D. C. Noir 2

  “Well, I got something for you,” he said, walking over to a shelf and taking down a large bottle of Coca-Cola syrup. He poured a little into a paper cup and handed it to me. “Drink that down and you be all right,” he said.

  I drank the syrup slowly and watched Ringo jump rope without a rope. His footwork was very good.

  “See how his eyes is half closed,” Billy said. “He really happy and stupid.”

  The three Negroes who had been leaning against the case stood up, nodded and smiled at Billy, and went out into the rain. Ringo continued to jump rope, but when he noticed that they had gone he seemed to lose interest. Looking distracted, as though he were trying to figure out what he could do next, he came over to Billy and me and broke out into a wide smile. “Hey, Billy, how about making me and John a sandwich,” he said, tilting his head a little in a mock coyness that I hadn’t seen before.

  Billy turned to me, and I told him I didn’t want a sandwich. Billy looked at Ringo and slowly shook his head. “Of course, you got the money. Right?” he said.

  “John here, he carry the money,” Ringo said.

  I told Billy that all I had was a quarter.

  “Even if you have the money, I ain’t gonna let you buy him no sandwich,” Billy said.

  Ringo looked down at the floor and tapped his right foot nervously and scratched his leg. Then he put both hands over his eyes. Nothing happened. When Ringo finally took his hands away from his eyes, he said, “Billy, but I hungry.”

  “Hell, you always hungry, Ringo,” Billy said. “But that don’t mean you starving. It obvious you ain’t no middleweight no more.”

  “That ain’t nice,” Ringo said, looking pained. “Why the world full of bad feeling?” He put his hands over his hat, crossing his fingers, and closed his eyes and began to twist and contort his mouth. He began to shake his whole body, without moving his feet or changing his position, and then, with his eyes still closed, he smiled. I looked over at Billy to see how he was taking it. He was leaning on the counter, reading the Washington Post. I went behind the counter and picked up my suitcase.

  Billy looked up from his paper. “Well,” he said, “you looking better. How you feeling?”

  “Much better,” I said. “Thanks a lot, Billy.” We shook hands.

  “Look at that fool!” Billy said.

  Ringo was still vibrating and smiling, but his eyes were open now. “What you doing with that suitcase?” he asked.

  I didn’t say anything, but moved toward the door to watch for another bus.

  Ringo came up to me and put an arm around my shoulder. “So you going home,” he said.

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “What you in a big hurry for?” he asked.

  “So long, Ringo.”

  “I don’t see no bus coming,” he said.

  I made sure I had a firm hold on my suitcase; then I tried to walk away, but he had a strong grip on my shoulder. “There ain’t no bus coming,” he said, smiling.

  “Get lost, Ringo,” I said.

  “Go on, Ringo. Go on, now,” Billy said. He came out from behind the counter.

  “Look, there your bus, John,” Ringo said.

  I turned and looked out the window, but the street was clear. While I was looking down the street, Ringo slipped his forearm under my chin and pressed it against my throat. With his free hand he pressed the back of my head forward. “Now what you gonna do?”

  I couldn’t talk, because he was pressing too hard on my throat. I swung my suitcase, trying to hit him with it, but could only manage a light, slapping blow to the back of his legs.

  Ringo began to laugh. “You can’t do nothing, see? You can’t do nothing.”

  Then he suddenly yelled and let me go.

  I turned around, rubbing my throat, and saw Billy just back of Ringo, holding a large soda bottle. Ringo was grabbing at his ankle and hopping on one foot.

  “Goddam, Billy,” he said. “You nearly break my leg.”

  “Next time I break your head.”

  Ringo hopped over to the refrigerated case and sat on the front edge of it, holding his ankle. He looked from me to Billy, then back to me again. His eyes were half closed; his mouth was turned down exaggeratedly, like a clown’s. “I just tired to death,” Ringo said. “Man, you coulda hurt me, Billy.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Billy said. “Now, why don’t you shut up.”

  “I mess around,” Ringo said. “But I don’t hurt nobody.”

  “That’s what you say,” Billy said, putting the soda bottle back on the shelf.

  I stood by the door, and finally I saw a bus turn the corner three blocks down. I pulled the quarter out of my pocket, grabbed my suitcase, and turned around for a final goodbye. “So long, Billy. Thanks,” I said.

