Listen Ruben Fontanez (21 page)

“He try to
kill
him, Mister Meyers—.”

Manuel springs from the floor, but Marty gets to him quickly and holds him back. Ruben is ready for them both. I can do nothing, I know. I do not fool myself. Perhaps Danny will return. Marty has Manuel's hands locked behind him. Behind his drooping eyelids there is fire. Marty whispers in his ear. “See—?” he says to Ruben, angrily. “You got to be a joker, huh? Can't you let it rest already—you got no sense sometimes, Ruben baby. None at all.” He shakes his head and strains to hold Manuel. “Easy, Manny boy. Ruben didn't mean anything. You came on the boat together, remember? He's your brother, Manny boy. Your brother. Just like me. I wouldn't lie to you, right?”

Manuel nods.

“He got him in a spell now,” Ruben says, turning to me. He steps backwards and whispers this time, so that Manuel will not hear. “You know what he do—? After you leave, he make him lie down on the subway tracks.
Mi madre
, Mister Meyers—I telling you the truth!”

Marty has left Manuel near the window. He has been listening to us. “You can believe it if you want,” he says. “Between you and me, though, Meyers, it was part of what we spoke about before, right? Like an initiation.” I do not respond. He is in front of us. “Okay then. Just answer me this, Ruben—didn't he feel like a king afterwards? Yes or no. Like he was really somebody—?” Ruben, I see, grows angrier. It is nothing to me. I put my shoes on and lace them.

Ruben has not answered. Marty walks away from him, shaking his head. “Okay, be like that. But answer me one other thing—who saved him, huh? Who jumped down in the middle of the tracks with the train coming in—?”

“He
loco
, Mister Meyers. He almost kill him. I telling you—”

I stand and take off my pajama top. There is no need to take a clean shirt from my dresser. “Come off it, will you, Ruben? Don't you think I had it all timed—?” He glances toward Manuel. “Didn't I save you, Manny boy?” he asks. Manuel nods his head vigorously. “But you would have stayed there if I hadn't, right?” Manuel nods again and it is obvious how proud he is of his bravery. “Now are you satisfied?” he says to Ruben. “What do you want to do—take it all away from him?” He lowers his voice. “I mean, let's face it, what's a kid like that got in this life, right? Now he feels like somebody.”

“You don't got to listen to him,” Ruben says to me. “He get Manuel to do anything he wants now for saving his life.” His mouth is at my ear. “But if they both not here, Mister Meyers, I tell you the truth about Marty, about why he got to hide out like me.”

Marty puts his hand to his forehead. “Okay. Now I've heard it all, Ruben baby. You really are shook up, aren't you?” He sighs. “I guess that stuff with your mother cost more than we ever figured—”

“Batardo
—” he hisses.
“Su madre es—
”

“Stay cool, Manny boy,” Marty says. He does not even glance his way. Manuel is in a crouch, his eyes on Ruben. He obeys his leader. “Now listen to me for a minute,” he says. “You ever hear of the Mandan torture ceremony, Meyers?” I indicate that I have not and he describes it for me. In truth, I am not much interested. He tells me how young Indians are hung by slits which have been cut in their chests. The rawhide is strung to poles over their heads and they stay suspended over the ground from morning until sundown. The entire tribe watches. There are skulls on the ground. I do not listen to all the details. If the young Indian should faint, Marty says, it is proof that he is not a man.

“You don't got to listen,” Ruben says.

Marty lowers his voice. “Now let me ask you something, Meyers—and I'm shooting straight with you. You know what Manny's like, right? The way his brain works. So figure this out—if he can't forget about that kind of initiation, do you think he's ever gonna feel good inside about himself?” He stops. “Think about it.” His voice is gentle now. I remember what he looked like when I first saw him, crossing the plank between the roofs. He turns to his monkey. “I just can't understand you, Ruben. What do you want to do? Take it all away from him now—? I mean, what's a kid like that got in this life? We got to work together, baby, don't you know that?” He is pleading with my own monkey, and I think that I believe he means it. “What would you rather have me do once he got that torture stuff on the brain—put him through the real thing?”

“He trying to set Manuel against me, Mister Meyers,” Ruben says.

Marty stands. “Look, if you two don't want to come, it's no skin off me, right? We can always pick up some new joker to collect our money for us—”

“I will come with you,” I say.

