Virginia Hamilton (16 page)

“You said he was down here. And like a fool, I listened. Man, I bet he ain’t even up yet.”

They were in a sweat now. One of them noticed that, although sunny up above, the day was swathed in ground fog down here. Misty, it was damp, like the tropics, with steam trapped under the great shade trees.

“Let’s get on outta here.”

“Let me catch my breath.”

“Stay down here, standing still too long and you catch some snakebite.”

“And without Tom-Tom around to take care of it.”

“Sure. Now he can fix a snakebite.”

“Sure. I know a kid in Eighth Grade says he was bit down here by something big and long. It wasn’t any kind of garter snake, neither. And Tom-Tom come along, says, ‘Let me see where you was bit.’ And the kid shows him. There it was on the leg, you could see the puncture marks, so the kid said. Tom-Tom looks at the bite real queer for a long look. Then he drops the kid’s pants leg and says, ‘Why, look at all them crows up the tree!’ The kid goes and looks at the crows. He says there was a whole lot of them, real funny the way they was all there in one tree. When he turns back again, Tom-Tom is way off, running away. Looking back over his shoulder at the kid. The kid heads on home from there and doesn’t think about the snakebite until he’s about halfway up the Quinella Road. He remembers he was bit. ‘I was bit! Oh, me, am I gunna die? I was
bit!’
And falls off his bike, and sits down right there on the side of the road. And starts cryin’, too scared yet to roll up his pants leg again and look at the bite. He’s sure he’s dying, and he’s heaving and blubbering and feels faint because he’d been pedalin’ the bike so hard and it’s real hot out; but he don’t think of that for a reason at all.”

“I can feel like fainting any time coming up that hill on a hot day.”

“Me, too.”

“So he’s sittin’ there, bawling like a baby and a good thing it’s the middle of the day and no cars. Somebody’d sure see him and go back and tell his folks.”

“Ain’t it funny how someone you know always sees ya when ya don’t want even a stranger to see ya?”

“Because you are doin’ what you have no business.”

“So a half-hour passes. The kid can breathe easier and he stops his crying. He ain’t dead yet. And he gets up his courage. He rolls up his pants leg real slow and careful, like he’s rolling up a million dollars in tens—either of you ever own a ten?”

The two stay quiet a moment. Glumly, one looks away.

Finally, the other says, “When I had me a paper route. This guy comes out with an arm in a sling and digging in his jeans to pay me for the month. He pulls out this bill. I take it. I think it’s a one. He says, ‘You got change for that?’ I look at it and it’s a ten. ‘Nope,’ I says back at him. I’m holding that ten and feeling how it feels in muh hand. Then I get this strong whiff of the dude. Man, he’s drunk! And near out of it. And the bandages look brand new, like he ran into a tree only an hour ago, or just a little while ago rolled down the front steps. Anyway. He can’t keep his eyes steady good. So I says real careful, ‘Mister, I ain’t got the change.’ And he says, ‘Well, what in hell I owe ya?’ And I says, pulling out my book—and before I can even say, he says, ‘Seven-fifty, wunnit?’ My mouth falls open, but I clamp it shut again real fast. And I don’t say nothing. And he says, ‘Well, hell, I ain’t got nothin’ smaller, so keep the change.’ And I kept it all. Got me a sweet ol’ ten-dollar bill.”

They are silent. The one that is the leader of the three moves away from the Quinella Trace back across the open field of high weeds. The other two follow, and mist encloses all of them and trails behind them as they hurry though the gray air.

The leader speaks. “This kid I was talking about finishes rolling up his pants leg. He must’ve rolled up the wrong one because there ain’t a mark on his right leg, which he was sure was the one was bit. So, quick this time, he rolls up the left leg, taking it easy and careful when he gets near where he thinks the bite is. But there ain’t a bite on that leg, either. He stares at both legs, and whatever was there sure ain’t there anymore. And he looks hard. But not even a twinge.”

“Ahwh!” The two boys laugh. The leader is proud at how good the story still sounds. Proud that he didn’t forget any of it; it’s not the easiest thing for him to tell something with no mistake all the way through. He believes the story without going deeper. Not to say that he believes Tom-Tom can heal a snakebite wound. But he tells the story because Tom-Tom is in it and he enjoys the sound of the telling.

