But thank you for the meal, baby, she said to the boy while smiling for the man. It's nice to be thought of any way you get it.
They ate in her small backyard under the thin branches of a pomegranate tree. Iula made the second batch of pancakes. Socrates helped by standing behind her with his hands on her hips.
You ever meet a man name'a Lavant Hall? he asked after kissing her ear twice.
Mmmm, the diner owner crooned. Smell like a whole bot-tle'a perfume done falled on his head. I always thought he was one'a them funny men. Why?
I don't know. I met'im 'bout a month ago. He had this fluffy red dog. He said somethin' that I didn't think about at the time but now I wanna talk to'im about it and I was wonderin' where he lives.
He stay up in Theda Johnston's garage. He don't pay rent but I think he know somethin' about electricals and he rewired and did some other stuff for her.
Socrates and Darryl and Killer made it to Theda Johnston's house on Denker at two in the afternoon.
It was a big house for the block. Only one story but wide, with a front porch that almost ran the full length of the property. The porch was shaded by overhanging eaves. There was a sofa on either side of the front door and a huge dark evergreen tree in the front yard. Everything about the house looked cool and relaxing. Except for the loud African music coming from the backyard. The three Sunday strollers followed the music back to a garage that was newly painted yellow with crayon blue trim.
Johnny B. Goode leapt from some secret hiding place growling and barking and wagging his tail. Killer lunged forward to nuzzle his old friend.
Dang, Darryl said, frightened by the sudden attack.
The music cut off.
Who's out there? someone shouted from behind the partially open yellow door.
Socrates, Lavant. Me and a friend come by to see where you live at.
The door swung open and Lavant Hall came out holding a claw hammer in his left hand. He was wearing the same purple clothes with what looked like the same sweat stains. His eyes registered fear and distrust.
You remember my dog don't you, Lavant? Socrates found himself trying to put the man at ease again. We met at the park last month. You remember.
What you want? the purple man asked.
Just wanted to say hey, brother. Socrates hoped that his words didn't sound as unnatural as they felt in his mouth. And to ask you somethin'.
Ask me what?
'Bout the raggedy flags of America, man. About them yellow posters you been puttin' up from here to the sea.
Who told you that?
You did.
Me?
I remembered you talkin' 'bout raggedy flags but even before thatI don't know, it was like that poster reminded me'a you. Neat but all handmade.
The wary look on Lavant Hall's face slowly turned into a smile. He lowered his hammer and called Johnny B. Goode. Then he threw the door to the garage open and waved an inviting hand at his uninvited guests.
The garage had a high unfinished ceiling. The rafters were piled with junk, but it was neat. There was a platform loft halfway up the far end where Socrates spied a bed. The main room was dominated by a huge worktable supported by boxes and sawhorses. On the table was a big rectangular tub full of a pasty yellow fluid. There were coffee cans that held artist's brushes. A yellow poster page was spread out in front of a high swivel chair that had been set up for Lavant to write out one of his political manifestos.
This is it, he said proudly, holding up his skinny arms.
Dog, Darryl said, looking around the darkly cavernous room. The only lights were one overhead lamp that shone down on the yellow sheet and another, smaller bulb that lighted the loft space above.
It's sumpin', Socrates agreed. But what is it?
This is where the revolution's gonna come from, Lavant said. Here and everywhere where people work for ideas instead'a for money.
You mean these here papers you writin'? Darryl asked.
It's thinkin' that makes a man, son, Lavant lectured. Ideas make us responsible for each other. Most people got money-colored glasses on. They think that they can put life in a wallet. They think they buy their souls when really all they do is sell 'em and then die and go to hell.
Darryl looked down to avoid the zealot's eyes. He nodded and mumbled something.
I thought it was you, Socrates said. I thought it was you and so I come by to see.
That's what we need, Lavant said. People who think about somethin' that ain't in your pocket, your stomach, or your crotch.
Darryl giggled at the last word and Socrates smiled.
So you a revolutionary, huh, the ex-con said.
Rebel, Lavant said in way of correction. I don't have a revolutionary ideology. I fight anything that wants to keep a human being from being free.
An' you think puttin' up these posters do all that? Socrates' words were a challenge but Lavant could tell that his visitor wanted to believe.
The truth
will
set you free, brother, the purple-clad fanatic replied. Did you know that there were three black African popes that sat in the Vatican? Yeah. Saint Gelasius, Saint Miltades an' an' an' um, Saint Victor.
Socrates stalled for a moment, impressed by this impossible knowledge.
You see? Lavant said. We could tear the walls down with that kinda truth.
Socrates wondered. He rarely spoke to anyone who told him anything new or hopeful. His Wednesday evening discussion group talked about all kinds of issues but Socrates hadn't learned much for all that talk.
And that's not all I do, the younger man continued. You know I help old folks fill out insurance and government forms and I taught two people how to read. I always bear witness when the cops make an arrest. And I preach to the young people in the streets.
You crazy, Darryl said. That's what crazy people do.
Just remember what I say, boy, Lavant said with his eyes alight. I might be crazy but you mark my words.
Lavant showed Socrates how he made the poster board from rags and permanent dyes. He read to them from past broadsides and showed them a wall map dotted with red pins that indicated where he'd placed his posters.
After that they drank Coca-Colas while Lavant questioned and corrected Darryl's history lessons from school. When the boy started fidgeting, Socrates stood up.
Well. Socrates put a hand on Darryl's shoulder. I got to see Darryl off to a bus so he can get home and get to bed in time to go to school tomorrow.
Outside the garage, under a strong-smelling bay laurel, Lavant asked Socrates, You know where the Pink Lady is over on Jeff?
Yeah?
Two blocks south on the cross side'a the street is a boarded-up hardware store with a picture of a clown on the door. Lavant smiled. Around the back, between the buildin's is a door. Come on round after ten and you see what a rebel can do when he's on the job.
Socrates put Darryl on a crosstown bus and went back to his place. On his butane camp stove he made scrambled eggs with chorizo sausage, garlic and onion. Alongside the eggs he had canned asparagus topped with lemon juice and mayonnaise. The smell of the sausages filled the house for hours. Socrates was reading about poisonous sea snakes in the South Seas in an old
National Geographic
he'd taken from the trash somewhere. He fell asleep reading and came awake a few hours later because of the smell. Not the sharp scent of spiced meat but a sweet odor.
It was Lavant Hill's cologne in the fabric of his clothes. Socrates smelled the hand that Lavant clasped while saying good-bye.