Ruben looks at me and there is terror in his eyes. I hope you do not tell me what you know about Marty. Everything does not have to be revealed, my monkey. Let us go before Danny returns from work. My decision concerning the telephone was a wise one. I will not even look out the window now to see.

“Okay,” Ruben says. “Then I come too.”

“That's what I like to hear,” Marty says, but as he goes to pat Ruben on the back, my monkey slides away. I let my pajama bottoms drop to the floor and Marty turns his back to me. I step into my trousers. “Don't forget to bring your new doll—we might have time for that mass also—”

Ruben reaches into his side pocket. His fist is in front of Marty's face, but Manuel does not come near them. “You remember I got this,” Ruben says. He shows it to Manuel and Manuel moves backwards.

“Sure, Ruben,” Marty says. “Sure.”

When I have put my jacket and overcoat on, we leave the room. I say nothing about Danny. As we pass Nydia's apartment I hear the downstairs front door open. At the bottom of the stairway Carlos looks up at us. In his arms he carries a bag of groceries. He waits for us to descend.

“They are my students,” I explain.

Marty is wary. Manuel waits behind him. “You leave your hands off my wife, man—”

He has set the groceries down on one of the steps. Manuel touches his side pocket. Marty clicks his tongue. “I am an old man,” I say.

“And don't you go putting them ideas about school in her head, mother, or I cut you up good. You got me—?”

His finger is headed for my chest, but I avoid it. He is bigger and stronger than any of my defenders, I know. For now, though, it is best if he hates me. I do not mind. Ruben is behind him. He and Nydia are the same age. I move directly toward the front door. “Of course,” I say, and open the door. I watch Carlos. His face is tired. I hope you are listening, Ruben Fontanez. This is what Harry Meyers was telling you about in the restaurant, don't you see.

“We'll see you around sometime, lover,” Marty says to Carlos. “We got to go with our teacher now, right?”

His laughter, I am certain, enrages Carlos, but he leads his two monkeys into the street and Carlos does not follow us. I see the boy in the red baseball cap slip into the abandoned building. That is all right also.

We walk to Broadway and this time we head uptown, past the Lighthouse Nightclub, the Hotel Manhattan Towers, the Daitch Garden Supermarket. The Gitlitz Delicatessen is full. In front of the Apthorpe Apartments a uniformed man holds the door of a taxi open. Further along Broadway I can see the marquee of the old CBS Theater. We stop at 79th Street. Despite the cold, there are many people outside walking. In the Babka Bakery there are still long lines so I know it is not yet dinner hour. To the left, the street slopes toward the Hudson River. The boardwalk, I am sure, is abandoned tonight.

We are in the subway again. “Now there's a couple of things I have to tell you before we get up there,” Marty says to me. I look down into the pit where the tracks are and I try to visualize what happened this afternoon. Marty has his arm around Manuel's shoulder. His green bag, I realize, has been left somewhere else. He tells me that he is sure I will understand that they cannot let me know the address. It is not a question of trust. I tell him I understand. When we get to 125th Street, they will have to blindfold me. I nod. We move toward the front end of the station. Manuel's head swivels as he watches an old woman limp by. Her left foot swells monstrously from her shoe. She has elephantiasis, I know, but I do not say the word aloud. Manuel tugs frantically at Marty's sleeve, and Marty tries to reassure him. He praises him again for his bravery in the afternoon. Still, Manuel's eyes follow the woman as she drags herself heavily to a bench. Marty tells me we should not sit together in the subway car, and that if we become separated I am to wait at the northeast corner of 127th Street and Lenox Avenue.

“Now everything this guy will say may not make sense to you—I don't make promises. But I warn you about one thing, Meyers, and I'm giving this to you straight—if you let him know you think he's bats, watch out. Right, Ruben?”

Ruben nods. “You never see anybody so black,” he says.

“And that's another thing,” Marty says. “Don't say anything about his skin. He—” A downtown express train rattles through the middle row of tracks. I see the red lights of our own train entering at the rear of the station. I do not hear Marty's further instructions, though I nod assent to them.

