Hudson 01 Rain Read online

  Whenever she did look at me, it was with an expression filled with pleading. I could hear her even though she didn't speak. "Rain, tell me this isn't happening. Tell me this isn't true. Tell me you never took Beni to that warehouse. Not you, Rain. Not my reliable, precious Rain. Please. Please wake me up. Shake me hard. Throw off the sorrow and the tragedy from my shoulders. Sweep it up and dump it back into the gutter where it belongs. Rain?"

  My own heart felt shredded. I cried so hard, my ribs ached. The police brought Mama, Ken and Roy to the morgue to identify Beni. The sight of her was so horrendous that Roy was reduced to a waxen image of himself. He looked bloodless, hollow, so crushed his shoulders sunk and his neck weakened until his head could barely be held up.

  Even Ken was stunned into silence. He didn't speak until we were all home again and he could fit the events into his particular twisted view of the world. Somehow, he managed to turn it around so it was a blow against his own personal future.

  "Just when a man raises his kids to the age where they can kick in and help him in his time of need, something like this happens. Where's the police when you need them? No one cares about us folks."

  He began to drink heavily and spew out his dark rot about society and how he was part of the deprived and persecuted class of people. It took only seconds after we walked in for him to get on his soapbox. Mama, near collapse, went to bed. Roy helped her. I trailed along in a daze, afraid to touch anyone or say a word. Mama, Ken and Roy had been told bits and pieces by the police, but no one had confronted me directly yet to hear the grisly details.

  Mama didn't have the luxury of sleeping pills or a doctor to prescribe them. She asked Roy for some whiskey. I stood in the doorway, waiting to speak to her, unsure as to how I should begin, terrified of what I would sound like. Ken ranted to his imagined audience in the kitchen as Roy hurried to pour Mama a half a glass of hard liquor. She always said she was a cheap date because it took only one drink to put her to sleep. For her sake, I hoped it was true.

  Roy brushed past me on the return and handed it to her. She took a long gulp, coughed, dropped her head to the pillow and looked up with eyes of shattered glass.

  "Where's Rain?" she asked Roy. He turned to me. He had yet to say anything to me, even to ask how I was.

  "I'm right here, Mama."

  "Tell me all of it," she commanded and I approached the bed. Roy continued to glare at me with two dark pools of pain and confusion.

  I began, first describing the terrible things that had happened to Beni at the party and how she was so devastated and embarrassed, she didn't want anyone to know.

  "She wasn't trying to hide her own failure, Mama. She was afraid of upsetting you and making you sick. She made me promise to keep it as secret as possible. She hoped nothing more had happened and she promised to behave."

  I swallowed hard before going on to describe the blackmail and how once again, Beni and I tried to protect Mama from bad news.

  "You really thought you could deal with scum like that?" Roy asked me. Anger rattled his words. "You really thought you'd get what you wanted from them?"

  "I thought all they wanted was money and once we showed them we had it, they would give Beni the pictures and we could put it behind us."

  "Oh Lord," Mama moaned. "My little baby. Oh Lord, what they did to her."

  "I told you they were dangerous," Roy said. "Why didn't you come to me?"

  "We were afraid you would get yourself in trouble or get hurt," I said.

  "Afraid I'd get hurt? Look what happened to Beni," he cried, his arms out. "I thought you were the smart one' I started to cry again and Mama reached up for me. "She had only good intentions in her heart," she said. Roy looked away and then left when I took Mama's hand and let her draw me down to hold and hug her. We both cried hard and then I rose and went to my own room to let Mama get some sleep.

  Ken was still babbling like a man who had been struck in the head. He had started on the bottle of gin and I knew that he would grow worse because of the hard liquor. Roy came out and told him to be quiet.

  "Mama needs rest," he said.

  "Mama? What about me?"

  "You need to go to hell," Roy told him.

  "What did you say, boy?"

  Oh no, I thought. They're going to fight. Not now, please, not now.

  "You came riding along on your horse and swept her off her feet with promises," Roy began. "You had a family and you just didn't care what that meant. Why are we here, Daddy?" Roy asked, calling him Daddy for the first time in a long, long time. "Why are we living in this...this project, huh? Why are we living where we're surrounded by gangs and crime and dirt, huh? Why is Mama working in a supermarket like some kid? Why do we have all those bills in the drawer? Why did Beni end up dead in some deserted, rat infested warehouse, huh?"

  "You blame all that on me?" Ken asked, his voice filled with surprise and self-pity.

  "You ever look in the mirror? You ever look in the mirror and see what everyone else sees?"

  "Don't you talk to me like that. I'm...I'm ..."

  "You're what? You can't even say it. You aren't anybody's father. You don't even know what it means to be a father. Have another drink. Have a lot of drinks," Roy said and walked away from him, only he didn't go to his room. He came to mine and closed the door behind him.

  I was on my stomach, my face pressed into the pillow. I turned slowly and looked up at him.

  "She was so afraid of everyone finding out, Roy," I said. "She-just wanted to get out of it and start new. I hoped I could help her do it. You have to believe me."

  "I believe you," he said. "I'm just disappointed you didn't come to me."

