Tears on a Sunday Afternoon (9 page)

My father and the other man seemed to be having an intense conversation. I was curious to know what they were discussing, but I didn’t want my father to become suspicious. As in the picture, real life had been hard on him. The lines on his face were sharp and his eyes hadn’t stood up to the test of time. They were yellow and dull.

The man my father was talking to shouted at him, then left. I found a spot around the bar opposite from my father and nudged into a seat. The bartender came over to me and I ordered a drink. It was a drink I would nurse for the next few hours. Finally I watched my father finish his ninth drink before putting some money on the bar. By the time he turned around, I was a few inches away from him. He pushed people aside as he stormed out. I followed him, doing the same so as not to lose sight of him. I trailed him to a blue pickup that looked practically as old as him. There were dents and rust spots all over it. A “Retired Corrections Officer” sticker adorned the bumper. My father opened the truck and pulled out a big, long, black bag. He slung it over his shoulder. It was 5:25 a.m.

My father looked around and started down a dirt road. I was stuck; I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t follow him without creating suspicion. Yet, this in itself was a great opportunity. Instead of being in the woods with hundreds of people, it would be just my father and me. I waited until I could see my father a good distance away; then I took the same path. I walked quickly, making sure that I didn’t lose my visual on the man in camouflage ahead of me. In my hunting knapsack I had a long piece of stick to imitate a hunting rifle. It was my feeble way of trying to fit in with people I had nothing in common with.

“Hold it there, young man.” I stopped dead in my tracks and looked around, trying to find out where the voice had come from.

“What?” I was surprised. Even though I had never heard my father’s voice, I was one hundred percent positive that it was his.

“Come over here.” There was a certain amount of authority in the voice.

“Where?” I asked, turning around in circles, trying to find the direction where the voice was coming from.

“Over here.” I swung around once more and my father was pointing a high-powered rifle at me. He had a silly smirk on his face as if he had just caught me dipping in the cookie jar.

“What’s this all about?” I asked.

“Well, for starters, you’re not a hunter. You’ve been following me since the restaurant. Now I’ve been in law enforcement for decades and I have a lot of enemies; most of them good-for-nothing Niggers. But you, I’ve never seen you before. The only reason I didn’t shoot you is because you remind me of my son. He wouldn’t be caught dead out here though; he’s a big-city lawyer.” My father stopped and lowered the gun. “What do you want?”

“I heard that you’re the best hunter out here. I was hoping you could teach me a thing or two. This is my first time.”

“This being your first time is quite obvious, but you trying to learn to hunt don’t sit right with me. You could’ve approached me at the restaurant.”

“You were involved in a heated conversation in the restaurant. I didn’t want to interrupt.” I was hoping the third degree would finish soon.

“What’s your name, Son?” my father asked.

“Peter. And yours?”

“Jim. I retired from corrections five years ago,” he stated proudly.

“Where’s the best place to hunt around here?” I asked, hoping to get us walking again.

“Well, Son, if you have it in you, let’s go. I usually hunt alone but I guess there’s nothing wrong with someone tagging along.” My father turned around and headed into the bushes. “I’m too old to change diapers so either you keep up or you get left behind.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be right behind you every step of the way.”

I pulled the bag tightly over my shoulder and followed my father’s footsteps. I was concerned about our introduction but, as always in life, things take care of themselves. I thought I was going to hate my father, but it wasn’t working out that way. Jim seemed like an old man who was happy to be alive, doing what he wanted to do. Yes, my father was an ordinary white man.

The trek through the bushes was long and painful. My father led the way with grunts and minor conversation about the other hunters. After about forty-five minutes of fast walking, we stopped in a heavily wooded area with a clearing in the middle.

“Now we sit and wait. You can take out your rifle now,” Jim said as he laid down and adjusted his rifle to point at the grass clearing.

I reached into my bag, took out the 9mm and put it in my waist.

“How was it, working in corrections? I’ve heard all these wild stories about men raping each other in prison.”

“I never worked in a male prison.”

“Where did you work?”

