Manchild in the Promised Land (66 page)

“I'll probably run across the cat anyway.”

“What makes you think that you'll do that?”

“I see quite a few junkies, Sonny. Eventually, they all come lookin' for me.”

“No wonder you're so clean.”

“Yeah, baby, that's the way it is.” Then he said, “You can't give up the hunt, huh, Sonny?”

“No, Rock, I can't do it.”

“Look, if you can't do that, why don't you just let me come along?”

“No, Rock, thanks for the offer, but I can't do that either.” I just wasn't sure that I wanted somebody like Rock along with me, somebody as cold as him. I knew I wanted to hurt this cat when I found him, but I didn't know just how badly I wanted to hurt him. I knew that there was no controlling Rock. I guess I just never forgot the way that boy flew off the roof on 147th Street, or that gang fight on 148th Street. I told him that it was something I felt I had to do by myself.

Rock said, “Okay, Sonny, I can halfway understand that. But, look here, why don't you let me give you a little advice on it?”

“Sure, Rock, maybe you can tell me where to find him?”

“I wish I could. If I could, Sonny, you wouldn't have to find him.”

“Yeah, well, thanks anyway.”

“Sonny, look, whatever you've got on you, why don't you put it down and just take this roll of pennies from me and do whatever you're gon do with that?”

“With a roll of pennies?”

He said, “You could do a whole lot with a roll of pennies, man.”

I sort of laughed at this.

“Look, Sonny, this is not the Harlem that we grew up in.”

I said, “Yeah, man, I had that suspicion a few times.”

“Sonny, I'm not jokin'. You've got to face it, man. You can't be doin' that old kind of shit no more. What you got to do today if a nigger mistreats you is catch him, break his hands, break his legs, or something like that. That's what you got to do.”

“I think you're right there, Rock, I really think you're right.”

“Well, if you really think so, man, let me come with you, just to cool you. I think you ought to have somebody with you, somebody whose moms is not involved in it.”

I said, “Yeah, Rock, I wish I could, man, but I just can't do it. You know?”

“Yeah, man, I know, but, anyway, good luck.”

I never saw Rock again after that. He got busted again, and he was a three-time loser.

I never found Skippy either. The police found him. That was surprising, that the police would really find somebody—that they'd really look for somebody for tw© weeks—for having hurt somebody else in Harlem. I guess Harlem was changing.

Every time I see Danny, he makes me want to look back into the past and wonder if it was real, if it all happened. The last time I saw Danny, it was on 125th Street. I bumped into him, and we stopped and talked for a while. He had two little kids with him, a boy about three and a girl about four or five. I asked him whose kids they were. I thought they were his niece and nephew or something. He said, “Mine, man.”

I said, “Damn.” It didn't seem real. I said, “Has it been that long?”

“Yeah, Sonny, it's been that long. I'm really in that father role now, man. I take the kids to church on Sunday, even. Why don't you come and join us sometime, man?”

It almost frightened me. It seemed like the world was changing too much for me. I said, “Look, Danny, I'd feel real out of place in church, man, even still. But, look, the next time you go to church, man, you say a prayer for me.”

“Yeah, Sonny, we all will, man. My moms keeps tellin' me that it was all an answer to her prayer. Every time I take the kids by and we have dinner there or she comes by my house for dinner on Sunday, she says grace, man. She comes up out of it with a little smile on her face, looks at the family, and says a little, ‘Thank you, Lord.' I don't know. I use to think it was crazy at one time, Sonny, but now, man, I'll tell you the truth, I really don't know.”

“Yeah, Danny, I don't know either. Something's happened to people and things. Life seems to have changed.”

“Yeah, Sonny, I guess maybe it's for the good, man.”

I looked at Danny's little boy, and I said, “What'd you say his name was, Danny?”

“His name is Melvin, man.”

“I wonder if he'll play hookey when he gets to school?”

Danny said, “Hell, he better not, ‘cause I'll beat his ass and take him to school every mornin' and wait right there for him.”

“Yeah, Danny, I bet you will. I bet you know the value of school, more so than most people.”

