Holding Pattern (18 page)

That’s a real nice haircut you got, Peanut said. She kissed Lee on the cheek.

Thank you, Lee said. Ran his free hand over the privet hedge.

Boo didn’t crack a smile. Yeah. We must go to the same barber, Mr. Christmas.

Lee tried to withdraw his hand.

That’s a nice suit too, Peanut said.

Thank you, Lee said. His hand bubbled hot, deep in boiling wate r.

Boo withdrew his grip. Lee thought he had exaggerated the child’s strength. Still, there was no denying the throbbing in his hand. The sun glowed brighter, spreading a fan of light. Boo’s eyes, large and black, shining black. Lee took Peanut by the arm. Led her to the car. Boo walked beside them. Lee held the door open for Peanut. She slid into the front passenger seat. Lee shut the door quietly behind her. Held open the rear door for Boo.

Thank you, Mr. Christmas, Boo said.

You’re welcome, Boo. Lee’s hand throbbed.

I like yo car, Mr. Christmas.

Thank you, Boo. Lee shut the door behind the boy. Stepped quickly around the rear of his car. Opened his door and stooped into the driver’s seat. We gon have a fine time today. He hit the ignition. The engine gurgled, then spit to life.

Gon do my best, honey, Peanut said. She smiled. More pleasant than usual. Lee gave her a long look. Round face and a small mouth and freckles like seeds on both cheeks. Hair dyed to match her skin complexion. Combed forward into a pouf to expose the back of her neck. Her smile helped ease Lee’s tension. It even made his hand feel better. But some feeling flowed up from his belly in soft surges. Wet his chest.

Better keep yo eyes on the road, Peanut said.

Lee swallowed. I got eyes all over my body.

I just bet you do.

Lee put both hands on the wheel. Eased up on the gas. Pulled the car into the middle of the road.

The sun roared without pause. This sun is something else today, Lee said.

Yeah, it is sort of bad, Peanut said.

Is that sun bothering you, Boo? Lee asked.

I’m all right, Mr. Christmas. The voice rose from the backseat.

I don’t know how you can stand this sun, Lee said to Peanut.

Is that all you gon talk about? The sun?

Even Boo can’t stand the sun. Lee watched the child’s reflection in the rearview mirror. The cute midget sat stiff and straight, hands folded in his lap, legs dangling over the edge of the seat. Eyes closed to the sun.

He didn’t say that, Peanut said. God. I don’t want to hear bout no sun.

Okay, Lee said. The sun bothered him.

Peanut looked into the mirror. The sun don’t bother Boo. He just meditating like a lil ole man and whatnot. He always do that.

Well, he sho is a quiet one. Lee frowned into the sun.

You ain’t give him chance to say nothing yet. You keep talkin bout the sun.

I’m sorry. Here he was, apologizing in his own car.

Boo ain’t quiet.

Lee looked in the mirror. Boo still had his eyes closed. I don’t see how you can say that.

Look. He jus stoical.

What?

Boy, you dense. He stoical and whatnot.

Run that by me again.

Peanut rolled her eyes. Boy, I tell you. Boo like a lil ole man. Ain’t cried but once in his life, and that was when he was born.

I don’t believe that, Lee said. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t believe it.

Look, I’m tellin the truth. The only other time he cried is when I whupped him with a extension cord.

You hit him with an extension cord?

That’s right.

But he’s just a child.

Yeah, that’s right, but I tore his butt up too. Didn’t I, Boo? She glanced back over her seat.

Yes, ma’am. Boo didn’t open his eyes.

He wasn’t actin right, and I tore his butt up. You got to discipline yo kids.

Lee didn’t say anything. He didn’t want Peanut to get angry.

And let me tell you something. When Boo got circumcised, he didn’t bat an eye. And weren’t but two, three, months old.

Lee found this hard to believe. I once saw a ghost, he thought. Why do I find this so hard to believe? The doctors must have had him sedated, he said.

They don’t sedate babies when they get circumcised and whatnot.

Who told you that?

Everybody know that. Anyway, nobody had to tell me. Seen it for myself. I had to watch. I wasn’t gon let no doctor hurt my baby.

Why would a doctor want to hurt a baby?

Boy, you don’t know nothing. Doctors are sadists.

Lee had to force his laughter back down his throat. Now, come on, Peanut, he said.

Don’t you know anything about doctors?

I guess not.

Anyway—

She missed Lee’s sarcasm.

—Boo jus like a lil ole man. One time I gave him a whupping wit a belt, and he jus looked up at me and said, Mamma, see if you can’t whup me a little harder.

