The sun had vanished completely. And with it -- all Catholicism.

The bookies were nowhere to be found.  It had been more than three hours.  They were getting him back, someone was getting him back.  He began to believe in karma because that's what you do when you can't get away with something.  He thought of the time he made the college boys from Michigan wait two hours in the rain on the corner of Delancey while he shoved bodega mushrooms into a ziplock bag, passing it off as "really intense shrooms." He made them pay $200 for the mushrooms and $50 for the baking soda they thought was cocaine.  He started to have a change of heart and wanted to charge them less but they refused to come uptown...and this was well before the great splendor of New Millennium tourism.  So if he had to hop on the B or the D train on his Sunday night, they'd have to pay well for it. 

With the $300 he got from the eager college boys he made an even $2,700.00 at OTB and a poker game held in a broken down van in the Bowery later that very week.  It was his first big win.   He thought he was invincible and he wondered where it all went...Not the money or the people or the times - but the confidence.  Where did his confidence go? And the harmlessness of it all...Now, it was all panic and attitude and too many people and guns and...no fun. 

He hated waiting for people, especially if they were people he knew.  He always felt they were out to "get him" or teach him a lesson.  "Just cause you're not paranoid doesn't mean no one's not after you...people don't want you to be better then them.  Success is a motherfucker to people who despise you," he'd often say.  And it was true.  Shakes had no great ambition other than to win some card games, place some bets, pull a con here or there, and if he was lucky, wrap himself in sheets and curl up in the bosom of some sweet-smelling vixen who would lie and bullshit him all night and make love as the sun came up.  Maybe they'd sing some songs, have a breakfast, hold hands and take a walk and enjoy the moment.  Just the moment.  But life was not allowed to be in the moment, life was all about planning for all tomorrow's agony and preparing yourself for dementia and senility and tax forms and voting and ignoring the needs of your neighbors and stepping on the next guy in front of you and blocking the view of the poor soul in back of you.  Shakes didn't care about "getting ahead" in anyone's society other than the one in his own head.  The others in his camp seemed to envy him for that -- they were out for Bentleys, homes in New Jersey or Florida, fame in Los Angeles, lofts in Tribeca, nightclubs, women, write-ups, Uptown posses, downtown nightclubs, and FAMILY.  Family, family, family...They wanted empires.  He just wanted to wake up when he wanted to and sleep when he wanted.  To him, that was the zenith of success.  Life was rising and dying - sometimes every day.  And in between was the poetry.  He just wanted to taste it, that's all.  Just a sniff.  He wasn't greedy.  He enjoyed feeling good too much to be greedy. 

But now, it was all catching up to him. The lies, the bets, the borrowed money, the broken deals.

He wanted to die, but he didn't know how and he had responsibilities.  It's always the responsibilities that get in the way.  And it wasn't even his responsibility that he was in charge of.  It was his dead sibling's. 

He scurried around the corner and down the block. His blue Oldsmobile sat lethargically waiting for him. He checked his watch again and tapped on the window.

Her sleepy eyes looked up from a large textbook. She smiled and unlocked the door. He poked in.

"I told you not to open the door."

"But it's you."

"Doesn't matter. I told you not to open the door."

"But I saw you."

"Doesn't matter, I have the key. You saw me. And who do you think saw you seeing me? People are - are - are - are not well. You never know what could happen. I don't wanna lose you. Hm?"

She didn't understand, but she nodded.

He sat behind the steering wheel, muttered something to himself and tried hard not to say anything. It didn't matter; she beat him to it anyway. She had to break the chain of silence. She had been sitting in it for nearly an hour. And besides, that's what nine-year-old's did.

"Uncle Shakes?"

"Yeah."

"Can you help me with this?"

She was shaking like a withdrawal.

"What's the matter with you? Too young for that."

"Math makes me nervous."

"Makes the both us,” he said, leafing through her Mathematics Workbook.

"We're doing fractions."

"Christ,” he said. "Why don't they teach you something you can actually use? Like how to find people around you who can do the things you can't."

"That's called Hiring."

"No. Hiring is when you abuse people because they can do things better than you...Alright, sit up. What's the matter with you?" He took off his jacket and put it around her. He sat in shock trying to decipher her math problems.

"Alright. What else you got?"

She looked at him with watery eyes. She needed to be getting into trouble like other pre-pubescent kids, he thought. He had no clue if he was helping or hurting her. She was a prisoner of his Oldsmobile and their world.

She turned the radio on. Prince blasted out of the speakers. "I liked him better when he was with the Revolution," she switched the station.

"How old are you?"

"Ten."

"Prince is my generation."

"So?"

"So, nothing. You're very smart, but you need to concentrate for a second." He was still embarrassed about the fractions.

She kept tuning the radio and momentarily stopped on a jazz station. The DJ announced that a special Coltrane retrospective would begin shortly. Sebastian told her to leave it, he looked at his watch. "Damn," he said.

"Can I change it?"

"What? Yeah..."

"Bob Marley. I like Bob Marley." They let themselves settle into the groove of "Buffalo Soldier" and all its levels.