In the subway I take a seat near the middle doors and I close my eyes. I should have eaten something before we left. I do not need to look at the people around me. College students are in the majority. I wish them well, also. At 96th Street I follow my three boys across the platform to the 145th Street Lenox Avenue Line. The faces in the car are black. They are all tired. It is not Friday, I know, or they would be talking of pay envelopes. I wonder if the Italian baths are still in use at the far east end of Harlem. I will tell you something: Harry Meyers voted for Vito Marcantonio for Mayor in 1948. A Negro policeman walks through our car, but he does not glance at my three boys. Nobody talks. Nobody reads newspapers. If we did not have to get off at various stops, we would all be sleeping, I am sure.

My glands are more active than they were earlier in the day. Perhaps we will be able to stop for a drink before we visit the old man. I do not consider inviting him to my room. I do not worry about Mrs. Wenger. I will encourage Morris no longer. I will tell Danny and he will have no choice but to honor my wish. He would not fight with me, I am certain. At 125th Street we get out of the train and wait under the arcade for all the people to pass us. Manuel gives Marty a black scarf and I stoop down so that he can tie it around my eyes. In Harlem, Marty assures me, nobody will think twice about such things.

The noises of cars and radios surround us. “You hold on to me,” Ruben says and I let him take me by the hand. In truth, the sounds are not so different from those on the West Side. I am not much interested in seeing 125th Street. I have been here before. The noise slackens and I know we are on a side street. The pressure of Ruben's hand is firm and I do not stumble once, even when I step up and down from the curbs.

“We told him all about you already,” Marty says. “Just in case. He says he heard of you, what you did that time—”

“What is his name?” I ask.

“We call him Old York. Nobody knows his real name, though,” Marty says. I hear the screams of cats. “He's supposed to be descended from the original York—the jig who was Clark's slave on the Lewis and Clark expedition. I'm not saying yes, I'm not saying no—”

“He has the spots also,” Ruben whispers to me. He tugs gently at my hand and I know I must step up. “That is why Marty—”

“Cool it, Ruben,” Marty says. His voice is tense. “You're really asking for it, aren't you? You really want me to sic Manny on you one of these first days, don't you?”

“He ruled an island in South America,” Ruben says.

Marty has decided it is not the time to lecture Ruben. He holds his anger back and tells me that what my monkey says may be the reason we cannot learn his real name. He speaks impatiently. He suspects that the name of Old York is merely a cover-up, so that the enemies who followed him in his exile could not find and kill him. “You believe what you want, Meyers,” he said. “It's nothing to me one way or the other.”

Our steps echo quietly along the street. People no longer pass us. There are brownstones here also, I know. The scarf has loosened somewhat and when I look down I can see under it to the sidewalk. Without my glasses on, though, it is all a blur. I do not hear Manuel's footsteps. “We're gonna have to leave the blindfold on till we get inside his room—so he'll know,” Marty says. I smell sour milk and my stomach is uneasy. Ruben tells me that we are going up steps and I hold on to his hand more tightly as I walk with him. We are in a building. I smell the odors of urine and frying bacon. It is warmer. I am very dizzy. “I have the doll—” Ruben begins, but I hear Marty hit him on the side of his head. My monkey staggers. “Shut up!” Marty says. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop talking so much?” Ruben's hand drops from mine and I move my own hands to the blindfold. I am ready, you see. I would try to stop Manuel. I know it.

“Man, you scared shitless,” Ruben says. I do not hear Manuel. I stick a thumb under the blindfold. “It's okay, Mister Meyers,” Ruben says, and he takes my hand again. “I not going to fight them.” I wonder if he knew what I was thinking. I cannot see his face. “I no mean nothing, Manuel,” he says. There is new life in his voice. His leader is not in complete control any longer, you see.

The wooden steps creak under us. Spots or no spots, he is merely an old man, I tell myself. If it gives him pleasure to play games with children, that is his business. As for Harry Meyers, the games are already over. He lets his monkey lead him now only because it is less difficult this way. I do not think he fools himself about that. To break suddenly after what has happened would cause infinite complications. I am certain of it. There will be time to take care of things when our visit is completed. And you need not worry about me, Marty. I will not respond to anything your leader says. We have stopped. If I judge correctly, we are at the third landing. Marty is listening. He tells Manuel to put out his cigarette. I am surprised at how tense he is. Perhaps, I think, perhaps you too are only a boy, Marty. I think this even while I remember what you have done to Manuel today.