Finding Langston Read online

  “God blessed me with another child I didn’t have to birth or burp,” she’d say, and laugh. She knew Mama’s family ’fore Mama was even born. Her people lived down the road till they passed when Mama was still young.

  I am so late now, I’m gonna get sent to the office. I put the key in my shoe and race down the steps to school.

  The principal, Mr. Freeman, is talking to a teacher when I run into the office for a late pass, and he just waves me on to class. I slip into my seat, trying to quiet my breathing so Mrs. Robins don’t turn around from the chalkboard.

  Between the letter and being late, I barely notice that Lymon didn’t come to school. Means I can take my time going to the library. Clem and Erroll barely look at me as I walk through the school yard. On the way to the library I notice the trees in the sidewalk have leaves that are just starting to turn yellow. The same yellow I watched from my bedroom back home every year when the weather started to turn. In the spring the smell of white blossoms made Mama smile, and on a hot Alabama day you could almost hide from the sun under its branches. Every year, when the first flowers showed up, Mama would cut off a few branches and put them in water in a mason jar. Sit them right in the middle of the kitchen table.

  “So we don’t have to go outside to smell springtime,” she’d laugh. Daddy said she was looking at too many of those white women’s magazines, but I thought they looked real pretty. Think he did too. We both loved how white blossoms on a branch could make her so happy.

  Downstairs in the library I plop my book on the librarian’s desk.

  “Finished early. I want to take out more,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “That’s fine. Here…” She points. “The return slot is there. Just put them in there and go check out more books.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, ’shamed again to not know yet how the library works.

  “You have any books on trees?” I ask.

  “Right over there in the nonfiction section. Try the 580 call numbers,” she says.

  Don’t know what nonfiction means or if there are really 580 books on trees, but I look anyhow.

  I walk up and down the rows and then I see one book and a lot more all about trees. All kind of trees too. I never knew there were so many. I take one of the tree books down from the shelf and go to the table by the window. I look through the pictures for a magnolia tree and find one, right in the middle of the book. A big color picture, smooth and shiny. I add another Langston Hughes book on top of the magnolia book and pull my card out of my satchel and wait for the librarian to thunk a stamp in my books.

  I’M in Alabama, under the shade of a magnolia with red ants crawling up my trouser legs and the buzz of gnats swarming my head. The sun is hot but under the branches it feels almost cool. Mama sits on the porch fanning away flies. She laughs when she sees me and—

  “Langston?” I look up at Mrs. Robins’ bony knees.

  “Langston, the bell rang five minutes ago,” she says. “Time to come inside.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t hear it,” I mumble.

  “Well, if you put down that book you might,” she says, sharp. “What are you reading, anyway?” she asks, walking ahead into the school.

  “I found a book in the library about magnolia trees, just like the ones back home in—”

  “It’s time to focus on school now, Langston, and not trees. And you’re not in the South anymore. You’re a smart boy, but you need to focus on doing well here in Chicago.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I say.

  We can hear the classroom from down the hall. Without Mrs. Robins in the room, they’re loud and horsing around. When I walk in, it gets quiet. I walk to my seat.

  “Happened to you, country boy?” the boy in the desk behind me asks.

  “Scared to come back in, I guess,” laughs Lymon.

  “Quiet, class!” Mrs. Robins yells. “Time to get back to work. Let’s get our history textbooks opened to page 65, please.”

  At the end of the day I’m walking my usual fast leaving the school, pushing past all the kids in the school yard, and I just about make it to the fence when I see him. He’s right there at the sidewalk waiting. Ain’t going to be no getting home in a hurry now to read ’fore Daddy gets home. Spent all this time hating being alone, and now all I want is the quiet to look at my books. Plus, I got a box of letters under Daddy’s bed needs looking at. But Lymon ain’t interested in letters and books. Lymon is interested in Langston. So when he starts his stuff, I tell him, “Leave me alone!” Yell it right in his face. Lymon is so shocked he don’t say nothing at first. That is, till Errol and Clem start laughing.

  “He told you, Lymon,” they chant.

  When he sees me sorta smiling and trying to keep walking, his fist hits my mouth so hard, I near think my head will break in two.