Danny and I talked about people who had come up in the neighborhood. It seemed as though most of the cats that we'd come up with just hadn't made it. Almost everybody was dead or in jail. But I got the feeling that the worst was over for our generation. The plague wave had come, and we were in its path. It just swept through, and then it was gone. It took a lot of people with it.

Danny asked me what had become of people I knew, “those young boys you use to hang out with,” meaning Bucky and Mac and Tito and Alley Bush and Dunny. I told him that most of them had gone the same way, that they were in jail, the last I'd heard of them. Mac had settled down, but his brother Bucky was crazy and was still acting up. I'd heard he was doing five years for stealing a car.

Danny said, “Yeah, he always was a kind of crazy cat.”

“Yeah, maybe he was.”

“I read about Turk, man, in the paper. He's doin' good, making the entire neighborhood proud of him.”

“Turk is number two in line for the heavyweight crown, man,” I said.

He said, “Yeah, could you imagine that, man? I look around, man, and I wonder if I was there. I see cats now, man, who are strung out, and they were strung out when I was strung out. It looks like they're gonna still be strung out for a long time to come.”

“Yeah, maybe they're paying, Danny; maybe they're paying for some of the shit that you and I got away without payin' for.”

“Sonny, I hope not, man. I felt as though I had done my sufferin'; I felt as though I had done enough sufferin' for me and for all the sins of all my ancestors. You know?”

“Yeah, Danny, sometimes I felt as though you'd done it too, like you'd suffered for everybody in the world.”

Danny laughed and said, “Man, it wasn't that bad. Look here, Sonny, why don't you come by sometime, man?” He gave me his address and his phone number.

“Yeah, Danny, I'll do that.”

“My moms always asks about you, man. She asks me if you've been saved yet.”

I laughed. “Danny, tell her I've been saved, but I don't think it was by the Lord.”

“Sonny, how's Pimp?”

“Pimp's changin', man. Or at least I think he is. The cat finished high school in the joint, got a diploma, and he's talkin' some good stuff. He writes a lot of poetry in the joint.”

Danny smiled. “Yeah, man. I know how that is. The joint could make a cat deep sometimes, sometimes it'll make him real deep.” We laughed.

I said, “Yeah, Mama says he'll be a real fine young man when he comes out, provided he doesn't become a faggot.”

Danny laughed and said, “You know, Sonny, I think, man, with most cats, that stuff is all right in the joint.”

“What stuff?”

“You know. Taking other outlets, deviating from normalcy. As a matter of fact, that's a normal way of life in there.”

I said, “There's no real fear, man. She wouldn't say anything about it if she thought it were true.”

“Yeah, I'd like to see that nigger. I remember the time when I talked to him about drugs and about drug life and about the stuff he'd have to go through. He only seemed fascinated by it, Sonny. It didn't frighten him. I knew, man, I knew that he was gonna be all right.”

“How do you mean you knew he was going to be all right?”

“Because he understood it. I was certain that he understood everything that I was telling him, and at the same time, he had to do it on his own. There was somethin' in his eyes that kept tellin' me, ‘Shit, if that's the way I'm gonna have to suffer and if that's what's waitin' for me, I'm just gonna go on and meet it.' Pimp was a game little cat, Sonny, and somebody like that's got to make it, man. Those are the cats who always do.”

“Yeah, Danny, I hope you're right.”

I haven't seen Danny lately, but I've seen so many other people in Harlem. Most of the junkies around there now are young cats; they're younger than Danny and younger than me. I wish I could get out in Harlem in a truck with a loudspeaker on it, like the politicians do around election time, and just tell the story of Danny to some of the cats out there on the streets nodding and scratching—and maybe tell the story about Turk, the stuff he came through, and the achievements he made despite it all.

I'd like to show them that despite everything that Harlem did to our generation, I think it gave something to a few. It gave them a strength that couldn't be obtained anywhere else.

