Kit de Waal - My Name Is Leon

Leon walks down another aisle and looks at the breakfast cereals with cartoons on the boxes and then at the porridge and the muesli and he wonders how long it will be before Jake can eat Choco Pops and Rice Krispies and Sugar Puffs. He walks to the baby-food aisle and looks at how much things cost. The most expensive things are little mini jars of baby dinners. One’s called “Chicken and Vegetables” and another is “Beef Casserole” but they look exactly the same. The baby wipes are also expensive and so are the diapers. There’s ointment to think about as well, because Leon made sure that Jake never had diaper rash when he was looking after him. Leon remembers how Jake used to wriggle when he was wiping his bum and always kicking his legs so the diaper wasn’t on properly. Leon remembers the weight of Jake in his arms and the feel of his brother’s arms around his neck, his fingers pulling his hair, the smell of him.

The little jars of baby food feel heavy in his pockets.

Sylvia nudges him in his back. “There you are! I thought I said stay in the toys.”

Leon walks to the bus stop with Sylvia and makes a list of all the other things he will steal.

When he gets to the allotment, Leon rests his bike against Tufty’s shed. Tufty is wearing a vest that looks like a net. It’s tight on his chest and it makes his muscles stand out. He’s wearing his denim shorts and flip-flops. Only girls wear flip-flops but Leon won’t say anything. Leon walks over to his plot to check and see if his Scarlet Emperors have come up. He teases the soil away from the base of one of the bamboo canes and sees a little split in the seed and a sturdy, cream-white coil bent over, pushing its back out toward the sun. He covers it again quickly. Then he sees two green leaves on a white stalk sticking an inch out of the soil. He peers close. The two leaves are folded together, hugging each other like they’re scared to come out. They are so fine and delicate, Leon wonders if they will survive. They shudder in his breath.

“You see anything?” shouts Tufty.

Leon nods.

“They’re growing, Tufty! I can see them coming out!”

Tufty smiles his wide smile.

As Leon looks he sees lots of shoots and leaves coming up; every seed is going to grow tall and strong. He looks up to the top of the wigwam and imagines them snaking all the way up to the sky.

What else can he plant? Leon remembers all the seeds on Tufty’s shelf.

“I wish I had some more seeds,” he says, “like the ones in your shed.”

Tufty laughs. “You want some?” he says. “It’s a bit late for planting anything now but come, let’s look.”

They bring Tufty’s seed box out and sit on two fold-up chairs with a can of soda each. Tufty has ginger beer and Leon has Tango; the sharpness zings on his tongue and makes his teeth ache.

Tufty starts rifling through the seed box and picking out packets that he drops onto the ground.

“Carrots for seeing at night.”

Drop.

“Courgettes are soft to the bite.”

Drop.

“Peas so sweet on your tongue.”

Drop.

“And broccoli to keep you young.”

Drop.

“Come, Star. Look. Here’s tomato. What can you say about tomato?”

“Tomato to make your sauce.”

“Good!” says Tufty and drops it on the ground and picks another packet.

“Now the hard bit. We got peppers next. What rhymes with sauce?”

Leon screws his eyes up.

“Peppers as big as a horse.”

Tufty throws his head back and shows all his teeth. When he laughs, his shoulders shake and he claps his hands.

“Yes, man! You got the gift.”

“Do you write poems about children, Tufty?”

“Sometimes, if the mood takes me.”

“Do you work in a school?”

“Me? Nah, man. Bike shop. I mend bikes for Mr. Johnson. Remember Mr. Johnson? He’s got a little bike shop up at the Cross. I used to go up there after school and he gave me a job. Taught me everything. It’s just me there now because Mr. Johnson is old, old, old. Older than my father.”

“Have you got children, Tufty?”

“Yes, yes.”

Tufty gathers up the seeds and puts them on Leon’s lap.

“Plant them. It’s not too late. Put a seed in a hole and just hope.”

Leon doesn’t move.

“Where are they?”

“You got a lot of questions today, eh, Star? Well, they live with their mother. We don’t see eye to eye so I don’t get to see them too often. They don’t live here. They live far away.”

“Are they babies? Are they boys?”

“Girls, seven and five. Two girls.”

“I’ve got a brother.”

But Tufty isn’t listening. He’s staring at the trees, at the sway and lean of the branches in the wind. Leon knows where he’s gone. He’s gone off to play with his little girls, to push their swings in the park or catch them at the bottom of the slide. He’s smelling their hair and holding them. He’s feeling their arms around his neck as he lifts them up. He lets Tufty think about his children for a while and then Leon picks up his seeds.

“I’ve got a brother, Tufty,” he says.

Tufty doesn’t move. His eyes are open but he’s still in the park or tucking his girls up in bed.

Leon takes his new seeds over to his plot and pushes them in, one hole each, two inches deep, long straight rows. Then the watering, back and forth with his plastic bottle. If he had a watering can, he would look like a proper gardener. Tufty is still on his chair when Leon finishes. He’s reading something and when he sees Leon he folds the paper in half.

“Right. Sit down,” he says. “I made a new poem. ‘Ode to Castro.’ Wrote it last night but not sure how it will come out. Sit down, tell me what you think. You listening?”

Tufty stands up and as he talks he takes a step to the left and then a step to the right, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

I don’t want to be a warrior

I didn’t come for war

I didn’t come for argument

For policeman at my door.

I didn’t come for least and last

For the isms and the hate

That you pile upon me day by day

Till you crush me with the weight.

It was you that took me off my land

Took my name, my ways, my tongue

Sold me cheap, from hand to hand to hand

Made slaves from all my young.

We are not a warrior

We are Africans by birth

We have truth and rights and God besides

We have dignity and worth.

We have lost the way we used to live

And the way that we behaved

We are the consequence of history

We are the warriors you made.

When he gets home, Leon triesto remember the words of the “Ode to Castro” and tries to sound like Tufty, move like him, open his arms wide, bounce on his feet. He walks around his bedroom talking quietly so Sylvia can’t hear.

“We have dignity and worth,” he says.

Sometimes, when Tufty is talking, Leon thinks about his dad. Tufty and Leon’s dad don’t look the same and they don’t talk the same but Tufty tips his head to the side when he talks, he makes shapes in the air with his hands and that’s like Leon’s dad and that’s what makes Leon remember the last time he saw him, before Jake was born.

It was Christmas Eve. Leon’s dad came to the front door and Carol was wearing the zipper of her jeans down because of the new baby. Leon’s dad looked her up and down and kissed his teeth, which meant he was annoyed and trying not to shout. He was carrying a black trash bag and Leon wondered if his present was inside it. Carol said he couldn’t come in.