Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn Page 16

  “Oh…you will! Let me explain it to yawl, Willy. Fust of all, I’d like to shake your hand and introduce masalf…if I may! Mista William Calhoun Jackson the Fust, and I am maghty proud to say hello to such a fine gentleman like yo’self on this fine sunny, January day.”

  Willy didn’t know what to make of it all, but by now, curiosity had gotten the best of him. Besides, with them being this close to the school grounds, he couldn’t be sure whether or not the old man was somehow connected to it.

  “Is you a God fearin’ man, Mista Goodwin?”

  “I go to church on Sunday.”

  “Now, that there isn’t exactly what ah mean. What ah is talkin’ ‘bout, is what be inside that little ticker of yaws?”

  “I believe in God, sir.”

  “All right, then, we is halfway there, son! So, is it safe to say that you, Mista Goodwin, believe yo’self to be that honest and righteous man I’m talkin’ ‘bout?”

  With a quick nod of the head, Willy confirmed himself. “Yes, I do.”

  “All right, then. Now, that leads me to the next question. Is you ready?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m…I’m ready!”

  “If someone, let’s say a good friend, or even a relative, was to do you wrong, like take your bicycle, or maybe even that bag your carrying and sell it somewhere, would that make you mad?”

  “It sure would.”

  “Good! And if that same fella went and did something real bad like and then tells the po-leece that it was Willy Goodwin who done did it, how would that make you feel?”

  “Whoa! Not very good. Hell, I’d kick his ass in.”

  “As much as that might be a good idea, Willy, we don’t always have the opportunity to do that. Sometimes, all those involved might get rounded up into a room, and there wouldn’t be nothin’ left that little ol’ Willy Goodwin could do but sit there a shakin’ and trying to tell ever’body that it wasn’t him.”

  “Hey, that isn’t fair! If I didn’t do it, I shouldn’t be punished for it, either.”

  Bill raised opened hands to the clouds. “Well, glory be on high, Almighty. Now, let me shake yo’ hand, Mr. Goodwin. You done restored ma faith in humanity.”

  “I did?”

  “Would you mind if we cross this here street and set on that bench. I won’t take much more of your time, I promise. So, Willy, how does it feel to know yourself a little betta and that you are indeed a righteous and honorable young man?”

  “I guess it feels good. I sure wouldn’t want nobody to disrespect me like that.”

  “Now, that! That is what I is waitin’ to hear. You said it all in a nutshell. You said the magic word before it even got a chance to pass through my own, sad, raggedy, ol’ lips. Respect! That is the gist of the whole matta right there. Respect! And right now, I have the deepest respect for you, Mista Willy E. Goodwin.”

  “You even know my middle initial?”

  “It’s scribbled right there on your bag, son. Anyways, from one respectful and honorable person to another of equal character and upstandin’ for-t-tude an’ proper count-t-nances, I want to ask you to do me one fava.”

  “Sure, like what?”

  “I want you to right a wrong that I know you done did. And here’s the thang. Ain’t nothin’ more cleansin’ to the soul than rightin’ a wrong. Do you believe that?”

  “I do…honest!”

  “Oh, ah knows you do. Ah can tell. Are you ready to cleanse that soul and start fresh?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Then I need you to make amends with a boy in your class, Diego Rivera. He’s in your class, ain’t he?”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Ah have my ways. And now that we both understand one another, what do you say we go and pays Mr. Rat-stein a little visit?”

  “Mr. Ratzfarb? The principal? Gee…I don’t know about that. I’ll be in an awful lot of trouble if I did.”

  “You mean like Diego was?”

  “I’m really sorry that ever happened. I like Diego. I hated that he got blamed for throwing the darts, I really did. It’s just that I couldn’t bring myself to say it was me.”

  “Took the easy way out, didn’t you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “And that’s okay. We all make mistakes in life. The smart people be the ones that learn from them. And you is one of the smartest boys ah know.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you is! It’s jest that you be seein’ the light anew, now ain’t that so?”

  “I…I…I guess so!”