  Billy waved and smiled at me. “So long, now.”

  As I backed through the door, I waved, knocking my hand against the doorframe. I dropped the quarter and it rolled under the refrigerated case, and I missed the bus again.

  “Now, ain’t that a damn shame!” Ringo said. He was all lit up, and had recovered his vitality.

  Billy came over with a wooden yardstick to see if he could get the quarter out; it had become lodged between the case and the wall. He worked the yardstick in the crack until he had moved the quarter out onto the open floor. He picked it up, dusted it off on his apron, and handed it to me. “You having a bad day,” he said. “Next time you keep it in your pocket.” He slapped me on the back and told me I was going to make it.

  Ringo looked at me with a wide and happy grin. “Well, Charlie, you having some rough luck,” he said.

  “My name’s not Charlie,” I said.

  “Ain’t you Charlie White Man?” Ringo said, smiling.

  “Go on, Ringo. Go on,” Billy said, looking at me apologetically.

  “I got to admit that you is some fool, John,” Ringo said, coming over to me. “You all set to go and then you drop the quarter.” He laughed, closing his eyes, and put his hand on my shoulder.

  I asked him if he wanted to rip the sleeve off this time.

  “It look like you got a flower growing out of your shoulder,” Ringo said, putting a finger on the ripped white lining that was puffing out. “Man, you look like hell. You know that?”

  I took out my pack of cigarettes and lit one. Ringo watched me. I gave him the pack and told him to keep it and go away.

  “You scares me,” he said, taking my cigarette to light his. “I just can’t figure you out.”

  Suddenly I got a terrible headache, and the room began to spin. Down the street another bus had appeared, but I decided it was no use even trying this time. I turned and looked at Billy, and he knew immediately that I was in some kind of trouble. “Don’t you worry, now,” he said. He pointed to the door that led to the bathroom. “See you soon,” he said.

  I walked unsteadily toward the door. There must have been a disturbance in my middle ear, because the ceiling seemed to rush at me and then rush away. I fell down, and began to crawl on all fours toward the door.

  “He think he a horse,” I heard Ringo say.

  Billy helped me to my feet, steadied me, and walked me a few steps toward the bathroom. I told him I was all right and could make it the rest of the way. In the bathroom, I wasn’t sick, but I was so dizzy that I couldn’t stand up. I sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall for a few minutes, waiting for the dizziness to stop. Then I lay down and went to sleep.

  Some time later, I felt someone nudging me lightly on the shoulder, and I woke up and saw Billy in his white apron, kneeling on one knee.

  “You been in here about twenty minutes,” he said. “I got to worry about you.”

  I stood up and walked over to the sink, feeling all right. The vertigo was gone. Billy switched on the light and stayed in the room while I washed up. “John, I think your luck is turning,” he said.

  * * *

  When Billy and I went back into the big room, Ringo was talking to the woman I had seen h
im with earlier, outside the store. There was also another man—a large, dark-brown, sleepy-eyed Negro whom the woman called Tracy. “All right, Tracy, go on, knock him down,” she said, pointing at Ringo.

  Billy set a chair for me in the corner of the room farthest from Ringo and his friends. He saw that I was shivering, and he got his topcoat and told me to put it on. He also gave me another cup of Coca-Cola syrup, and said he was boiling some water for tea, and that I should just relax and take it easy.

  “Knock him on his butt, Tracy,” the woman said, looking fierce.

  “Aw, honey, now,” Tracy said, and then he smiled shyly at Ringo and folded his arms.

  Ringo kicked some imaginary object, and turned on the woman. “Ruby, why you always want to make trouble?” he said. “Now, Tracy’s my friend.”

  “I want to see you fight,” Ruby said. “You supposed to be a fighter. Well, I want to see you fight.”

  Billy came over with a glass jar of tea and half a lemon. He put the tea and lemon on top of a milk crate near my chair. Then he went behind the counter and came back with a sack of granulated sugar and a spoon. “This gonna give you some strength,” he said, putting the sugar and spoon on the crate.

  I thanked him, and, feeling comfortable and warm, sat back and watched the action. While Billy was bringing me the tea, Ruby had hit Ringo on the side of the head with her pocketbook, and now Ringo, looking pained, ignored her, folded his arms, and stared at the ceiling.

