Body and Bread (26 page)

“What?”

“His name is Saul.”

“Like I said, you still with the preacher?” He noticed a beer stain on his black t-shirt. “Excuse me,” he chuckled. “I must be full.” He waited, but we didn’t laugh. “What I’m trying to say is, I know some guys. Why don’t you let me fix you up?”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“Sam,” Terezie said, “you’re drunk.” She tugged his arm until he sat. “And you’re boring.”

Sam whistled, the ringing carrying down the block. “Damn, George. Did I insult your artistic sensibility? My wife,” Sam lifted his bottle again, “the great virtuoso.”

I didn’t know until my next stopover that Ruby had died. My parents hadn’t thought to mention it, even though my brothers and I felt as close to her as we did to our grandparents. A framed photograph of a woman appeared with others Sam and Terezie kept on a bookshelf. Dressed in knee-high boots, tie, belted coat, and trousers, she leaned against a roadster parked next to a biplane. “That’s Bessie Coleman,” Sam said, “Ruby’s sister. The first black woman pilot, what they call a barnstormer. Ruby’s Missy Mama.” I leaned in, my nose almost touching glass.
This is like one of Otis’ Master Sam stories
, I thought. “Their dad was a Cherokee sharecropper, but he couldn’t take it. Left them in Waxahachie, went back to ‘Indian country,’ he called it. Ruby said he didn’t give them anything except his wide head. Ha!” he snorted. “Anyway, I guess she wanted me to have it.” Now I regretted not having a memento of Otis. The stories would have to be enough.

That night, Sam treated us to dinner at his favorite Tex-Mex restaurant. Dishes clanked while waitresses shouted their orders at the kitchen window. Sam ordered glasses of Big Red.

“We’re celebrating,” he said, dipping a chip into guacamole.

“What for?” I said, dipping mine.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Any suggestions?”

“Jalepeño peppers,” Terezie said, munching.

“To the jalepeño,” he said, holding a chip in the air.

“The jalepeño,” Terezie and I sang. We each took a bite.

Terezie described a third-grade boy at the school where she was student teaching. She told a story about him accidentally sitting on his peanut butter sandwich. To the delight of his classmates, he’d turned the stain into a scatological routine.

“I know a kid, too,” Sam said, leaning back. He’d finished the basket of chips and raked the guacamole bowl with his finger. “He’s the one I told you about, the one with tattoos.” I nodded. “He’s not doing so good, but we think we can help him.” He lifted his arms as the waitress set down his enchiladas. He rolled a tortilla.

“Great kid. Five going on ten.” He took a sip of his drink. “His foster parents adopted him, and everything looked cool. But, without going into details, things aren’t so great now. Right?” He looked at Terezie.

“He’s a good kid,” she said.

“I need to ask a favor,” he said shoveling a forkful of rice and beans.

I was flattered. Finally, I could do something for them. “What?”

“His new mom does this thing with women’s hair where she straightens it and weaves in wigs and stuff. Anyway, she makes pretty good money, but she plays hard and isn’t around much. Dad just up and split. I’d like to get Clarence out of there, but there’s not enough evidence yet. Meantime, I don’t like him being by himself.”

“How terrible. Poor kid.”

“He stayed one night with us, and it was great. Right?”

“I said he was a good kid,” Terezie answered.” Her tone was not subtle.

“As you can see, she’s not a hundred percent with me on this, but she’s getting there.”

His buildup made me nervous. “Just tell me what you want.”

“I want the boy to live with us.”

I glanced at Terezie, who looked away. “Really? Can you do that?”

Sam stared at his plate. “Not exactly, but this is a special case.” He brightened, leaning on his elbows. “His so-called mom and her new boyfriend are going to Vegas next weekend. So I thought he could stay with you. I need a little more time to figure out how to make this work.” He chewed a bite of tortilla and licked his fingers.

“That’s so exciting!” Sam smiled; Terezie didn’t. “But why can’t he stay with you again?”

“If he does and somebody finds out, it could spoil our chances.”

