My Name Is Leon (16 page)

Sylvia is still standing in the doorway. He can hear her breathing and smoking. He can hear her getting angry with him and telling him to leave. He drags his sleeve across his face, turns around and picks up his pack, and waits for her to say it.

“Where you going?” she asks.

Leon says nothing.

“If you think this fool is putting them pissy clothes in the washer and tidying up, you're mistaken. Put your bag down. Come on.”

She puts her hand in his neck-back, just like Maureen does, and nudges him into the bathroom.

“Jeans, sneakers, socks, pants, all of them in the bath. Come on. I'm standing right here and watching.”

Leon does it.

“Fish my best dressing gown out of the toilet and put that in the bath as well and try not to get any of that wet toilet paper on it. And don't make such a bloody mess on the floor neither. Watch it. Careful.”

Leon does it.

“Now, run and get two shopping bags from under the sink. Quick. I'm counting to ten.”

Leon runs and comes back in eight.

“Now put your hands in there and get every single piece of toilet paper out and into one of the shopping bags. And when I say every single piece, what do I mean?”

“All of it.”

“You bet your sweet life.”

She stands and watches him. It takes ages and she says nothing. When it's all done, she takes the shopping bag and twists it around by the handles and knots it in the top, then she puts it in the other bag and does the same. The linoleum on the floor of the bathroom is all wet.

“Right, pick up the clothes out of the bath and bring them into the kitchen and be quick. Don't let them drip. Come on.”

They run down the hall together, through the living room and into the kitchen. She drops the shopping bag into the trash bin and then opens the door to the washing machine.

“All in,” she says, “the sneakers as well. All in.”

Leon feeds everything into the washing machine and watches while Sylvia puts in the soap powder and turns it on.

“Wash your hands.”

Leon does it. She points at a chair. Leon sits down.

“Ever hear the phrase ‘Don't shit where you sit,' Leon?”

“No.”

“What do you think it means?”

Leon says nothing.

“No? Well, I'll tell you. It means don't fuck up a good thing. It means that if you get bad news or someone gets on your nerves, you don't make trouble or ruin things at home. Home is where you live, where you sleep, where you eat, where people look after you. Don't shit on your own seat. You shit on someone else's seat or find another way to sort things out.”

Leon nods.

“Now,” she says, lighting another cigarette, “I don't know if you've any idea what I'm going on about, so I'll say it nice and simple. We get along. I like you and you like me. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“And more important than anything is the fact that my sister, Maureen, who ain't well, loves us both.”

Sylvia smokes her cigarette for a bit.

“So I'm going to look after you until she's well again. That means I need a dressing gown. That also means I need a working toilet and I don't need attitude.”

Leon nods.

“Now, if that mincing prick comes back here with any of his nonsense, I'll sort him out. I don't know what he said to upset you because I couldn't hear properly from where I was standing but you leave him to me. He's already had the rough edge of my tongue. That's the first thing. The second thing is, I don't like any of that nonsense in the bathroom. How much money have you got in your bag?”

Leon says nothing.

“I'm taking two pounds off you for a new toilet seat. I'll take fifty pence a week out of your pocket money till it's paid off.”

She puts the kettle on and makes a cup of coffee. She gives Leon a drink of juice and a packet of chips.

“In a minute, you're coming to the bathroom with me, we're mopping the floor with bleach and then you're getting in the bath. Bet your legs are itching.”

Leon nods. She smiles.

“Serves you right,” she says. Then she stops still and looks off into the distance. “I wet the bed till I was nine, and I shared with our Maureen. She stood up for me, she did. Said it was her so I didn't get into trouble.”

Sylvia stirs the spoon in her mug.

“Hope she gets better.”

29

Something is wrong. For days and days Sylvia is on the phone and when Leon comes in the room she says goodbye or tells him to go outside or she starts to whisper. She hasn't forgotten about the toilet paper and her best dressing gown. She hasn't forgiven him for shitting where he sits.

