Behold the Dreamers(25)
Every winter, he was certain of this.
But then the spring came, and his dreams of Phoenix evaporated like the dew in Marcus Garvey Park. He couldn’t imagine a city more beautiful, more delightful, more perfect for him than New York. Once the temperature rose above fifty-five, it was as if the city had awakened from a deep slumber and the buildings and trees and statues were singing as one. Heavy black jackets flew away and colorful clothes rushed in. All over Manhattan, people seemed on the verge of a song or a dance. No longer pressed down by the cold air, their shoulders opened up and their arms flung freely and their smiles shone brightly because they felt no need to cover their mouths while talking. Sad, Jende often thought, how winter takes away so many of life’s ordinary pleasures.
On the third Thursday in May—as he was driving Cindy across Fifty-seventh Street to lunch with her best friends, Cheri and June, at Nougatine—he noticed that virtually everyone on the street seemed happy. Maybe they weren’t truly happy, but they looked happy, some practically sprinting in the warmth of the day, delighted to be comfortable again. He was happy, too. It was almost seventy degrees and, as soon as he dropped Cindy off, he was going to take the car to a garage, pay for parking with his own money, and rush into Central Park to breathe in some fresh air. He’d sit on the grass, read a newspaper, have his lunch by a lake or pond, and—
His cell phone rang.
“Madam, I am so … so very sorry, madam,” he said to Cindy, realizing he’d forgotten to turn it off. He searched frantically in his jacket pocket, scolding himself as he pulled it out. “I swear I turned it off this morning, madam. I was sure I turned it off right before—”
“You can get it,” Cindy said.
“It’s okay, madam,” he said, looking at the phone and quickly pressing the side button to silence it. “It’s only my brother calling me from Cameroon.”
“No problem, take it.”
“Okay, thank you, madam, thank you,” he said, fidgeting with his earpiece to pick up before his brother hung up.
“Tanga, Tanga,” he said to his brother, “I beg, I no fit talk right now … Madam dey for inside motor … Wetin? … Eh? … No, I no get money … I don tell you say things them tight … I no get nothing … I beg, make I call you back … Madam dey for inside motor. I beg, I get for go.”
He sighed after hanging up, and shook his head.
“Everything’s okay, I hope?” Cindy asked, picking up her phone to start typing.
“Yes, madam, everything is okay. I am sorry I disturbed you with the noise. It will not happen again, I promise you. That was just my brother calling with his own troubles.”
“You seem upset. Is he all right?”
“Yes, madam, nothing too big. They drove his children away from school because they have not paid their school fees. They have not gone to school for one week now. That is why he is calling me, to send him the money. He is calling me over and over, every day.”
Cindy said nothing. Jende’s voice had come out cloaked in such helplessness that she probably thought it best to ask no more questions, figured it would be better to let him ponder how to help his brother. She continued typing a message on her cell phone and, after putting the phone away, looked up at him and said, “That’s a shame.”
“It is shameful, madam. My brother, he went ahead and had five children when he does not have money to take care of them. Now I have to find a way to send him the money, but I myself, I don’t even …” He made a right turn, and she asked him no more questions. For the next two minutes they drove in silence, as they did ninety percent of the time when she wasn’t on her cell phone with a client or a friend.
“But that’s not right,” she said, her voice suddenly hollow. “Children should never have to suffer because of their parents.”
“No, madam.”
“It’s never the child’s fault.”
“Never, madam.”
She was silent again as they neared Central Park West. He heard her open her purse, unzip and zip at least one pocket, before taking out her lipstick and compact foundation.
“I’m sure it’s going to work out for the kids,” she said, reapplying her lipstick and puckering her lips in the compact’s mirror as he pulled up in front of the restaurant. “Something’s going to work out one way or another.”
“Thank you, madam,” he said. “I will try my best.”
“Of course,” she said, as if she didn’t believe for a second that he had a best to try.
When he came around to open the door for her, she reminded him to pick her up in two hours and then, without prelude, pulled out a check from the front pocket of her purse and handed it to him.
“Let’s keep this between ourselves, okay?” she whispered, moving her mouth close to his ear. “I don’t want people thinking I’m in the habit of giving out money to help their families.”
“Oh, Papa God, madam!”
“You can go cash it and send it to your brother while I’m eating. I’d hate to see those poor children miss another day of school because of a little money.”
“I … I do not even know what to say, madam! Thank you so much! I just … I’m so … I’m just very … My brother, my whole family, we thank you so much, madam!”