The last time I walked up 145th Street, I remembered the little boy and the dog with the black spot over his eye, and the boy standing in front of me and saying, “I want to be like you.” I thought, Well, maybe now I wouldn't be so embarrassed about it all. But I thought that there were a lot of guys around there who would have been a better example, guys like Turk and Danny. There were a few cats who'd made it pretty big.

It was unbelievable to think about Tony being dead, having died before he'd had a chance to realize the things he was struggling for He had tried so hard. It was unfair of life not to hold on to him a little longer.

Every time I visit Greenwich Village and pass by the old place where we used to hang out—where we hid from Harlem during the uncertain period—I remember that there was somebody else who had wanted to make it too. I always have the feeling that I have to make it for both of us. I remember the times when we got high and walked around the streets in Harlem and planned to save the neighborhood one day. It was really some dream.

It seemed to me that somebody or something else had also had a dream, somebody or something else that I hadn't even been aware of. This dream was there, and slowly but surely, it was coming true. Somebody had had a dream that all Harlem would be completely changed in about ten years.

It seemed as though most of the old tenements have gone. I can hardly recognize Lenox Avenue any more. A whole section of Lenox venue where there used to be a lot of drug dens—from 132nd Street .o .35th Street—is gone. Now they've got big apartment houses. Only now does it seem to be becoming more of everybody's Harlem.

Al Betts was talking about moving back to Harlem. He said they had some fabulous houses in Harlem now, and this was where his heart was anyway. He'd always wanted to live there, but he couldn't get a decent apartment. Now that it was possible to live there respectably, he felt that he could go back there and really be happy.

I told Al Betts I could hardly wait to get back myself.

The last time I saw St. John, he was still deeply involved in the Coptic. He asked me, “How are you?” in Amharic. I knew what he said, but I couldn't answer him. I felt slightly embarrassed. He looked at me and smiled. “Yeah, Sonny, everybody forgets the word.”

I said, “Yeah, I don't know it. I forgot it, St. John.” I asked St. John how was Father Ford. He told me that Father Ford was dead. I said, “I never would've believed it, because he seemed to be a person who was perpetually young and would never grow old. He looked like the perennial young man.”

St. John said, “He didn't just die, man. They killed him.”

I said, “Who killed him?”

“Those white people killed him, man, for tellin' the truth.”

“Oh, did they find out who did it?”

“No, man. He was working at this place. You know how Father was. He'd tell the truth anywhere he was. He was workin' around all those white people. One day they just found him dead, man, down in this boiler room. They said he must've slipped and fell, hit his head on somethin'. But I know better, Sonny. I know Father Ford wasn't the slippin' kind. You know? It would've taken far more than a hit on the head to take all the life out of that man. He was filled with life.”

“Yeah, St. John, but so was Christ.”

“Sonny, I hope you don't believe that. Christ is still down there in Ethiopia, still filled with life.”

“Yeah, I forget sometimes, St. John.”

“Yeah, everybody's been forgettin', Sonny, but it won't be long before we'll all know. Sonny, until you come back in the fold, peace, brother.”

“Yeah, peace, St. John.”

The last time I saw Reno was on the streets in mid-Manhattan about four years ago. Reno looked much older. Maybe it was the hard life. He was walking fast, looking nowhere, and seeing everything. So I knew he had to be jostling, still.

He acted as though he hadn't seen me. I waited for a while to see if he was in the middle of a trick. After I watched him walk down the street for a half a block, I caught up with him and spoke to him. He turned around, almost too fast, when I said, “Hey, Reno.”

He said, “Hey, Sonny, how you doin'?” But he was kind of cold.

“Oh, I'm doin' fine, man.”

“Yeah, I haven't seen you around lately, man. I've been asking about you, and nobody seems to know where you cut out to.”

“Well, I left town, man.”

“Yeah, I heard. Is there anything to that rumor, man, about you goin' to school?”

“Yeah, Reno, it's something different, something to do.”

Reno threw up both hands, as if to say, “Wow, what a change!” He sort of backed away from me. Then he smiled and said, “Sonny, I always knew you had somethin' like that in you, man. I'm kind of glad that you went on and did it.”