Leon measures himself using the window ledge in his bedroom. When he was nine the window ledge was the same height as his elbow but tomorrow, when he's ten, people will notice how he's grown. Leon breathes in deeply and sees his chest grow. He feels his arms and shoulders for muscles. He needs to get strong if he's going to carry a heavy weight.

He cycles up to the allotment straight after school. It's a sunny day and there are lots of people doing something to their little gardens. Mr. Devlin calls him over.

“Off the bike, boy.”

Leon gets off and rests the bike on the ground.

“Have you seen your handiwork?”

“No.”

“Come and look.”

They walk to the wigwam of canes and each little plant has begun to twist around the cane. Some of them are loose and tall and some of them are stubby and strong.

“Will they get to the top?”

“And beyond. Eight feet or more. So you see, there's no harm done if you delay planting. And planting in situ has many advantages. The seedlings aren't disturbed. You put the seed where the seed grows, where it belongs, and then you don't move it. Best results? Do what I do.”

He pours a gentle trickle of water on each seedling.

“Of course, if you have a proper greenhouse, like Mr. and Mrs. Atwal over there, you can get a jump on this method. Start them off in a seed tray or a three-inch pot. Replant them after a few weeks. They'll come up all right, I suppose. Yes, yes, and the ever-­present Mr. Burrows likes to tell us all about his achievements, but I'll tell you this, there is a rightness about planting seeds the way people have planted seeds for generations.”

Leon looks at Mr. Devlin's neat rows of runner beans.

“Not quite broadcasting but fairly close. There was a field outside the schoolhouse, just under an acre. Very quiet, on the outskirts.”

“Why do they call them Scarlet Emperor?”

“
Phaseolus coccineus.
South American in origin. There are many varieties, in fact. When they get more mature, you will see the most beautiful red flowers, scarlet flowers. And another thing.” Mr. Devlin squats down and touches the delicate new leaves of the plant with his dirty fingers. He looks happy. “The Scarlet Emperor is a whole plant. That means you can eat the flowers, you can eat the beans, and you can even eat the root. This sort of plant can keep you alive for many weeks if necessary, if
that's all you had. There is a type of protein in the bean, even the bean pod itself is nutritious, the flowers are both attractive and flavorful, and there are tribes in Mexico who boil and eat the root. And then, of course, if you're away from home, you can dry the beans and cook them. Never eat them raw. Never. Magnificent.”

Mr. Devlin's eyes are twinkling and bright. He stares at the wigwam and then looks at Leon.

“How old are you?” he says.

“I'm ten tomorrow. It's my birthday.”

“Ten years old. Summer baby,” says Mr. Devlin. “A ten-year-old boy. You're well grown for ten. Well developed.”

“I'm going to have big muscles. I'm going to carry bricks in my backpack until my muscles are strong. I saw it on a TV show.”

“Bricks?” says Mr. Devlin. He puts his hand around Leon's upper arm and squeezes. “I have something better than bricks. Come with me.”

He takes Leon into his shed.

“Let me see,” he says and begins moving things on the shelves and behind the chair. He keeps dropping things onto the armchair: a pair of brown leather shoes that are all moldy and creased, some china plates with chips on them, a tiny kettle, and a rolled-up checkered blanket. These are all things that Leon would like to touch but then he drops the gun on the blanket and Leon gasps. It doesn't go off but Mr. Devlin wasn't very careful with it. Then he throws more things on it, some magazines and a clock and some plastic rope.

“Yes, good. That's the thing. Look here.”

Mr. Devlin is holding some weights like bodybuilders use; they're made of black iron. He holds one out for Leon but when Leon takes it, it drops out of his hand. It doesn't look heavy but it is.

“Steady now,” says Mr. Devlin.

He crouches down, picks up the weight, and closes Leon's hand around it. He shows him how to bring it up and down, watching him closely, breathing in and out, smelling of oil and dinners and old people.

“Do you feel it?” he says.

Leon nods.

“Where do you feel it?”

“In my arms,” says Leon.

