Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone (28 page)

The stars came out. I watched the stars, and I counted them. I was really surprised to realize that the sky could be so black, that the sky could be so closed. I looked for the moon, but it wasn't there. The moon. For no reason at all, I suddenly missed the moon; and because I missed the moon so much, I started to cry. But I think that I had never cried this way before. I did not cry in the hope of being comforted. I had no hope. I am not even certain that there was anything at all in my mind—what we call the mind. I cried because I could not help it, exactly like the stars were shining; they couldn't help it, either. Perhaps, like me, they couldn't believe that their sentence had been passed, and that now they were to serve it. I am sure that there was nothing in my mind, because, otherwise, my mind would have cracked and I would have had to go mad. I had walked to the very top of the park. Now, I rose, for no particular reason, and started walking back down the hill. It had been daylight when I entered the park, and now it was night; but I did not start walking uptown toward our house, but downtown, away from it.
It may be odd, I don't know, but I didn't think of what was happening at the house, and I was not afraid to walk through the city, though I had always been afraid before. I did not feel, either, even remotely defiant. I don't think I even saw the cops: I simply walked.

I walked down Harlem's Madison Avenue, which in no way resembles the American one. I watched the boys and girls, who, oddly enough, did not challenge me or make any move to menace me, though I walked very slowly and must surely have looked very odd. But, no, they went on with what they were doing and I went my way; and only when I got to the outskirts of Harlem—only when the streets began to be sedate and quiet, and the faces began to turn pale—did I think that, by now, at my house, they must really be worried. I realized that I could not, after all, spend the night walking the streets. So I walked west, and I started back uptown.

But I did not, in fact, get home that night. It may be that, at the very bottom of my mind, I had never intended to go home. Or, that, as home came closer, my nerve deserted me. It may be that I had a tremendous need to hurt Caleb, or it may be that I was afraid of seeing Caleb. But my memory, for reasons which are not at all mysterious, blurs everything here, resists going over the ground again. This was the night that I discovered chaos, or perhaps it was the night that chaos discovered me; but it certainly began the most dreadful time of my life, a time I am astounded to have survived. It was the first of my nights in hell. It was this night, or a night very soon after it, that I first smoked marihuana, in a cellar with some other, older boys, and a very funky girl. I know that it was around this time that I became friends with an older boy, named Francis, who helped to protect
me in the streets; I know that the first time I ever smoked marihuana, I was with him and his friends, and I remember the cellar, which was near the Apollo Theater. Francis later turned into a junkie, and, after many attempts to break his habit, went to his room one morning and cut his wrists. But we had traveled the same road together for awhile. And neither of us had had any reason for not doing whatever came to mind. Or, it may have been this night, or a night very soon thereafter, that I was picked up by a Harlem racketeer named Johnnie, big, Spanish-looking, very sharp, and very good-natured—good-natured with
me,
anyway—who took me home and gave me my first drink of brandy, and took me to bed. He frightened me, or his vehemence, once the lights were out, frightened me, and I didn't like it, but I liked
him.
I had to keep him from buying things for me which I couldn't take home; he was an even greater protection than Francis, and it took me a long time to break with him, simply because he was fond of me—he was often the only person to whom I could turn. Eventually, Johnnie and another pimp tangled, and Johnnie was killed. But we, too, had traveled the same road together for awhile.

After the beating, the shouting, the tears, when I got home next day, my mother handed me Caleb's note. I took it in the room and lay down on the bed.

Little Brother,

You shouldn't have walked out on me like that. I must have sounded pretty mean, but you should have known I didn't mean it for you. I just couldn't take working on that job. It wasn't so much for me. It was for Daddy. I couldn't stand the way they talked to him, like he was somebody's hired clown. But I didn't say nothing.
Just, when the twelve o'clock blew, I walked out. And I decided that I would have to leave this city. I think I'll be better off someplace else and I'm going to work in the shipyard in California. And I couldn't take you with me, Leo, you know that. You got your schooling to finish and you say you want to be an actor, well what kind of life would it be, when you hanging out with me? You've got very good sense, Leo, like I've always said. You're much smarter than I am and so I know you'll see it my way as soon as you cool off.

