Chapter 4C

Robert paused, and began again with a strained voice and face. "You chillun cain't be playin' around here together no mo'. I done got the word on it from yo' brother Steve, and from Miz Sansone across the street. She call me on my phone at home, and when Miz Josephine Sansone calls me at home, I know it's ser'ous. She seen us all on the wagon yestiddy, and she say... she don' wonna see no more of it with you and Mister Speedy."

"But why?"

"Now, I told you, child, please mind me." He looked up and took a step toward me. "Mister Speedy, I sho don't like this. But I got to do what Miz Sansone say."

I looked into his sad eyes and said, "Uncle Robert, you don't have to call me mister. I'm supposed to call *you* mister."

He lowered his head for a second, and then looked at me again. "I appreciate that and I know what you mean, but... Miss Josephine, and yo' Aunt Lucille and Aunt Frances is all in a big uproar, and... I ain't got no choice in this."

I asked, "But who told you we were out on the wagon? Was it Josephine Louise?"

"No suh, now, yo' cousin Miss Josephine Louise, she didn't have nothin' to do with this. So don't you go blamin' her. She's the sweetest lady I know, and she wouldn't do nothin' like that. Now... it don't make no difference who said what and who done what. The end of it is, yo' Aunt Josephine and Aunt Lucille and Aunt Frances don't want you and Stepper together 'round hyah. And they ask me to tell you they don't think it's safe, you runnin' round in shantytown."

Stepper broke in excitedly, "Speedy, I'll meet you up by Saint Patrick's church from now on, won't nobody--"

"Now, Stepper!" Uncle Robert said firmly. "Please, child. You heard what I say." The big old man turned to me. "I'm really sorry, Mister Speedy."

I said, feeling very staunch and grownup, "I know how they are, Uncle Robert. I understand."

"Well, I know you is a smart boy, and a good boy, and I know you see what's going on. I wish it could be dif'ernt, and I ain't sayin' it's right, but--"

"I *know* it ain't right!" I said defiantly. "It's not fair!"

"Mister Speedy, please. We all know what's going on hyah, so let's don't dwell on that 'cause they ain't nothin' we can do about it. Miz Sansone and them is yo' people, yo' family, and you got to do what they say. So don't be makin' trouble for yuhself. I confess I did see yo' cousin Miss Josephine Louise at the grocery sto' this morning when she come to work, and she say she knew what was happenin', too. And she sorry. So I know how you and her feel about dis, but..." Uncle Robert grabbed Stepper's hand again and straightened up. "But I makes my livin' from Miz Sansone and other folks round hyah, and... well... we got to do what we got to do." He looked down at Stepper. "Come on, Steppuh. Come on, let's go see 'bout lunch."

Silently I watched them go, torn between pity and affection for Stepper and Uncle Robert, and my growing dislike for what seemed to be a mounting tide of opposing forces from adults, mean kids, the possibility of Martha Jane leaving after high school, aunts who hated giving cookies, and moms who gave no reason for banishing my friends. As Stepper and Robert walked away, Stepper turned and gave me a lost look that tugged at my heart. But out of view of Robert he winked, pointing at himself and then at me, and the message I got was that he would find a way to come to me. I nodded. When they disappeared into Stepper's slanted wooden house down the driveway, I turned and trudged back toward my aunt's house with dragging feet. I was in no mood to give up an afternoon of Stepper and Uncle Robert for one with grownups I increasingly resented and could not fathom.

This wasn't the end of it with Stepper. A few weeks later at the end of March, he met me in the Lauderdale Courts project. He'd brought with him his pride and joy--a leatherette bag of genuine cat's-eyes marbles given him for his birthday by his Aunt Harriett. I knew this to be a prize, as an entire bag of 24 cat's-eyes cost more than many poor black families earned in a week.

We gathered with several other kids in a patch of orange dust a few yards west of my building, near a thick grove of hedges. This was safe from my mother's view and within sight of most of the other kids who lived nearby. We called this grassless patch of worn ground the Marble Court. It was the perfect surface for hand-shooting marbles. The common belief was that only sissies played marbles on smooth surfaces; shooting and rolling in fine dust required great skill.

About five boys my age, and Stepper and I, and a number of young boys and some girls were gathered at the Marble Court as Stepper amazed everyone with his expertise at marbles. I was almost tempted to take bets on the little tyke, as I had seen Leo Gorcey do with Huntz Hall in a Bowery Boys movie.

The sun was lowering toward the rooftops near dinner time, and kids were wrapping up their final marble shots, when four older boys strolled hurriedly across the lawn toward us. Looking over my shoulder, I recognized two of them as a couple of tough kids that had been in fistfights in the area.

One of the boys standing near me saw them as well, and he leaned close to me. "Hey, Ricci," he said, calling me by my last name, "here come some of them guys from the big buildings on the hill."

