’s for school.’

‘That doesn’t mean it has to be bad. What is it?’

‘Oh, it’s bad all right. It sucks … It’s boring and … unrealistic.’

‘What is it?’

‘You wouldn’t have heard of it. No one has. It’s old and …’

‘Sonia, what is it?’ Her daughter held up a copy of the book and Michelle read the title. It was
The Jungle
by Upton Sinclair.

‘Sonia, are you kidding? That’s a classic.
The Jungle
!’

‘Have you read it?’ Sonia asked.

‘As a matter of fact I have, a long long time ago, but I remember thinking it was fantastic; interesting, moving, enlightening. It certainly wasn’t boring.
I
didn’t think so. Thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of other people didn’t think so.’

‘My class thinks so.’

‘And why’d you say it was unrealistic?’

‘Well, I’m not very far into it but …’

‘Yeah?’

‘’Cause it’s so boring.’

‘Yes, you said that. But why’d you say it’s unrealistic?’

‘Well … it’s set in Chicago, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, it’s set in Chicago and there ain’t any
ni
…’ Sonia stopped herself from finishing the word. She froze, saw her mother’s eyes widen and knew she was in serious trouble.

‘Don’t … you … 
ever
–’

‘What? I didn’t say anything!’

‘I know what you were about to say. Why would you say that? That word has hurt so many people, your people, your family. Don’t you ever say that word around Grandpa William.’

‘He’s deaf.’

‘Sonia, I’m deadly serious about this. I don’t know where to start. People gave their lives, I don’t just mean their careers, I mean they gave their lives so that you might have the kind of life that you have.’

‘Mom, I understand what you’re saying but a lot of African Americans use that word now. You know they do. Black people say it on TV, in the movies … Your clients use it and you know they do.’

‘My clients are mostly disadvantaged, disenfranchised, disillusioned and uneducated. That’s why they use it. What’s your excuse?’

‘I don’t know, Mom. It’s only a big deal if you make a big deal of it.’

‘Well, you listen to me ‘cause I’m making a big deal of it. I don’t want you ever using that word in this house. You understand … Sonia. I’m serious. You understand?’

‘Yes, Mom.’

‘I’m surprised at you, coming from this house, with all that you know.’

‘Mom, I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t even actually say it.’

‘I wouldn’t pursue that line of argument if I were you, miss. I’d go back to sorry if you want an easy life around here.’

‘They say it on the radio.’

‘Not the radio in this house.’

‘Yes, they do. I heard it on NPR.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah, that day I was home sick. They were talking about it on one of the morning shows. African American listeners called in and they said we can use it if it’s … if it’s … what is it? … ironic.’

‘Sonia, do you know what “ironic” means?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then?’

‘Ironic is … er … sort of funny … It’s when something’s funny in a kind of grown-up way.’

‘That’s not really what “irony” means. You look it up. You want me to get your dad or maybe Grandpa William to talk to you about the meaning of “ironic”?’

‘No thanks.’

‘’Cause they’d want to know how we got started on the topic …’

‘Sorry, Mom.’

‘Let me say this without the slightest trace of irony. I don’t want you ever using that word in this house, Sonia. Ever. And you can drop those “ain’t’s” too. It
ain’t
“acting white” to speak your own language properly. People fought for you to get the best possible education. It would break your grandpa’s heart to hear you talk like nothing had changed.’

‘Sorry, Mom.’

*

‘That’s it. That’s the last of them,’ the Hispanic man with the van said to Diana. ‘I’ve got room up front if you want to ride with me. Save you getting a cab.’

‘Sure. Thanks. I’ll just have one last look around. I … um … I’ll be right down.’ The man went down to wait in his van. Diana was alone in the apartment. All her possessions were in boxes in a van on the street. This was it. She was still holding the photo of Adam as a toddler in quilted overalls. Perhaps he would change his mind. But the plan was to not be in touch for a little while to give each of them time to adjust to life without the other. Neither of them asked for nor offered a definition of ‘a little while’. She took the photo with her as she walked through each room of the apartment. She was breathing quickly. They’d hugged when Adam had left in the morning. Neither of them had wanted to end the hug but Adam had a lecture to give that he’d already cancelled once.

On the street the man waited for Diana to come down. He’d thought this job was going to be easy. He’d only had to come from Inwood and the final destination was Hell’s Kitchen. There were not too many boxes and all of them seemed to be well made. What could be simpler than this? But the woman was taking a long time to come down. He couldn’t hurry her. He almost never hurried them. This woman looked like she might cry. Then what would he do? All he could do now was wait. He got into the driver’s seat and and inserted a cassette of a compilation tape of some music someone had once made for his late father.