  “You ain’t goin’ to be afraid to talk to no principal, is you? Cause if that man even starts to pucker up them chubby lips o’ his to say the wrong thang to you, I’ll be the fust one to smack him up side his head.”

  “Ha ha! You will?”

  “Hell, son! Ain’t nobody goin’ to mess with a fellow upstandin’ man like you and get away with it with me. Not if ah can help it. I’ll be standin’ right behind you, Mista Willy E. Goodwin.”

  “If you really think I should…I guess I could do it.”

  “Willy, I am so proud o’ yawl. I’d share a fox hole with you any day.”

  “You mean, like fight the Germans together?”

  “Son, that wars been over nearly two decades, already. The Communist or whoever, it don’t matta who the enemy be. The enemy, that’s all.”

  Bill’s arms waved around animatedly as he continued. “We could load our machine gun and point that old Betsy at the hill and knock thems sucka’s down like wooden ducks in an arcade game.”

  “Do I get to shoot?”

  “Sho can! While you is pullin’ on that trigga, I’ll be feedin’ ol’ betsy a belt load of ammunition. Now how’s that sound?”

  “Slap me five, Mr. Jackson. I like that part.”

  “Hey, guess what? Hows ‘bout you and me, bypassing’ that ol’ fool Ratzstein, and go straight to the top?”

  “The top? What do you mean?”

  4:10 P.M. Assemblyman James Richards Office

  Schermerhorn Street.

  The thick, plate glass doors to Mr. Richards’ office building were huge. Willy chose the brass revolving doors instead, just so he could push his way inside. Along with Bill, they looked for the assemblyman’s office among the tenant list inside a glass enclosed cabinet.

  “There’s his name right there, Assemblyman James Richards. Room 409,” said Willy, pleased with himself for having found it.

  Bill had already seen it when they first looked. “Yup, Assemblyman James Richards, E. S. Q., 52nd District. That man is a lawya. I didn’t even know that. Good Work, son. Let’s go on up.”

  “Can I hit the button?”

  “Sure can. Numba fo’.”

  He exited the elevator ahead of Willy and followed the numbers on the office doors upwards from 400. As they crossed the off white tile, their winter boots resounded loudly through the labyrinths of long, empty hallways.

  “I’m scared,” said Willy.

  Looking down at the boy, Bill fondly put a hand on his shoulder and sternly said, “Now, why did you and I set up all night in that foxhole gettin’ alla that ammo ready for a good fight? You ain’t gonna jump out of the hole and run the other way, is you?”

  “Heck, no, Mr. Jackson!”

  “Sergeant, to you Corporal!”

  “Oh yeah! I meant to say Sergeant Bill.”

  “It ain’t like you gotta skip town ‘cause yo’ girlfrien’ Opal got pregnant.”

  “Who’s Opal?”

  “Neva mind about that, son. Did you clean ol’ Betsy with oil, like ah told you, Corporal?”

  “The machine gun? Yes, sir, Sarge! It’s ready and pointed at the hill.”

  “Now, you gettin’ it. You in the right frame of mind.” Bill patted him on the shoulder. “Here we is…Room 409. Prepare yo’ salf, soldier, we is goin’ in!”

  The old gent’s tall frame shadowed the opaque glass as he held open the office door.

  “May I help you?” said a thin, pl
ain Jane of 50 plus, wearing her dyed hair, bouffant style with the sides flipped up.

  “We is here to see Mista Richards.”

  “He’s busy right now and he has a meeting to go to in 15 minutes.”

  “That so? Could yawl maybe tell him, Bill Jackson, is in to see him, ma’am?”

  The lady, now standing behind her desk, put the black receiver to a rotary phone down and removed a pair of dark rimmed glasses. “He’s busy! Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? And I also suggest you call first.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But this sho’ is important.”

  “I already told you, mister, he’s very busy.”

  “Now, ma’am…ain’t no need to get sharp, all ah is trying to…”

  James Richard’s door opened. “Bill! I knew that was your voice I heard…Come on in.”

  The secretary glared back, worried. “But, the meeting, Mr. Richards. You have a meeting in 15 minutes.”