They reclaim their bikes beside the road and head back up the winding Quinella.

“Once I seen Tom-Tom and his brother—” one of them says.

“Lee,” the leader tells him.

“No, but that’s not his whole name.”

“Levi,” the third one says promptly.

“Yeah. I see him and Levi coming home from school. Levi’s arms were full of books. He carried everything for his brother, including that plastic water bottle all them soccer players use. And before Tom-Tom gave up most all sports for drumming.

“Anyhow, Tom-Tom is walking along, headin’ the soccer ball—you know, knocking it around with his head. …”

“We know. We know,” the leader says. They are riding three in a row across the road. They try to keep their minds on the story, ride with style and listen for cars coming up from behind at the same time.

Style loses.

“Well, it was funny, is all I’m talking about.”

“What was funny?” the leader says. “What happened?”

“Nothin’
happened.
What it was, I couldn’t see that they were talking to each other. Tom-Tom was in front of Levi. And every time Tom-Tom would grin, Levi would nod behind him. Or one of them would shake his head and the other would frown right back. One did something and the other did something that fit with what the first had done.”

He looked at the other two for approval, for confirmation. Vaguely, he was aware that he hadn’t made himself clear. He hadn’t thought far enough, perhaps because what he wished to say was not yet clear to him.

The two who had been listening made no comment. All three raced over the B&O tracks to the top of the hill and on across town. Once in the neighborhood, they found the rest of the boys scattered away from the corner of Dayton and Union. So they took a route along a side street to be less conspicuous, and came out again at the far end of Dayton. Seeing them, the rest of the boys began gathering. All were still waiting long after the last of the parents on Dayton Street had gone to work. Every mom and dad had driven off, except for Dorian Jefferson’s mom, Mrs. Leona Bethune Jefferson, and his dad, Mr. Buford Jefferson. She was the only one now at home all day. It used to be that Tom-Tom’s and Levi’s mom was home all day, too, but not now. She had driven off like the others—but she was late, as usual.

It felt to the boys like it took all day for nine o’clock to come and go. By nine-fifteen, they were racing around on their bikes and unsettling dust the length of the street. The clear sunlight of early morning had gathered above them like a misty brown stain of pollution. Heat was oppressive, and boys were dripping sweat around their necks and hairlines. Every boy in Justice’s Pickle and Cream Gang had made it home at least once, using the house keys tied safely on cords now dripping wet around their necks. They were silent, entering homes left mussed and dish-strewn from the morning’s rush. They could always find something to eat—dry cereal eaten directly from the carton, or a piece of bread, toast with jam. They found jars full of sugarless gum and stuffed their pockets with it.

One had thrown down his key on its cord the moment he came into the kitchen. Slick, the leader of the three who had been on the early-morning run down the Quinella Road looking for Tom-Tom by the river. Now he finished a can of cream soda while standing in the light of the open refrigerator door. He swallowed the pop and it hit him that he had to catch a bunch of snakes, enough to fill up his peanut-butter container—cram it as full as he could get it. A lot of little snakes were needed. It gave him the creeps to think about it. He concentrated on the sticky-sweet soda. At last, he closed the refrigerator, which had cooled him off some.

The house was creepy, though, with just him in it—the reason why each day he stayed in the streets. Or maybe three or four of them would go fool around at the community center, but they got bored with pool. And fooling around, they were liable to miss whatever went on in the neighborhood. Who knew when Tom-Tom was going to call them to the field? Without question, without a thought, he knew that Tom-Tom was not the same as the rest of them.

He smoothed down his hair and thought to wash his face and neck under the kitchen faucet. His face stung him as water hit under the eyes. The skin over his cheekbones was raw from sunburn. He dried off in a hurry and forgot to pick up his house key from the counter. And with the race on his mind, he slammed out of the house, locking himself out for the whole day.

It might have been hours later, the boys down at the far end of the street were so worn out from waiting. Yet it was only ten o’clock. Where there had been an empty corner at Union and Dayton a moment ago, there now swung into view three figures. Their well-kept bikes made the thinnest, sleekest sound of perfect working order in the suddenly silent street. Pausing, they swung onto Dayton and away toward Tyler, where the smallest figure broke formation and executed a lazy, no-hands figure-eight in the middle of the street.