Lee considered the likelihood of this.

And he won’t go to bed at night until he had a good whupping. Ain’t that right, Boo? She glanced back over her seat.

Yes, ma’am. He didn’t open his eyes.

I be so tired from whupping him, I just fall across the bed and go to sleep.

He ain’t normal, Lee said. It had slipped out. He mentally slapped himself.

What you mean, he ain’t normal?

Lee could feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of his face. I mean … he’s special. Gifted.

That’s right. He do real good in school. He always thinkin. Sometime he be jus as quiet as a Buddha on a shelf and whatnot.

I see.

They reached Turtle Avenue. Lee turned onto it.

Hey, pull up over at the sto. She pointed to Cut Rate Liquor half a block away. I need to put in some lottery numbers.

I didn’t know that you played the lottery, Lee said.

Of course. Pull over.

Okay. Lee drove past the store.

You passed up the sto and whatnot, Peanut said.

I’m going to get that spot over there in the shade.

Are you talking bout the sun again?

No. I just want to get a shady spot.

You and yo shade.

Lee drove half a block past the store and parked in a space beside a tree. Disappointed to discover that it did a poor job of blocking the sun. Its leaves few and thin, the space between them like the space between the spokes of a wheel. They mainly dropped over the sidewalk.

What’s yo birthday? Peanut asked.

What?

Silly, I’m gon play yo birthday.

Oh. Ten five … You guess the rest.

Ain’t you Mr. Secretive.

That’s me.

Boo, keep Mr. Christmas company while I’m gone.

Fear moved inside Lee’s chest.

Yes, ma’am, Boo said. He didn’t open his eyes.

Peanut kissed Lee on the cheek. He didn’t feel comfortable kissing in front of the kid. Had actually shivered when Peanut kissed him. He hoped that she didn’t sense his uneasiness. Peanut got out of the car. Shut her door. To show her that he was at ease with himself, confident, Lee leaned over the passenger seat and called after her through the car window. Hey.

She halted and looked back at him over her shoulder.

Your caboose is shaking.

She smiled. It’s sposed to shake. She moved on to the store.

Lee’s fear died just that quickly, heart dancing inside his chest. He straightened up in his seat. That’s some mamma you got there, Boo. He looked at the child’s reflection in his rearview mirror.

Boo opened his eyes. They were black sunlight. Closing his eyes had drawn more sunlight into them. You likes my mamma, Mr. Christmas? Boo said. His face offered the same blankness, the same cold solitude.

I likes yo mamma a whole lot, Boo. The sunlight dripped through the leaves and plopped against the windshield.

Are you going to marry my mamma, Mr. Christmas?

I hope so, Boo.

Are you going to be my new daddy, Mr. Christmas?

Yes, Boo. I really want to.

Is my name gon be Goodwin Christmas?

I hope so.

I don’t like that name.

Lee tried to avoid the child’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. It’s a nice name, Boo.

How’d you get a name like Christmas?

Well—

Do you know Santa Claus?

What?

Is Santa Claus yo brother, Mr. Christmas?

My name has nothing to do with—

Do you know Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?

Lee didn’t know what to say.

Is Mr. Reindeer yo daddy?

Now, I told you, my name doesn’t—

Do you know Frosty the Snowman?

I think I see yo mamma coming, Boo, he lied.

Does Frosty have a cold dick?

Where did you learn to talk like that? Lee gave Boo a fierce stare in the mirror. The child just looked him dead in the eye.

Does Santa Claus have a big dick?

Boo, keep your mouth closed until you mamma—

Do you want to see my big dick, Mr. Christmas? The child leaned back into his seat. The leather stretched beneath him. He unzipped his pants. Lee clutched his own chest. The child had ripped it open. He could feel the glare of sunshine gathering in his heart.

If you take that out of yo pants, I’ll chop it off. But the child continued to finger inside his fly.

Why you getting frantic, Mr. Christmas?

Open yo mouth again, and I’ll put my fist in it.

Chill, Mr. Christmas.

Lee spun in his seat and lunged for the child. Boo was quick. Dived beneath Lee’s arms and onto the floor of the car. Lee couldn’t reach the child. The steering wheel was clamping down at the point above his knees, preventing any further leverage. The child’s tiny hand reached for the door handle. Lee worked back into the seat, but the child opened the door and crawled out of the car and onto the sidewalk before Lee could get his own door open.

Catch me if you can, Mr. Christmas. His underwear stuck out like a white thumb from his open fly. He took off running down the street, cutting a blazing path away from Cut Rate Liquor. Lee set off behind him.