  “Come on, Tracy, knock him down,” Ruby bellowed, but Tracy, who was about six feet four and two hundred and fifty pounds, just looked down at the floor and smiled. “Now, Tracy, here, done spar with Joe Louis. Now, Tracy was a fighter!” she went on. “A heavyweight!” She looked at Ringo with scorn.

  There was a long pause, during which Ringo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “It don’t matter what class a man fight in,” Ringo said finally. “It only matter if he any good or not.” He opened his eyes and looked at Ruby. “Now, I was a good middleweight.”

  “Uh-uh. You only fair, baby. At the most, you only fair,” she said.

  Ringo suddenly began to jump rope and put together some combinations, moving around the room with a wide smile and his eyes half closed. As he passed me the first time around, he winked and said, “How you doing, John?”

  Billy was talking in a hoarse whisper to Tracy and Ruby. I couldn’t hear what he said to them, but they were smiling. Ruby clapped her hands and threw her head back and shrieked, “Aw, come on, man, you killing me!”

  Tracy covered his mouth with one of his enormous hands, trying to stifle the laughter, but some of it got through. He seemed a little embarrassed and shook his head. During Billy’s whispering, Ruby looked at me from time to time and smiled and waved. Tracy looked at me once, too, and nodded shyly. Then Billy brought them over, and when I stood up, Ruby told me to sit down and save my strength.

  “John, this here is Ruby Longstreet and Tracy James,” Billy said.

  We shook hands.

  “Well, John, we sure glad to know you,” Ruby said, shaking hands again.

  I told her the pleasure was all mine.

  “I seen you outside earlier, John,” she said.

  “I was waiting for a bus.”

  “I hear that fool Ringo done give you a fight lesson,” she said. She looked at Ringo, who closed his eyes. “Come on, Ringo, open your eyes!” she said.

  But he shut them tighter, and closed his mouth tight, too.

  Billy laughed. “John knock him flat,” he said.

  “What you hit him with?” Tracy asked me.

  “A left,” I said.

  “He still blind to a left hand,” Tracy said.

  I said that some rain had got in his eye.

  “Some rain always getting in his eye,” Ruby said. “If it ain’t for the rain, he been champion.”

  Billy laughed, and Tracy covered his face with his hands and shook. Ringo turned his back on us and began to take very deep, noisy breaths.

  “Aw, shut up, Ringo, you fat fool!” Ruby said.

  I was trying to drink the tea, but I began to laugh so hard that I had to put the jar down, and then the laughter increased all around, and Ringo’s breathing became noisier and his shoulders began to shake. I thought he was laughing, but he turned around and he was crying; tears were streaming down his face. “You all finish?” he asked.

  “Will you look at that?” Ruby said.

  I felt terribly sorry for him. “Come on, Ringo,” I said. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “He just acting,” Billy said.

  Ringo pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose and wiped his eyes, and then pulled up a crate and sat down next to me. “John, I feel lousy,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  I told him I was feeling all right.

  He patted me on the shoulder. “Well, I glad you feeling better,” he said. He offered me a cigarette from the pack I had given him, and struck a match and gave me a light. “John, you my friend,” he said. “They is some people don’t know what friendship is.” He looked around at everyone.

  “Man, if you a friend,” Billy said, “then there ain’t no point having no enemy.”

  Ruby began to laugh, and she came over to Ringo and kissed him on top of the head. “Baby, why you so stupid?” she said, smiling widely at him. “Maybe you is the dumbest man in the whole world.”

  This revived Ringo, and he grabbed Ruby’s arm and asked her to sit down next to him and be nice. Billy brought three more milk crates over, and Tracy and Ruby sat on two of them, and then Billy brought a pack of six cans of beer and an opener. “Ringo, because you such a good friend, we gonna have a little party,” Billy said.

  He went to the front door and locked it. He said there wasn’t any point staying open in all this rain anyhow. I drank my tea while the others drank beer, and then, feeling much better, I drank some beer, too. Ruby, holding her can of beer, announced she was going to sing a song. “I ain’t Mahalia Jackson, but I can sing,” she said.

  She could, too. She sang a song, mostly humming it, while Ringo accompanied her with a little dance. He closed his eyes and put his hand in the pockets of his jacket and moved his feet very slowly back and forth.

