Don’t leave, gentlemen. Please, he says. He gives the dice to an old head and signals me and I follow him into a room cordoned by a dingy curtain and stacked with dusty crushed boxes. The room is either twice as hot as anyplace or else the day’s long dread is a flame in my gut.
It’s about last night, I say.
Mister throws up his hand. So I hear, he says.
You heard? I say.
A long shadow flits past the curtain. The dice game kicks into a next round.
He moves closer and rolls his shoulders.
Did I ever tell you how well Red could swim? he says. Did I ever tell you how strong he was, how fast? Back home, we never lived more than a bike ride from the beach. We lived that close and my brother was always there, always in the water. Don’t know why, but this one day I decided to go with him. Not too long after we got to the beach, we started woofing about who could do what, and who was the best and biggest and strongest. The woofing ended with a bet to see who could swim out the farthest. On the face the bet was a no-win for me. Anyone who’d ever seen us near water knew Red was twice the swimmer I was. Red knew he was twice the swimmer I was, but I knew what he didn’t. We both dove in and right off Red was Red, out front going fast and strong, while I lagged stroking slow and steady. I kept the same pace until I passed the buoys, until I couldn’t see my brother swimming beside or ahead of me. I swam till I was out so far that the current was tugging me where it wanted. Got out that far and swam farther, swam as a matter of fact until I thought I might die. That’s when I turned and headed back. It took every ounce of me to make it to shore, Mister says. And collapsed as soon as I touched the sand. The next thing I knew, Red was standing over me shaking his head, calling me crazy, asking me how I did what I did, claiming it must’ve been a trick. He hovered until I caught my breath. He asked again and I told him yes, it was a trick. And the trick was, he swam worried the whole way whether he’d make it back to shore, but making it back was never the bet.
Mister walks over, parts a crack in the dirty curtain, and shows me his brother ghosting over the game, mute and thoughtless, a sport coat (Mister’s coat) draped over an arm. Look, Mister says. I love him, but he and I are not the same. Mister eclipses the space between us and turns to me. But the question is, which one of us are you?
Mister unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his sleeves and gapes at me and my one safe resort is to look away.
Hold tight, he says, and saunters into the gambling room. I can feel myself shrink while he’s gone, hear broken parts in the unfit machinery of me. If I were braver, I’d mention my plans to buy the house and ask/beg for tolerance. That’s what I would do if my nuts weren’t, right this very second, the size of mustard seeds.
Mister returns carrying a strap in plain view, its barrel facing the floor. He hands it to me by the grip. It’s black and sleek, with its serial number scratched off, and feels lighter than you’d imagined it would.
So this, this, is why these niggers feel super. Held this shit for all of a nanotick and now, this very instant, I’m as gallant as a nigger with nothing whatsoever under the sun of value to him to lose.
They take from you. They take from me. And we can’t have that problem, mister says. You don’t want that problem, he says. With them or with me.
I’m going to get you what I owe, I say. All of it.
Mister slaps me on a trapezium and smirks a smirk to melt my face. Sure you will, he says. Sure you will, and soon. That’s the way this works.
Chapter 41
And you don’t know what that means.
Should’ve seen me.
In the lobby fighting myself. We can’t do this. We can. We can’t do it without him. We can. What’s different about where it will come from? Should’ve seen me a foot in and a foot out the door, riding the elevator for trips. But in the end, what else can I do?
My eldest answers dressed in a tank top and basketball shorts and this is the first time I’ve noticed his arms, a man’s arms, protective. I need you, I say, and fall into him. He catches me, holds me up, presses his chin to the top of my head. I step back and gather and we step inside. He pulls out a chair for me at the table.
Is this about Big Ken? he says. The custody?
How do you know? I say.
He mentioned it, Champ says. But I didn’t think he meant to see it through.
Well, he has, I say. Or he intends to. I’m scheduled to go to court.
Court? he says. When?
In a month, I say. Champ, I thought I could do it on my own but I can’t. I can’t keep fighting this fight by myself.
You’re right, he says. So what now?
We need a lawyer, I say. Can you pay for one?
He sighs from someplace other than himself. He drops his head and rubs above his eyebrows. He lifts his eyes and looks away and looks at me.
What’s wrong? I say.
Timing, he says. You wouldn’t believe this timing.
So do you have it? I say.
No, I don’t, he says. But how much do you need?
Forget it, I say. I’ll find a way.
No, you won’t. I will, he says. How much?
He leans into a shaft of light and you can see a tiny scab on the high side of his face, see flecks of red in the white of an eye. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know, I say. Whatever you can spare and I’ll make do.
He ventures into his room. There’s the sound of the closet door sliding open, of Kim murmuring. This while I jitter in my seat and wonder whether I should stay or leave, whether this is yet another test of what I sacrifice every time the time comes. Champ slugs out and plops in his seat. Let’s start with this, he says, and slaps down the key to the Honda. It’s attached to a silver key chain. That and now this, he says. He takes out a knot, counts out a stack, and lays it in front of me. I don’t pick it up to count. Whatever it is, it’s what I need. What I should know not to accept.
My God, I say.
Mom, let’s leave Him out of this, this time, he says. You came for help and here it is. My help.
Son, thank you for this. For all you’ve done.
We listen to what wafts in from the street, a motorcycle revving by, the shrill voices of kids. Kim, in leggings and a tentish shirt, totters over to us and she lifts the bills off the table showy and sets them down. Wow! Looks like you won the lotto, she says.
I scoop the money off the table and dump it in my bag. How’s my grandbaby? I say. How are you?
Me, still instasick every morning, Kim says. But she’s just fine.
Did you say she? I say.
Yes, she says. He didn’t tell you? Your son will soon have a baby girl to care for. He might want to start practicing now.
I throw Champ a look and he shrugs and says that he’s sorry, that he meant to mention it sooner.
Kim wanders over and checks herself in the hall mirror — pinches her thigh, turns this way and that way — and groans. She takes out a jacket and wrestles on the sleeves. Oh, I sooo can’t do this, she says.
You sooooo can’t do what? Champ says.
Look! she says.
Why don’t you quit complainin and get some that fit? he says. It’s simple if you ask me.
She toddles over and poses. All right, Mr. Simple, she says. You must be feeling generous today.
What about what I gave you last week? he says.
That was last week, she says.
He looks to the ceiling. This isn’t a good time, he says.
Oh, so you don’t care if I feel like this another week? she says.