Читать книгу The Changeling - Victor LaValle - Страница 34

“I’M GLAD YOU brought the kid.”

Apollo and Brian made their morning meet-up with Patrice downtown on Avenue B. Patrice waited outside a tiny computer shop. At about this same time, Emma was opening the Fort Washington branch on her second day of work.

“Check out this rig,” Patrice said, turning his phone screen toward Apollo. It showed the photo of a desktop computer with two monitors, four speakers, and more. “I’m going to build me an even better one than this.”

Apollo was wearing Brian turned ’round in the BabyBjörn, so the kid faced Patrice. He lifted the baby slightly higher as if to show off his own rig.

“You know who you look like?” Patrice asked. “Master Blaster.”

“Who runs Bartertown?” Apollo said.

Patrice sneered, “Master Blaster runs Bartertown.”

Apollo and Patrice hugged each other as best two men could with an eight-week-old dangling between them.

“Really though,” Apollo said. “Master Blaster had the little guy on the back. Me and Brian are more like Kuato and his brother.”

Patrice held open the door to the computer shop. “You going to compare your baby to motherfucking Kuato?”

Apollo rested his hand gently on his son’s head. “The Martians love Kuato,” Apollo said. “They think he’s fucking George Washington.”

Patrice ushered them into the store. “You’re a weird dude, my man. Just know that.”

Five customers were in the store. With Patrice, Apollo, and Brian inside, the place now reached maximum capacity. The woman behind the counter looked up from her conversation, took in the new bodies, then returned to her sale. Brian wriggled in his carrier and mewled softly. This caused an almost allergic reaction throughout the room. Every adult besides Apollo hunched forward as if protecting their ears with their shoulders. Two of the men scanned backward, straight-up scowling. The woman behind the counter sighed loudly.

Apollo hardly registered the reactions. He made himself busy getting his bag off his back, setting it down, then unstrapping Brian. He went down on a knee, undid Brian’s onesie, and pulled back the lip of his diaper. Brian kicked both legs out and mewled louder. Soiled. Apollo pulled out the changing pad and laid it flat on the floor and pulled back one of the diaper straps—that adhesive crackle.

Only then did he look up to find seven horrified expressions focused on him and the now half-naked and soiled baby.

“Problem?” he asked.

A moment passed, and all five customers stampeded out of the store. Even the guy in the middle of a sale joined the exodus.

Now Patrice grinned. “I’m real glad you brought the kid,” he said. He turned to the woman behind the counter, instantly first in line for service. “I’ve got a long list.”

Apollo shrugged and finished up with Brian.

Patrice left the store with a half-dozen bags in hand while Apollo carried only a rolled-up dirty diaper.

“You and Dana should think about having a kid,” Apollo said as they walked down the block.

He’d regretted it right after the words left his lips. It was a dick thing to say. He knew it. Didn’t he hate it when people on the streets offered unsolicited advice about how he should be caring for Brian? Old women scolded him for not covering him up, and others demanded he be uncovered. Old men jabbered about how best to burp or bounce or feed the child. Didn’t he loathe even those with the best intentions? But then he’d done something like it to Patrice. Maybe having a child was like being drunk. You couldn’t gauge when you went from being charming to being an asshole.

“You’re right about that,” Patrice said. “If we don’t have kids, how will I ever know the joy of carrying a handful of shit?”

They weren’t far from the Strand, just a walk crosstown. They headed that way without making a conscious decision. The store’s motto was “18 miles of books.” Apollo couldn’t think of the last time he’d found a book worth serious money there—the stacks were picked over by thousands of readers every day—but they couldn’t be downtown and refuse to visit. It would be like snubbing a beloved uncle.

Manhattan air, in early winter, gets as crisp as a fresh apple. As they walked, Apollo turned Brian around so he wouldn’t face the cool wind. Turning him inward made Brian look up into his father’s face, or perhaps just up at the blue sky between buildings. The boy puckered his lips, and his tiny nostrils flared as Apollo and Patrice walked quietly toward the Strand.

As a matter of routine, they pawed through the wheeled carrels that lined the front of the store. These were the worn-down paperbacks, the Signet Classics of Frankenstein and Jane Eyre; beat-up textbooks and cookbooks. Patrice and Apollo weren’t looking for anything worthwhile—it was just part of the ritual.

“So I had to leave before you came out of the basement in Riverdale,” Patrice said.

“You should’ve come downstairs and said goodbye,” Apollo teased.

Patrice cleared his throat and ignored the taunt. “You find anything good?”

Apollo cradled the back of Brian’s head as he leaned forward to read the paperback spines. He inhaled his son’s scent and considered the question. Did he find anything good? A book he’d be willing to split profits with Patrice over? Brian rubbed his head against the small patch of his father’s skin he could reach. Did he find anything good?

“No,” Apollo said. “Nothing good. It was a bust.”