The Vocabulary of Guns

70.

One down, one to go. Terry says Jamaal lives with his mother so we’ll need a more subtle approach. Regarding Eric, Terry says, “I wish the little bitch would have killed himself, but oh well. It’ll be a long time if ever before he holds somebody down and sticks his dick in them.” Indeed it will. I feel dreamy, and the morning air contributes to my groove. The mist is burning off, but patches of fog remain in the fields, in the scattered copses of trees that are hanging on despite the encroachment of man and his need to destroy. Again Terry guides me through the streets, turning me here, turning me there until we reach a neighborhood of pleasant middle class homes. We park across the street from a red brick one story, get out and this time Terry takes the shotgun. He walks up to the front door and stashes the gun in a bush and then heads around the side of the house. I follow. Halfway down he pauses at a window and taps on the glass.

“Jamaal,” he says. “Wake up.”

The blinds suddenly jerk up and a Jheri curled head appears. The window opens.

“Yo niggah,” says Jamaal. “What the hell time it is?”

“It’s almost eight,” says Terry. “Yo pardner, lemme use your phone. Our car broke down.”

“What the hell you come to my house for?”

“We were in your hood. Yo man, just lemme use the phone.”

Jamaal closes the window and we head to the front door. It opens and a skinny black dude appears. Terry goes to introduce me but Jamaal could care less. Rubbing his eyes he walks us to the kitchen where a large black woman is frying ham.

“Mama,” says Jamaal. “You remember Terry?”

“Of course I do,” she says. “How you been child?”

“Good,” says Terry.

“He needs to use the phone,” says Jamaal.

“Of course he can use the phone,” says Mama. “It’s right over there on the wall.”

Jamaal heads back to bed as Terry fetches the portable telephone and then leaves the room. I step over and introduce myself to Mama.

“Ya’ll had some car trouble?” she says.

“Yes maam. We were on our way to church and we ran out of gas.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. You go to school with my Jamaal?”

“No maam, I’m from New Orleans. I’m just visiting.”

“New Orleans? That crazy place? Lord have mercy I haven’t been there but one time and that was enough for me. They stole my purse.”

“No.”

“Yes. At a Mardi Gras parade in broad daylight. When that happened I knew it was time to go home.”

“I hear that.”

“You hungry?”

I am but I don’t get the chance to answer because Terry is back and this time he’s leading Jamaal at the point of the shotgun. Mama drops the fork she’s been using to turn the ham. “Lord have mercy,” she says. “What in the world is going on here? Terry have you lost your mind?”

“No maam,” says Terry. “I’m sorry to have to do this but Jamaal has something he wanted to tell you. Ain’t that right Jamaal?”

Jamaal stands there in boxer shorts and a t-shirt with his hands in the air, utterly terrified. His lower lip trembles. His knees knock. Same as Eric, he knew this day was coming. He knew it was coming from a long way off and very far away but it would move towards him at great speed and quite suddenly and then would be upon him, and he’d know it, but too late, like seeing the fist right before it hits your face. He’d know it was coming because it wasn’t just JW Jones on a Saturday night in late July, 1984, now was it, friend? You know as well as I do that there were many other times when you spread your sickness. Ask around. People will tell you. You’ve been a busy boy, all you attackers. All you destroyers of lives. Give it up. Leave the girls alone. Hang yourself or forgive yourself but stop thinking that what you’re doing is right, that she wants you to do it, that she’s a cocktease, she wouldn’t dress that way if she didn’t want it, I know, I’ve heard it before. Don’t go there. Don’t go there anymore. Treat them all like your mother and sisters and your rewards will be tenfold and acres wide. You’ll dream in great comfort and sleep in deep beds. You’ll be nourished and content and waited upon hand and foot. You’ll be free of your evil twin who is doing so much damage to your good name.

“Tell her,” says Terry. “Tell your mother what you done to my cousin. Tell her, or I’ll spray the walls with your balls, baby boy.”

“Oh my God,” says Mama. “My blood pressure, my blood pressure. Lord have mercy, I need to sit down.” I grab a kitchen chair and she sits. “What is going on Jamaal?” she says. “What is he talking about? What did you do?”

“Tell her!” says Terry. “Eric already admitted it and his ass is lucky to be alive. Tell her or I’ll smoke you like a blunt, fool.”

Shaking, his voice low, barely a whisper, Jamaal says, “Mama.”

“What is it child?” she says. “Tell Mama what you done.”

“Mama, I did something bad. Something real, real bad.”

“What you done, son?”

“I, I mean we, me and Eric, we…we…”

“What, honey? You did what?”

“We raped a girl.”

His mother sits perfectly upright, her eyes bulging, her hand at her breast. “What? What did you say?”

“We, me and Eric, we…we raped a girl. Last summer. She was Terry’s cousin.”

“Oh my God,” says Mama. “Oh my God, oh my God. Why? Why, Jamaal? Why on God’s green Earth would you ever do a thing like that? Why Jamaal? Answer me.”

Weeping, Jamaal just stands there. He shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it just sounded like it would be fun.

“Who was she?” says Mama.

“Terry’s cousin,” says Jamaal.

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. You don’t know. You done ruined that girl’s life forever and you don’t even know her name.” Mama shakes her head. Tears form at the corners of her eyes, run in silver streams down her rich brown skin. She opens her eyes and looks at Jamaal. “Who are you?” she says. “Who are you? You’re not my son. You’re not my Jamaal. You’re not the one who, who sat by his grandmother’s side every night for a week until she passed. You’re not him. Are you? Are you? You took him away. You took away my Jamaal and replaced him with somebody I wouldn’t recognize if the Lord Himself was standing here.” She gets up, walks over and lays her hand on Jamaal’s cheek. “Jamaal, I wish you had never been born.” Standing there, shaking in utter sorrow and humiliation, Jamaal shits himself. Mama steps back. “Lord have mercy,” she says. Child, you done messed up my floors.”