Jeffery Allen - Rails Under My Back

We gon do this thing, No Face says.

No. I’m gon do it.

I’m with you. You know that.

Jesus says nothing.

You ready to do this?

Jesus lets the words pass in and out. Tell me about Lady T.

Lady T? You tryin to step to Freeze’s bitch? You want them big draws, huh? Man, don’t you know—

Jus tell me bout her.

No Face says nothing for a while. Breathes. That bitch had a rep. Word. Befo she start kickin it wit Freeze, she ain’t give no nigga no play. Straight up. She go to a club, see a nigga she like then take a jimmy hat out of her purse like this. No Face pulls a condom from his blazer pocket. She be like, You think you can handle it? Then she slam the jimmy down pow! No Face slams the condom down hard on the dashboard.

The steering wheel jumps directionless under Jesus’s hand. Damn! Is you crazy?

Sorry.

I ought to beat you down for that.

Sorry, I was—

You one stupid motherfucker. Know that.

Sorry.

Jesus shakes his head. Lets motion take the anger from his body.

She got pregnant.

Freeze got her pregnant?

Nawl. One of them ‘Rabs.

An A-rab?

Yeah. She be fuckin em.

Jesus considers the likelihood of this. Can’t picture it. He rides the silence. Hears No Face’s whistling lungs. What happened to the baby?

What you think?

I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.

No Face laughs. Man, you don’t know me from Adam … Stay away from her. Word. She an intersexual.

How you know?

I know.

YOU WANT TO GET DIPPED?

All the time.

Jesus opens a full bottle of his best and pours No Face glass after glass. It doesn’t take long.

I’m higher than a motherfucka, No Face says.

I can see that. His skin is actually glowing with moonshine.

Jesus puts him to bed the moment he dozes off. His snoring mouth roars ocean, screams wind. Jesus removes his suit and shoes, covers him, and tucks him in.

HIS CITY REFLEXES, cunning, direct (tell, instruct) him to park his red Jaguar on a shady side street five blocks from Hundred Gates. He heads for the building, afternoon sun staggering along behind him. A truck’s motor snarls somewhere and he wobbles. Calms himself. Continues. He feels Hundred Gates before he sees it. The building rises to him — it looks much larger than before, larger than it should — across yards of trees. High above the sharp roof corners birds wheel in a sky yellow and even. The old red ambulance is no longer parked out front. A good sign.

He melts ghost-fashion into fine glass and brick, vanishing. He isn’t two steps inside when he pulls a deck of bills from his wallet and offers them to the uniformed doorman with a knowing smile. He rides up in the elevator confident that he has taken all the proper precautions, covered his tracks. The quiet hall fills him with quiet inside. He loses it all the moment Lady T opens the door.

Oh, is Freeze … is Freeze here? It comes out less than calmly.

Nawl.

Ah, um, when will he be back?

Lady T studies him — her eyes forcing nervous motion on his body — for a long time, as long as she pleases, a stone configuration. I don’t know. You can wait. She pulls the door wide enough for him to enter.

Thanks. He enters the apartment with a tight turn and stands with back against the wall, stiff rods holding him in place.

Have a seat.

Thanks.

He sits down on the couch and unbuttons his blazer so he can move. You got a nice place here.

Everybody say that.

He tries to force his tense face to smile.

Can I get you something?

No, thanks. I’m straight.

You sure?

Yeah.

You thirsty?

A little.

Lady T gives him a glass of water made from honey. Thanks. He holds the drained glass out to her.

You welcome. Jus sit it on the table. Here. She positions a coaster near him on the marble coffee table. He places the empty glass squarely down on the coaster. Legs crossed on the love seat, she watches him from the other side of the table. Her eyes pry him away from a lifetime of certainty.

That’s a nice suit, she says.

Thanks.

Nice color. (His usual red.)

Thanks.

Different.

Thanks.

She watches him. You bald as a stone.