"Masha said this is about smoking blunts. And that Ja is marijuana."

"Who’s Masha?"

"She's in my -”

"Doesn't matter. She's stupid. It's not about getting high. And if it was some eleven year old wouldn't know about that. Even if they did."

"She does, she sells it."

"So did I - I still didn't understand what I was doing. Have you tried it?"

"What?"

“‘What.' Don't be cute. Look at me when I'm talking to you. Have you?"

"I don't like the smell."

"I don't like the smell of gasoline either - but that doesn't prevent me from using it. Hm? And I know I have to only because everyone else tells me to. Do you know there are many ways of travel? Even for a car. Gas isn't the only way. I can use French Fry oil."

"French Fry oil??"

"Yes, French Fry oil. I don't know exactly what it's called - but that's what it is.... and a ten-year-old has no business smoking weed. No wonder why you can't do your fractions."

"You can't either."

"That's because I have a disability! You - you're fine, you're healthy. Don't fuck it up - horsin' around with Drew Barrymore of Generation Z."

"What's Generation Z?"

"The end."

"Why are we here?"

"I been askin' myself that the past thirty-three years..."

"I'm hungry."

"Hungry. I'm Shakes Nice to meet you."

"Uncle Shakes!"

"What?"

"You're a nerd," she giggled.

"No. Nerds don't get into trouble. Only highly intelligent or stupid people do. Don't you learn anything at school? Believe me, if I was a nerd we wouldn't be here."

"Was daddy a nerd?"

"No."

"But Aunt Janet -”

"Aunt Janet's a liar."

"She said you're a liar."

"I am. You will be too if you want a job."

"I made it up. She never said that."

"Hm."

"She said that you wrote poems -”

"She's lying.   I never wrote poems. You're surrounded by people giving you false information...They do that cause they don't want to get into trouble. That's a lie."

"Is Masha a liar?"

"No, she's just a stupid kid. She'll probably go very far, but that's irrelevant. Listen to me: always pay attention to what people do. Not what they say. Or look at how they say it. What are they teaching you in school?"

"We learned about centrifugal force."

"What?"

"And we learned about the constitution. And I have to do an oral report on an American president. I think - Abraham Lincoln. Do you know why he grew a beard?"

"No. And I don't care. This is what they're teaching you in school?"

"They said the beard made him look better. And we watched a movie about him."

"Why am I not shocked. You mean they didn't bring him in to talk to you?"

"And I have to write an essay about my hero."

"What kind of school do you go to?"

"They have a website."

"I'm sure they do."

"Who was your hero?"

"When I was a kid it was anyone who made it past twenty-seven. Now I just admire anyone who smiles over the age of forty."

She wanted to pout, but just tilted her head down. The clock was ticking.

"Your dad was my hero."

She didn't say anything and just wandered her eyes around the car and then turned the station back to jazz. Shakes focused hard on the clump of bodies forming in the rear view mirror but he couldn't see the walk he was looking for. His nose started to run.

"Do you like Kanye West?"

"I don't know. I never met him."

""You know what I mean. His music."

"Is that what you call it?" 

"He speaks truth. He said that George Bush doesn't care about black people."

"I could have told you that.  I expect more from a millionaire, don't you?  He  should be telling us things we don't know.  That's not a truth. That's a fact.  What color is the sky?" 

"Blue."

"Exactly.  If I told you the sky was blue you wouldn't be too impressed would you?"

"No..."

 He opened the car door and pushed his foot out; he turned his head back to his niece. “Now what do you want to eat?"

"McDonald's."

"I'll get ya McDonald's if you tell me who the Buffalo Soldiers were."

"Uncle Shakes..."

"Well?"

"Can I have a clue?"

"Yeah: you and me. I'll be right back." He slammed the door shut (he wasn't angry, he always slammed doors) and then spun around on his heels. He knocked on the door. She looked up.

"Don't open the door!" he said.

She nodded. He made to leave, then turned back again.

"And don't touch the radio station."

She nodded again and he vanished.

She shook her head the way her father used to, the way her uncle did just moments before. She looked in the mirror within the visor and stared at herself, wondering if she were pretty.

                    *

Shakes ducked past the poolhall and dove into an internet cafe that looked more like a converted strip joint or former Billiard-urine-den. The computers themselves were on their last leg and looked as if they were waiting to give some poor sucker a disease. He decided against it and cursed and went across the way to the McDonald’s - the golden arches inducing a Migraine as he stepped in. The lines were long and the energy furious. This is how people still spent their Friday nights.

He checked the time again and couldn't understand why Freddy hadn't shown up. Probably getting me back for all the times I stood him up, he thought.

The fries were eventually ready and the kid behind the counter popped them into the bag. She was cute - probably still in college. She smiled. She smelled good all the way from behind that oil-ridden perverted-food counter. Sebastian was a sucker for a sweet smelling woman. He gave her the money and glanced into her big delicious eyes. Those eyes made him sad, a reminder of all that he had lost and still had time to ruin.

