Insurrections Read online

  Insurrections

  INSURRECTIONS

  Stories

  RION AMILCAR SCOTT

  Due to variations in the technical specifications of different electronic reading devices, some elements of this ebook may not appear as they do in the print edition. Readers are encouraged to experiment with user settings for optimum results.

  The following stories were originally published in slightly different form: “Good Times” appeared in Joyland as “The Party.” “202 Checkmates” appeared in Fiction International. “The Legend of Ezekiel Marcus” appeared in Crab Orchard Review. “A Friendly Game” appeared in Specter Literary Magazine and also in Literary Orphans. “Party Animal: The Strange and Savage Case of a Once Erudite and Eloquent Young Man” appeared in Confrontation. “The Slapsmith” appeared in Stymie Magazine. “Everyone Lives in a Flood Zone” appeared in Bluestem Magazine as “The Flooding.” “Juba” appeared in New Madrid. “Boxing Day” appeared in Catapult. “Klan” appeared in The Teacher’s Voice. “Three Insurrections” appeared in the Kenyon Review.

  Copyright © 2016 by The University Press of Kentucky

  Scholarly publisher for the Commonwealth, serving Bellarmine University, Berea College, Centre College of Kentucky, Eastern Kentucky University, The Filson Historical Society, Georgetown College, Kentucky Historical Society, Kentucky State University, Morehead State University, Murray State University, Northern Kentucky University, Transylvania University, University of Kentucky, University of Louisville, and Western Kentucky University.

  All rights reserved.

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  Cataloging-in-Publication data is available from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-0-8131-6818-0 (hardcover : acid-free paper)

  ISBN 978-0-8131-6820-3 (pdf)

  ISBN 978-0-8131-6819-7 (epub)

  This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence in Paper for Printed Library Materials.

  Manufactured in the United States of America.

  Member of the Association of

  American University Presses

  To Pop

  Contents

  Good Times

  Everyone Lives in a Flood Zone

  A Friendly Game

  Boxing Day

  The Slapsmith

  202 Checkmates

  Juba

  The Legend of Ezekiel Marcus

  Confirmation

  Party Animal: The Strange and Savage Case of a Once Erudite and Eloquent Young Man

  Klan

  Razor Bumps

  Three Insurrections

  Acknowledgments

  Good Times

  I

  Walter caught the sight out the corner of his eye one hot July day, and for so long afterward he asked himself what if he had never seen those dangling legs from the balcony above, kicking, kicking, kicking against the open air.

  He watched them first with confusion—what an incongruous vision, a man’s legs in baggy black jeans flailing against the open blue of the sky. He next watched with interest, and then with terror when he heard the gagging and hacking. A man hanging. A man dying.

  Laura! Laura! Walter called. Laura, come! Laura come now! Laura come!

  She didn’t answer right away. He wondered whether maybe she hadn’t forgiven him their last argument the hour before. He couldn’t recall why he had shouted and dismissively waved his hands at her. When she didn’t respond, Walter figured his voice was making her nerves twitch, and she was turning up the television and ignoring him as she did when the neighbors’ baby wailed from above.

  Those legs. Those kicking legs. When Laura came out onto the balcony, Walter was already climbing a stepladder, the biggest, sharpest kitchen knife in hand.

  Laura, he called. Come and help me!

  What do you want me to do?

  Don’t just stand there! Grab his legs. Grab his legs.

  Laura gathered the man’s legs in her arms and dragged his body over the railing. He pulled and jerked her from one side and then the other. Hold still, she said. Stop kicking. It’s going to be all right, she said, though it was obvious that things wouldn’t be right anytime soon.

  There, there, Walter said, projecting a sense of calm for the first time. There, there, buddy. Try to hold still. He sawed frantically at the rope. The man’s neck had turned a bruised purple.

  When the rope snapped, the man’s body dropped, heavy and lifeless. Walter and his stepladder tipped over onto the concrete of the balcony floor. The man’s ribs banged against the railing before he landed atop Laura’s small frame. There was a moment while the hanging man dropped when it seemed they’d all go falling over the side into oblivion. Laura pulled from beneath the motionless stranger to lean into a corner.