“Bention; the female prison a few miles away from here. I worked there for forty years. I had the best time of my life. I met my wife in prison. We had three children, but she passed three years ago.” I heard some sadness in his voice. “From the first time I met her in prison, I knew she was innocent; not like all the other Niggers who were claiming they were wrongly convicted.”

“There were a lot of Niggers in the prison?”

“That’s where they all belong, my friend. And we had fun with them too. We had black pussy any time we wanted. Those who wouldn’t fuck us for a cigarette or some clothes, we took those asses anyway.”

“What do you mean by you took them?”

My father looked around, like he was afraid someone might overhear our conversation in the woods. “We held them down.”

“You mean you raped them?”

“Are you a liberal, Son?”

There was a certain irony in my father addressing me as “Son.” “No, but I believe in calling a Nigger a Nigger and a Spic a Spic.”

“You’re right, Son, and those Niggers were the sweetest. Boy, did they put up a fight.” My father laid the gun down and turned around to describe the women. “Those who fought, we treated them the worst. We would punch and kick them like they were dogs; then one of us would get on top and stick it in. We’d take turns until we all got enough of what we wanted.” My father’s eyes became dreamy as he spoke. “We would pick them out like fruits in the market. There wasn’t one black woman who I wanted that I didn’t have.”

I hoped my father couldn’t see the hate in my eyes but I was trembling. This was worse than slavery. “So what happened if they reported you guys?”

“Report us? Are you crazy?! If they reported us, it would be worse for them. A few of them started investigations after they left, but those never amounted to anything. The warden had his share of women too. Those were the good old days.” My father smiled. “Oh, to be young again.”

“Did you remember a woman by the name of Sonia Watson?” I put my hand in my waistband.

“Who?”

“Sonia Watson, prisoner 225768.”

My father looked confused. “Who was she?”

“She was a prisoner in Bention Correctional Facility in 1967.”

“That was my second year as an officer. We had a lot of fun that year. Who is she to you?”

“Do you remember her?” I asked, holding the deep blue eyes of my father.

“No. What is this? Are you a cop?” my father asked nervously.

“No, I’m not a cop.”

“Reporter?” My father clutched the rifle.

“No, she was the first black queen of New York.”

My father lifted the gun to my head. “I knew that you didn’t belong here. What do you have to do with that whore?”

My sweaty finger reached around the trigger. My eyes didn’t blink. “She was my mother!”

“Oh, she put up one hell of a fight, but she was the best. We saved her for a special night. I think we did her on New Year’s Eve. She was the only one who hadn’t been touched since she had come into the prison. No; she thought she was too good for us. We tried everything to get her, but she wouldn’t let any of us touch her. She thought she was too good for us. So that night we fixed her good.”

“No.”

“Yes, we did. There was a party that night and your mother had her enemies.” I could tell the recollection was getting to my father. Saliva drooled from the sides of his mouth. “We knew that she wouldn’t go to the party so we went to her cell after the party had started. That night we had smuggled whisky in for the ladies and, while they were having their party, we had ours with your mother. Sit down, Boy. Let me tell you what happened to your mother.” Jim motioned with his rifle for me to sit down.

“No.”

“I said sit your mother-fucking Nigger ass down.” This time, my father put the end of the rifle in the middle of my forehead. “Remember, accidents happen in hunting. If you don’t believe me, ask our vice president.”

I sat down. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, I stopped killing Niggers a long time ago. There are too many complications involved with that, but I’ll give you one hell of a good beating. Your mother was a fool and I see the apple hasn’t fallen too far from the tree.”

“You will suffer for what you did to my mother.”

“Maybe, Boy, but not in this lifetime. Life has been very good to me. After I finish beating the hell out of you, I’m going to kill some deer; then I’m going to put out an SOS. Nigger needs help! He’s fallen and can’t get up.” My father was smiling.

Ants had started to crawl onto my skin. “What then?”

“Don’t worry about that, Boy. Everyone will hear your story. The same story your mother told thirty-five years ago. Yes, we raped your mother and we beat her until we thought she was dead. But your mother was a strong woman; she didn’t die. She held onto life as she was rushed into the hospital. I think she spent two months in that God-awful place. I heard she lost her hearing in one of her ears. We tried to kill her in the hospital but the stupid Nigger we talked into doing the deed got caught while she was choking her. Then we heard that your mother was pregnant and the warden arranged for her parole. I told the other fools who were with me that we should’ve made sure that she was dead in the cell. I heard she died before she could deliver.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“What!” My father was stunned. He looked at me to see his reflection. The gun started to slip from his hand.

