Birth of a Dark Nation (9 page)

He paused and his bottom lip began to
quiver.

"Take your time," Teresa said.

"We're closing the office today. Magdalene
House will be no more by the end of the week."

Everyone in the room gasped
simultaneously.

"What do you mean, Ernie?" Tony said. "We've
got life skills classes planned through the end of the year."

"The Department of Housing has notified us
that we are to cease and desist all housing programs. We will
receive no more reimbursements for the work we provide, so the
tenants will be moved elsewhere."

"Where are they going to go?" I asked.

"And aren't we responsible for the transition
plan? We can't just put them out by the end of the week," Steve
said.

"It's out of our hands," Ernie said, a bead
of sweat trickling down his brow.

"This doesn't make any sense," Steve
continued. "Ernie, what do you mean they've been 'dinging' us?
There's been no sort of reports that things were terribly wrong
here."

"Housing doesn't want us running this program
anymore," Ernie said flatly.

"So they're just shutting us down, just like
that?" Teresa asked.

"Yes," Ernie said.

"They can't do that! There are protocols
which need to be followed," Teresa retorted.

"He's lying," I said. The commotion of the
room suddenly came to a halt.

"Excuse me?" Ernie said.

"You're lying," I repeated.

"Listen, Justin, I know you're upset, but I
am not lying about this. This is a highly political process and
sometimes good nonprofits are caught in the crossfire."

"Ernie, we house women living with AIDS.
There is no way in hell that politics closed Magdalene House. There
is more to this story than you're saying. If this is really our
last day here, then you owe it to us to tell the whole truth."

"Calm down, Justin, I know this is very
stressful but you've got to get a hold of yourself."

"You know what, you are a fucking liar!" I
shouted. I stood up from my chair and walked up to my executive
director. To my surprise, nobody stopped me.

"You think I don't know that you've been
hiring your friends to write these shitty ass grant proposals
you've been submitting downtown? Dude, I run the computers here, I
know what the fuck your emails say. And I know you've been hiring
these two-bit con artists to score this grant money. That's why
Cissy quit-you wouldn't let her write the grants. I mean, how the
hell is a director of development not going to write the
grants?"

"Cissy didn't quit, she was fired for
insubordination. And if we weren't shutting down, you'd be getting
fired, too."

"Nigga, fuck you," I said, pointing my finger
in his face. "And if you think I won't tell downtown everything I
know, think again."

I felt Steve touch my shoulder and try to
pull me away.

"Come on, Justin, let's just get out of here.
We know it's all his fault."

"What?!" Ernie exclaimed.

"That's right, we knew it was all you. We
always knew your incompetence would be the death of this
organization," Steve said.

"Case management hasn't had a raise in three
years," Teresa said.

"Neither has life skills," Geoff added.

"And it's mighty funny how some consultants
come-lately can come up in this place, get office space, and not
even do shit directly helping the women we serve," I said.

"Get out of here," Ernie said.

"Oh, I will, don't worry," I said, exiting
the conference room. Steve followed, as did Teresa.

"You did the right thing," she said. I
thanked her and hugged her tightly, knowing it would be the last
time I'd see her for a while.

We paused and glanced out of our front doors
and noticed several police cars parked out front. A few men and one
woman in business suits walked up to the door. I immediately opened
the door when they showed their badges.

"Good morning, I'm Agent Castro. We're with
the FBI. We're looking for LaJwanne Mason and Ernie Moore," the
first agent said. He was tall and light brown, around his
mid-forties.

Steve and I pointed to the conference room,
dumbfounded.

"Thanks," he said. We peered into the
conference room and watched as Agent Castro led the arrests.

"Ernie Moore, you are under arrest for
embezzlement, misappropriation of funds, wire fraud, and
conspiracy," an officer said.

"LaJwanne Mason, you are under arrest for
embezzlement, wire fraud, misappropriation, and conspiracy. You
have the right to remain silent…"

As Ernie and LaJwanne were led out in
handcuffs, more people in suits walked up to our front porch.