  Oh God, she said. Oh God. Oh God.

  Walter reached to touch him, this man who lay all bunched like a pile of dirty laundry. As Walter’s hand hovered over his shoulder, the man let out a cough, the first in a series of them. One dry and the rest phlegm-filled. They rattled in his throat, in his chest and his gut. The man rolled side to side, clutching his stomach and then his ribs.

  He sat up and placed his head against the metal bars of the railing. Laura brought him a glass of water and a wet rag to wipe the spittle and phlegm from his face.

  Say, what the hell was that all about? Walter said. You scared my lady nearly to death. We could have all tumbled over the side—you know that, right?

  The man hid his face behind the rag, coughing softly and then loudly.

  What’s your name? Walter asked.

  Rashid, he replied in a strained wheeze, lowering the rag. Walter noticed the man’s yellow-red eyes. They nearly glowed against the night-dark of his skin.

  My name’s Walter, and this is my wife, Laura.

  Thank you, Walter, I got tangled in the rope. I thought that was it—

  You got tangled? You telling me you weren’t trying to hang yourself?

  Hang myself? Commit suicide? Naw. Naw. Hell no. I got tangled in the rope trying to fix the wood up there. Ricca been on me about fixing that wood. You seen my little boy running around. Rashid coughed softly. He be giving me hell. I know you seen him. Growing so fast, probably looks different every time you see him probably. That’s all I was thinking about when I was hanging there.

  Rashid, you must take me for—

  Before Walter could finish, Laura cut in, her voice as smooth and as sweet as velvet cake. Now, Rashid, you need to take care of yourself. All these dangers out here, you almost left your—what’s his name, your little boy?

  Luce, name’s Luce. He’ll be three in September.

  You almost left Luce fatherless, baby.

  Rashid nodded and took a sip of water, his hand trembling. Walter thought of the things he wanted to say, but he let them rest on his tongue. Sometimes Laura’s wisdom was infinite, he thought, that’s why he had stayed with her for all those years upon years.

  Rashid shook Walter’s hand and hugged Laura. He hugged her long and tightly, as if she were a great-aunt he loved and would likely never see again. Then he walked out the door and Laura and Walter could hear his feet tap up the hallway stairs and they listened for his door to open and slam. Finally they heard the thumps of his feet on the ceiling above. They listened to the music of Rashid’s steps until his wife and son came home. And Rashid’s taps blended into Ricca’s, and even the awkward footfalls of Luce and his frequent screams weren’t an annoyance this night.

  All week they waited for a sound, a gunshot and the thump of a falling body perhaps, or a sig
ht: those legs dangling again from the balcony above. There were only the screams of a child, which now sounded like music. Screams and nothing else. They heard nothing, saw nothing, and that nothing was perhaps the most unsettling thing of all.

  II

  A week passed and then another week and yet a third without some dramatic incident, so Laura and Walter stopped listening for the end of Rashid’s life. A few times Walter mentioned Rashid and the strange afternoon. Why would that young boy with a pretty wife and baby want to do something like that? he’d say, and Laura would shake her head and reply, Not our business. Twice Walter left the house and saw Ricca struggling with Luce. The first time, the toddler rushed from her as soon as she set him down on the sidewalk. She screamed his name while tussling with full grocery bags. Walter wanted to grab the boy or ask to carry her bags. Anything to lighten the load. Then he’d ask about Rashid. But all that was so forward; not his style with strangers. The other time, she carried Luce in her arms as he slept on her shoulder. Except for that puffy, smooth face, he looked like an armful of crumpled shirts. That time Walter opened the door for her. Howdy, he said, and she smiled, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more. What was there to be said, anyway? Say, Ricca, your husband dead? He off himself yet? Not yet, huh? You know it’s gonna happen, right? Right? How you plan to get on as a single mother once your husband’s dead, huh?