  “Fight! Fight!” I hear everyone yelling. This ain’t what I want, but Lymon’s wound up. Before he swings again, one of the teachers who’s supposed to be watching us yells, “Enough!” Red-faced, he stands with his hands on his hips. Looks like he’s ready to snatch us both up. “Go on home now,” he shouts to the crowd as everyone begins walking away.

  Lymon leans over, whispers in my ear: “See you tomorrow, country boy.”

  Time I get to Wabash I’ve wiped most of the blood from my lip. But I can feel it getting big and know Daddy’s gonna be mad. Daddy’s always wanting me to turn the other cheek till I ain’t got another cheek to turn.

  I’m digging the key out of my shoe when I hear Miss Fulton’s door open behind me. I pretend I don’t hear.

  “Langston,” she says.

  She does know my name.

  “Ma’am,” I say, not wanting to turn till I can wash off my lip.

  “You hear me talking to you?” she asks.

  “Yes ma’am,” I say, still not turning, still digging for my key.

  She walks over and pulls at my shoulder.

  “When I’m talking to you, I—” she stops. “What happened to your lip?” she asks.

  “Oh, nothing, ma’am. Just horsing ’round with some boys at school.” Don’t like lying, but there ain’t no way I’m talking to her about much of anything.

  “You’re going to need to put something on that,” she says. “Come with me.”

  I follow her into her apartment. “Sit there,” she says, and points to a chair.

  She goes to the sink. First she dabs at my lip with a wet cloth. Then she pours a little something from a bottle on the shelf and dabs that on my lip.

  “Ow!” I yell. “Burns!”

  “Just a little, but it will keep it from getting infected.”

  “Thanks, Miss Fulton,” I say, getting up to leave. “I gotta be getting home now. ’Fore Daddy gets in.”

  She stares at me. Head tilted to the side like she’s trying to decide something serious.

  “Well, okay then,” she says finally.

  In the apartment, I go to the table and take out the tree book. But now I can’t see Mama on the porch or the ants crawling up my legs. Just see Lymon and hear Errol and Clem laughing. Tomorrow’s going to be worse than today. I close the book and take out my schoolbooks. I can hear the slow thump of Daddy’s feet up the steps. Then I hear Miss Fulton’s door open across the hall and Daddy’s steps stop. I can hear them talking, but not so good. I get up and listen closer at the door. They talk so long I go back to the table and my books. Finally I hear Daddy’s key in the door.

  “Hi, Daddy,” I say, head in my books, not looking up.

  “Son,” he says. He puts a greasy sack on the table. “Picked up chicken from the place on the corner.”

  I stand to get the plates but Daddy grabs my shoulder. Turns my head to him.

  “What happened?” he asks, looking at my lip.

  I’m tired. And my lip is hurting. And I hate Lymon. And the tree book ain’t good to me no more. And I miss my mama. But I can’t say any of those things, so I just let the water go. One big drop after the next. Daddy sits me down and pu
lls up the other chair close.

  DADDY takes a gray, linty handkerchief from his pocket.

  “Wipe your eyes,” he says.

  I wipe but the tears keep coming. We sit quiet, looking everywhere but at each other.

  Finally I say, “I want to go back to Alabama.”

  “Can’t do that, son,” Daddy says. “Our home is here now.”

  “This ain’t my home,” I say before thinking. Daddy doesn’t stand for any back talk, but he sits quiet.

  “Langston…” Daddy sighs. “This is our chance for something better. Alabama was my home too, but after your mama passed…” Daddy looks like he’s choking, then starts again. “After your mama passed, I knew I couldn’t stay. For me, Alabama is her and us. Without her, ain’t nothing left for me there.”

  Fast as they started, my tears stop. And I can finally look up at Daddy. I hand him back his handkerchief and he dabs at his eyes hard.

