Well I got me a pot okay, he said. But it's old an' it's rusty an' it done sprung more'n one leak.
What you talkin' 'bout, Socrates Fortlow?
The diner didn't seem noisy any more. Now it felt as if they had all gone quiet to hear his sad excuse.
You got a business here, I, Socrates whispered. He glanced over his shoulder but no one was looking his way. They were all still talking and eating, minding their own affairs.
Yeah, Iula said. An' it's a good business too.
I know it is, Socrates responded. Tony's always workin' too. You got that sour boy doin' dishes in the back. Tony got a four-legged German shepherd an' here my own dog only got two front legs to drag around wit'.
You have a job, Socrates.
I put groceries in bags, I. I live in a house that nobody knows is there. You know I been workin' for a year an' I'm still savin' up for the deposit on a phone.
Socrates was looking at the three big freckles on Iula's face. There were seven more on her back. He remembered kissing all ten of those dark beauty marks. The last one was in the middle of her left buttock. When he got there Iula let out such a sigh of pleasure that he could have gone home right then sure of her satisfaction. He could see that Iula was thinking about those kisses. But this time there was ice instead of fire in her eyes.
Maybe you can wait forever, Mr. Fortlow, she said. But you know this black woman got to get on with her life.
She stood up and walked toward the kitchen. He didn't reach out to stop her. He didn't even have his Tuesday meat loaf plate.
Antoine and Joseph stood so close to one another that Socrates thought they might have been frightened of him. Slender Joseph was a few inches taller than his nursery friend.
Antoine says that you were here for the ebony tree already, Joseph said. He extended his skinny neck and gave Socrates a gawking grin. That's sweet.
You said that you might could get it, Socrates answered.
I was wrong, Joseph said with his head nodding forward and back as if he were following some complex melody. The ebony, real or not, cannot thrive in this climate. Maybe if you had a hot house environment
Naw, man. All I got is a yard. And it don't get sun but half the day.
The men were both beaming with pride. Antoine was barely suppressing a grin.
I was sorry to be so rude the other day, Mr. Fortlow, Antoine began. Joseph and I talked about it at home last night and we came up with an idea you might like. Come on.
The men turned in unison beckoning the big man to follow. They walked through the entrance of the shelter they used as their office. It was just an arched tunnel of heavy plastic fabric supported by thick bamboo poles. On the left were bird of paradise, dwarf avocado trees, rosebushes, and other potted plants for the yard. On the right were cut flowers in rubber vases of various heights waiting for young men to buy in the early evening before going out with their girlfriends. It flashed through Socrates' mind that he could get a big sunflower for Iula. But the idea receded when he remembered how hard she had looked on Tuesday night.
They went out through the back end of the shelter into a large yard of potted trees. They came to a small green rubber tub with a small white tree in it.
Isn't it beautiful? Joseph asked.
It sure is, Antoine said. For the first time Socrates noticed a slight southern drawl in Antoine's words.
What is it? asked Socrates.
Coral tree, Joseph informed him. Very exotic, from Japan. And expensive if it's full grown. But this sapling's only forty dollars.
Socrates wondered if these men were trying to fool him out of his money; if they were trying to sell him some apple seed that fell in a barrel full of dirt. How did he know what this twig was?
Have you seen those beautiful white trees with the crimson flowers down the middle of Olympic Boulevard out in Santa Monica? Antoine asked.
The ones that's mostly bare? Socrates could see the tall trees with the orange-red flowers in his mind, their brawny white limbs circled with black seams. He remembered how they spread out over the street and found himself smiling, no longer worried about being cheated.
They grow pretty fast, Joseph said.
How do I plant it? Socrates asked.
Socrates carried the tub from the bus stop to a phone booth on Central. He took a slip of paper from his pocket. On it he had written a phone number given to him by Bernie at Harold's Liquors the night before.
The phone only rang once.
Hello, she said.
Charlene?
Is that Socrates Fortlow?
You recognized me, that's pretty good.
Stony's at home with his wife and kids, she said.
I really wanted to talk to you, Charry.
Oh?
Socrates could feel his heart beating. He took in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaled through his mouth.
Yeah, Charlene. I bought me a tree and I plan to plant it in my li'l yard here. An' well, it's kinda special.
Special how?
It's for a friend. A friend that died. He died a long time ago but still I should, I mean I want to do this for him.
Uh-huh, I see, Charlene said. But what you want from me? You wanna borrah a shovel or somethin'?
Levering, that was my friend's name, he was a ladies' man but they had him in prison and he died there. Anyway he asked me to invite a beautiful woman over when I plant the tree and say some words. He wanted to know that a pretty girl was there for his last request.
The phone was silent for a moment and then a moment more.
Charlene, you there?
Uh-huh, she whispered.
I don't mean to disrespect you now, sister. It's just that's what Levering
You couldn't be disrespectful if you tried, Mr. Fortlow. No I don't believe that you could.
Socrates' chest filled with air. The growing erection made him shift his position at the pay phone.
I just meant that it would be a favor to me if you could come watch and then maybe drink a toast.
What time you want me?
Tomorrah afternoon 'bout five'd be good. I mean if you ain't busy.
I'll be there at five.
I live at
I know where you live at. In that alley offa Central where them old boarded-up stores is, right?
Yeah. How'd you know?
Stony showed me once. He said how you was so poor that you just lived in a crack between two buildin's. He was makin' fun but I remembered just in case I had to come by one day.
Socrates shifted his stance once more.
So I'll see ya tomorrah? he asked.
At five. Bye now, baby.
On the way home Socrates was glad that he had the tub to hold in front of his pants. He was relieved to get home but he wasn't relaxed.
Socrates' dick stayed hard, off and on, all night. He had to take off his pants to ease the discomfort. But he was just as miserable naked. There he was walking around the place like a teenage boy after his first kiss. He was almost sixty. It was a shame and indicated weakness, that's what Socrates felt.
He didn't want to lose control because of a woman. He cursed himself for inviting her. What did Levering care or know about who came to his tree planting and who didn't?
The erection was persistent. Sometimes it would deflate a little but as soon as he remembered Charlene's words, and the huskiness that accompanied them, he was back to full mast and angry.
His dreams didn't help. All the prison dreams about women came on him in a rush. It wasn't one dream or one woman but all of the women he had known or dreamed about. Even Muriel, the woman he'd murdered, was there stroking his brow and begging for more.