An opportunity presented itself.

“Who…”

I took advantage of the opportunity. Before the gun could fall to the ground I grabbed a hold of it. My father kept looking at me, still in total shock. I put the gun under his chin. His mouth opened to say something but the time for talking had passed. My fingers slipped over my father’s and the trigger was pulled. The shot had started the hunting season.

I didn’t go back to my hotel. Instead, I called Marge while I walked back from the woods. She picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Hello.” She sounded surprised.

“Why do you sound so startled?” I asked. I had a slight headache.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you. Aren’t you out there hunting?”

“I’m a little embarrassed,” I replied.

“What happened?”

“I got lost and called out to my friends but I couldn’t find them. What are you doing?”

“Bored; sitting here watching porno movies.”

I liked Marge. “I have condoms.”

“Come on over. At least I won’t waste this beautiful hotel room.”

Did I say I liked Marge? I hung up the phone, with my headache getting worse. I sifted through my bag and took out the pack of Viagra pills. I peeled the paper covering off and pushed one pill out. I swallowed the pill and drank some Nestea. I looked at my cell phone. It was going to take me thirty minutes to get to Marge’s hotel.

I knocked on the hotel door. She opened it, wearing a black, sheer negligee. Her breasts were so big they looked like they would burst and her thighs were fat with rows of cellulite. I looked her over and smiled.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yeah, my headache is gone” I said.

Marge reached out, grabbed my hand and pulled me into the room. She dropped down on her knees as if to pray but instead she unbuttoned my pants.

My dick sprang out. Marge immediately took it into her mouth.

I felt relaxed knowing that today I had killed a white man and now I was going to fuck a white woman. My father was dead.

“It’s been good to be off for the last month. This is the best company I have ever worked for,” Brian said as he opened the door to his apartment.

“I’m hoping to take a year off in thirteen days,” I said, following Brian into his apartment. I handed Brian my jacket and he hung it next to his in a small closet by the door.

“Yeah, Man, I’m counting on that myself. Maybe I’ll finally be able to move out of this apartment. Rent in Brooklyn is ridiculous. I went apartment hunting with Julie last week and the only decent apartment was going for three thousand and it was a two-bedroom.” As was our ritual, Brian went into the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles. He gave me a Heiny.

“What the fuck is that in your hand?” I asked, looking at a beer bottle with brown liquid in it.

“It’s a Shandy. You want one?” Brian twisted the cap off.

“A Shandy? Does it have anything in it?” I asked, staring at the bottle.

“Yeah, there’s alcohol but it’s also sweet.”

“You are in love, aren’t you?”

Brian looked at me with this big smile on his face. “I told you. Julie’s the one for me.”

“Any woman who can make a man drink something called Shandy must be the bomb.”

“She is.” Brian lifted the bottle to cheer and I obliged.

“So, are you thinking marriage?” I asked jokingly.

“Maybe, after we do this thing. I have some stuff I need to take care of first.” Brian looked down at the ringing cell phone. “Speak of the devil.”

“Right on cue.” I left Brian to talk to Julie, whom we were meeting at a cafe in the city. I didn’t think my feelings for Julie had changed, but the incident with my father had put it on the back burner.

“We have an hour to kill because Julie won’t be leaving her mother’s house for another half an hour.” Brian sat down with his Shandy in his right hand. “I never knew I would love again.”

“Why? What happened to you? A bitch cheated on you?” I asked, taking a seat on the couch opposite him.

Brian turned the TV on.

“Life isn’t fair.” Brian held his face in his hands.

“Brian, you put a little too much into pussy,” I said, without thinking why Brian was so distraught.

“I have a daughter.”

“A daughter?!” Brian had never spoken to me about children.

“It’s always very hard for me to talk about her.”