  No, he let her trek up the stairs unmolested by inane questioning. Life is for the living, he told himself, and if Rashid didn’t want to live, to hell with him. Maybe he’d say that to her the next time he saw her. Just that first part, life is for the living. He’d smile as he said it, maybe gesture toward Luce if he was there. When Walter opened the door for her, he noticed that Ricca’s smile sat on her face like a kitten on a window-sill. Then she disappeared and her smile was all that was left, like the Cheshire Cat. Something about Ricca and her grace was so feline. Why would Rashid want to take himself away from that? Life is for the living, he thought again one afternoon sitting on the couch daydreaming about opening the door for Ricca and about Rashid’s dangling legs and probably a hundred other things. Then he turned on an old episode of Good Times and fell asleep laughing.

  Walter awoke later that afternoon to a pounding at his door. He jumped and looked toward his balcony, thinking that again he’d see dangling legs kicking through the air. Then a second set of banging. Walter stared at the door for a moment. Yeah, who is it? he called. Then he peered through the peephole. There stood Rashid. Walter opened the door and Rashid strode in with his shoulders thrown back and a smile that showed all his teeth.

  Walter. Walter, Walter, did I wake you? he asked as he peeled a can of beer from a six-pack and pressed it into Walter’s hand. We need some light in here.

  Rashid flicked a switch, and bright white jabbed Walter’s eyes.

  Come on, have a drink, Walter, it’ll help bring you back into the land of the living.

  Rashid, right?

  You know my name, man.

  What is this all about, Rashid? Walter looked at his beer and then shrugged and cracked it open and took a sip.

  Man, I never thanked you for saving my life. I mean, I said thank you, but let’s face it, if not for you I’d be dead. Saying the words thank you is not enough in the face of that.

  So you bring me a beer?

  I brought a whole pack.

  That’s funny, Walter said before taking a second sip. Really funny.

  But you didn’t laugh, Walter.

  I’m laughing in my head, believe me.

  Rashid laughed so loud that he closed his eyes and his torso shook and he began to cough. It reminded Walter of the deathly cough Rashid released after being cut down, too close to dead, nearly spent.

  What I like about you, Walter, is how deadpan you are. Funny as shit, man.

  We’ve barely said two words to each other, Rashid. It’s too early to tell what you like about me. Besides, there’s nothing funny about me. You should meet my daughter. She’s the funny one.

  Yeah, but I can tell what kind of dude you are. Maybe I felt your soul when you saved me.

  Come, Rashid, have a seat. I want to talk to you. Me and Laura have been really worried.

  Worried?

  Look, Rashid, Laura tells me all the time not to say anything. She’s all concerned with your dignity, but I’m concerned with your life. You all right?

  Walter watched to see if even a tiny piece of recognition had seeped through. Rashid’s face was a blank hillside freshly covered with sod.

  For Christ’s sake, Walter said. When I met you, you were hanging by your goddamn neck from a balcony.

  That beer is having some effect on you, Walt. You turned from friendly to all volatile and shit in a sip or two. I never seen that.

  And I never seen a man hanging from a balcony by accident.

  You seen one hanging on purpose?

  Goddammit, Rashid, don’t play with me. On your baby boy’s life, I saw you hanging and it wasn’t no goddamn accident, you were trying to kill yourself. I’m not a fool, don’t try to make me out to be one. You come in here with beer and a smile, but if you can’t admit that to yourself and to me, it’ll come back to haunt you. You’ll be up there again and I tell you what . . .

  Walter trailed off as he stared at Rashid raising the can of beer to his lips. Rashid looked to the floor as he slurped slowly. Walter stood.

  I don’t know if you have admitted it to yourself. Or if you’ve admitted it to your wife. You can just . . . Rashid, I don’t know you, not really, but I . . . Look, man, just admit it to me. Here. Now. Tell me the truth. First step you have to take.

  Rashid sat back, folding into the couch, the blankness returning to his face, flatness overtaking his eyes. He said nothing. He sipped. He kept saying nothing.