Help! Mommy! the child screamed, dodging between waists and legs like some midget football player.

Lee ran in the street to avoid the crowded sidewalk. The sun loomed high. Lee wiped sweat from his brow.

Help! Rape! Stranger danger!

If anything happened to the child, Lee would have no chance with Peanut.

Stranger danger! People began to stop and look at Lee. He wanted the child. Sweat poured from his house cut—as if a water hose were concealed in his hair—and stung his eyes. A ball of terror had knotted up inside Lee’s chest. People were watching him. Child molester! a woman screamed. He was certain she was chasing him. Boo cut around the corner of an alley as if jerked by a string. Lee took one long step and lunged onto the sidewalk. Two more steps took him around the corner of the alley. The sun dropped a cube of light that slammed into Lee. Lifted him into the air. An arch of wind pulled him back toward the earth. The cube roared back into the clouds. Lee felt nothing when he hit the ground, but his head falling backward.

Flat on his back, he caught sight of two bright eyes that he recognized as Boo’s. The child stood above Lee, staring down into Lee’s face. Blood on the cuffs of Boo’s white pants. Blood on his tiny shoes. Lee figured that the blood was his own.

Why you put that on my shoes? Boo asked. His eyes deep and black and filled with sunlight. Something else sparkled there too.

Lee tried to speak.

Why you put that on my shoes? Gon, get up.

Lee tried.

Gon, get up. Why you put that on my shoes?

Tears fell from Boo’s eyes. The sunlight was draining the eyes. Globes of light spilled into the blood on Boo’s shoes. In Lee’s vision, the shoes swam circles. Red fish.

The police superintendent sat bent forward at his sturdy mahogany desk, a big man in a big leather armchair, framed by a floor-to-ceiling window looking out onto the vast and vicious wonders of the city. He was reading a file that lay flat upon the leather-topped surface of his desk, the tip of one finger inserted between a thin gold necklace and a massive mound of throat, the necklace like some faint and forgotten residue, ring around the collar. The finger slid, pendulum-like, to his left earlobe, paused there, swung back to his bulging Adam’s apple, paused again, passed on to the other earlobe, paused still again, then lobbed back to the Adam’s apple, only to reenact the full arc of motion.

Ward slammed the door shut.

The police superintendent raised his eyes from the file and saw menace, tall and bony, standing in his office. If he was surprised that someone had been watching him—and who knew for how long—he did not let on. He withdrew the hyperactive finger from under the gold necklace, wet his thumb against the blotter of his tongue, picked up the file between wet thumb and dry forefinger, and placed it on top of a stack of papers at the corner of the desk. He curled his small and enormously pink lips into a smile, placed both palms against the desk edge, and scooted his chair backward. Then he gripped the padded armrests, raised himself up from the seat, and came around the desk—carpet muffling the sound of his steps, white cordovans shining with a high polish—over to where Ward stood with a hand extended in welcome.

“Ward,” he said. He spoke the single word to identify the man before him, as if he found it fully appropriate. “You’ve decided to come.”

“I decided to come,” Ward said. “I had to see you for myself.”

“Pleased to have you with us.” Hand extended, the police superintendent maintained his cordial and professional tone, either failing to detect or choosing to ignore Ward’s rebuff.

Ward stuck a finger inside his nose and worked it around, some food-craving scavenger scrounging up the last helpings of a jelly jar. Only then did he offer to shake his other’s hand. The police superintendent looked at the finger, looked Ward straight in the face. Ward seized one cuff of the police superintendent’s white linen shirt—so out of season, the thinnest fabric in the coldest weather—and cleaned the mucus-covered finger on the sleeve, back and forth in slow even strokes, as if buttering a bread slice.

The police superintendent looked at the sleeve, and he stood there looking at it for quite some time. Through need and want Ward could not refrain from believing that he had succeeded in stripping away the man’s studied veneer and that he was now actually witnessing some other life form taking shape, restructuring the flesh. But, to Ward’s regret, the police superintendent slowly raised his line of sight and offered Ward a face lacking any signs of anger or distress or revulsion, a face that betrayed no emotion, just the attitude of authority and duty, and he spoke to Ward in polite even tones, asking that he be seated, motioning to a leather armchair directly in front of his desk. Cautiously, Ward settled into the chair. The police superintendent walked over to a second picture window and stood looking out, dust drifting like unmoored astronauts in two smoky shafts of sunlight on either side of him, while Ward projected acts of destruction onto the broad screen of the man’s white-shirted back.