Eye of Ra (3 page)

He went to lay into the buzzer again, when a deep voice came over the speaker system.

“Who is it?”

“Pop …,” he leaned in closer to the speaker. “It’s me.”

There was no response on the other end.

“Pop …,” he swallowed. “Can I come in please? I need some help.”

The other end continued to remain dead silent. He looked over his shoulder at Rosemary who shook her head looking away. His heart partially sunk. A part of him did not want to see his father, and see the disappointment and shame in his eyes. Another part was hurt as it was becoming brutally clear that his own father did not wish to see him.

The blaring buzzer granting entrance to the building brought clarity to the thoughts of his paternal parent. He pushed open the glass door entering the building with Rosemary following. A new dread fell over him. A junkie bringing his crackhead girlfriend to meet his God-fearing father was not a pleasant visit in any universe that he knew, especially when they were coming to ask him for money to further fuel their habits. He had to treat this as if he was walking on wet toilet paper over a lava pit, which meant doing all of the talking, and keeping Rosemary’s venomous mouth shut.

They took the only working elevator in the lobby to the sixth floor. As he stepped out, the dread that sat on his shoulders began to increase its weight while smacking him repeatedly in the back of his head making his steps much heavier. Fifteen paces from his location; his attempt to remain incognito was thwarted.

“Laurence …Laurence Danjuma …is that you boy?”

Old Mrs. Smith adjusted her glasses as she stared him down. He muttered a curse under his breath as she was the last person he wanted to see.

“Boy don’t be cussing in my presence, bring yourself over here.”

He forgot about her keen hearing even though she was in her late eighties. He shuffled over to her glancing every place else but her eyes as she stood there gripping her wooden cane to help with her bad legs. He kept his distance knowing despite her age she was a veritable samurai with her walking aid when needed.

“How are you doing Ms. Smith?” He respectfully nodded.

“Boy, you were raised better than that …look at me when you address me.”

He begrudgingly forced his eyes to meet her disapproving face. It was harder to keep eye contact as he also saw the look of deep concern behind her harden visage.

“How have you been?”

“I’m aight,” he shrugged.

“Don’t lie to me boy …I see you’re still messing with that poison,” she scowled. “What are you doing to yourself? Running around doing God knows what with this scraggily looking child that looks like she needs five square meals in her! This was
never
like you! Do you have any idea what this is doing to your father seeing you like this?”

“Hello Mrs. Smith, how are you doing on this fine day?”

The deep voiced greeting came from a man one shade darker than Laurence wearing a low cut afro. He wore a simple white shirt with black slacks, his staple attire for work. Two inches shorter than Laurence, Mr. Danjuma was an older mirrored version of him possessing much of the solid strength in his physique that he had both lost and given away to drug abuse and poor living.

“Hello Douglas,” Mrs. Smith turned to him. “Look who is here.”

“I see that you are up and about,” Mr. Danjuma smiled. “Are you well enough to go to church this Sunday, will you be needing a ride?”

“Yes my dear, thank you kindly,” she smiled.

“Great,” he nodded. “If you will excuse me, my son has come to talk to me about something.”

His father’s eyes met his for a brief second before heading back into his apartment. Laurence took one step forward only to feel the sharp point of Mrs. Smith’s cane in his gut halting him again.

“I better hear when I get back that you are staying to clean your life up!”

She gave him one final hard poke in the gut before letting him go.

“And you too!” She stuck a finger in Rosemary’s face startling her as she walked pass her.

“Crazy old …”

“Keep your mouth shut.”

Laurence turned to her daring her to say something disrespectful about the old woman. Rosemary cut her eyes while reluctantly remaining silent. She followed as he continued down the hallway to his father’s apartment.

He walked through the door uncomfortable to be in a place he used to call home. Nothing much had changed. The paint was still the same faded peach color. The scent was still musky with a mixture of tropical fruit and plants the old man kept in the house. All the reminders that he was home felt foreign to him now.

As they entered the living room, Laurence instantly saw that coming to talk to his father was a huge mistake. Mr. Danjuma’s demeanor not only projected that he was not pleased to see his son, he took a defensive stance in the center of the room as if he was ready to go to blows with Laurence if need be.

Laurence also eyed what he had within his right grip. The household fourteen-inch machete, meant for cutting coconut, sugar cane, and uninvited guests.

“What’s with the blade pop?” Laurence narrowed his eyes at him.

“To do what needs to be done …if I am forced to,” he locked eyes with his son.

“So that’s meant for me?” Laurence threw up his hands letting out an arrogant chuckle. “You plan on cutting me down, your own son?”

“What do you want Laurence?” His father got to business with an iron tone.

“Need a bit of help,” he shrugged turning his gaze to the floor. “Need two fifty to get by until the end of the month. I’ll pay you back.”

“One, do not lie to my boy,” Mr. Danjuma shook his head. “You can’t and won’t pay me back. Two, I will tell you again, there is no money here for you.”

“I need to pay our rent and buy some groceries!” He raised his head with desperation now in his eyes. “You gonna see me out in the street and starving?”

“You are always welcome in this house to get food, a hot shower, and clothes,” his father sighed. “But you will never get anything of worth to fuel your habit, and you will not lay under this roof unless you decide to get clean for good. There is even room for your friend, but the same rule applies to her, and you both cannot sleep together under my roof in the same bed …not unless you are married.”

A red blush came across Rosemary’s dirty cheeks as she looked down at the floor, while Laurence’s nose began to twitch as he prepared to pull out his final trump card.

