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| A Short Taleby Lazarus Chambers |
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Introduction
This short story is about a young man who contemplates life, friends, love and himself as he takes a short walk between Adam Clayton and Malcolm X Boulevards in Harlem NYC. It is Part I of a 3 story piece. Part II chronicles the heyday of Harlem in the 1920s with flight pioneers the Black Eagle and the Brown Condor who both found fame in Harlem and Ethiopia.Part III will indulge in a fictional conversation between President-elect Barack Obama, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr. and Abraham Lincoln.
You don’t want to miss that, so…
Stay Tuned!!!
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This story is best enjoyed with a glass of
Sheba Tej
Ethiopian Honey Wine
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![[Bottle of Sheba Tej glass of wine with appetizers Massawa Restaurant]](http://ih.constantcontact.com/fs052/1102378658313/img/7.jpg?a=1102382973294) Voice in the Distance
Hey Panama!” A voice shouted out to me.
I know who it is immediately. Ithaca.
I turn around to respond, “Hey Ithaca, what’s up.”
Ithaca is the only one that calls me that. He’s the only one I ever told to call me that. For some reason I liked the name. I like the way it sounds and I like the way it feels. It just suits me.
“How you doing Panama?!”
“Everything is OK man. How’s life treating you?”
“Same shit you know. “
Ithaca was homeless. Well he wasn’t really homeless; he just didn’t have a place of his own. He squatted in the abandoned building next door to mine. There was only one legitimate tenant in his building, and it was his uncle. He never paid rent. He would let his rent run up, then when he’s about to be evicted he would make a lump payment. The city, through public assistance has a catastrophic rent payment that allows for the petition of funds. It can be used only once a year. But that was all he ever needed. With that his Uncle could always pay the rent. With his uncle in the building, HPD had to keep it open.
“Just about to head home then hit the streets again.”
He used the word home, but it just rolled off his tongue. He got into the apartment through the window. The door had a bolted chain around it he had told me once. That’s how I met him, climbing into his window from my fire escape. We chatted, he told me his story, then we pledged to keep thieves from entering each others apartments.
“Yeh, so where were you working today?”
“Yeh man, I was down by 110th and Morningside.”
“What going on there?”
“Columbia.”
Ithaca worked construction every time he could. The recent building boom in Harlem gave him some cash and he was working steady, albeit two or three days a week. But he was still resentful. All the new construction was making it harder to get a place he could afford. Here he was putting up new buildings and could never live in one. And for that, he hated the construction companies. His recent jobs on a few sites had schooled him to something new.
“These bastard developers are like thieves and assassins in the night.”
It was always like that with Ithaca. He always ranted. Maybe he had legitimate reasons.
“Gonna go take a shower and head out to sell. I got that Brazilian movie. What’s that… City of God? You seen that?”
“Yeh, I saw that one already.”
To make ends meet Ithaca also sold DVD’s. I never really asked him much about his DVD business. But I always wanted to know where he got that stuff. I wonder if there’s just a large warehouse out there where guys like Ithaca go get their movies to sell. But I had figured out how to never have to buy anything from him. I always asked him for an old classic — which I knew he never sold.
“I told you. I don’t sell them movies.”
Or I asked him about a movie not expected to come out for a few months.
“Nah, I don’t think I have that one. Who’s in that? When’s it supposed to come out?”
Whenever he asked me those questions I always told him the same thing.
“Ahh… never mind.”
“Aiiight man, I’m outta here. It was good seeing you man. It always good to see you.”
Whenever he said that, I always tended to believe him. He genuinely felt glad to see me. He left and moved as if deep in thought. He’s clothes were rather clean, and he always stayed clean shaven. I wondered how he did it. There was no water in the building. Ithaca wasn’t the only squatter there. In the 10 unit building, only 4 were unoccupied. All the rest were filled with squatters, sometimes 2 or 3 apiece. To try to force them out HPD had turned off the heat and water. It had been three days, and Ithaca said no one was leaving. Plus, his uncle that never paid rent was retching up a storm. HPD would cave in soon enough.
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 Man Vs. God
I walked on. I try to think of God everyday. Only, my God is different from everyone else’s. Here am I thinking there’s only one. One God. One Creator. One Almighty.
So why are there so many faces to him? Burnt skin with woolly hair. Blue eyed with blond hair. Long-nosed with four hands. A perfectionist with a slide rule. A gray-beard conjurer with a Bunsen burner.
Man made God in his own image!
Nonetheless my God doesn’t care. He’s too busy to care. He only pays attention to you when you pay attention to him. If you ignore him he ignores you, but when you listen, there’s a lot he has to say.
At last, you have realized you yourself are a God!
At last, you have realized you yourself are a God!
When you have come to that realization, you are ready to become a God!
I have come to that realization.
What’s the first thing granted to any human being that becomes a God?
POWER. POWER. POWER.
Except, there’s a catch.
Power is only granted, when it is ascertained it would never be used.