“But
I
can’t get in trouble, right? I mean, everybody’d be cool about him staying with me?”

“Absolutely. We’ll get approval first.”

I’d get to help my brother adopt the child he wants. What could be better than that? Bringing the boy to the compound would be easy. He’d probably think it was camp. Still, something didn’t seem right. “Terezie, what’s he not telling me?”

“When his supervisor finds out,” she said, watching him, “he could get fired. He could lose any chance of ever getting his license.”

“That’s
not
going to happen,” he said, shrugging. He shoved away from the table, leaned back, crossing his ankles, his arms. “And even if it does, having Clarence would be worth it.”

“I don’t understand,” I said to Terezie.

“This is crossing the professional line—it’s an absolute no-no—but he’s being the usual jughead. To be honest, I’m not even sure it’s okay for you to keep Clarence for the weekend.”

Sam threw his napkin at his plate, splattering picante. “You said yourself that you like him,” Sam said. “You said you’d think about it. What happened?”

“You’re right; I did say I’d consider it, and I will,” Terezie said. “Because I see how much it means to you, and I think he’s great. But only if Sarah agrees to help.”

“Excellent,” Sam said, turning, rolling up his sleeves. He scooted his plate, hiding the puddle of sauce. “I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s one tough dude.”

“I don’t know, Sam,” I said, thinking,
convince me
.

He poked my ribs, tickling. “You’ll see. It’ll be great,
Aunt Sarah
.”

“Stop that,” I said. “Adoptions are a big deal, Sam. He’s a kid, not a puppy.”

Sam cocked his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Get you fired?”

“I can make this work.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I need your help.” His request was the confession I’d longed for. “Have I ever asked you for anything else?”

“Isn’t there a way to adopt Clarence without getting you in trouble?”

“I can figure it out. I just need more time. He’s only five. He’ll be all by himself if you don’t take him.” His words pressed; his eyes were a torch. “I’m close to having the evidence. I’m working on my supervisor; it won’t take much longer. Now, are you going to help or not?”

Terezie slumped.

Would I help Sam adopt a son, or take the blame for something Terezie couldn’t bring herself to do? The answer leaked from my mouth. “I can’t. It’s not right, Sam, and you know it.”

“What?” he growled. “You’ve got to be kidding. You
have
to do it. Terezie won’t agree unless you do.”

I shook my head. “Please, Sam.” My heart collapsed, a burning house.

“Thanks! Thank you very much,” he said, standing, knocking his chair. He tossed money on the table, and while everyone watched, he walked out the door.

o

The next weekend, I went home to Nugent. I considered telling my parents about Sam’s moodiness, but, instead, Kurt distracted them. Apparently, he was failing anatomy at Galveston, and his pre-arranged fellowship with Denton Cooley at Baylor was already in jeopardy. He’d come home, too, but I didn’t get to spend much time with him. He and my father talked in the study.

Sitting in the living room, pretending to read the paper, I watched. They sat on either side of my father’s desk, books and the kettle of bones between. “Bones are composed of two types of tissues,” my father said, and Kurt pushed his glasses up, agape. “Compact or dense bone, a little like Sam’s head,” he laughed, “and spongy or canallous bone, like, well, I guess your head. But we’re going to change that, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said, scooting forward. He was twenty-three, built like a halfback, engaged to be married, and he could’ve been Hugh that morning so long ago.

“Two-point-six million red blood cells are produced each second by the marrow.” What he meant was, “Let men laugh when you sacrifice desire to duty.” They stayed two and half days in that room, their meals brought on trays, huddling again the following two weekends.

I had my last stopover at Sam’s during the first week in December. I hadn’t seen them for three weeks, time enough for noticeable changes. I didn’t call beforehand and arrived mid-afternoon, earlier than usual, so I wasn’t surprised when Cyril answered the door. “Thank God,” Cyril said, nervously touching my shoulder. “Good,” he said, nodding, “come in. Look, Sarah’s here.” He pulled me to his sister, who sat next to a chair propped upside down on the daybed. For some reason, all the furniture, including the piano, table, and chairs, had been shoved into the center of the room.