“Why, is she in Australia or something? Did the bitch take your daughter and run away with her? Because bitches will do that; this girl did that to a friend of mine. She took his son and left New York. He doesn’t know where the fuck she is. He has tried tracking her down but he can’t find her. These bitches are crazy.” I remembered my friend, Leroy, ranting and raving when his child’s mother took his son and bounced.

“I know where she is, but I can’t go near her. She’s in California.”

“So, why don’t you go and see her?”

Brian got up from his chair, put the empty bottle of Shandy down and went into his room. He returned a short time later carrying an album. Brian sat next to me and opened the album. The first picture in the album was Brian, beaming, holding a half-covered baby in his arms. He didn’t have to say it but the look in a man’s eyes when he is holding his child is priceless. He pointed to the picture. “That was when she was born. She was the most beautiful baby in the world.”

“She sure was.” I smiled, realizing that I had said the same exact thing about my son.

“This was when she was one.” It was a picture of a baby girl holding on to a crib. There were more pictures of his daughter in all different positions. Brian was in some of them and in others, it was only his daughter. The last close-up picture of his daughter was when she was in front of a birthday cake with the number two in the middle. After that, the pictures were taken from a distance with a high-powered camera.

“What happened after she turned two?” I asked.

“By the time Linda turned two, her mother and I weren’t speaking anymore. I had moved out and we could barely stand being in the same room together. Don’t ask me what happened between us. I don’t know. Whether it was her fault or mine is irrelevant. The shit simply wasn’t working. But she would always make me be a part of my daughter’s life. She would let me keep my daughter all the time and I thought it was going to go on forever.” When Brian stopped and looked up, his eyes were swollen with tears.

I felt sorry for him. “Did something happen to your daughter?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

“So, your daughter is still alive?” I asked.

“Yes.” He continued to stare out into space.

“Why don’t you go see her?”

Brian closed the wallet and gripped it tightly in his hands. “My child’s mother met someone and he was very insecure.”

“That’s his problem. Let him go get counseling,” I said.

“She said I couldn’t see my daughter anymore.”

“Okay, bitches say shit all the time. Who gives a fuck?! What the fuck, she’s not God!”

Brian shook his head. “God she isn’t but she’s willing to go places even the devil won’t go.”

Brian didn’t have to say any more because I knew exactly what was coming next.

“That would have destroyed you and everyone around you,” I said.

“I would never do anything like that. God knows I would kill anyone that even comes close to my daughter with that. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. I have never held my daughter in my arms since then.” Brian started to cry. The tears were uncontrollable and unstoppable. It shook his body on this Sunday afternoon.

I put my hands around his shoulder to comfort him. “Your daughter is getting older and one day you’ll be able to talk to her and tell her the truth.”

“But I’m missing so much,” he said between sobs. “She’ll never forgive me.”

“Brian, there’s nothing you could’ve done. When a man is accused of sexual abuse, the accusation is a loss. It doesn’t matter who finds you innocent. There will always be questions. People who are willing to put stuff like that out there for their personal gain are sick; it’s a sickness that no fire burns hot enough to punish them for. Your daughter will be old enough soon, when the mother cannot pull something like that, and you can go back then. You can go back and take her away from that bitch. I also bet you a million dollars that the man she did that to you for is long gone. Bitches like that can never keep a man.”

My phone chimed and it was a text message from Julie. “Brian, it’s time to start over. Julie’s on her way to the restaurant.”

Honeysuckle Café was a new restaurant located in the western end of Brooklyn. It was the only soul food restaurant that served only brunch and dinner in Brooklyn. The parking lot was manned by a uniformed armed guard who directed my car into the half-full parking lot. I pulled up between a blue Jaguar and a white Cadillac Escalade. I turned the engine off, putting an end to a
Strickly the Best
CD that Brian had popped into the sound system.

There were two huge pillars painted in red, yellow and green with an entrance sign between them. The rest of the building was multicolored in red, yellow, green and black.

“This is different,” Brian said as we walked toward the pillars.

“The black man is doing his thing. This is no Flatbush. Somebody paid a few dollars to build this,” I said, walking up to an attendant dressed in a white shirt and black pants standing at a huge mahogany door.