  I nodded.

  "You're right. I should have gotten more help."

  "How could you go alone to that section of town? You think you've got some special guardian angel now since you found out your real mama is some rich white lady?" he asked.

  His question drove a bee sting of pain straight through my heart. I saw the anger in his face, the fury in his eyes. It was the way he wore sorrow and pain most comfortably.

  "No," I said softly. "I never thought I was anyone special and I certainly don't think so now."

  "I'll get that Jerad," he vowed. "I'll tear him apart with my bare hands."

  "Just leave it for the police, Roy. If something happens to you because of all this, it will be my fault, too," I told him.

  "It's too late for any of us to feel sorry for ourselves," he said harshly.

  He gazed at Beni's empty bed, at her posters and her Walkman with the discs beside it. And then he looked at me and shook his head before leaving, closing the door behind him.

  If I had any tears left, I would have cried on and on But my well of sorrow was bankrupt. All I could do was lie in pain and stare at a picture of Beni and me when we were younger and we still thought the world was Disneyland. Beni and I never talked much about death even though there was so much violence around us. I recalled once when we came upon a shooting and saw a body covered with a blanket on the sidewalk. The police were there and some curious onlookers. There was even some blood visible on the concrete.

  Someone had taken pictures, but everyone was standing around and talking quietly as if this was nothing special. The dead were anonymous, statistics, short sound bites and reports on local television news. People ate and drank while they watched and listened. Sometimes, they shook their heads or commented, but most of the time, the words and the pictures were lost in the mixture of scenes and stories that were woven to form another day in the city we called home.

  We almost felt as if the dead would rise, wipe off their clothes, ask how well they had performed, and go off to return for another day's reportage. When reality was so harsh, you turned to make-believe to help swallow the daily doses. But there was no makebelieve for me in Beni's and my room. I could close my eyes and wait expectantly for her to come through that door, but I knew she never would; she would never come in again. It made me wonder if I ha
d truly been a good sister.

  Should I have done more, tried harder to get her away from the nasty girls? Should I have worried less about myself, about my grades and my looks and helped her improve herself? if I had worked more diligently, would I have prevented her from ever getting into the trouble that led to her death? Had I been too selfish, too prudish, too prissy and stuck up to get my hands dirty?

  Poor Beni had thought so little of herself. She tried so hard to get people to like her. She thought if she could be in with the hard crowd, she would gain respect. I remembered how excited she had been when Carlton had shown her attention--the sound of her voice, the music in it as she described her budding new romance.

  I knew when it came to Mama and Roy especially, she was always measuring herself against me. She wanted me to be more like her, but in her secret, put-away heart of hearts, she really wanted to be more like me. I knew she resented me and loved me at the same time. That was why she sat with those horrible girls, why she pretended not to know me in school, and yet, she was there when I needed her the most.

  The truth I couldn't even voice was that Beni sacrificed herself to protect me. Maybe if she hadn't struck Jerad and fought back, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to escape. Should I have run? Was I a coward? Or, if I hadn't, would I have wasted her effort and put us both in harm's way? I could imagine her face full of anger if I had remained behind. It almost made me laugh. I gazed at her bed and imagined her lying there as usual, lecturing me on being too good.

  "It's not your fault; it's mine. You just tried to help me. Stop taking on my sins as your own. Everyone's going to end up feeling more sorry for you than for me," she would moan.

  I did laugh thinking of her saying those words. I sat back and gazed at everything that was hers. I couldn't help but think about all the secrets and dreams we'd shared in this room. The walls held tightly to the fantasies we'd created when we were much younger. As we grew older, we drifted apart. We were like two boats floating beside each other. Suddenly, waves came to bounce us and separate us more and more and no matter how I reached out, how I stretched and strained, I couldn't quite grasp her hand in mine again.

  She was carried away.

  And now she was gone.

  All of us dreaded the funeral. I remember thinking on the way to church that funerals are horrible because they confirm what you hoped was just a bad dream. I would wake up in the morning and gaze over at Beni's bed, expecting to see her turned to the wall, the blanket wrapped awkwardly around her, her braids poking out from under the covers. Even when I didn't see her there, I would lie and listen for the sound of water running in the bathroom. Maybe it was one of those rare days when she rose before I did. Maybe she wasn't dead. Maybe everything was really just a nightmare.

  I listened.

  The silence pounded down the coffin lid, closing itself around my heart.

  Friends and neighbors arrived to offer condolences. Many brought homemade cakes and baskets of fruit. Ken's acquaintances brought beer and gin and before long, they were gathered in the living room, raising their voices to overcome each other with prophetic pronouncements about the day of reckoning that was coming for the rich power structure. Justice for the poor and the downtrodden was just around the next corner. Soon, the reason for their arrival here in the first place disappeared and their conversations twisted and turned back to their usual topics. They all drank too much, made too much noise and eventually drove away the people who really could have comforted Mama.

  Roy couldn't stand being there. He left as soon as people arrived, especially Ken's friends. I was afraid he was prowling the streets, looking for Jerad. We expected the police were searching for him and for Carlton, but neither had been found. I could only describe some of the other gang members and the girls there. I didn't know any other names, except the nickname for the fat boy Jerad called Chumpy.