“What’s up?” I asked, assuming that Terezie had called Cyril to help with a redecoration. I hoped I could help.

“Your brother decided to try something new,” Terezie said. “Not exactly my taste. What do
you
think?” When she hugged her knees, Cyril paced the room. “Sam…” he said, shaking his head. This was the first time I’d seen Cyril criticize Sam.

“I detect his style,” I said, “contemporary chaos.” The braided rug draped their rocking chair. A brass lamp lay decapitated, its linen shade resting on a stack of books. “Where is he?” Obviously, something was wrong.

“In his temple,” Terezie said, chewing her lip.

“His what?”

“The bedroom,” Cyril whispered, pointing but not looking at the door.

I found mattress, bed frame, table, and aquarium piled in the middle of the bedroom. In the corner, swirled curtains formed a bloated cocoon. Sunlight glowed inside the room’s white walls. Sam sat near a window, naked, his legs folded into the lotus position, his head shaved, eyes closed. I couldn’t believe he’d lost so much weight. This was anything but his true self.

“Hey,” I said trying not to sound alarmed. I closed the door, but Sam didn’t move. “Sam?” I said, touching his shoulder. I squatted, checking his face.

He blinked, focused his gaze. He smiled.

“What are you doing?”

“Purifying,” he whispered.

“Bullshit,” I said. “I want to know what’s going on. Did you know Cyril’s here?”

He closed his eyes. I wondered if he was stoned.

I shoved him, stood. “I think he might be taking Terezie home to her parents. Sam, this is just plain weird.”

“The only way to cure suffering is to tame the flesh.” Slowly, he lifted his leg, lodging it behind his neck, straining even though he was double-jointed. He tipped to the side. “Be faithful,” he panted, his face blanching, “to that which exists nowhere but in yourself.”

He’s snapped, I thought. “You’re scaring me.”

“You’re only bothered by the unfamiliar.” Sweat dripped from his scalp to his cheek. “I’ve taken control.”

“Have you eaten? Where are your clothes?”

“Purity can only be attained by abstention from pleasure.”

I walked to the chest of drawers, found his jean shorts. “At least put some pants on, Mr. Indispensable.”

His smile hinted at mischief, giving me hope. When the phone rang, we jumped. “Did you and Terezie have a fight?” Could something have happened to that little boy?

Someone knocked. Cyril peeked in, his tenderness a jolt. “Sam?” He waited, but Sam looked straight ahead. “He says he’s a client.”

Sam eased his leg down. He stepped, feet smacking, into the corner next to the swirled curtains, picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said, nude, wan, staring at me. His face sagged, then hardened. “What happened?” Flicking sweat from his forehead, his fingers rubbed an imprint—two streaks, pink, then gone. “Jake, I met your supervisor. He wouldn’t do that.” Sam bent over then froze, listening. “You know,” he said, raising himself, “you’re full of shit. You need that job.”

Terezie tiptoed in, walked passed Cyril and me, then stood in front of Sam. He glanced while she shadowed him, shifting from side to side, her hand a plea on his naked arm. “I can’t talk to you now. I told you never to call me at home.” He climbed onto a window seat, Terezie his acolyte. “Jake, Jake,” he yelled. “
You’re
the problem.” He held the receiver away, shook his face, vibrating his cheeks, then brought the receiver back. “Yeah, is that right?” he said. “It’s pointless,” he shouted. “Don’t you understand?” He stared at the ceiling. “Uh-huh, sure, why not? Come see for yourself tomorrow.” When he stretched one pointed foot behind his back then lifted it, he reached over his bald head, arching his body like a bow, and he pulled the foot even with his shoulder, his other arm spread, balancing.

Terezie turned, eyes pooling. As soon as I could, I left, sadly relieved to go.

Terezie phoned one Sunday just before Christmas. I slipped out of Elijah’s morning service to take her call in the main office. “Sam’s been in an accident,” she said, her voice flat.