  “Where you coming from, John?” Ruby asked, when she had finished singing.

  “New York,” I said. “I came down on the train to see my family.”

  “Man, you have been travelling some,” Tracy said, “and you still ain’t home.”

  “When you with friends, you home. Ain’t that right, John?” Ringo said.

  Ruby said she liked to take train trips. “There ain’t nowhere I want to go, but I do like the ride,” she said.

  She asked me if I had a good ride down, and I told them the story of my ride, how my overcoat and wallet had been stolen on the train, and how, after that, I had got sick.

  “People get you sick every time,” Ruby said thoughtfully.

  “Sure,” Billy said. “And then Ringo get you sick in Washington.”

  “I ain’t get John sick,” Ringo said. “I been helping John.”

  “You been helping John?” Ruby said. “Who else you help lately?”

  “John ain’t the only white man I ever help,” Ringo said, smiling.

  “Honey,” Ruby said, leaning forward. “What other white man you nearly kill?”

  “Few years ago I was working for this man name of Reddy,” Ringo said, biting the corner of his lip. “In this junk yard out northeast.”

  “Yeah,” Bill said. “I remember you and that junk.”

  “Well, one day,” Ringo said, “Mr. Reddy is standing on the street watching these colored boys working on a trash truck. They up there singing and laughing, and Mr. Reddy, he say, ‘Boys, you happy. You sure is happy. You have all the fun,’ and one of them colored boys, he say, ‘That’s right, boss. We having some fun,’ and they up there tossing them trash cans around and laughing, and Mr. Reddy, he watch them and smile, and then he walk over to me an
d he say, ‘Ringo, you colored boys sure is happy,’ and I say, ‘Mr. Reddy, I ain’t happy. Them niggers up on that truck may be happy, but I ain’t,’ and he get real angry, and he say, ‘Don’t give me no lip, Ringo,’ and I laugh. ‘Well, I sure ain’t happy,’ I say, ‘with the wages you paying.’ He fire me.”

  Billy guffawed and Tracy put his hands over his face and began to shake.

  “How you help him, baby?” Ruby said, looking around at everybody.

  Ringo spread his arms and turned his palms upward, and then he broke into a wide smile. “Well, I straighten him out!” he said.

  Ruby laughed and slapped her thigh. Tracy, still shaking, kept his hands over his face, while Billy just looked at the floor and smiled.

  * * *

  Ringo started jumping rope with his eyes closed. Tracy leaned forward and touched Ruby’s knee. “Ruby, you ain’t gonna give that old moral?” he said, looking disgusted.

  “I got to, baby,” Ruby said. “O.K., Billy, you ask me.”

  Billy looked serious and folded his arms across his apron. “What’s the moral of that story?”

  “The moral of that story—” Ruby began, looking very serious.

  “Aw, Ruby,” Tracy said, shaking his head and looking at his feet. Ringo, with his arms straight out and his eyes closed, was standing completely still.

  “The moral of that story,” Ruby went on, holding up a hand for quiet, “is that, Ringo, honey, you sure is one dumb nigger.”

  They all began to laugh, moaning and groaning with laughter, leaning on one another, and, except for Ruby, Ringo laughed loudest and hardest. The laughter continued for about five minutes, gradually diminishing, then rising again. Ruby had her arms around Tracy’s head, and Ringo sat on the floor. Billy had walked over to the counter and, leaning on it, his hands palms down on the top, laughed in gasps. I was laughing myself.

  “Now, what you laughing at?” Ringo said to me from the floor. “That ain’t nice.”

  Ruby looked over at me and said, “Honey, don’t pay us no mind.”

  After a while, the laughter fell into silence. There were just the sounds of the wind, and Billy’s shoes on the floor, as he walked around taking cans out of cartons and putting them on shelves. Only Ruby was still smiling. Tracy and Ringo seemed sad. They were looking down at their hands. Ringo, who had a very gentle expression, was biting his lip. Billy moved around looking preoccupied and tired. Ruby looked at me and winked, and I smiled at her. She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She nodded in the direction of Tracy and Ringo, and said to me, “They looking kind of blue,” and Tracy looked up from his hands and smiled shyly, but Ringo continued to bite his lip and look down.