Freddy and Jojo ran through his mind. He never should have blown all that money. The drip in the back of his throat was getting to him. The past five days had seemed like a decade - everyone he knew seemed older, worn, and struggling for a sense of humor. That funeral on Sunday had decimated him and he did not know how to recover.

He dipped into another Internet cafe. They seemed to be spreading like cancer. Who grew them? Who planted them? Well, this gardener did an alright job. And so Shakes went in. His personal philosophy now reduced to (thanks to Freddy): Never go into an Internet cafe that seems as dim and disorganized as your own life.

He quickly checked his email to see if Freddy had sent him a message. He did. It read:

Shakes

- how you holding up?

Don't know if I'll make it, running low.

need to to talk to you.

is your cell still working?

Luna threw out all my books. I'm devastated.

Have you spoken to maya?

i'll try to see you tonite.

Oh, all bets are off. i mean its okay if you want to but i cant.

especially since after leaving the hospital and all.

Peace

F

He cursed and signed out, then quickly googled: Buffalo Soldiers. He printed four pages from a poorly written website and ran back to the car.

*

It was raining now. He knocked on the window with an elbow; he swore all that fake food would slip from the bag at any moment. She looked out at him.

"Open the door!"

"But you said -”

"I know what I said, open the door!"

She did. He got in, he was soaked.

"It's Noah's ark out there!" he said.

The French fries lit up her face like a pinball machine. The windows steamed up, the smell of the food took him back nearly twenty years.

"How do you spell your name?" he asked her, his voice colorless and stale. "Is it with a y or an i ?" He was ashamed, but he couldn't remember. He convinced himself that he was just trying to verify if they spelled her name correctly on Henry's survivor's insurance and if it was in fact her mentioned in her father's will. Just checking.

"N-I-L-E,” she replied, munching on a fry. "Four letters. Is that bad luck?"

"What? No. You don't have any bad luck, don't worry about any of that."

"But you -” she stopped herself, nearly pouted, paused into a state of confusion. Shakes was puzzling and strange. But, he now was all she had to connect to and learn from. Her two aunts and grandmother pitied her.

"Uncle Shakes - your name is from Shakespeare."

"Yeah."

"Shakespeare is the most famous writer. He's hard."

"You got time."

"Shakespeare. Shakes-a-spear."

"Yes. That pretty much sums up my career. But it was always a little too bent. If only I could have thrown it."  She didn't understand and he wasn't being funny.

He stared out the windshield and as he put the wipers on, the rain stopped. Nile's quivering mouth finally tossed out the question:

"Do you think maybe daddy on us and he can see us now and he's trying to communicate with us?"

"I don't see why not."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Well, I don't believe in people who say they believe in God. Like Grandma. So don't go around saying you believe in God. Your dad wouldn't have liked that.  He'd want you to keep God close, away from everyone else."

"Daddy said God is with me when I'm reading."

"Did he?"

"Uh-uh."

"Uncle Shakes?"

"Yes?"

"Why did Daddy call you Shakes?"

He swallowed.  He had never thought about it.

"Cause he wanted to be kind. He wanted me to be the best..."

She nodded.

"Nile?"

"Yeah?"

"Are-are you...wearing lipstick?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Cause I like it."

"Perfect reason to stop doing it," he muttered. "Actually it’s probably the only thing they'll let you enjoy."

"Who?"

"You'll see, believe me..."

"Uncle Shakes?"

"Aw, Jesus Christ, you're not gonna tell me you had sex or something now are ya??"

"No!"

"Huh!?"

"No! NO!!"

"Yeah, don't think I don't know - the type of little strange parties you kids have...The perverted language. I cursed like a sailor when I was your age...Mr.Spivack, the sixth grade; boy did he have my number. Straightened me out quick. He yelled at me the first day of class once and my whole life changed. He told me -- "

And then it happened.  The entire sky opened up.

"Nature Boy" by JohnColtrane leapt out of the speakers like phlegm breaking through a bad cough.

"Ssh-ssh-ssh," he hushed. "Sshhh...!"
 "Uncle Shakes -”

"Sshhh, be quiet!"

"I am being quiet. Why do you keep telling me ‘sshh’?”

"This is it! This is it...You asked me about God and here's your answer...Now, if you can one day do this - I'll...I'll buy you all the lipstick you want!"

"It's scary."

And for a full seven minutes Nile was held captive by her uncle's raw and inspired mania; the purest and most vulnerable she had ever seen him. And the happiest - or the most human - that he would ever be.  And there was a slight chance that after tonight Shakes would never be able to listen to such beautiful music ever again.

When he was thirteen, his brother Henry told him God had played a nasty trick on him: that instead of being born a particle of dust on either Coltrane's saxophone or Hendrix's guitar - God made him into a person. This is when people first started talking about Henry. He even said he would have settled to be Michael Jackson's feet the day - that night - he first did the moonwalk in 1983. That was an eternal beauty that could never be taken away.

And that was his definition of God.

(c) 2009 by D.L.Kangalee

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