  “Every year me and your mama worked, seemed like we fell deeper in debt to Mr. Clanton. Getting out was the only way to get ahead. Me and your mama heard a lot of folks talk about up north, a man can provide for his family without always scraping and bowing. Your mama wanted to come north something bad. She didn’t want you working a plot. We were just waiting…waiting for the right time, I guess. Then it was too late. I was lucky to get my job down at the plant. Lucky folks here still want to hire a colored man, with all the soldiers coming back. I ain’t gotta spend my days yessiring and nosiring. Just do the work, and collect my check at the end of the week. With enough to help out back home too. Helps me hold my head just a little bit higher. You understand what I’m saying?”

  I nod.

  “We gotta make the best of this. For your mama. She’d be proud of you going to school. And me, making a way.”

  “But don’t you miss Grandma and Aunt Lena and being back in—”

  He don’t let me finish. “I’m planning on sending for them soon as I can,” he says. “Soon as I can get a bigger place, some more money saved.”

  Hearing that makes my heart beat a little bit faster, thinking about Grandma and Aunt Lena and my cousins coming to Chicago.

  Daddy stands. “Let’s get started on dinner ’fore it gets cold,” he says.

  But I ain’t got no appetite, thinking about Lymon and tomorrow.

  “I hear you had some trouble today at school.”

  Big mouth Miss Fulton.

  “Wasn’t nothing really,” I say, pretending to eat. “Just horsing around and I slipped.”

  “You know lyin’ is a sin,” Daddy says.

  “Yessir.”

  “Go on and tell me what happened.” Daddy reaches for more chicken.

  I take a deep breath. “There’s a boy Lymon. He’s real mean. Calls me ‘country boy.’”

  “Country boy?” Daddy laughs with his mouth full.

  I don’t see what’s funny. “Lymon and his friends…”

  “Friends?”

  “Yeah, Errol and Clem. They always on me too. They say my overalls is country, and the way I talk. Today he punched me when I told him to leave me alone.”

  “Hmmm.” Daddy looks like he’s doing some serious thinking.

  “He says tomorrow he gonna finish what he started.”

  “Hmmm,” again from Daddy. “What you do when he hit you?” he asks.

  “Kept walking,” I say. Daddy’s asking more questions than he’s giving answers. So I ask, “What you think I should do?”

  “Bible says turn the other cheek,” Daddy says.

  I knew that was coming, but I just nod like it’s the first time I heard it.

  * * *

  —

  Daddy is washing up the dishes when we hear a knock on the door. Both of us surprised, ’cuz ain’t no one ever knocked on our door before.

  “Who is it?” Daddy asks.

  “It’s Pearl, Henry.”

  Who is Pearl?

  Daddy opens the door and Miss Fulton is standing there holding two plates. “I made some apple pie tonight and thought maybe you and Langston might like some.”

  “Why thank you, Pearl.” When did Daddy start calling her Pearl? He reaches for the plates.

  “Like to come in for a minute?” Daddy asks.

  “Oh no, no….I just wanted to drop those off. Figured you could both use a little something to sweeten your day.”

  “Thank you, Pearl. I get these plates back to you in the morning.”

  “No rush, Henry,” Miss Fulton says. Didn’t even know she could smile like that. Her teeth are so white and pretty they could light up a room.

  Daddy hands the plates to me and closes the door.

  We sit at the table and eat about some of the best apple pie I ever had. Me and Daddy’s plates barely need washing, we scrape them so clean.

  Miss Fulton was right. This day really did need some sweetening.

  When me and Daddy leave for school in the morning, Daddy turns right ’stead of left to the el train.

  “I’m gonna walk you to school today,” Daddy says.

  I barely slept last night thinking about Lymon. I thought about pretending I was sick, but seeing as I told Daddy all about yesterday, wasn’t no use. Daddy’s walking fast. I know his boss down at the Maxwell Brothers plant will give him a hard time if he’s too late. Daddy said they fired one man came in late two days in a row. Daddy takes the el and a bus to get to work, but he still gets there early every day.

  “Don’t believe in giving them one more excuse to knock a colored man down,” Daddy says all the time.

  We walk through the school yard, still almost empty. We go right up the front stairs, turn left inside, and Daddy walks into the principal’s office. He tells me to wait outside.

  Time Daddy comes out, the hall has filled and emptied again.