Mr. Devlin presses Leon's chest.

“And here?”

“Yes,” says Leon.

Mr. Devlin presses Leon's back.

“And here?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Now, a boy's muscles are sinewy and undeveloped. You can't build muscles on a boy, neither should you. A little light work doesn't hurt but no vigorous bodybuilding. Not yet.”

Leon brings the weight up and down again just to show he can do it. After a while, Mr. Devlin smiles.

“Very good,” he says and stands up. “Here, take this.”

Leon takes the other weight and puts them both in his pack. It's heavy now and difficult to hold. Leon takes his time doing up the zipper and making them fit straight at the bottom and all the time Mr. Devlin is standing at the door watching him.

“Hey, you!”

It's Tufty's voice outside.

Mr. Devlin turns round.

“Yes?”

He steps out of the shed and Leon hears Tufty shouting.

“What the fuck is this?”

Leon quickly goes to the old chair; he moves the magazine, the clock, the rope, and all the other things. He feels around until his hand closes on the butt of the gun. He grabs it and puts it in
his pack. He mustn't touch the trigger. He puts the pack on. It cuts into his shoulders as he steps outside.

Mr. Devlin has his hands on his hips.

“Listen, Burrows, it's not my idea. It's the rules. Your father has sublet the plot to you. Subletting is prohibited, as you know. There was some discussion and—”

“I said what the fuck is this?”

Tufty is shaking a piece of paper in Mr. Devlin's face.

“It's in the rules. However, if you're unhappy, there is an appeal procedure.”

“Liar.”

“I don't care what you think, Mr. Burrows. There was a committee meeting last night and—”

“Bullshit! What committee meeting? This is about them police the other day. You see me do anything? You see me start any argument? I did nothing. This isn't about no fucking subletting. This is about racism, pure and simple.”

“Holy Mother, you're ridiculous. I have nothing to gain by getting rid of you. This is between you and the committee. I have no dog in this fight.”

“This ain't no fucking fight. And I ain't no fucking dog. You're just a foot soldier, man. You ain't no general here. You don't like it when you're not in charge, do you? You go around cutting down bushes with your fucking knife. Who told you to cut down the bushes? You think this is the jungle or something? Tend your own fucking business, man.”

“General? I never claimed to be a general, you damn idiot.”

Tufty notices Leon then.

“Yeah? What you doing with that boy in there?”

“What did you say?”

Mr. Devlin stands up tall but he is still shorter than Tufty.

“You heard me. I seen them pictures you got in there. Little boys on your shelf.”

Tufty pulls Leon toward him.

“You don't go in there, you hear me. Stay away from that man. He don't like black people unless they're under sixteen. Yeah?”

“How dare—”

But Tufty is towering over Mr. Devlin. He holds the paper up in the air and then flings it in Mr. Devlin's face.

“My father's been on this site for twenty years. How long you been here? Eh? How long? My father's gone home for six months. Six months. I told you that. You know that. I've been coming here with my father since I was five years old. You think you can come here and tell me anything? He's coming back when he's good and ready and when he does, he will find everything just how he left it. You get me? You ain't throwing me off this site. Don't send no fucking Ku Klux Klan orders to my father's house. Next time, I don't play so nice. You get me?”

All the time Tufty is walking forward and Mr. Devlin is walking backward, right into his shed.

As soon as Mr. Devlin is gone, Leon goes and gets his bike. It will be hard to pedal with the weights on his back and with the gun in between them. He goes all along the path to his halfway house and tugs the door open. He lets it close gently, silently, but as soon as he puts the weights on the crooked table, both legs break off and the weights crash on the floor. Leon peers through the glass but there is no one nearby to hear. He takes the pistol from his backpack and holds it up to the light. It's all black, shiny and smooth. It feels heavy in his hand and fits perfectly. He points it at the door.
Poof.

