Bloodbrothers (10 page)

"Turn that goddamn thing off!" she screamed. With a wail Albert dove for the set, clicked it off and raced back to his spot. "Why do you hate me,
all
of us so much? I say, 'Albert, eat, Albert, eat, Albert, eat, please, Albert, eat, you're so skinny.' The doctor, no! No, you break everybody's heart, everybody who loves you, you break their heart. They look at you, and they wanna puke! Yeah! Yeah! Do you know last week your Aunt Phyllis was in
tears!
In
tears!
She said God forgive me, Marie, every time I see him so skinny like that I wanna vomit."

"No!" Albert screamed. The vision of his favorite aunt in tears over his selfish skinniness made him bray in anguish. He sank to the floor, rocking back and forth.

Marie's voice dropped to a whisper. "Why do you do this to us, Albert? What pleasure do you get out of torturing us? I beg you to eat. I cook for you anything. I walk and buy and I cook and pray to God please God let him like it, let him eat." Marie knelt on the floor, raising her clasped hands to the ceiling, threw her head back and bellowed, "God! God! What did I do, God? Why am I punished?"

"Mommy!" Albert ran in place again. His face was red and twisted with grief, his cheeks spattered with tears. "Mommy, I'll eat! I'll eat! Oh, Mommy, I swear to God I'll eat, I'll eat." He ran to the kitchen and ran back with a box of rice. "Look! Look!" He jammed a fistful of uncooked rice in his mouth. Marie ignored him, her eyes closed in prayer. Albert gagged and spit up rice and bile over the floor. Marie straightened in disgust. Albert grabbed for her legs.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed. She bared her teeth and pulled her hair. "I'm leaving! Forever! I can't stand you!" She left the room, slamming the door in his face.

"Mommy!" he screamed, opening the door, chasing his mother through the apartment and clutching the rice box. Marie ran into the foyer, grabbed a full-length fake fur coat and tan suitcase from the hall closet. "Mommy, look, I'm eating! I'm eating! Look! Look!" He blubbered and gagged, stuffing rice in his mouth, spitting out as much as he was swallowing. Albert grabbed her robe as she tried to pull on the coat. She shoved him onto the floor.

"I can't stand you!" she screamed at him. "I can't stand to
look
at you! You make me
sick!
" She put on the coat, grabbed the empty suitcase and before Albert could struggle to his feet was out of the apartment.

"Mommy!" He threw himself at the door, frantically pulling at the doorknob. "I'll be good, oh, Mommy, Mommy, I'll be good, I'll eat! I'll eat! I'm sorry, oh MommyMommyMommy Mommy!" The door wouldn't open. On the other side of the door, Marie, drenched with sweat, held onto the knob with bloodless hands. Nausea rose from her belly, but she held it down. She was dizzy. The heat rose in waves from the fur coat. She fought off fainting as she listened to Albert pleading and begging. Then she heard a door opening down the hall and quickly let herself back in. Albert was still screaming, but something was wrong. He didn't look at her. He stared at the door, still clutching the rice box. She threw off her coat and clasped a hand over his mouth. His eyes were wide and wet. When she took her hand away he screamed again. The doorbell rang, startling her. She covered Albert's mouth again and dragged him to the bathroom, locking him in. The doorbell rang again. Marie ran to the door. Mrs. Katz, the old cunt across the hall, stood in the doorway holding Marie's tan suitcase.

"Voss iss screaming?" Mrs. Katz cringed. Marie grabbed the suitcase from her and slammed the door in her face. She ran back to the bathroom. Albert was still screaming.

Marie unlocked the door and hugged Albert to her. "Ssh, baby, baby, Mommy's here, Mommy's here." But Albert wouldn't stop. He retched, gasped for breath, but he wouldn't stop screaming.

Ten minutes later Marie, white-faced and trembling, locked him in the bathroom again and while his shrieks shattered the air she picked up the pink receiver. "Oh my God, operator, give me Jacobi Hospital. Oh my God, oh my God."

***

Stony, Butler and Chili Mac sprawled on oversized throw pillows in Chili Mac's new living room. Along one wall stood three washing-machine-sized cardboard boxes stuffed with the Mac's clothes, books, kitchen stuff and miscellany. The walls were fresh white, the floor, newly polished parquet. Chili Mac had immediately set up his stereo, the speakers in opposite corners on either side of an enormous window. Nice place. The three of them sat there, sweating, drinking Coke from cans. Chili Mac had a plastic Baggie half filled with grass on his lap. He was busy rolling and licking joints. The Mac's real name was Matthew Mackell. Some people said he was called Chili Mac because he was a freak for Mexican food, but most agreed he got his name because he was just so goddamn cool.

