The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter (67 page)

 

7

It's nearly one by the time B.J. and Randall get back to the elder's apartment. B.J. is exhausted and ready for bed, but Randall notices the deck of cards on the shelf.

“Brother, I may not see you for another dozen years. Or ever. Can'tcha just gimme these lass few hours?”

They sit on the couch, cards on the coffee table. The game goes slowly, owing to B.J.'s sleepiness and Randall's interest in chattering. Through a fog B.J. watches his brother's lips moving rapidly, knowing he wouldn't wake April May June but hoping he's not loud enough to disturb the neighbors.

“You ain't even asked me if I got any kids.”

Do you have any kids?

“Matter a fact I do. This time aroun I seem to get a wife with all the parts in workin order. A son. Randall Jr. Randy.”

B.J. nods, concentrating on keeping his eyes open.

“You ain't even asked how old!”

How old?

“Ten. He's a regular athlete. Baseball. Soccer. An jus gettin to the age for basketball, we put a hoop out back. He was in the kids' football leagues too, he was
good,
but less a football fan. It jus come natural to some kids, that ability. Don't even need to like a game to excel at it. Look.”

He takes his wallet from his hip pocket and tosses it on the table, open to a picture of the boy in baseball uniform. B.J. can't help but smile.

Like you spit him out.

Randall grins. “Everybody says that. Monique, they tell her, looks like all you did was carry him them nine months cuz everything he got he got from his pappy.” Randall picks the photo back up, gazing at it. “Good thing, otherwise I might wonder. All that natural talent with a ball, but one thing he got no time for is school. Now where he get that from? Remember me his age? Couldn't catch a high fly to save my life, but the books, there I was the star.” He chuckles, shrugs. “Long time ago.” He turns to another picture, sets it on the table. Randy with his soccer team.

Looks like a fine boy.

With his fingertip, Randall flips to the next photo. The whole family: Ma, Pa, B.J., Benja and himself in front of the tree, that last Christmas before their father died. B.J.'s smile fades. Randall laughs ironically, shaking his head and putting the billfold back into his pocket.

“I don't know, brother, erasin your entire history. Listen, I think I wanna cuppa coffee. No, don't get up, I see everything. Now as I recall you're a
tea
-totaler. Okay, there it is.”

B.J. makes the mistake of winning the first rummy game because Randall tells him it's only fair that he give his brother a chance to redeem himself. As they continue Randall talks about his son, his work, life in Texas. B.J. fading, but Randall seems more energized as the night progresses. When the second game is finally over, Randall the victor this time, he announces a tiebreaker is now in order.

“Randall!”

Randall stops, his eyes shining. “I ain't heard my name from you in—” He swallows. “Your pronunciation's got a lot better.”

B.J. doesn't see how. He never speaks anymore, has no interest in oral communication. Randall starts to gather the cards, then, “Oh!” He runs to his duffel and pulls out a piece of paper.

“Almost forgot. Benja sent me one a the bulletins from Ma's funeral. Copied it for ya. It ain't as pretty paper as the original, but.”

B.J. stares at the page, a small photograph of his mother smiling at the top. His breath is shallow, quick.

Randall shuffles. “Benja's youngest girl, that Tessa wrote a poem to her grammaw. Printed in there.” Randall deals.

Day breaks, and at 7:30, full up on coffee, Randall decides he'd like one of those hot chocolates with whipped cream advertised in the window of yesterday's diner. He'll be back in a few minutes.

He takes the drink to go and strolls over to Broadway for a last look at Times Square, more subdued in the early morning. He'd come looking for some reconciliation. The worrying possibility that B.J. would be unforgiving had haunted him much of the trip, but as he neared the Northeast he calmed himself, hoping for the best. And still B.J. had stubbornly clung to history, shutting his brother out. Randall takes a swig of the brew and singes his tongue.

The apartment door was left unlocked for him. On the table is a note, B.J.'s sleepy scrawl.

 

The bedroom door is slightly ajar. Randall pushes. It slowly opens wide.

April May June sits up, knees bent, the latest issue of
Ms.
magazine propped against her thighs, turning pages with her left hand. On the bed to her left are other periodicals:
Silent News, The Deaf American,
Essence
. To her right B.J. lies dead asleep, fully clothed, his mouth open, one leg on the bed and one off, as if he were climbing up to her, his right hand on her round stomach. With her own right hand she absently strokes his hair, but as she sees the door creep open, her hand freezes. She had been expecting Randall to merely stick his hand in, to “knock,” and she is stock still, her eyes alone moving, up from the magazine to fix on her brother-in-law.

“Boy, he gimme the tour lass night! There sure is a lot to Manhat
tan!
” Randall laughs, signing and speaking. “Well. Looks like you both made a nice life here for yourselves. An I guess I can't complain neither. Good wife, good son.
Great
son! Life ain't all a bowl a cherries but it sure could be worst. But listen. Didn't you never wonder what happen between my brother an me?” He crosses his arms, leaning his back against the door. A vague smile appears on his face, staring at nothing. “Once upon a time there was Erma an Randall. They met at a dance, 'twas love at firs glance.” He giggles. “Might not a been marriage on second glance if it weren't for real fast Erma tellin Randall he done plant one in her, but it was awright, him feelin pretty ready for man an wife, for You an me an baby makes three. Cep the only three they ever got was a blob a blood in the toilet but that's okay, nex time. But nex time he fertilize her, scrambled eggs again. An nex time. Nex time. Nex time so guess it Me an you, jus be us two.