30

It's the fifth of July. Finally. Saturday. At last. Leon's birthday. He wakes up early. Sylvia hasn't even mentioned his presents or anything and every time he tries to say something about it, she's talking on the phone or planning her street party for the Royal Wedding. He thinks about the Action Man that he got for his last birthday and his other Action Men that he had to leave behind. He had lots of outfits and different guns and they are all still at his old house where he used to live with Carol.

He gets out of bed and walks slowly along the hallway in his pajamas. Sylvia is standing at the back door with a cigarette. She turns around when she sees him.

“Here he is! Ten years old and nearly looking me in the eye. Bloody hell! You've grown overnight, haven't you? Come here.”

She bundles him into her skinny arms and kisses him on the cheek. He can smell her body and her cigarettes.

“There's a birthday kiss for you. I don't give them away very often. Not these days.”

She opens a kitchen cupboard and takes out a little box wrapped in glittery paper.

“That's from me, love,” she says. “And here's your card.”

Then she opens the door to the cupboard where she keeps the vacuum and pulls a massive box out.

“And this is from Mo!”

Leon looks at his two presents.

“Can I open them now?”

“Go on then.”

The paper is hard to get off the little present because there is so much tape but inside is Darth Vader in a cardboard box. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo are good but Darth Vader is evil and Leon wonders if he will have a bad dream if Darth Vader is in his bedroom.

“Thank you, Sylvia.”

Sylvia pushes the other box over to him.

“Wait till you see what's in this.”

There's so much paper it takes ages, but he keeps going.

“It's an AT-AT Walker!”

Sylvia helps him take the cardboard box off and all the little bits of wire that hold it in place and then Leon puts it on the carpet. Then he makes it walk up and down and moves its head and fires all the guns.

“Is it good, then?” asks Sylvia.

Leon is still playing with the AT-AT when Sylvia sits down next to him on the carpet.

“Ooh, that's a long way down. Now,” she says, “here you are. You've been waiting on this and, between me and Maureen, we made sure you were going to have it on your birthday. So, here.”

She gives him a strong, brown envelope with his name typed on the front. It feels like there's a card inside.

“Do you want me to open it for you?” Sylvia says. “Open it carefully.”

So he does. There's a photograph inside. It's Jake. He's sitting up and he has a lot of blond hair just like Carol's. He's wearing a pale blue top with a velvet collar and a mini pair of jeans. He has no shoes on but his feet are much bigger than they used to be. He's smiling and he has a lot more teeth. One arm is reaching out for Leon.

Jake is smiling but Leon can see he's tired and he doesn't like having his picture taken. Anyone can see that. Leon doesn't want to turn the photograph over because he knows the address will be on the other side, so he just pretends he can't stop looking at Jake, which is true anyway.

“There should be a letter in there as well.”

Leon puts the photograph down carefully by his AT-AT and takes the letter out. It isn't written by a baby, it's typed.

“What does it say?” says Sylvia.

“ ‘Dear Leon, I know it is your birthday so I have sent you a photograph of me. I am very happy living with my new mom and dad. I have got lots of toys and I like playing with cars and trucks. I have my own bedroom with pictures of bears on the wall and I go to nursery to play with my friends. I hope you are as happy as I am and hope you have lots of presents on your birthday. Lots of love from Jake. Three kisses.' ”

“There you go!” says Sylvia and she strokes his back. “See? He's very happy.”

She goes into the kitchen then and says he can have whatever he wants for his birthday breakfast. He can have chocolate cereal which she bought specially or he can have beans on toast with grated cheese or he can have biscuits with icing on or anything that's in the cupboards because it's his birthday and he can choose.

Leon has Choco Pops with Pepsi Cola and he opens all his birthday cards. One from Maureen, one from the Zebra, whose name is Judy, one from Beth, the other social worker who
sometimes collects him from school, one from Sylvia, one from someone called Ian from-the-center-in-brackets and one from Sylvia's friend, Sue. Sue's card has a one-pound note in it. As soon as he opens the cards, Sylvia puts them on the sideboard.

“Happy?” she says.

“Yes.”