  “That can wait. Give them a call for me. Come on in Bill, good to see you.”

  Bill stepped lively into the oversized office, where the loud sound of his boots became muffled as he crossed a circular, Oriental rug.

  The assemblyman/lawyer took his seat behind a wide and very heavy mahogany desk, picked out a cigar from the rest, and sat in his leather recliner. He gave the cigar a prolonged whiff, licked the length of it and eased the chair way back to light it up.

  “I need a break. I’ve been running around all day with these confounded meetings. Enough is enough. Have a cigar, Mr. Jackson, and how’s Diego, by the way?”

  “He’s fine, doin’ real well. Actually, he be the verra reason why me and Willy here is where we is, right now, suh.”

  “Hey, let’s enjoy the moment. Did you want that cigar?”

  “No, I don’t smoke, but thank you kindly, anyways.”

  “That’s surprising. Isn’t the South the cigarette capitol of the world?”

  “We is got lots o’ tobacca farms, that’s fo sho.”

  “Aren’t you going to take a seat?”

  Bill looked around himself. Behind, were four, deep-brown, top grain, split leather, tri-tone, hand rubbed recliners. So as not to look unaccustomed to such opulence, he sat unhesitatingly and crossed his legs.

  Willy did the same. The boy checked around for a way to recline the chair and found the oak handle sticking up from the side. As the other two talked, he played around with it to try to make the chair work.

  “So what brings you to my office, Bill?”

  With an arm outstretched, Bill gestured toward the boy, and in his best effort toward well-spoken, colloquial speech, said, “Wale, I have here, seated on my left, a proud memba’ of the, Honorable and Righteous Societa, of which we have two memba’s…hims and me.”

  Amused, Mr. Richards kept a serious demeanor; for the boys sake.

  Willy finally got the chair to work. His entire body suddenly and forcefully jolted backwards.

  “Continue, Mr. Jackson, I sense something very important brewing here. Please, go on.”

  “Wale, it’s thisa way. Here at ma side is a Mr. Willy E. Goodwin, who in a moment of poor judgement, threw three darts at…”

  Bill went on to explain the entire dart incident to the assemblyman and how Diego had gotten blamed for it.

  “And therefore, as sole owner and executor of the three darts to which he no longer has possession…”

  “And who, pray tell, is the new possessor of the aforementioned darts?”

  “A one, Mr. Ratzstein, suh. Principal in residence at P.S, 6.”

  “He lives there?”

  “Well, no…uh…uh I’s only added that in for a little dignitary flavor, if you get the gist of what ah mean?”

  “Okay, I get it. So, Mr. Goodwin, you’re the one that actually threw the darts?”

  “Yes, Mr. Richards and I’m really sorry about that.”

  “Hey, I’m sure if you could take it all back, you would, wouldn’t you, Mr. Goodwin?”

  “In a heartbeat. Yes, sir!”

  The door opened.

  “Your meeting, Mr. Richards, it’s getting late!”

  “Yes, I know, cancel it!”

  “But, they’re in 211 waiting for you.”

  “That’s all right. Tell them all to go home and I’ll work out another arrangement with them. Heck, it’s almost dinner time, anyway, don’t those people have families?”

  “Sir, I don’t think you…”

  “That’s all, Miss Dugan. In fact you should be going home as well.”

  The door closed.

  “Some people take things too much to heart. Where were we? The darts! I’m glad you came forward with this, Goodwin. It takes a stand up man to do that. I like your honesty.”

  Willy folded his hands in front of himself, expecting the worse.

  “All that’s left, now, is to give the principal a call, but I’ll have to do that tomorrow.”

  “Willy is a good boy, Mista Richards. Ah can vouch for him, maself.”

  “That’s good enough for me, Bill. In the meantime, Mr. Goodwin, I’ll need a promise from you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Let’s put it this way. We’ll make a gentlemen’s agreement between you and me. If you show a steady improvement between now and your last report card for the year, and I want that last one to have nothing less than a B, I’ll find you a spot in our summer camp program.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes, and that’s a promise.”

  “Where is it?”