“Pop …my knee is acting up,” He bore a face painted with pain with ninety percent truth to it. “It’s getting really bad. I can barely walk.”

“Then let me take you to the hospital,” his father forcefully gestured with concern written over his face. “Let us go see a specialist who can …”

“I don’t want to see anymore damn doctors!” Laurence erupted losing his patience. “I don’t want to be cut up anymore! They do nothing but make things worse! All I want is to borrow some money so I can get some relief! That’s all I am asking for!”

“But it is not the answer!” Mr. Danjuma fired back. “What you are doing only takes away the pain for a little while! You know I would do anything for you! But not this! I will not help you destroy yourself for a sliver of relief! There has to be another way!”

Laurence’s scratching from the lack of morphine became more uncontrollable as he glared at his iron willed old man with contempt. He flung out the final card from his deck going for broke.

“Well since you ain’t giving me any money, let me take what’s mine,” he motioned with his hand. “Give up the staff.”

A choking uneasiness flooded the room as father and son stared each other down as if they were ready to pounce on one another, while an oblivious Rosemary stood fidgeting uncomfortably as withdrawal crept up on her. Even before he asked, it was obvious what the old man’s answer was going to be.

“No.”

“You said it was mine remember!” Laurence howled with berserker rage. “You said when I was old enough it belonged to
me
! So why don’t you give it up, so I can sell it and get what I need!”

“Because it is not something you can sell, my son.” Mr. Danjuma shook his head.

“But you said it was mine!” He screamed advancing forward.

“When you are ready for it!” His father held his ground. “And you …are not ready for it. You may
never
be ready for it.”

“This is bullshit,” Rosemary snarled. “Hey old man, why don’t you just stop dicking around and give him what …”

“Young lady, this is not your affair!” Mr. Danjuma’s voice boomed silencing her. “So I suggest you remain quiet, before I forget the God that I serve.”

In the midst of the verbal war, Laurence turned his gaze to a picture on the mantel of a woman he didn’t remember. It produced an evil smile on his face.

“When you get on your knees at night, and pray. Do you tell her how badly you fucked up?”

“Do not use that language in my house boy,” his father warned him.

“No, while we’re here it’s about time we really had this out! You promised to protect me!” Laurence went for the jugular. “Look at me pops! Do I look like I’m protected? Look at me!”

“Laurence, I am trying …”

“That’s all you do, you try and you fail!” He continued his attack. “You tried to get a better job, and you failed and became nothing more than an old busted taxi driver! You tried to raise me, and your son is now a fucking junkie dropout with a bum knee and no future prospects in sight. And what’s fucked up about that is, you could have saved me from all of that pain, but you didn’t, because all you do …is ‘try’. My mother’s better off dead, so she doesn’t have to see the loser she left to fuck up her only son!”

It was as if Laurence had the machete in his hand as he savagely hacked his father to pieces.

Laurence stood there beholding the way he had brought his father to tears. Mr. Danjuma went into a sobbing fit as he bowed his head before his son.

“You are right,” he got out in between his tears. “I have failed. I have failed you …my son.”

Laurence’s plan had backfired. At that moment, he prayed for his own life to leave his body.

“Dada …” his voice began to crack.

“I know …it is the poison inside you talking,” Mr. Danjuma shook his head while wiping his eyes. “But it does not hurt any less. Leave my house please.”

“Pop …” he advanced forward, timidly stretching out a hand.

“Leave my house!” His father’s voice became thunderous with rage. “Now!”

It was enough to make him shrink backwards as Rosemary cowered behind him. He eyed his father’s now tightened grip on the razor sharp machete revealing that he was dead serious. He turned and left without another word. Rosemary glanced back at his father shooting him a dirty look before following him out the door.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

The elevator ride back down was silent, which made the descent longer. Rosemary’s fidgeting began to increase along with her sweating. She wanted to ask him what they were going to do now that his father kicked them out on their rear with no financial assistance. Seeing how ugly the scene had gotten in the apartment between the two of them, she mustered the strength to hold her peace and allow Laurence to process what had happened.

Her peace lasted until the elevator door opened and they exited.

“What do we do now?” Rosemary frantically asked.

“His shift starts at six tonight,” Laurence muttered. “We’ll come back a half hour after that, and break in through the fire escape attached to my old room.”

“We’re going to rob your old man?” Rosemary nervously inquired.

“We’re going to come back and take what belongs to me.” He limped away with a snarl on his face.

CHAPTER 2

Six hours later in near dead of night, Laurence was crouching next to Rosemary on the rusted old fire escape in the back alley of the apartment building, using a crowbar to work on the window pane to his former bedroom in order to break in. As he predicted, the old man’s routine had not changed after all this time. He was out of the house by seven on the dot for his Wednesday late night shift. He would not be back until around five the next morning.

Gaining entrance was a slow process. Kneeling was wreaking havoc on his bad knee, making it extremely difficult for him to concentrate on the task of jimmying open the window pane without being detected. On top of that, he was reluctant to break into what used to be his home. Ever since his father had been forced to kick him out because of his habit, he had done everything he could to avoid resorting to two things: begging his father for money or stealing from his father.

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

As he broke into his father’s house, he remembered when, in a fit of delirious agony and withdrawal, he broke his first rule. Almost a month and a half ago, he had found himself banging on his father’s door in the dead of night. Mr. Danjuma, half asleep after a long shift, cracked open the door to the sound of his son’s frantic voice only to have it pushed open in his face as Laurence barged through searching for money. A dazed Mr. Danjuma attempted to calm down his son who began to tear the place apart, searching frantically for money or something valuable.