  Good goddammit, get out of my house, Walter said. I don’t need this. I tell you what, don’t be hanging from my balcony when you do this again. I don’t appreciate that, and I won’t come to save you, I’ll let you swing. I didn’t ask for this and I didn’t need to watch a suicide attem—

  Suicide, Rashid said. Man, look Walter. I’m sor— Shit, I was about to bullshit you again. I was— You think it’s just easy to say it like that? Suicide. That shit can just roll off your tongue because— You ever try to take— Man, this is just like the first time Ricca told me she loved me. It flapped off her tongue like she was saying hello. We was some kids. Babies. We still some kids to you, probably. She laid up right there in my arms. The thing about her is that she fits well. No other woman had fit in my arms that well. Can you imagine basing the rest of your life on something stupid like that?

  Walter shrugged. Love is like that, he said, when it’s new and you’re young. Same thing almost with Laura. We been around forty-some years.

  Yeah, but I just couldn’t say it. I babbled about something for a while and she was patient. Said I didn’t have to reciprocate. She loved me whether I loved her or not. When she went off to school that day I actually practiced. Practiced saying I love you. All this morning I was practicing what I was gonna say to you just like how I practiced back then.

  You gonna tell me you love me?

  Funny, Walter.

  Wrong time, I know. Laura’s always warning me about that.

  Naw, levity’s good. But I was practicing how I was going to tell you I was trying to suicide myself. Yeah, man. I was trying to kill myself that day. Something told me it was time to control my destiny, beat the Reaper to it, no reason to see this life thing through. I tried to kill myself, and the moment I went through with it I knew I had made a fucking fatal error. And yeah, I do love you, Walter. Weird thing to say to a stranger, but I do because you saved me and you saved Luce and you saved Ricca.

  When he spoke of his family, his voice became high-pitched and the cracking cut sharp at Walter’s ears and tears shot down Rashid’s face. Rashid covered his eyes and cheeks with his hand. He became stuck between sobs like a disc caught on a scratch. Walter pulled
a rag from his pocket and hovered over Rashid.

  This the first time you tried taking your own life? Walter asked.

  Yes. Rashid nodded through sobs. Yes. I’ve thought about it off and on for twenty years, but—Luce and Ricca. Damn, the same things that make you want to kill yourself also save your life. I swear all I was thinking about when I was hanging was that boy and that woman.

  Walter watched Rashid, stone-faced. Rashid’s words seemed to him a comforting lie. He didn’t attempt to take his own life because of Luce or Ricca. Such a selfish thought, such a heavy thing to rest upon their backs. And it was Walter and Laura who had cut Rashid from the end of a rope, not a toddler or a woman who was elsewhere at the time. Rashid suddenly struck him as ungrateful and self-pitying. Walter put the rag back into his pocket.

  It’s like, I been preparing Luce to live without his daddy, Rashid said. Now, isn’t that sick? I went out and got a DVD of this old episode of Sesame Street where Mr. Hooper—you know, the guy who runs the store—yeah, on that episode he passes away just like the actor who played him, and I showed it to Luce over and over. He be reciting lines from that episode around the house just out the blue, but that first time he was mesmerized. Big Bird’s all distraught and the humans are trying to explain why he’s never going to see Mr. Hooper again. I thought the shit might be too heavy for Luce, but then I remembered why we was watching. I said, Son, you understand what’s happening? He nodded and ain’t take his eyes off the TV and he said, Yeah, Mr. Hooper went to the store. He gets quiet, just staring at the screen and I ask him again. He says, Big Bird is sad because Mr. Hooper is lost. I’m like, Do you think he’s coming back? Luce is like, No. He’s lost. He’s not coming back. I kept thinking of Luce walking around the house saying, Daddy’s lost. He’s not coming back.

  They both finished their cans of beer at the same time. Walter peeled another off the rings and handed it to Rashid. Then he peeled one for himself, cracked it open, and began to drink.