But I'm mighty sorry I had to leave without saying good-bye to you like I wanted to do.

Take care of Mama and Daddy as well as you can and take care of yourself. I'll write you as soon as I get an address and please write to me. Don't be mad at me. When you get older, you'll see that this was the best way. I guess I love you more than anything in this world, Leo, and I want you to grow up to be a happy healthy man. So, no matter how I thought about it, it seemed to me that this was the best way for everybody concerned.

And I want you to have some flesh on your bones when I look in your face again. Please don't forget me.

Your brother,

Caleb

Caleb got into some trouble in California, and he joined the Army. I hit the streets.

I realized I was shivering, and I pulled Madeleine's big towel closer around me. Then I dropped it and left her kitchen and crawled, naked, into bed beside her. I slept. She woke me up. We made, as the saying goes, love. Then, I slept again.

Like in the movies, I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound and smell of bacon. I don't really know how it goes in the movies, but I know that I lay there on my back, apprehensive, drained, empty—drained and empty without having, really, touched, or been touched. Then, as she entered the room, smiling, in a scarlet negligée, and before I had had time to pretend that I was still sleeping, I realized that I had a performance to give. I realized that I rather liked her, and that was certainly a relief. But, mainly, I wanted to get that white flesh in my hands again, I simply wanted to fuck her: and this was not because I liked her.

“You awake?”

My God, she was cheerful. She sat down on the bed.

I made a sound, it was meant to convey, No, and I turned away and then I turned toward her again and I pulled her down on top of me.

“I got breakfast on the stove, sugar.”

“
I
got breakfast here.” And, after a moment, I said, “All you got to do is reach out your hand.”

“Let me turn down the fire under the bacon.”

I laughed. “You do that.”

She wavered into the kitchen. She came back. I took her hand. “Did you put out the fire? under the bacon?”

“Yes.”

“No, you didn't. Put it out now. Right here. Right now.” I took off her robe. “I want to watch you do it.” I laughed. But Madeleine certainly wasn't anybody's freak. She claimed it wasn't because she was unwilling. It was because I was too big. Well, all right. And we fooled around, while I became more and more aware of the smell of coffee and more and more, rather, worried about the disappearing bacon, and we ended up doing it like
mama and daddy. Well. All right. And she went away again, and I fell asleep again.

When I woke up again, she was dressed, in blue.

“Listen, my love,” she said—my
love!
—“everything you need is out there in the kitchen. I've got a rehearsal, and I've got to run. Here's an extra set of keys.” She put them on top of my jeans. She looked at me. “So. Will you be here when I get back? Or—?”

“I don't know. What time do you get back?”

She looked at her watch. “Well. It's nearly two now. Not before six or seven.”

Slowly, and most reluctantly, my head began to clear. “I might go home. But I think I'll sleep awhile. I think I'll be here when you get back. But, if I'm not going to be here, I'll call you at Lola's.”

“All right, sugar. That's a good boy.”

I turned my head into the pillows. “Oh, shit. Whatever I am, God knows I'm not a good boy.”

“Oh, well. What God knows and what
I
know seem never to coincide.”

“Get on to your rehearsal.”

“Aren't you going to kiss me? Just for luck?”

She leaned down; I leaned up; I kissed her. “Break a leg.”

“Thanks, sugar. See you later.” And she left, being very careful and quiet with the door. So there I was. And I went back to sleep.

When I finally persuaded myself to get up, and had showered, it was past six o'clock. I decided that I had better go and see what was happening out on Bull Dog Road. I was just about to pick up the phone and call Madeleine, when the phone rang. I jumped. It sounded very strange and even ominous in the empty place. Then,
I wondered if I should answer it. But Madeleine hadn't said anything about
not
answering it; I was pretty sure she didn't have any boyfriends in town. I decided to take a chance—
she
might be calling
me.