“Well Randall, he took it in stride. Or maybe he didn't but weren't no room for Randall to express any kinda heartbreak what with Erma's conniptions fillin their whole damn world.” His eyes somewhere above April May June, where the wall meets the ceiling. “‘Randall, go to the meetin!' ‘Randall, come with me to church!' ‘Randall, I know it ain't your fault,
but
.'” Randall bouncing his shoulders against the door, tiny rapid motions. “Then ridin with his sister in the ambulance, stayin overnight in the hospital with her lookin like the grave after her lovin hubby's fists done turn her face inta groun meat, but ain't
she
still orderin: ‘Go to the voters!' Same thing like his boss told him, shoe store owner what give him gainful
em
ploy so he
do
go an yet an still nex thing he knowed he's fired. Fired! So whaddya think happen nex?
I'll
tell ya what, Randall takes all them goddamn shoes off the goddamn walls a the goddamn store an pitch em at his goddamn boss! Which subsequently give him a bloody face to match his sister's an make him a overnight guest a the Lefferd County Po-lice Department, he don't even get no lawyer then his sweet wife come to take him home. So she can let him have it herself!” He guffaws. “Oh the
tears,
the
tears!
” He lets his mirth ride, gradually subsiding to a smile. “Erma'd just had the sixt incubation gone awry before postin bail on her jailbird till-death-do-us-partner. For her nerves the doctor give her these high-power prescription tranquilizers.” He had lowered his eyes but now looks up at April May June. “Grind up them pills an pour water over em, easier for her to swallow. I know the proper dosage. I know what's overdosage. I got A's in everything, English, history, math, science,
science
. I know there's chemicals can speed a heart up I know there's chemicals can slow a heart down. I know these is the latter, if Erma's heart go patpatpatpat, a pill over the dosage slow it down to pat, pat, pat, pat, pill over that dosage pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. A pill over that, pill over that, pill over that:

Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat.”

Now a very long silence, Randall's and April May June's eyes locked. Then he turns to his sleeping brother, his voice nearly a whisper. “‘I have very strong reason to believe.'” He turns back to her. “That's what he told em. The
po-lice,
‘I have very strong reason to believe,' how he know?” Randall's eyes shine. “How he do that to me! His own brother! Then everyone in town wanna.” He glares, his signs becoming huge. “How I stay in Prayer Ridge after that?
Huh?
My own hometown I'm banished from cuza my own brother!” Randall takes the crook of his arm, roughly wipes his eyes with his shirt.
“I never woulda done that to him!
Own flesh an blood! my own—
”

He slams his hand against the wall behind him, his breathing heavy and quick. He stares at B.J., wipes his eyes again. Then turns to April May June and gives a start, as if he had forgotten she was there.

Her face tight, eyes registering horror. Her hands tremble as she speaks: Erma died?

He stares at her, confused, terrified. “I didn't say that! I didn't—” He tries to calm himself, and eventually his breath softens. He looks down as he signs.

“Hard growin up. Him five years older, the oldest
,
yet
he's
Ma's baby. Took me decades to lose all interest in bein her favorite, so naturally that's when I become it. So here he's the one stayed with her, took care a her, an the only thing she ever took him for was for granted. Then me an Benja get married, an Benja all them kids, we had
lives,
what did
B.J.
have? So I guess I get it. The bitterness. Guess he finally find a way to pay me back.”

Randall gazes at his sleeping brother, B.J.'s chest rising and falling deeply. “Those days when I firs come to Texas. The
vengeance
. Come up with a pistol behind him,
bang.
Watch his flesh explode, pieces a B.J. brain flyin Alabama to New Orleans. But then he'd never know. Even the one half-second before death when he mighta heard the sound, known what's comin, well course he
would
n'ta heard it. So I had to think up somethin else.” He chuckles. “It got pretty elaborate. There were a couple a bricks comin loose outside Ma's house, I'd tell him we gotta fix em. We walk outside together, me behind him. An I'd wait. Him stoopin, his back turned away from me
wham!
Break that brick over his head but jus to stun him. He be weak but he be aware, lyin on his back, he see me liff that brick high, he know what he done unto his brother he havin done unto himself,
wham! wham! wham!
Flatten his face, nothin leff but blood, bone. Brain spillin the grass.”

His smile is far away. Then fades. He shrugs. “Just a fantasy, had to get it outa my system. All that.” He runs his fingers through his hair, suddenly tired. “Ugly. Ugly time. I don't bear hard feelins no more. Life's short. I only got one brother.” Glances up at her. “He forgets. That goes for him too.” He pulls from his pocket a napkin from the diner and tosses it onto the bed, his mailing address written on it, then walks out to the living room and picks up his duffel bag. At the door of the apartment, he stops. He has a direct view into the bedroom, at his sister-in-law who hasn't moved, her eyes full with terror. “Why you lookin at me like that?
April?
Ain't nunna us perfect! What, you think when you meet St. Peter
your
slate be spotless? Yeah, doubt it. An
him
.” His eyes rest on B.J. one last time. Randall's blue irises are full again, wet and stinging but hard. He speaks quietly as he signs to April May June without ever removing his eyes from his sleeping brother. “Sometime you might wanna ask your hubby bout his ole days in the Klan,” and with that Randall walks out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Twenty minutes later B.J. abruptly wakes, confused. He looks at April May June, then out through the bedroom door.

She signs, He's gone.

B.J. sits up next to his wife, resting his elbow on his knee, his forehead in his hand. His expression is something between profound worry and relief. After a few moments he looks at her.

What? He gently takes her hand.

She searches his eyes.

He's a. Murderer?

He drops her hand, staring at her, his eyes wild, then turns away. She touches his hand, and with great effort he turns back to her. He begins hyperventilating, his fear transforming into fury, and something she doesn't understand.