“Lookit that Justice!” one of the boys said loud. “She has to be in on everything!”

Justice gave them a wave of her arm before tearing back after her brothers. She took her place alongside the one they’d seen had a bunch of things, yellow containers, slung up his arm. There was no mistaking Levi, anyway. Although he rode the same kind of bike as Thomas’—a black, high-seated racer—he rode with his shoulders hunched too high; his head bowed too low, as though worry made it too heavy to bear.

Suddenly, the boys, close to ten of them, raced out from the far end of Dayton Street.

“They’re going to be outta sight,” one of them yelled, “and we’re sitting here!”

Just as Dorian Jefferson tore down the steps of his house. He wore a once white T-shirt now old and faded pink. He was barefoot, with brown overalls cut off, curiously, just below his knees. They noticed his legs were pockmarked with mosquito and chigger bites. Falling over himself into the street, he grinned from ear to ear and leaped on the back of the nearest bike as it was passing. The bike wavered, zigzagged, before it steadied.

“Man, Dorian,” yelled Slick Peru, “why me?” And then: “Fool, where’re your shoes?”

On cue, Dorian’s shoes came sailing out of the house, hitting the shoulders of a couple of boys. All of them had stopped by now and had come over to group their bikes in front of Dorian’s house. They caught a glimpse of Mrs. Jefferson as she slipped back inside. Something in the way she paused, holding the door open before she went in—they hadn’t seen her face. Her hair wasn’t combed; she still wore a dark robe. But they knew she hadn’t thrown his shoes outside in anger. They noticed her, realized once again that they were responsible for Dorian, and forgot her.

“Dorian, man!” Slick said again, Dorian wasn’t quite grinning. He had jumped off of Slick’s bike and now sat in the street struggling to get knots out of his frayed shoelaces. One of the fellows leaned over, grabbed up the other shoe and quickly untied it. Handing it to Dorian, he took the other shoe out of Dorian’s hand and untied it while Dorian worked to put on the first shoe.

The three figures had come back into view at the other end of the street.

“We almost ready,” Dorian called to them.

Justice had a mind to go down and see what was going on. Her view was of bikes and a pack of boys in a bunch, when she divined it was Dorian in there on the ground, putting his shoes on.

Knowing Thomas and Levi were next to her. Inwardly, she was suddenly aware of a delicate but foreign touch along her thoughts. It was not the same as the friendly, shining observer that lately she would imagine came to her just as she awoke or went to sleep. But this remote touching was like someone hiding from her and listening in on her mind. She had lately recognized for a few minutes at a time that it was a presence among her thoughts; and she understood that it had been with her over a long period of time, perhaps even years. She understood for a few seconds that Mrs. Jefferson erected shields to protect Justice as best she could from the presence, and to keep her from understanding too much too quickly of the bright watching. No sooner did Justice have this clarity than it began to fade.

Wait!

Awkwardly, she reached with something that felt like a flow of electric current. Its sparkling essence surprised and thrilled her. And with it, she was able to pull her mind away from the presence trying to read her.

You, Thomas.
She was careful to trace this only to herself.

Cautiously, she skirted the looming presence, which was unable to disguise itself as anything other than an outsider and an intruder.

There!

Abruptly, all ultra-sensory turned off for her, as if a vast, shining window had its dark shade pulled down. Swiftly, Justice lost completely the ability to see inwardly and had no knowledge that she ever could. She was unaware of the moment when Thomas left off his scan of her thoughts. But he had, a second or so after her ability ceased. He had emptied out of her mind and sat there on his bike with a grim expression on his face. Once again, he’d found nothing; yet he knew there was much there to discover beyond Justice’s unresolved impressions, which was about all he ever found.

“You-youuuu
guys!”
His voice burst down the street. All of the boys down there hushed and sat still.

“G-g-ge-ehht in l-
line
!”

The boys raced up the street on their bikes and grouped around Thomas, Levi and Justice.

Thomas and Levi exchanged thoughtful, identical looks. Right afterward, Levi began explaining things:

“You guys could of gone down to the Quinella any time before ten. You could of had your snakes already back here. Now we’re running late and going to look conspicuous.”