"Chili, put on some J.B." Butler wiped his neck.

"Put it on yourself, man, I got my hands tied up." He popped a whole joint in his mouth, extracted it slowly and placed it on the floor.

Butler crawled over to a three-foot-high stack of albums, pulled out "James Brown—Live at the Apollo."

"Mac, what you payin' for this?" Stony looked around the room.

"A yard and a half." Now there were two joints.

"So now, ladies and gennelmen, it is
star
time. Are you ready for
star
time? Thank you and thank you kindly. It is
indeed
a great pleasure at this particular time to introduce the nationally and internationally known as the
haarde
st-workin' man in show business..." The record had been played so many times, it had more crackles than a two-way radio system.

Mac lit up a third joint, took three staccato tokes and passed it on to Stony. Stony took a long drag and passed it to Butler.

"Mac, what they payin' you at the club?" Stony's voice sounded strained as he struggled to retain the smoke in his lungs.

"A yard for the weekend, but I got other income." He held up the Baggie, raising his eyebrows.

Stony felt jealous. "Shit." He exhaled.

Chili Mac wore a rayon leopard-skin tank top. On anybody else it would have looked ridiculous, but with the Mac's physique he looked like Black Power's answer to Tarzan.

"Hey, Butler," Stony sniffed, "when you gettin' your own crib?"

"Six months." Butler coughed, filling the air with smoke.

"Hey, man, you keep coughin' like that, I don't need to smoke. I'll just get a contact high off your bad lungs." Chili Mac laughed.

"Ladies an' gennelmen, the
'mazin,
Mr. Please Please hisself, the star of the show,
James
Brown, and the Famous Flames!!"

"Six months, shit, I might be in Louisiana in six months," Stony bitched.

"You goin' in the army?" Chili Mac took the burning jay from Butler.

"Army! Shit. I might be goin' a college down there."

"Whyncha go to City?" Chili took a few more short drags. "It's open admissions."

"Yeah, I know." Stony rubbed his face. "That's the problem, they'll take anybody."

"Too many spades?" Mac held the joint delicately between thumb and index finger.

"It's not just that, there's also too many spies." Stony took the joint.

Butler snorted, then stifled himself. "Sorry."

"Butler, what
you
laughin' at?" Stony passed him the joint without taking any. "You so dumb you couldn't pass a blood test."

"Least I ain't dumb enough to go to Little Abner State."

Chili Mac snickered. "Stones, what's the school?" He took the joint from Butler.

Stony shrugged. "Purdy Free Normal or somethin'."

Chili Mac exploded in laughter. He fell off the pillow and rolled over on the floor holding his stomach. Butler and Stony glanced at each other. He sat up, supporting himself on one arm, tried to speak and fell flat on his back, kicking his legs. "You ... you ... oh, man ... you remind me a this cat I read about. This cat was freakin' out cause he was livin' in New York an' he was worried about an A-bomb attack, so he packed up his whole family an' moved to some Da
Kc
ota or other. A month later they build a nuclear missile plant right in his backyard."

"What the fuck's that got to do with me?" Stony was getting nervous.

"Man, you goin' down to Louisiana cause a the bad el-e-ment up here, right? But you all goin' to Chocolate City!" Mac started laughing again.

"What?"

"Ain't you hip to Purdy, man? That school so black it makes Howard look like University of
Vermont!
"

Stony was speechless. Butler took a swig of soda, then started laughing so hard Coke spurted from both nostrils.

"Man, how you ever apply there?"

"My counselor was tryin' to think of a place I could get in." Stony looked like he just poured his Coke down the front of his pants.

"Hey lissen, man, I
know
Purdy, mah cousin went there. Hey, ain't ... ain't you ever heard a ... a
Grambling
or a Tus
kee
gee?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Then you heard a
Purdy!
" Chili Mac hooted with glee. "Ah hopes you get into a good fraternity, bawh!"

"Hey, Stony!" Stony turned mechanically to Butler. "I think we just got the results a your blood test."

As the day wore on and Stony got increasingly fucked up on the Mac's stash, his mood shifted from shock and embarrassment to near hysterical laughter. Fuck college anyway. When Stony left the crib he was too wasted to drive so he jumped a cab home.

***

"Where to, Rocco?" The cabdriver had a shaved head and a thick drooping mustache.