  “Go on to class,” Daddy says. “I’ll see you at home later.”

  I go on up to class late and look around the room for Lymon. He sits all the way in the back, but his chair is empty.

  If Daddy got Lymon in trouble with the principal, it’s gonna be worse for me than before. I sit at my desk and look like I’m listening to Mrs. Robins go on and on, just counting the minutes till three o’clock.

  FIRST thing I do when I get to the library is walk row by row, seeing what books make me stop. Some of the titles I can’t help but pull off the shelves. I try to take out as many as I can each time. Means my satchel is heavier than a bag of rocks, but I keep them there out of sight. It’s better to read in the library. Sitting at my favorite table by the window reading and listening to the sound of other folks turning pages makes me feel like I’m in a house full of company I don’t have to talk to.

  Miss Cook sometimes puts aside books she thinks I’ll like. ’Specially the ones by Langston Hughes. Every time she hands me one of his she says, “Here’s another from your namesake.” I know there ain’t no chance Mama named me for a poet who wrote pretty words, but it feels good to hear her say it.

  Red Clay Blues

  I want to tramp in the red mud, Lawd, and

  Feel the red clay round my toes.

  I want to wade in that red mud,

  Feel that red clay suckin’ at my toes.

  I want my little farm back and I

  Don’t care where that landlord goes.

  In Langston Hughes’ words I can smell that earthy clay in the front yard. Can hear the voice of my mama.

  I make my way over to Miss Cook’s desk.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” She looks up.

  “Is Mr. Langston Hughes from Alabama?”

  “Good question. Let’s see if we can find out.” She gets up and walks me back to the nonfiction section. She pulls one book off the shelf and hands it to me.

  “This is a biography by the author, so it’s a good place to start.”

  “Biography?” I ask. “Like a story about his life?” I learned that in school.

  “Yes, exactly.” She smiles. “You may just find you have a lot in common wit
h your namesake.”

  “I’ll check this one out,” I tell her.

  I can see Daddy on the stoop as I get close to the apartment. He’s looking for me so I pick up my pace.

  “Where you been?” Daddy yells, not even waiting for me to walk up the steps. He don’t wait for an answer. “Something happened and I got to go.”

  “Where we going?” I ask, scared.

  “Not we, me. You gonna stay here.”

  In the apartment, Daddy’s suitcase is sitting on the bed, piled with his clothes, his black suit and tie on top.

  “Where you going?” I don’t know when I been more scared.

  Daddy sits on the bed.

  “Son,” he starts. “Your grandma took a turn. Your aunt Lena called at my job. She passed this mornin’.”

  “Grandma?” Feels like I can’t breathe.

  “I’m gonna come with—”

  “Can’t, Langston. Barely got enough for one fare, let alone two. My boss said I could take a week and settle my affairs, then I’ll be back.”

  “But Daddy, how am I gonna—”

  “Now, I talked to Pearl—Miss Fulton—and she’s gonna look in on you every day. Gonna make your meals and such, and see you off to school while I’m gone.”

  I can’t imagine this day getting any worse, but it just did. The last morning I saw Mama alive, Grandma sent me off to school.

  “You’re not doing anybody any good sitting ’round with that long face,” she told me. “I’ll look after your mama. She’d want you in school,” Grandma said as she fixed me a big plate of fried eggs. But, after school, just before I got to the house, I could see saw Pastor Lawson coming down the front steps and I could see Daddy’s big arm around Grandma’s shoulders and Grandma wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. I ran hard as I could. Time I got to the porch I was out of breath and I knew why the pastor was there.

  “She’s gone?” I screamed, running into the house. Mama was laid out on the bed. Grandma had brushed out her hair, put her in a clean gown.

  And now Grandma. She’ll never get a chance to see Chicago. I sit down to keep my head from spinning.

  Daddy jumps up and snaps his suitcase shut. “Gotta leave now if I’m gonna make the train.” I wrap my arms around Daddy’s waist, my head in his chest. His shirt still has the sour smell from the paper plant. Probably ain’t done this since I was little, but I don’t care. Don’t want Daddy to go and leave me alone in Chicago. Feels like I’m losing everyone.