So many people were at home; it was late afternoon on a Sunday with little else to do but welcome a guest.
I rang the doorbell of Mr. Goreen, who worked as a piano teacher out of his home.
He was mildly suspicious so he looked at every page before giving me his money. I let him watch as I wrote his title, address and dollar amount on the last few blank pages of my book.
— Your cursive is so neat, he said. Do you want some water? I can make a sandwich.
To get five thousand dollars only five hundred people had to fund me. I had a thousand bucks after only one hundred and eighty minutes. The only uncharitable homes were those where the owners had been out. My neighbors were kind. Many families fed me; a slice of banana bread at least.
The more money I took the less I looked at folks directly, but my embarrassment only made them more generous. They tried, in small ways, to take care of me.
A diplomat finds himself at the doorstep of important people as he travels through any country. Eventually, even the President must be met.
He asked, — How many other people gave you money?
— Everyone.
— I guess I’d be the first to say no then?
— Are you going to say no?
He was holding the book so now he actually looked at it. — You telling me so many people like these freaky-deak movies? How am I even going to rent them? I know I never seen any of these at Blockbuster.
— It’s like owning a book about Madagascar. You’ll probably never go, but you can get an idea of what the place is like.
— How much?
— Ten dollars.
— You want it right now?
— Yes I do.
He went into the house and almost as quickly he returned. — Come back in a little bit, he said. I’ve got to see if I can borrow.
— Forget it Mr. Jerome. I’ll put you down and you pay me later.
— You come back in half an hour and just hush.
I went on until I reached the homes that abutted Kennedy Airport. It was so loud out there that I yelled my introductions. Even the bald man with a beard, in the house without window guards, slid me money. By 7:00 PM I had fifteen hundred dollars and sore knees. With a car I could have done three times as many places.
I gave the President sixty minutes to rub together the money, but he hadn’t been able. When I rang the bell it was Mrs. Jerome, the President’s Wife, a beautiful fat woman with a Manhattan phone book balanced on one hand. The President came out when she called him; she patted her husband’s stomach before going back down the hall.
— I can’t buy none, he said. I’m having trouble getting the money. I told Candan what you were selling, but he’s not interested.
— I’ll write you down as paid, Mr. Jerome. It’s fine.
He looked at the doorknob. — Candan won’t even listen to me.
No one in Rosedale seemed more my twin than the President; robust once, but surrendering to a power that hemmed him in. There was no time for comradery because that red Doberman cantered from the back then growled behind the President until the old man went back in. After he’d gone off the dog sat on its haunches at the doorway and stared at me.
I stuck my tongue out at the dog. It didn’t recognize the gesture. I pulled $1500 out of my back pocket, one hundred and twenty bills, ten and twenties, all of them. I flapped them around and Viper tilted its head up at the motion.
I went to the next yard having forgotten it was mine. In the kitchen Grandma was unpacking a suitcase while Nabisase was packing another.
— Ledric’s coming, Nabisase said.
— You’re letting him move here?! I asked Grandma. I slammed my book down on the kitchen table. As soon as I did I picked it up to make sure it was fine.
Grandma pulled pairs of Nabisase’s very small panties out of a white suitcase.
— He’s coming to take me to my friend Devona’s. Grandma stop!
My grandmother was sitting in a chair, bent forward. She sat up and touched the wood cabinets behind her. — Will I be left here alone?
— I’m still around, Grandma.
She looked at me and said, — Yes.
Grandma moved to a smaller tan suitcase, pulling out pairs of folded jeans. As she did that Nabisase refolded her panties.
— Is it money? I asked. Is that why you’re going?
I took my earnings from my pocket and put them on the table.
— I don’t want to be bribed.
— You won’t take money, but you will suck dick. Tell that to your church friends.
Nabisase stopped packing. Lights were on in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the bedrooms. — It would be better if you were just dead for a while, she said.
Grandma didn’t get up, she pulled her chair a few feet across the white-tile kitchen floor. It was a way to get around without having to get up. To the table. To my money.
— Did you steal this? she asked.
— What do you think I am?
— Then where did you get so much?
— Mr. During. 143–44 227th Street. Ten dollars.
Nabisase held my encyclopedia.
— Give it.
— Mrs. Binni. 145–46 229th Street. Twenty dollars. All these people gave you?
— They paid me.
— For what? Grandma asked.
Nabisase shook my book while holding the spine waiting for the valuable item to fall loose. Dissatisfied, she threw it in the air, over my head. It landed on the floor with such a thump that I didn’t know what to do. I’d been excited when I walked in, and I still was, but I became so angry, too.
— For that! I screamed, pointing at the wounded encyclopedia. For me.
My grandmother threw my money at me and it separated in the air. A shocking soft explosion. The spine of my book was broken. My sister’s clothes were untidy on the floor.
Grandma picked up my hardcover and brought it to her nose.
She stood up and gave the pages a glance.
Grandma held it open with two hands and asked, sincerely, — For such nonsense?
So I hit her.
39
Ever seen a man smack a woman? Most of the time it’s anti-climactic.
I punched my grandmother, but didn’t knock her down.
It was a glancing blow, more on the shoulder than chin; I didn’t aim correctly. She fell sideways, but not to the floor. Grandma leaned against the fridge.
My sister drove her forearm into my back as though it was my weight she hated, not me. Then she kicked me in the shin, so I was relieved of that idea. Grandma sat on the closest chair, reached under the kitchen table, got a boot and threw it at me. Then Nabisase, ever the showstopper, swept cups and bottles from the kitchen table. The glass didn’t break, but landed softly in her scattered clothes.
I turned around and hit her too. With a bit more shoulder in the delivery.
My sister’s nose opened.
Blood went down into her teeth.
Grandma stood, swung a broom against my back and fell into her seat again. When the broom handle broke she moved to a cheap thin flashlight, bashing that against my knees.
Nabisase hit me with the broken end of that broom handle; it popped against my shoulder, went from eight inches to four. She hit me with it again then jabbed the wood into my cheek. We tussled and Grandma stayed in the kitchen. Nabisase and I went to the living room.
Over by the TV Nabisase threw a ruler at my head. D-cell batteries. Celery sticks.