Yaccub's Curse (39 page)
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Chapter 21
“The lower socio-economic Black male is a man of confusion… He faces a hostile environment and is not sure that it is not his own sins that have attracted the hostilities of society… He looks around for something to blame for his situation, but because he is not sophisticated regarding the socio-economic milieu… He ultimately blames himself.”
—Huey P. Newton, “To Die For The People”
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I think the gun will fit now. Now that all the words are out. My guilt is no less though. That wasn’t the point. I’m not seeking forgiveness or absolution. If Dr. Yaccub really did create me to be a pawn in his plan for eternal racial disharmony then forgiveness is impossible, absolution is impossible. Perhaps I could still have been a good person despite the genetic instincts programmed into me by that mad man long ago. Maybe there is something to the Christian’s free will argument. Perhaps I could still have been an asset to my race somehow. All I know is that I wasn’t. I murdered my own people for money. I assisted in the drug trade that has crippled the Black community out of greed. I lived my life as the very stereotype so many of us have fought to overcome. I am every bit as evil as Scratch ever was.
The baby is safe. Huey and Iesha are raising him. I tried to talk to Huey about what Scratch told me. About how all White People are not devils and how Yaccub had manipulated us all into believing they were by exploiting our own natural tendencies toward prejudice and bigotry. How the same trick was being played on the White community. I don’t know if he understood. Maybe he will after I am gone. Maybe the baby will teach him. Scratch said the baby represented harmony, peace, and forgiveness. God’s gift to the world. I can only hope that the kid will do his job. I can only hope that Scratch and I will never be resurrected.
I pick the Beretta up again and slide it back into my mouth. I slide it back until it touches my tonsils and makes me gag. The taste of metal and gun oil is overpowering. My eyes water. I think of Christina and realize that I love her. I want to pick up the phone and tell her goodbye, but I know the sound of her voice would steal my nerve away and this has to be done if my people will ever have a chance at peace. I think of all the rap songs and videos, movies, and video games that glorify the type of life I have led. It’s so much to overcome. I think of the baby again, the soft ancient eyes filled with wisdom and patience. He has his hands full.
The trigger is taut and anxious. So many nights I have sat with this gun in my mouth and every time I have found a new reason to live. This gun has hungered so long for my blood. Now, I have finally run out of reasons. No more excuses. I pull the trigger and quench the weapon’s thirst.
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Epilogue
Huey looks over at the baby as he pilots the Monte Carlo through traffic. Iesha mockingly named the kid Jesus. Huey smiles at the name as he whispers it at the child and watches his tiny head turn in response. Already he knows who he is, understands his destiny.
The sun is setting and the shadows have begun knitting together into large patches of darkness. The Monte Carlo cruises to a stop at the entrance to Wissahickon Park. Huey tries not to look in the child’s eyes as he unstraps him from the car-seat. He hugs the child tight to his chest as he walks into the park.
The trees have formed a ceiling over the trail, hiding the moon and stars and making the darkness total. The trickle of the creek water running down stream helps give Huey direction as he walks. The sounds of animals he can’t identify follow him every step. The chirp of the crickets and the whisper and giggle of the creek water enhance the feeling of solitude.
He leaves the trail and carries the baby down the side of the embankment to the edge of the water, careful not to drop him. When Huey reaches the creek he steps out from beneath the trees and the sky opens wide above him. The moon and stars light up the night, twinkling off the miniscule waves rippling across the creek. Huey sits down on a fallen tree and lays the baby beside him. Only now does he look down at the baby. His eyes peer deep into Huey’s and he frowns, those ancient eyes still patient and unafraid.
“I know you know who I am. You’ve known it all along. I could see the recognition in your eyes the first night I saw you. I want you to know that this ain’t got nothing to do with any hate towards you. It’s the White man that I hate and I just can’t let you forgive them. I don’t want peace. You understand? I don’t want it. I want all those bastards to die even if I have to kill them myself one by one. I didn’t mean for Snap to kill himself though. I didn’t think he’d really believe Scratch about Dr. Yaccub creating him to encourage White folks to hate our people. If I thought he really believed it, that he was really going to off himself, I would have said something. I’d have told him the truth. It’s too late now. Too late for all of us.”
Huey takes out the Sig Sauer and puts it to the baby’s skull.
“Goodbye, little bro.”
The sound of the gunshot echoes across the surrounding hills and out over the highway. A flock of ducks take off into the sky, startled by the loud report. Huey watches them disappear across the horizon before turning back to look at the baby’s ruptured skull. He reaches down into the pile of chunky gray matter leaking out of the infant’s head with both hands and begins to feed.
When Huey finally stumbles out of the woods back to his car he feels no better than when he left the house. Killing the baby did nothing to quiet the unease in him.
How could it have been the wrong fucking baby?
He drives home with his emotions running from rage, to fear, to panic.
It’s all over. If that baby lives it’s all over.
The house is silent when Huey bursts through the door and collapses onto the couch with his thoughts whirling through his head like a tornado. This had never happened before. Scratch had failed and now Huey had failed as well.
I know that baby is close. I just know it is.
Iesha walks into the room smiling from ear to ear, oblivious, as usual, to Huey’s foul mood. She sits down next to him on the couch and smiles at him, trying to get his attention.
“I felt the baby kick. You want to feel?”
She grabs Huey’s hand and places it on her belly as what looks like a footprint stretches against her skin from inside.
It has to be somewhere that neither Scratch nor I would have ever thought to look.
He feels movement beneath his hand as the baby kicks against Iesha’s stomach.
“See? Can you feel that?” She beams at him jubilantly
Huey looks down at Ieasha’s distended belly as it continues to undulate with their child’s movements. He looks back up into Ieaha’s eyes and smiles, then the smile falls hard into a twisted scowl.
“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because God has one fucked up sense of humor. That’s why.”
Iesha’s eyebrows knit together in puzzlement as Huey gets up off the couch and walks into the kitchen. Seconds later he comes back with a knife.
“Jesus!” she shrieks as he plunges the blade into her stomach.
“Let’s hope it is.” Huey replies.
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WRATH JAMES WHITE is a former World Class Heavyweight Kickboxer, a professional Kickboxing and Mixed Martial Arts trainer, distance runner, performance artist, and former street brawler, who is now known for creating some of the most disturbing works of fiction in print.
He is the author of
Succulent Prey,
The Book of a Thousand Sins,
and
His Pain.
Wrath is also the co-author of
Teratologist
co-written with the king of extreme horror, Edward Lee and
Poisoning Eros
co-written with Monica J. O’Rourke. Wrath lives and works in Las Vegas, Nevada with his two daughters, Isis and Nala, his son Sultan and his wife Christie. When he isn’t writing or working he continues to compete in kickboxing events and train mixed martial arts competitors.
