Daddy Was a Number Runner (23 page)

“I only told her Daddy asked Mrs. Mackey to give me a quarter and …”

“And he was in her bed.”

“Not in it, on it. I just mentioned that and she started to cry. Why would that make her cry?”

“Because he's living over there, that's why.”

“Who,” I asked stupidly, “Daddy? Mother thinks that Daddy and Mrs. Mackey …”

“She don't think, she knows, thanks to your big mouth.”

“Sterling,” I spoke very slowly, “is that why he don't come home no more? Because he's living with Mrs. Mackey?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And stop tracking up this floor as fast as I wash it, will you? Get on out of here. And don't go in Mother's room and bother her.”

I ignored Sterling and went in Mother's room. She was lying on the bed with her face turned to the wall. I went
through to the front room and climbed out on the fire escape. It's not true, I thought, it's just not true.

Mother and I were alone that evening in the dining room when Daddy came upstairs. I went into the bedroom so they could be alone, but I sat on Mother's bed, listening.

“I had a little luck last night,” Daddy said, “here's twenty dollars.”

“Thanks,” Mother said. “The rent was due last week, I'll pay it.”

“That lousy Jew oughta give us all the rent free for being janitor,” Daddy said, “instead of just half.”

Mother didn't answer. Last month Daddy didn't bring her anything so she borrowed the rent money from Aunt Hazel.

“Well,” Daddy said, “I gotta go.”

I waited for Mother to tell him she knew about him and Mrs. Mackey but she didn't say a word, and I heard the door shut behind Daddy. I was stunned. Why was she letting him get away with it? I ran into the front room, out the door, and down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I caught up with Daddy when he was in the vestibule.

“Daddy.”

I was standing on the first three steps so when he turned to me our eyes met.

“Yes, dumpling.”

“You livin' with Mrs. Mackey, Daddy? That why you don't come home no more?”

His face fell apart, then tightened into angry lines. “Who been filling you with that crap? Your mother?”

It's true, I thought, Lord, it's true. I wanted to rush into his face and scratch it bloody. I wanted to hear him cry and turn
his
face to the wall. But I just stood there like I was turned to stone.

Daddy was muttering something. I was a little girl and couldn't understand, but I would someday. The silence grew between us, then with a big sigh, Daddy turned and went into the street. His movement unfroze me. I ran to the door and shouted at his back. “You forgot about Yoruba, Daddy. You forgot you was one of Yoruba's children.”

Maybe he didn't hear me 'cause he kept on walking toward 118th Street. And Mrs. Mackey was a black bitch, I thought, and the next time I saw her I'd tell her so. I ran down the street in the opposite direction looking for Sukie. Goddammit, where was she? I raced down 117th Street to Lenox and over to 116th Street and back to Fifth Avenue. I finally found her on Madison Avenue jumping rope with some of the kids over there. I ran right up to her.

“You ready to fight now?” I asked, and before she could answer, I banged her in the nose.

Sukie backed up. “What the hell's the matter with you, Francie? You sick or somethin'?”

“No, I'm just ready to fight. Whose ass you say you was gonna whip?”

“You
are
sick,” she said, “and I ain't fighting no sick people. I'll take care of your ass tomorrow,” and she marched off before I got a chance to sock her again.

I walked aimlessly down to Central Park and sat on a rock throwing stones into the lake. I sat there until the trees melted into the shadows and the trunks turned into gaping jaws and the branches into writhing snakes. I got up and felt the panic clawing inside me, waiting to burst into a scream. I clamped my lips tightly together and ran down the path keeping as far away from the killer trees as possible. I made my way out of the park.

Sukie was going to fight me this night. I was tired of messing around with her. Fifth Avenue was crawling with
people but Sukie was nowhere to be found. I went up to her apartment and banged on her door. No answer. I continued up to the roof, forgetting that I was afraid of the dark, and crawled down the ladder to her fire escape.

The window was open but it was dark inside. I was just about to holler for Sukie when I heard a noise. I laid down on the fire escape and raised my head above the sill. It was a bright moonlit night, but I couldn't see much. Then I heard a noise again, a grunt, and saw a flicker of light, just a spark for an instant, then it disappeared.

I heard Sukie's voice say: “No, no.”

A man's deep voice mumbled something I couldn't understand. I could see their outlines now. They were on the couch in a dark corner of the room, but I couldn't see much. A light flickered again, and I heard that old couch thumping and squeaking.

Sukie is a sneak thief, I thought, pretending all the time she didn't like Vincent and planning all the while to let him do it to her. My heart was jumping about so I almost rolled off the fire escape. When the squeaking and groaning ended, I crawled past the window to the ladder, crossed over the roof, and went home.

“Francie, where you been?”

“Looking for Sukie, Mother.”

“She home?”

I hesitated for only a moment. “No.”