  Late in the afternoon of the second day of mourning, Alicia Hanes arrived and quickly approached me. Ken and his friends had taken over the kitchen and Mama's friends sat with her and me in the living room. Most of the time, I sat there like an amnesiac, gazing at faces and listening to

  conversations without any understanding or recognition. People shook their heads at me, pitying me, but those who knew something about the story inevitably made comments like, "How could you go to a place like that at night? What were you thinking?"

  Behind their masks of pity, their faces wore condemnation. Blame like fog rolled into our home and settled around me. I could see it in their eyes, in the way they stole glances at me and then whispered, and in the way they shook their heads and pressed their lips together. The steel ball of guilt bounced inside me and eventually settled on my heart, making it harder and harder to breathe. The room was stifling.

  "I've got to talk to you," Alicia whispered, gazing fearfully toward Mama. "Alone."

  I lifted my drooping eyelids with a modicum of interest.

  "Why?"

  "I have to give you something and tell you something," she continued.

  Usually, I sat on the sofa almost all day, barely rising to go to the bathroom. Mama's friends did all the serving and cleaning and feeding of the mourners. It was as if no one wanted me to touch their food or their silverware and plates anyway.

  I got up and led Alicia to my room. She closed the door and I turned to her.

  "What do you want?" I asked. None of Beni's other so-called friends had stopped by, not even the girls who lived in the building.

  She unbuttoned her blouse, reached in and brought out the envelope of those horrible negatives. Recognizing it sent a bolt of lightning down my spine and then left me feeling numb and cold. I felt like my blood had frozen in my veins. I tried to swallow and speak, but I could only gaze at the envelope in her hands.

  "I was told to give this to you," she continued. I reached down to find the strength to talk.

  "How did you get it?" I whispered.

  "A boy. Someone I never saw before," she added quickly, "came up to me in the street out front and handed it to me. He said I should bring it right up to you and tell you there is a note for you inside and you better read it right now." Her eyes went wide for emphasis.

  Slowly, as if I was putting my hand into fire, I reached for the envelope. I gazed at Alicia to see if she had looked inside, but I didn't think she had. I could tell by her grimace of fear and terror that she was glad to be rid of it.

  I opened the envelope and took out the note. Alicia stared at me as I read what was written.

  It simply said, Open your mouth to the cops anymore about who was there and what you think happened, and your brother's next.

  My legs wobbled. I pulled up a row of negatives to confirm that they were the photos of Beni.

  "Who gave you this?" I demanded.

  "I told you, a boy I never saw before." "What did he look like?"

  "I don't know," she said backing toward the door. "It happened too fast. He just shoved it at me and told me to bring it up to you. I gotta go," she said grasping the doorknob.

  "You have to tell the police what he looked like. You have to, Alicia."

  She shook her head.

  "Not me. I didn't even want to bring that to you," she said, "but he told me if I didn't, I'd be sorry. Don't ask me any more questions. If you tell the police I brought that to you, I'll deny it. I ain't getting killed."

  She turned and rushed out.

  "Alicia!" I screamed.

  She was out the front door before I could call out to her again. Ken looked up from the table where he was holding court with two of his drinking friends. They were all staring at me.

  "What's that about?" he asked.

  I looked at them.

  "Nothing," I said.

  "Most everything is around here," he quipped and his friends laughed.

  I backed into my room and closed the door softly. What should I do? I wondered. If I didn't tell Roy about this, he'd be even more angry at me, if that was possible. Yet once he sa
w this, he'd be furious. I sat on my bed and held the envelope in my hands. I might as well have chains wrapped around myself, I thought. That was how helpless and trapped I felt. I remained there, pondering and worrying most of the afternoon until I heard a knock on my door and Roy appeared.

  "What's going on?" he asked.

  I looked up surprised.

  "Ken says some girl came here and you were acting strange and screaming after her. For him to even notice is amazing, so it must be something." His eyes went quickly to my hands. I didn't realize I was still holding the envelope. "Who was the girl who got you so upset?"

  "It was Alicia Hanes," I confessed. "She said someone told her to bring this to me. She wouldn't tell me who or even describe him."

  "What is it?"

  I shook my head and started to cry. He closed the door behind him and approached.

  I hesitated and then I handed it to him. He opened the envelope and read the note. Then he looked at the negatives. His face turned ashen.

  "You tell anyone else about this?"

  "No, not yet. We should call the police," I said. He smirked.

  "What for? You think they're going to find Jerad and even if they do, you think there will be enough evidence to convict him of anything? You know how people get away with things around here, Rain. They get away with it because we're only killing our own most of the time," he said bitterly.

  "You sound like Ken," I said.

  "Yeah, well, sometimes, he isn't wrong."

  "What are you going to do about it, then, Roy?" He thought for a moment.

  "Come on," he said.

  "Where?"

  "You need to get out a little anyway. Come on," he urged and started out. I rose and followed.

  Ken and his friends had left, but Mama was still talking softly in the living room with some of the other women from the Projects. Roy glanced at the living room and then went to the front door.