  “This year, the kids are going to the Adirondacks.”

  “Wow! That’s great! Where’s that?”

  “The mountains!”

  “The mountains?”

  “That’s right, and do you know what they do there?”

  “Swim?”

  “Swim, and that’s not all. They have archery and baseball, basketball…”

  “I can shoot a bow?”

  “Absolutely! You can camp, go canoeing, hike through the mountains and make a campfire at night. There’s all kinds of fun things to do. So, do you want to go?”

  “Can I really?”

  “Of course you can. Just bring me those A’s and B’s.”

  “I will, Mr. Richards.”

  “Bring your next report card right here to my office and we’ll go over it together.”

  The following morning: P.S. 6 Principal’s Office

  “Principal Ratzfarb, how can I assist you?”

  “It’s James Richards, how’s everything going, John?”

  “Well, well! I haven’t heard from you since the summer when we played golf on Staten Island.”

  “How’s your putting arm?”

  “Getting better. I have a green runner in my office that I practice on.”

  “Good… good.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s nothing major, just a small favor.”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “Do you remember a boy named Diego Rivera?”

  “Yes, smart kid. I’m skipping him a grade. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m concerned about an incident involving darts sometime last month.”

  “Yes, that was him, but we took care of that and straightened the kid out and now he’s a good student.”

  “I see! I’m sorry, John, but that’s not how I’m seeing it.”

  “What do you mean? What exactly are you talking about?”

  “I had the kid who threw those darts in my office yesterday. He came in with Bill Jackson. Bill says he knows you?”

  “Jackson? That’s the man who came by with Rivera. His mother couldn’t come. He’s a neighbor, supposedly.”

  “Yes…well, he does some work around the house from time to time, that’s why I know him, and Diego, also.”

  “So, now you want me to exonerate him because he does work for you?”

  “No! I want you to exonerate him because Willy Goodwin admitted to me in my office that it was him all along. The darts
were his.”

  “Damn! Why can’t we leave this alone? What’s the big deal?”

  “Diego’s a good kid with a future. He’s already proved himself with good grades. Why do you want to brand him with horse shit like this on his record, when I just gave you the name of the kid that was responsible?”

  “Because, I have better things to do with my time. Hello?…hello?…hello…James? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m still here. Look, John, I don’t want to go over your head, but if I have to I will.”

  “For this lousy crap? Don’t you have better things to do with your time?”

  “This is that ‘better thing’, John, and it’s not only important to Diego, it’s important to me. What are you planning to do with this, because if we can’t resolve it over the phone, I’ll be forced to make a call to the superintendent’s office?”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll take care of it. I’ll see that Goodwin kid in my office first thing tomorrow.”

  “And lay off him, he didn’t have to come forward. The worst thing you could do right now would be to break his trust by punishing him. Make him write an essay or something easy. There’s no need to go any farther than that.”

  “Yeah, all right James. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I got your word on it, right, John?”

  “Of, course! I said I’d take care of it.”

  Later that afternoon, Diego’s apartment

  “Come een, Meester Reechards.”

  “Hi, Ana. Diego around?”

  “He go to dee store for Maria. He coming down soon. coffee?”

  “No thanks. Mind if I sit?”

  “Oh…I’m sorry! Please! Sientate!”

  It was hard for Richards to focus on conversation while looking around the room. The plastic curtains and dated, cheaply crafted furniture, pulled at his heartstrings. ‘Though neat with everything in its place, even the lone, frameless picture of a tropical beach scene hanging on the wall, spoke of paucity and the few basic essentials present.

  “I need to see Mr. Jackson, but I…don’t know where he lives.”

  “He leeve someplace on Bergen Street. Diego can show ju.”

  “You won’t mind if I wait?”

  “No, dat ees okay. No coffee?”

  “I’m fine, Ana, thank you?”

  The drab hall to the Jackson’s rear room smelled stale and musty. It took Richards a few seconds to accustom himself to the dim light of the hallway’s 25 watt bulb. The narrow walls had been painted a dull gray sometime back during the cretaceous period with no thought as to a contrasting trim color.