“Good afternoon, Gentlemen. Party of two?” He held the door for us to enter.

Brian placed a few dollar bills in the man’s hand. “Our company is already inside.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the attendant said as the money disappeared into his pocket.

“You’re being generous today,” I said to Brian as the attendant eased the door shut.

Brian searched the room for Julie. “In spite of all the ups and downs, it’s still a good life.”

Anyone who knew anything about restaurants would have quickly concluded that this was an expensive one. There was ample spacing between the tables, instead of them being scrunched together like normal, economical restaurants. The tables were made of high quality wood and the clear table coverings ensured that diners could admire their beauty. I alerted Brian when I spotted Julie waving her napkin. We pointed in her direction and the maitre d’ escorted us to where she was seated.

“Two brothers, over six feet tall, physically fit and dressed to impress; you two attract a lot of attention.” Julie laughed. “Most of the women, and some of the men too, all had their eyes fixed on you.”

“Julie, you’re not right,” Brian said, kissing her on the lips.

I followed by kissing her on the cheek. “Yeah, Julie, the women checking me out I could deal with, but then you had to spoil it with the men comment,” I said, pulling my chair out.

“Get real, guys. We’re in 2006. If there’s a woman looking at you, I’ll bet you anything there’s a man doing the same.”

Brian shook his head. “Maybe we should change the conversation.”

I picked up the menu. “I’m extremely hungry.”

“This is my third time eating here. Everything on the menu is good,” Julie said.

“Well, I want breakfast. I think number ten has everything I’m looking for.” Brian pointed at his menu.

“Honey, do you think you want all that cholesterol? The omelet is made with four eggs,” Julie remarked, rubbing Brian on the right knee.

I looked around. “Where’s the waitress?”

“I asked her to give us some extra time,” Julie replied.

“Julie, I’ve never seen this side of you. You’re a control freak, aren’t you? Watch out, Brian.”

Julie gave me that
I-don’t-believe-you-said-that
look. “Donald!”

To me, she was the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. I engaged her eyes with mine, making an unspoken plea for her affection.

“Guys, I want to make a toast.” Brian lifted his glass of water. “Cheers to my friend Donald, for introducing me to the woman that I now consider my soul mate, the very beautiful Julie Walker.”

Julie was beaming. I felt like Brutus as we clicked glasses. Judas was in this gathering and his name was Donald. I had known Julie for all those years and my feelings for her had never gone beyond admiration. But now, as I saw her huddled next to Brian, my heart was bleeding. I turned away from the lovely couple to find some kind of distraction. About ten feet away sat a group of young people, presumably college students. By his mannerisms, I assumed the boy was gay; even though he was surrounded by four girls. Cultural boundaries had obviously been crossed in that institute of learning. The boy was Spanish, one of the girls was Asian, another White and the other two were African-American.

“Donald, give the waitress your order. She’s way too young for you.” Julie had obviously found the object of my attention.

I had always stayed consistent with my choice in women. Nationality and age never mattered to me. I would sleep with a forty-or twenty-year-old woman. The one that I was checking out looked to be no older than twenty-one.

“Order for me,” I instructed Julie and got up from the table.

“You trust Julie that much?” Brian asked.

“If she cares for me half as much as she does for you, I’ll be okay.” I had gotten the attention of the young woman and I was sure she would follow me into the restroom.

Julie gave me a killer look, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t have her so why should she give a fuck about who I went to bed with. I didn’t look at her as I walked toward the restroom. The lounge area was as stylishly designed as the restaurant; there were two big couches and a few lounge chairs. On the wall there was a pay phone for someone who, for some godforsaken reason, had forgotten their cell phone. The plasma located on the left side of the wall was approximately twenty inches in length. The men’s room was located to the left of the lounge and the women’s on the right. I didn’t have to wait long before she appeared. Her walk was pronounced, yet very sexy, and her tight jeans sent praises to youth. I could tell that she was a woman who got what she wanted; even at such a tender age.

“You were waiting for me.” She made it more of a statement than a question.

“I was waiting.” As always criminal activities were the main topic in local news. I didn’t want to watch it but the location of the TV didn’t give me an option.