After breakfast, Leon takes all his new things to his room with his photograph. He puts his new toys on the bed and then turns the photograph over. There is an address printed in big gold letters.

“HALLADAYS”

287 DOVEDALE ROAD

DOVEDALE HEATH

Leon puts the photograph in his backpack and then he takes it out again. He reads what the letter says. He reads it twice. He's angry with the person who wrote the letter and put three kisses on it and makes Jake sleep in a bedroom all on his own. He puts the photograph next to his bed and gets dressed.

Mr. Devlin is watering his plants
when Leon wheels his bike into the allotments. Leon stops and they both look over toward Tufty's shed but he isn't there. Mr. Devlin waves him over.

“It's your birthday, isn't it? Today, you said.”

“Yes. I got an AT-AT and Darth Vader and some money.”

“Good. And I've got something for you as well. I don't think our friend Mr. Burrows will object to this.”

He goes into his shed and comes back with a brown paper bag.

“I've been watching you. Come with me.”

Leon follows him to one of the plots between Tufty and Mr. Devlin. It's overgrown and untidy; no one looks after it.

Mr. Devlin points to a spot on the earth.

“Stand there.”

He walks with long steps to a bush with green berries on it.

“That's about twelve feet. It's about one-quarter of a standard plot. It now belongs to you. It's your small patch of the planet. It's arranged with the committee and I'm your sponsor.”

He opens the paper bag and gives Leon a small fork with a wooden handle and a trowel that matches it.

“Now you have to look after it, young man. You have to weed it and plant some seeds and water them. You're in charge of them. Do you understand? It's hard work. It might look easy but it isn't. Responsibility never is. What does responsibility mean?”

“When you're in charge of something.”

“That's only part of it.”

“And it means you have to look after something and it's always there in your mind even when you can't see it, because you're thinking about it all the time and you have to make sure it's safe and everything you do is about looking after that thing and making sure it's all right even when you don't want to do it. Because that's your job.”

Mr. Devlin nods and waits a little while before he speaks again.

“Very eloquent. Yes. And now this one-quarter plot belongs to you. Look.”

He puts his hand in his pocket and takes out a packet of seeds.

“Scarlet Emperor. You remember we planted those seeds over there? Remember? Start with those. It's not too late in the season.”

“I haven't got the wigwam,” Leon says.

“We will do it together. Later.”

Leon's backpack is so heavy. He has some tins of food from Sylvia's cupboard inside and a bag of sugar and a blanket from the airing cupboard. He puts the pack down and looks at his plot. Then he looks at Tufty's plants in neat and tidy rows and Mr.
Devlin's and Mr. and Mrs. Atwal's and all the others. Like Mr. Devlin said, it might look easy but it isn't.

“It seems to me you might need a little help to get you started. Get the seeds in the ground and—ah, here is just the man.”

Mr. Devlin moves away from Leon. He goes to the edge of Leon's little plot. Tufty's bike skids to a halt and he gets off. The two men look at each other for ages but no one speaks, so Leon tells Tufty about his present.

“He gave you these?” says Tufty, weighing the tools in his hand. “He give you any other presents? He give you anything else?”

“Some seeds,” says Leon.

“They ain't enough. You need more than these to start with. Come.”

Leon turns to wave at Mr. Devlin but he is already walking away.

Leon's plot has some raised beds. That's what Tufty calls them, raised beds. They are mini gardens surrounded by wood. He has four of them and some raspberry bushes. The raspberries are sour. The best plot in the whole allotment is Mr. and Mrs. Atwal's and the second is the woman who wears long skirts, but third is Tufty's.

“Right,” he says, “we got to clear the beds first, then we work on the path.”

“It's my birthday today,” says Leon.

“Yeah, yeah. I remember. You told me.”

“I'm ten.”

“Yeah?”

Tufty makes Leon sit down on one of his fold-up chairs and then he gives him a can of pop.

“You can't do hard work on your birthday, Star. You got to take it easy. Did you get your presents yet?”