"Who's in charge here?" asked a woman in a
gray suit. She had a thick Nigerian accent and long, thin
dreadlocks.

"Uh…" I paused.

"Well, the development officer quit two weeks
ago, the ED got arrested… I'm pretty sure it's Justin," Steve
said.

"What?" I asked.

"Justin Kena?" the woman asked.

"That's me, but…"

"I'm Agent Ifeoma. Don't worry, you're not in
trouble," she said.

"Cool, but do I have a job?"

"Unfortunately not," she said.

"Oh."

"We've been investigating your boss for the
better part of a year now. Only Ernie and LaJwanne seem to be
involved. I know the economy is tough out here, but if you need a
referral, just let us know. This will likely be in the media and
anybody working here is going to have a lot of explaining to do to
subsequent employers. Here's my card."

"Wow. Thank you," I said.

"Yo, son…it's really over," Steve whispered.
I nodded.

The government was seizing the building, and
even though we weren't in trouble, all we could leave with were our
own belongings. No copy paper for the road. No spare computer parts
laying around for me to tinker with at home.

I had mentally checked out of Magdalene House
long ago. There was nothing in my office that I needed or even
wanted. I picked up my messenger bag from the floor and turned my
computer off. I didn't reminisce or get sad or anything of the
sort. It was just now noon and I needed to figure out where I would
spend the rest of the day.

"You good?" Steve asked me as we stood on the
porch amid the rest of the staff chatting it up with the neighbors
and other busybodies. I nodded.

"I'll see you around, Steve," I said, giving
him dap. I glanced across the street and saw Dante sitting on the
stoop of the Masonic hall with his familiar black book bag. He
stared intently at me.

"Aye," Steve said to me, grabbing my
shoulder.

"What?" I asked. He smiled and nodded
slowly.

"Get your life!" he beamed. I smiled back,
shook his hand, and pulled him into an embrace. Then I speedily
walked toward busy Rhode Island Avenue in the direction of my
man.

It was hot. Beads of sweat were already
forming on my forehead. As the traffic lightened, I jaunted across
the street and casually leaned against the glass of the bus shelter
near where Dante sat.

"What's good?" he asked. I shrugged.

"I seen a lot of cop cars out there a little
while ago."

I nodded.

"Was that your boss getting arrested?" he
asked.

"Yeah. They got him for stealing from the
organization. The city stopped funding us. The women are getting
moved out and…well…I ain't got no job."

"What?" Dante squinted his eyes and looked up
at me. I shrugged.

"Shit is fucked up," he said.

"Yeah." I said.

"Whatchu gonna do?" he asked me.

"I don't know."

He stood up, zipped up his book bag and slung
it over one shoulder. I looked at him good for the first time
today. I don't know why I felt this way about him. My mom would be
so disappointed in me for falling for a common corner boy-one that
sold bootlegs at that. Still, there was something clean about him,
even under the sleeveless t-shirts, jean shorts, and big tennis
shoes.

"Come up the block with me," he commanded. I
followed him around the corner of the Masonic hall and down Thayer
Street. The silence of the Woodridge neighborhood was overwhelming.
Something about the tall trees and density of the houses absorbed
the sounds of the street behind me.

A block away, we were at his house again. He
opened the door and we walked in.

"Why don't you ever lock your door?" I
asked.

"I lock it sometimes," he said.

"Aren't you afraid of somebody coming up here
and stealing your shit?" I asked.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he replied, as
he tossed his bag on the sofa. I gently placed mine by the
door.

"Everybody's afraid of something," I
said.

"Let me put it to you like this. I ain't
afraid of no niggas comin' up in
here
."

"That's fair," I said. I sat down on the far
end of the tattered old sofa while he went to the kitchen. He came
back out with a bag of Utz potato chips and two bottles of
water.

"Why are you always giving me junk food? You
see how fat I am?"

"Who doesn't like junk food on a bad day? And
stop calling yourself fat."