We pulled the sofa away from the wall and I climbed into it and began to scratch. The bugs had finally made it to our new couch. I hoped Sukie's mother would come home early and find them and throw both their butts out the window. But I wasn't really mad at Sukie. It was a strange feeling I had, an ache deep down somewhere, like everybody had gone off to some strange land and left me behind.

TWELVE
      

ON Sunday Mother and I went to church and she let me wear her good silk stockings. The ones she wore were so runny they looked like net and I noticed for the first time how turned over her heels were.

Adam talked about boycotting the stores on 125th Street until they hired colored people and announced there was gonna be a meeting in the church basement that night to plan it. Then he got down to preaching.

At the end of his sermon while the choir was singing softly in the background, “Take your burdens to the Lord and leave them there,” and Adam was standing up in the pulpit with his arms outstretched, looking handsome and near white, asking the sinners to come forth and be saved, Mother started to shout.

“Jesus, help me. O Lord, Lord, Lord.” She stiffened in her seat, flinging her arms up over her head, crying out loud for God's mercy.

Mother, don't. Somebody. Help my mother. The nurse came running. Everybody close by turned around to look at us but I didn't care. She had a right to cry and shout like everybody
else, didn't she? I glared at the starers but they were nodding at Mother in sympathy.

“It's all right, sister. He knows how much you can bear.”

“Amen, I say. Amen.”

The nurse wiped Mother's sweating forehead and suddenly she was herself again and avoiding my eyes. I leaned forward, hesitated a moment, then kissed her cheek.

“I'm all right, Francie.”

“Yes, Mother.” I turned my attention back to Adam.

“We will now sing hymn number two eighty-two,” he said, “ ‘Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.' ”

I made a mental note of the number along with everybody else so I wouldn't forget to play it tomorrow.

That afternoon I saw Sukie for the first time since I peeked in on her and Vincent from the fire escape.

“Hello, Sukie.”

“Hi.”

“You wanna fight?” I asked, my heart not really in it.

“Naw,” Sukie said. “We're too old to be fighting like children. We got better things to do.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I waited for her to tell me what better things she had been doing and when she didn't, I asked her. “What better things you been doing, Sukie?”

“What you mean?”

“You said we had better things to do than fight so I thought you meant something special. Like maybe you had something to tell me.”

“What I got to tell you?”

“How do I know what you got to tell me?”

“I ain't got nothin' to tell you.”

“Oh, for christsake,” I said. So she was gonna be selfish and keep it a secret from me. Vincent had gone back to Florida so why wouldn't she tell me what happened?

“What you wanna do?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Let's walk down to 112th Street,” I suggested.

We started out silently. I looked at her sidewise but she didn't seem any different than before. You would think it would show in some way, but it didn't. There she was, spitting into the gutter like always, looking pretty and evil all at the same time.

At the corner of 115th Street a street speaker was up on a ladder as usual in front of a small crowd. As we drew closer we were surprised to discover that it was Robert. He stood on the second rung, his elbow resting on the top of the ladder and frowning down on the people like they were his enemies.

“The Italians in this country know how to throw
their
weight around,” he hollered. “They got influence and can pressure businessmen here into helping Italy. America says it's neutral but why is Roosevelt still shipping oil to Mussolini? Oil which helps him kill black people? Answer me that. I'll tell you why. It's because Italian Americans got political and economic power, that's why. And what kind of power do black people have? What are we doing to help Ethiopia? What are we doing to help ourselves? I tell you, brothers and sisters, the black man in this country must make his own life. The crying Negro must die. The cringing Negro must die. If he don't kill hisself the environment will, and we been dying for too long. The man who gets the power is the man who develops his own strength. I ain't talking about strength in his muscles but in his mind. We got to get a better education. We got to build Negro economic and political freedom. And if we don't, in fifty years from now, or sooner, this country will be bloody with race wars.”

“He keep that up he gonna get hoarse,” Sukie said. “If
Elizabeth could see him up on the ladder hollering like a fool, she'd quit him.”

“He ain't no fool,” I said, suddenly angry. “They're the fools.” I pointed to the restless crowd. “They're just listening 'cause they ain't got nothing else to do since there's no numbers to play today. Why don't they
do
something?”

“Like what?”

“Like what Robert is saying.”

“He ain't saying shit.”

“He is so,” I yelled.

“Francie, you out of your mind hollering at me like that?”

I swallowed hard. I must be out of my mind. “I'm sorry, Sukie.” I turned back to Robert who was talking more calmly now.

“Having had the wrong education in this country from the start,” he said, “we are our own greatest enemy. Marcus Garvey said that in the twenties and it's still true. But it don't have to be that way. Did you know that while white people were still running around in caves in Europe, like the barbarians they still are, that Africans were emperors and kings of civilized empires? Did you know that Timbuktu had a great university and was the main stem for learning way back in the ninth century? Check it out, brothers and sisters. And don't you believe the white man when he tells you that you never had a pot or a window.”