“Hello?” It was Lola's voice.

“Hello.”

“
Hello?
What number is this, please?”

I told her.

“Well—is Miss Madeleine Overstreet there?”

“No. She's at the theater.”

“To whom am I speaking, may I ask?”

“To whom am
I
speaking?—may
I
ask?”

“Lola San-Marquand is my name.”

“Oh. Why didn't you say so?
My
name is Leo Proudhammer.”

“Leo? Leo! What are you doing at
Madeleine's
house?”

“I'm cleaning up the joint. A boy's got to make a living.”

There was a silence, a calculating silence.

“When I came in,” said I carefully, “just before she left, she said she was rushing to rehearsal.”

“We broke early. Will you leave a message for Madeleine? The call has been changed. We are to work in the theater tonight,
on
the Green Barn stage, from eight-thirty until twelve. She is not to come to
my
home, but to go directly to the theater.”

“Okay. I got it. Eight-thirty.”

“Will you write that down?”

“How do you spell theater?”

“Oh! Leo, you can be excessively exasperating. Have you seen Barbara King today?”

“No.”

“Well, she will inform you of the exact hour tomorrow morning when Saul will watch your scene.”

“Oh? Is he watching us tomorrow?”

“He has been watching you for weeks. You simply haven't realized it.”

“What happens if I can't find Barbara?”

“Then
you
will simply have to call Saul. I know nothing of these matters. Saul keeps the details of the teaching side of his life far from me. I only see the results. Write down the message for Madeleine. I hope she's coming home. You wouldn't—would you—know where Madeleine would be likely to go in the event that she does
not
come home?”

“I just work here, lady.”

“I see. Thank you. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

I put down the receiver. I felt an unwilling and uneasy excitement. So, he was going to watch us; and that was something. But why the fuck should I care what the old fart thought of me? And that was something else. But I had to get home, so Barbara and I could work tonight. I wrote out the note for Madeleine, saying that I would see her, or call her, after my class—my first class!—tomorrow. The note sounded, perhaps, a bit too jubilant, but I thought, Fuck it, and I left it in the middle of the table, weighted down with a clock.

Madeleine's door faced the steps, and an elderly man and his wife were mounting these steps as I jubilantly bounced out of Madeleine's door, and locked it behind me. They stared at me as though I were a ghost, and they really seemed, for a moment, unable to move. Perhaps their terror, for an instant, terrified me, I don't know; anyway, for less than a second, snake to rabbit, we stood
immobilized by each other. Then, I said gently, “You can keep coming up the stairs, you know. I don't bite.”

This broke the charm, and they came briskly to the landing. He had now found his voice, and he asked me sternly, “What are you doing in this building, boy?”

“I was looking for a file, so I could sharpen my teeth. Suh. But I couldn't find none.” I grinned. “See?” I shrugged. “Some days are like that.” Then I crooned, “Oh, dat old man ribber, he sure do keep rolling along! Ain't it de truf! Laws-a-massy, hush my mouf, he he he and yuk yuk yuk!” and I tapdanced down the stairs. At least they now knew that I wasn't a ghost, but it didn't seem to reassure them.

I went straight home, in a taxi, but there was no one there. I looked upstairs and downstairs for a note, but there wasn't any. I supposed that Jerry and Barbara had gone to town again, which seemed a little strange, but, as I had no way of getting to town and no more money, even if I
did
get there, I scrambled myself some eggs and started reading the scene from
Waiting for Lefty.
I hadn't got far, when I heard a car coming. But it wasn't our car, though it stopped in front of the house, and the powerful lights fell over the line I was reading:
Sid: The answer is no—a big electric sign looking down on Broadway!
I put down my book, and I walked to the porch, which was bathed in light, as I was trapped in light.