"Co-op City."

"Mind if I do it for myself?"

"Two bucks?" Stony bargained.

The cabdriver nodded in agreement. Stony noticed the driver's big shoulders and meaty face. With the mustache and the shaved head he looked like a heavy in a James Bond movie. After two minutes of kamikaze driving they stopped dead in heavy traffic. "Shit!" He flipped the car into neutral and leaned his back against the door, drumming his fingers on the top of the front seat. "Look a' this fuckin' traffic. This is no good." He shook his head disgustedly, picking at his mustache. "No fuckin' good for you an' no fuckin' good for me." In the rearview mirror he noticed a small green Triumph inching its way between lanes. "Look a' this cocksucker!" He put the cab in drive and moved it out of his lane, blocking the Triumph.

"Where you think you goin', shithead?" he bellowed, leaning out his window. The driver of the Triumph stopped and tried to appear nonchalant, casually looking out his window and tugging on the knot of his tie.

"Hey"—the cabby turned to Stony—"dig this clown." Stony twisted around to check the guy through the rear window. The driver's cheeks puckered and his lips pursed in what looked like a pantomime of whistling. Stony laughed. Traffic started moving. The cabby pulled back into his lane. The Triumph stayed put until the cars behind it started honking. The cabby cackled. "I could go two fuckin' miles an hour from here to Maine, that guy wouldn't dare pass me. Fuckin' college assholes. They all got the ol' man in Westchester throws 'em a TR-IV for their birthdays, right? You go to college?" He faced Stony.

"Me? Nah." Stony sat up straight. "I just got outta high school."

"Fuck college." He shifted lanes. "The only college worth two shits is the college of life. Am I right?"

"Yeah." Stony leaned back, extracted a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

"So whatta you doin' now, spongin' off yer old man?" The cabby winked in the mirror.

"My father's dead," Stony muttered.

The cabby sucked air through his teeth like he'd just slammed his finger with a hammer. "Hey lissen, I was only fuckin' aroun'. Look, don't mind me, I'm an asshole."

Stony chuckled.

"Where'd you go to school?"

"The Mount."

"Oh yeah, over on the border, right? I went to Evander. You know Evander?"

"Sure."

"I was on the football team there in sixty-two. I was a split end. Although as you can probably tell, I ain't got no split ends no more," he said, caressing his gleaming scalp. "The last fuckin' game a the season, we're playin' Clinton for the city-wides, we're down seventeen-thirteen. Tommy Algiers calls for a stop an' go long bomb, right? Ten seconds to go an' then it's all over. I pull a fuckin' fake on this Polack safety they had, I think the fuckin' guy is still lookin' for me. I'm out all alone on the two-yard line, nobody for
miles.
Algiers lets loose with this pass,
God himself
couldn't a thrown a more perfect spiral, I'm standin' there, 'Come to Poppa,' right? The fuckin' ball had
radar.
So what happens? The fuckin' ball slipped right outta my hands and we lost the championship. Meenga!" He put the fingertips of his right hand together and suddenly released them. "The guys on the fuckin' team were so fuckin' pissed they got me in the locker and shaved my fuckin' head, an' I wore it shaved ever since." He nodded sadly. "Now my friends call me Cleanhead."

"Jesus Christ!" Stony felt the pain.

"Hey, kid?" Cleanhead smiled mischievously in the mirror. "You believe that story?"

Stony frowned at the question, then remembered Evander didn't have a football team in the sixties because a girl had been knifed in a fight after a game with Clinton in fifty-eight. Cleanhead watched Stony's expression change from confusion to the old you-got-two-tens-for-a-five?

Cleanhead cackled again, pleased with himself. Stony debated telling him that they were even, that his old man wasn't dead, but he thought better of it.

"You know what I do? Every other time someone comes into the cab, I try to make up a story on the spot about how come I got a shaved head. Some a those fuckin' stories are fuckin' gems too, an' I never use the same story twice." He burst out laughing. "Yesterday I tell this fuckin' guy my wife useta like me rubbin' my head in her pussy, then she got the clap and all my hair fell out, right? I turn aroun' to see if the guy's laughin' an' I see he's wearin' a priest's collar." Cleanhead hit the steering wheel with the flat of his palm. "Can you beat that? But dig this! You know, I say, 'Hey Jeez, Father, no offense.' I didn't know, but the fuckin' guy is laughin' so hard he didn't even hear me. For a second I thought I was on "Candid Camera.' "