“I got an AT-AT and Darth Vader.”

“Yeah? That's good.”

“And I got some money.”

“Nice.”

“And Mr. Devlin gave me these tools.”

“They're good old tools, Star. Nice handles.” Tufty slaps him on his shoulder. “Ten! I remember being ten. You got no worries yet, Star! You got to enjoy it. Yeah, wish I was ten again, sometimes.”

Leon looks at his backpack with the tins inside and thinks how far he has to go on his bike.

“How did you get your muscles, Tufty?” he asks.

“Me? Just born this way. I used to do a bit of martial arts when I was young.”

Tufty springs up onto his feet and kicks the air; he sweeps one hand around in a circle and then stabs the air with the other.

“You want me to teach you some moves? Come. Stand up. Stand like this.”

Leon stands with his feet apart.

“First thing you got to know is kung fu means ‘work hard,' so this ain't easy. Not if you want to get it right. Okay, first you need to get your stance right. A firm stance is going to keep you on your feet. You know, if someone comes for you and you're standing right like this”—Tufty spreads his legs wide—“this is horse stance. If you're in horse stance it's difficult to knock you down. Then there's this, this, this.”

Tufty is moving and punching the air and waving his arms and he looks like nobody could beat him.

“Come on, copy me.”

Leon does everything that Tufty does, stances, stretches, punches, blocks, and it takes a long time.

“Yeah, yeah, you got it. You do those moves every day and you get muscles. You get muscles and no one can fuck with you.”

Leon copies Tufty carefully.

Tufty moves like a cross between a soldier and a ballet dancer, graceful and dangerous.

“When people fuck with you, you got a choice. You fuck back or you swallow down.”

He raises one leg a few inches off the floor and draws a circle in the air. He stares straight ahead but his chest is going up and down. Leon knows he's angry and he's thinking about the policemen who trampled on his posters and took Castro away.

“Swallow down enough times and you start to choke.”

He stops suddenly and puts his foot on the ground. He blows all the air from his belly and closes his eyes.

“Or you learn to accept. Let go. Breathe easy.”

Tufty brings both hands together like he's praying. Then he turns his head quickly to look at Leon. “But you know what's best?” he says. “You need some classes. They got classes up on Carpenter Road.”

Leon sits down and drinks his can of soda.

“You could get your mom to take you. I'll show you where. Or your dad can take you. It's not far. Where do you live?”

“Ten College Road.”

“So, it's not far. Tell your mom you want to do it. Okay? You got some good moves there.”

Leon stands up. “I've got to go now.”

Leon picks up his tools and puts them in the paper bag with his Scarlet Emperor seeds. He puts the bag in his pack and it's even heavier than it was before.

He waits until Tufty isn't looking, then wheels his bike quickly to the halfway house. He tucks it out of sight, crouches down, heaves the door open, and places the tins and the blanket and the sugar on the floor. He will have to make it tidy another day.

Sylvia has everything ready when he
gets back. There are sandwiches on the table and little sausage rolls and mini cakes.

“It's not too late to change your mind. We can ask that boy from up the road if you like. He's about your age.”

“No,” says Leon. “I don't know him.”

“I'm sure the boys from your class would have come if you'd asked. What about your friends from the park?”

Leon says nothing.

“It's just going to be me and you and a couple of my friends, Leon. It's not much of a party, kid. You sure?”

“Can I go out on my bike later?”

“Again? After tea you can have another hour. What's at the park anyway?”

“Swings and slides. Some kids have got skateboards. I can go down the ramp on my bike.”

“You can bring one of your friends back here sometime if you like, you know. You should have friends, Leon.”

“Can I put the TV on?”

“They'll be here soon. Go and wash your hands. Put your bag away.”

Leon gets more presents when Sylvia's friends come. Felt pens, a car, three pound notes, and a soccer ball. And more cards as well. The sideboard is full up. He has chocolate cake and sweets and Pepsi Cola and an enormous bag of Revels all to himself.