Thanks. Saying it but unsure in the saying.

Is that all you know how to say, thanks ?

What you want me to say?

You don’t know how to talk to a woman? Beneath the T-shirt, her breasts move deep and full.

What makes you think that?

Lady T says nothing, visibly annoyed. The white baby powder has disappeared (evaporated? blew away?) from her neck and shoulders since he last saw her an hour or so ago.

What time do you expect him? Jesus studies the slim curve of her waist. I ain’t.

Well, Jesus says. Well …

You ain’t got to leave. Chill for a while.

Thanks.

She sighs. Ugh. Thanks.

Sorry … So, how did you meet him?

The same way most people meet.

What is it that you like about him?

I don’t know. Why do you like me?

The words rub hot against Jesus’s skin. You seem like a nice person.

I am.

I mean it.

I do too.

Jesus doesn’t know what to say.

You know why?

Why?

Cause I’m from the old school.

What school is that?

I stay home and protects mine. Back in the day, you had to stay home and keep it together while the man be out there kickin up dust. Now we be out there too. That’s why things be the way they be. Fucked up.

Jesus thinks about it. It’s like this, he says, what you do one day parlays into the next.

Lady T watches him: understanding, agreeing, admiring, confused, annoyed — he can’t tell.

You have your own way of saying things.

I do. Factual, not boastful, but pleased that she finds him pleasing.

I heard about you.

Me?

You. You famous.

Jesus grins. Pokes out his chest. I maintain.

Lady T smiles.

I heard about you too.

Oh yeah. What did you hear?

Without a thought, Jesus tells all No Face had told him.

You believe that?

That’s what he said.

If she sees something else in his face she ignores it. No Face is stupid.

Yeah, I know.

Stupid.

You from here?

No. Red Hook.

Oh. Jesus doesn’t know what else to say.

You ever been there? I’ll take you, she says before he can answer.

Take him, as if to Paris, Rome, some faraway place.

She taps his arm, a single detonation of touch. Let’s go.

He rises and follows. Where?

To Red Hook. I gotta show you something.

Now?

Yes.

Oh, okay, he says, catching the drift. Show me something. So they would do it there, get mad busy. His safe sense shouts inside, tries to lock his feet. What about the car? She expect you to drive it to the jets? You can’t drive no car like that to no jets. But why not show him at a quick and safe hotel? He wants to ask her. Can’t.

Don’t worry about yo car. I know a good garage.

TWO DOGS MEET, and a third. Lips curled, white fangs watering. They bark off after gray squirrel motion. The air is coming awake. The afternoon is drawing on. Human shapes flash in the streets. Lady T’s eyes move about without real interest on faces, faces nearly invisible in the hot haze. Twelve red buildings rise like missiles against the red summer horizon. Ash images of burned-out buildings and houses here and there. Red Hook. The world is made of stone: paper, water, wind, and flame can do nothing against it. Like Red Hook itself. Inevitable. Indestructible.

Jesus moves heavy with omen. Unsure if he is safer with Lady T, a Red Hook homegirl, or more vulnerable. He doesn’t want to be here but can’t pull back. She speaks to no one. Heads straight for Building Six. He thinks he hears someone calling him through the cutting bitterness of the wind. Lady T’s sandaled feet kick garbage out of their path. Beer cans crushed into the shapes of women. Diapers like padded boxers’ helmets. Condoms like old, worn socks. He follows her inside the building, around one corner then another, down one hall and up a flight of stairs, through one door and out another. They edge through a rusted opening. Footsteps ring down metal stairs. Echo after them. They descend into darkness. (Her white blouse like a torch before him.) Travel down a long hall. He has to walk in a crouch, keep his head low. Smells bore through him: old storms and garbage, mildew and rot, sewage and fuel. This is the basement, he thinks. They are beneath Red Hook, all that life above. Trust leaves him. They could bury him down here, the world none the wiser.