I murmured back, "Maybe we oughtta stop the game and spread out. They're always lookin' for trouble."

"Naw, they look like they're goin' somewhere in a hurry. They might not stop here. Make like we don't see 'em."

The other kids, not noticing the quartet, were on the ground, anxiously hunched around a boy who was making a critical shot. As I tried to appear unaffected, I heard with a chill the footfalls of the boys walking swiftly through the grass near my back. With a sigh of relief I heard them approach and then pass, appearing to be on their way into the project without noticing us.

But then one of the four yelled, "Hey, Herschell, look at this!" He suddenly appeared in front of me, headed deliberately toward the kids hovering around the game.

One of the other four yelled, "Hey, JB, what the hell 're you doin'?"

"Just a minute," the hefty boy named JB yelled back. "Lemme see somethin'."

"Oh, what the hell!" swore one of the toughs. "You're wastin' my time, JB! You're always wastin' my time!"

JB stepped roughly into the group playing marbles. The kids stood and scattered immediately. Only another boy and Stepper were left on the ground.

"Hey, nigger, what you got down there?"

Stepper remained still, staring up at him warily with wide, white yes.

"You got cat's-eyes, nigger? Hey, Herschell, this nigger's got some cat's-eyes. Got a nice set, too."

Herschell yelled back angrily, "Are you kiddin' me? "C'mon, man, we ain't got time for that. We're gonna miss tickets for the game tonight. Cut the crap and get movin'. C'mon!"

JB stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at Stepper with a mean smile. "Them your cat's-eyes, boy? Huh? They belong to you?"

"Yeah," Stepper said politely, starting to get up. "They's mine."

"Well, they ain't yours no more," JB said, and he reached down and scooped up a handful of cat's-eyes. Stepper had no choice; JB was twice his size, and almost twice mine. All the other kids began spreading out, away from the Marble Court.

The other three toughs were still walking on their way. "C'mon, JB," one of them yelled. "We ain't waitin', man!"

JB eyed Stepper with a menacing false friendliness, as Stepper carefully moved away from him. "Thanks, nigger," JB said, grinning, spilling the marbles loudly from one hand to the other.

I was a few yards away from JB. I calculated that if I broke into a fast run, I could pretend to have just arrived on the scene and could brush against his hands, knocking the marbles away. If the goods were spilled everywhere and his friends were urging him to leave, he might just forget the whole thing and move off. I was desperate that Stepper should not lose those marbles and that the rest of us would not be intimidated. Before I knew it I was rushing across the front of JB's view, headfirst.

I struck his hands with my right shoulder and arm. Marbles flew everywhere. Quickly I jerked to a stop and said, "Oh, 'scuse me, mister! I didn't see ya!" I bent down, retrieving marbles, most of which had fallen in the nearby grass.

"Hey, Herschell," I heard JB yell over my head as I bent. "You see what that little shit did?" He gave a rough laugh. I didn't know what he would do next. I could not see him from my bent-over position. But I knew I was terrified. I could see my hands shake as I fished for one marble at a time. I had no idea what would happen next.

I didn't have to wait long to find out.

I heard and felt a violent, dull thud on the left side of my face. As the saying goes, I didn't even see it coming. My head snapped to the right, straining my neck, and the rest of me followed into the dirt. I don't remember falling, so I must have gone down instantly. I hit the ground tummy first with a single bounce, my mouth and nostrils filled with sticky, choking brown powder. One of the little girls behind me screamed. To my left I heard feet pounding from the direction of the other three toughs. I was numbed by a growing wave of sickening fear: Were all four of them going at me? What a stupid thing I'd done! The dumb stunt I'd stolen from a movie hadn't worked.

One of the toughs had run to us and hissed angrily, "JB, goddammit, get yer butt movin. You wanna see this game, stop fuckin' around and let's go!"

"Okay, man, okay," JB said, swaggering over to me. "You see what this nigger lover did to me? Like I wouldn't know what he was up to. Hey, boy! You think I'm stupid or somethin'?"

I didn't answer. I didn't think I could speak anyway. I lay flat in the dirt. Maybe he'd think I was knocked out.

The second tough walked away. "Screw it, man, I'm tired of your foolishness. Hey, Herschell, keep movin', this stupid motherfucker's gonna stay here and play with the babies! So long, JB!"

"I'm comin', man, I'm comin'," I heard JB say absently. From the corner of my left eye I could see his shoes approach me slowly. Then one shoe moved so quickly it was a blur, and I shifted two or three feet to the right as a fierce blow crashed into my left side and ribs. This time I got a good face full of ground and felt my forearms scrape roughly into it. I then realized the left side of my face was swelling ing from the earlier blow, and the rapidly spreading mixture of numbness and stinging pain in my left side meant that I had been kicked hard. I lay frozen and nauseous, waiting for more.