I looked at him sitting on the other side of
the sofa as he gazed off into space. I looked away and opened the
chips.

"Don't you know you're beautiful?" he asked,
suddenly without the thick DC accent.

I looked at him again and he was already
looking down on the ground.

"Thank you," I said.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Dante."

"I know your name. Look at me."

His dreadlocked head turned to face me.

"Who are you…really?" I repeated.

In a manner of milliseconds, he moved close
to me on the couch. I was dizzy-he moved so quickly that he was a
blur. His hands caressed my face.

"Whoa," I muttered. His hands rubbed my
cheeks, my lips, and my forehead. I could smell the oils he used on
his hair and body. The smells, the touch, the sound of his
breathing this close to my face intoxicated me. My mind became
foggy and I began to find it hard to focus.

"This is who I am."

A roaring sound filled my ears and the room
began to tilt.

"Dante…"

"Just listen."

Lightning flashes filled the room. My heart
began to palpitate and I grabbed Dante's arms to steady myself. I
was panicking, but I couldn't move.

"Relax. Listen to what I'm telling you."

I closed my eyes. With each zap of
electricity I felt around me, a different image filled my head. In
fact, it wasn't so much an image-more like an impression. A memory,
even. Smells, sounds, feelings.

I was in the black belly of a slave ship,
tossing back and forth in a storm, the lightning briefly
illuminating the shackled arms and legs of my brothers.

I saw Dante's face again and he held me close
to him. His heart was beating as fast as mine.

Lightning flashed, and I was on a vast
African plain, blood on my hands and an antelope at my feet. I
tasted vile, hot blood fresh in my mouth and felt the hot sun
against my back.

His hands were against my back, caressing me
as he kissed my neck.

I looked up and saw, not the ceiling, but the
pedestal of a humongous statue draped by a starry sky. It had the
head of a cat and the body of a woman.

His kisses turned into light nibbles on my
neck as hieroglyphics detached themselves from walls and danced all
about me. The roar reached a deafening volume and I felt myself
falling backward into the sea, into the sand, into the grass, onto
the couch, enveloped by the frigid waters of the ocean while being
scorched in the burning sands.

Pain pierced my neck. As the blood left my
body, the sounds gradually faded into silence and the dancing
hieroglyphics disappeared into the stucco ceiling of Dante's living
room. Eventually, even that faded to blackness.

The fog began to lift. My eyes could barely
open, but I knew I was enveloped by some of the softest cotton
sheets I'd ever felt in my life. My neck was sore.

I couldn't move my body. It was almost as
though I had been drugged. My eyes fluttered open.

Dante sat on the edge of his bed, his back to
me, while I lay in a catatonic state. He was arguing with
Victor.

"Everything is going to be okay, why are you
freaking out?" Dante asked.

"You brought this outsider to our house and
showed him who we are? And fucking fed on him? You are so
selfish!"

"No more selfish than you are. No matter how
many times we come back, you always want to be some sort of music
superstar. This time, you're on your own son. Don't you think
people will be suspicious?"

"People can be suspicious all they want.
Difference is I would never bring one of them into our house and
tell them everything."

"I haven't told him everything…yet."

I fell back out of consciousness.

~

I felt Dante's strong hand shake my
shoulder.

"Wake up. You gotta get something to
eat."

I opened my eyes and saw him seated at my
right side. My vision was somewhat blurry, but I didn't feel as
drugged as I had before.

"Can you sit up?" he asked. I nodded and
slowly slid into an upright position. I still had a sharp pain in
my neck. I felt it and discovered that it had been bandaged.

"What did you do to me?"

"Eat some soup." He picked up a plain white
bowl filled with a vegetable soup. He stirred it with a spoon and
scooped some out.

"Open," he commanded.

"I can feed myself," I said, reaching for the
spoon. Looking almost disappointed, he handed the spoon to me. He
continued to hold the bowl. The first spoonful was strong and
aromatic.

"What kind of soup is this?" I asked.

"Vegetable. Cabbage, mostly. Some other herbs
in there."