Kit de Waal - My Name Is Leon

When Mr. Devlin speaks, he is quiet and slow.

“Leave him. The boy is right. He is in charge. He has the weapon.”

Leon nods. He can feel the fear in the air, between him and the two men. Between him and the rest of the world.

“Yeah. I’m in charge.”

“Yes,” says Mr. Devlin. “You are in charge. We can see that.”

Mr. Devlin and Tufty quickly look at each other. Mr. Devlin holds his hands out.

“What would you like to do now?” he says to Leon.

“I’m going to Dovedale Road to get my brother.”

“I see,” says Mr. Devlin. “Dovedale Road.”

“Yeah,” says Leon. “And then I’m going to find my mom because she needs him.”

“Yes, I understand,” says Mr. Devlin. “Your mother. I see. You’ve got her address?”

“Bristol. The Halfway House.”

Tufty opens his mouth then shuts it again. Mr. Devlin nods.

“Right. Dovedale Road first and then to Bristol? That’s a long way. Isn’t it, Mr. Burrows?”

“Yeah, man. You need someone with you, Star.”

They think he’s stupid.

“I’m going now,” Leon says.

Mr. Devlin backs away farther into the shed and pulls Tufty away from the door.

“Yes, of course,” he says. “We won’t stand in your way, will we?”

Tufty is frowning.

“But first,” continues Mr. Devlin, “perhaps you should put your clothes on. Or maybe you would like something to eat. Or drink. Dovedale Road is a long way.”

“No,” says Leon. He points the knife at both of them and opens the door with his foot. Leon has seen this plenty of times on The Dukes of Hazzard. If you want to get away, you have to keep your weapon on the enemy at all times. They could rush you. They could have their own weapons hidden in their sock. They might have reinforcements. All the time, you hold the weapon up, strong in your hand. Keep eye contact. Be brave.

But they don’t move. They stand together at the back of the shed. Leon’s in control now. Nobody else.

The door is open. He steps out backward with his knife in the air. He watches them for a few seconds and then he runs. He hears them after him. He hears them scuffling behind him on the path, the flashlight beams bounding all over the place, so Leon sticks to the bushes that lead around the allotment. He crouches low like a soldier, stopping every so often. Crouch, stop. Crouch, stop. Whips of leaves and brambles attack him but he keeps going. Crouch, stop. He can hear them shouting at each other, chasing him, angry because of the stolen knife and the baby’s head, because he wouldn’t say sorry. Mr. Devlin doesn’t like him anymore. Crouch, stop.

“Star! Come out. Come on. It’s not safe.”

Tufty knows he steals things and wants to take him back to Maureen and Sylvia but they don’t want him, either. They want a new dog that’s no trouble, a well-behaved little mutt. Crouch. Stop. Tufty and Mr. Devlin have run to the gate and are shining their lights everywhere and shouting at each other.

“Yo, Star!”

“What’s his name?”

Tufty doesn’t answer.

“Christ, you don’t know his name?” says Mr. Devlin.

“Danny. No. Ian, no, Leo, something like that.”

“Christ,” says Mr. Devlin.

“You were the one sitting in the shed with the child. Don’t say nothing to me about it. I just showed him a few things with some seeds.”

“He liked you.”

Mr. Devlin starts shouting. “Hello! Hello! Boy!”

“Don’t say ‘boy,’” says Tufty. “You don’t call black people ‘boy.’ Never.”

“What is he then? He is a boy. I’m just calling out what he is. You call people ‘man,’ don’t you? I’ve heard you.”

“‘Boy’ means something else.”

“Mother of God, every child in my class was ‘boy’ when I wanted his attention. It means nothing.”

“Yeah? That depends on who you’re talking to.”

“Brazilians. Boys from the slums of São Paulo. Brazilian boys in my class in my school that I ran with my Brazilian wife, you bloody fool. Black boys, brown boys, white boys. Just boys.”

“All right, all right. We’re wasting time.”

Tufty starts walking away.

“Shine over there,” shouts Mr. Devlin, “I’ll go by the Atwals’ and by the fence. Spread out, spread out. Look low, he will go low.”

“If he’s still here.”

Leon stays hidden. The trees and bushes make inky shapes against the purple sky and every so often their leaves move in the wind, whispering, trying to tell him something, warn him, tell him what to do. Invisible things scuttle past his feet, stop, start again. Like Leon, they know how not to get caught. Leon smells bonfires and burning plastic. There must be fireworks somewhere. There’s a streetlight just outside the gate and if he gets up too soon they’ll see him. And anyway, before he does anything else he has to get his bike from where he left it near Mr. Devlin’s shed. He doesn’t want to walk all the way to Dovedale Road. He hears them coming. He cramps himself into a ball, down low behind a metal trough full of dirty water.

“He’s gone home,” says Mr. Devlin.

“Home?” says Tufty. “You didn’t hear him say his mother is in Bristol?”

“And his brother. What did he mean about his brother?”

“I don’t know.”

“The child should be indoors.”

“Look,” says Tufty, “his bike is there by your shed. He ain’t going without his bike.”

“Maybe,” says Mr. Devlin. “But he’s desperate.”

“Yeah, when you’re desperate you do desperate things.”

“Yes, all right, Mr. Burrows. I get your point.”

“Them people on the street—”

Mr. Devlin growls like a dog.

“Enough of the street, the street. You people are so fucking stupid! You can’t even organize yourselves.”

“Who you calling stupid?”

“It’s ridiculous what you’re doing. You have no plan, no structure, no chain of command…”

All Leon has to do is wait. Eventually they’ll start fighting and forget all about him. But then Tufty starts to laugh. It’s a laugh like Sylvia’s, with nothing funny in it, bitter and tired.

“I ain’t fighting you, man.” Leon hears Tufty taking deep breaths. “You’re an old man and I’m better than this. I’m not a fighter. I don’t hate people. I ain’t fighting no more.”

Mr. Devlin goes to say something but Tufty shouts at him.

“Go about your business, man!” he says. “Go on. Fix up the gate. I’ll look for my friend. He’ll come out for me. Go on. Go home.”

Tufty walks away toward Leon’s bike. Leon has missed his chance. He should have gone while they were still angry. He can just make out Tufty picking up the bike and wheeling it toward the gate. Mr. Devlin is breathing somewhere close, shining his light in long steady sweeps across the allotment. Leon has to run for it.

He scrambles up, darts out, and slinks along the hedge. He comes to the path, then it’s open country. He must get his bike off Tufty and make a run for the gate. He still has the knife.

“Yo! Yo!” calls Tufty.

Leon runs and pulls the bike but Tufty grabs it back and Tufty is so strong that he wins.

“Yo, Star! Wait.”

Leon runs straight past him, twisting and feinting so Tufty can’t grab him. He hears Mr. Devlin running, getting closer.

“Stop him!” he shouts. “Get after him.”

But Leon’s gone. They’re old. They can’t catch him. He’s free.

Inside Leon’s body, everything is mixed up. He feels hungry but he also feels full. His blood is hot and bubbly, making him want to run all the time, but he’s cold and so tired he could curl up on the sidewalk and go to sleep. He wants to fight. Men and older boys are running in the middle of the road, shouting at each other and not noticing him. He wants to fight them all. He wants them to stop and help him.