That’s why so few of us are becoming Gods these days, we are too busy pursuing and abusing power.
Man fights against man to control a line; a stream; a fence; a bush; a wall; a house; a village; a river; a town; a mountain; a sea; a city; a nation; a people; a race; a continent… the entire Earth.
Man relishes the power over one simple planet rather than communion with the universe.
Oh, what a tragedy!
Essentially that’s the choice at hand. Gain fame, wealth and power on Earth or learn how to navigate through the universe. Man craves earthly power too much; he is far from being a God.
Church, Factory, Mosque, Synagogue, Skyscraper, University are merely the representation of institutions that divert the masses as a few consolidate and grab more power.
The great hunger is amongst us. And we must feed the beast.
A brooding, lumbering slightly hunched figure appears out of the shadows.
“Hey man, what’s going on!”
“What up Clay?”
“What’s up!”
He says the words but I never think he cares for an answer. I have no idea if he remembers me. We went to high-school together. He was always with the guys that played on the basketball team. The cool guys.
Although, I never really knew what cool was and had no idea they were cool.
Now, Clay walks around in and out of a mental nightmare. He’s constantly muttering to himself, and is always dressed the same way. Black dirty old baggy pants, white stained t-shirt and a rusty beat black jacket. He’s always dressed like this regardless of the weather. I saw him with keys to a building once. So he has a place to go when the weather turns brutal.
He looked at me with blank blood shot eyes while he circled around me.
“Do you remember me?” I offered.
He didn’t answer.
I felt scared.
What the hell does he have to lose? I thought
I prepared for anything and slowly backed away. He continued on his way walking down the block. I’m sure I would ask him if he remembers me the next time I saw him.
High-school was crazy. I fell in love with a girl from every ethnic group. But none of them knew it or cared.
There was the beautiful and gentle Chinese girl Ling Xian. She had the fullest breast you could ever imagine a Chinese girl could have. She was pretty and smart and laughed at everything I said. And her English was pretty good too. She was a year younger than me and I helped her with everything that I could. I don’t think she ever liked me though. Don’t get me wrong, she was nice, but she never paid any real attention to me. I will always remember her laugh and the curl at the side of her mouth when she spoke. I once tried to convince her that a hand-job was as much an American pastime as baseball. She never bought it.
Then there was Juanita Rosa Cruz Solaria from the Dominican Republic. At that same time I fell in love with her, a song was constantly being played on the radio. ‘Let’s Talk About Sex’ by Salt-N-Peppa. Every time I heard the song, her face came to my mind. It still does. Only, I don’t think I’ve heard that song since high-school. Juanita was Dominican as no other Dominican girl was. She had that lovely skin, lovely smile, the most adorable accent, the most perfect behind. I loved Juanita. I never told her though. I always felt it much better to keep it a secret.
Darina was Puerto Rican but she looked white. I think she thought she was white. I think she was happy that I liked her because I thought she was white. Yet, she still didn’t like me. She dated the only white guy in the school.
In the black category was Haily. I always felt she would be my perfect mate. I had many day-dreams of us living together with 2 kids, a dog and a backyard.
She was athletic.
I was athletic.
She was smart.
I was smart.
She loved science.
I loved science.
She had a strapping boyfriend.
I kept my distance.
I recruited a friend of hers and tracked everything she did and say. We did this for 2 years. When word came that she and her boyfriend were on the wane, I made my move. I reverted to the primal male instinct. Show off my strengths and best features. I invited her to see one of my baseball games. I had our friend tell her everyday; eventually even I worked up the courage to invite her myself.
She kept promising to come.
We kept pressuring her.
She kept promising.
She finally came.
Her boyfriend was not too happy about coming to a baseball game!
They left before the third inning. I was crushed.
And finally there was Rosetta Shar. My Indian beauty. The most delicate creature a man could lay eyes on. She was the mythic Goddesses Maya and Osiris, and the real incantations of Makeda Queen of Sheba and Aphrodite all rolled into one. Her words were pure joy and laughter. I often fell into day-dreaming spells staring right at her. And she really liked me. Only, she had a boyfriend. After 2 years, she finally broke up with him, and started dating a friend of mine — much shorter than me. I still held out hope.
Finally, in our senior year, she broke up with him. I felt a whirlwind coming. One day she sat down and wrote me a letter. She placed it on my desk and simply walked out. On the front of the envelope she had written: Open After School. I would’ve, only my friend who was constantly after her persuaded me to read it right then.
“You can’t wait till then. That’s too long.”
I opened it.
“Dear blah blah blah….I think you are the blah blah blah.” I began.
“Where’s the juicy stuff?” my friend asks.
I continued.
“I’ve always had the hots for you. I think you are cute, caring, strong and great looking. And I will always remember the way we met. I always had wished we met as lovers rather than as friends. That way you would have never waited so long.”
Right there and then I knew what I had to do. I had to find her. I walked along the hallway and searched for her. My heart was racing; I had the letter in my hand, almost crumbled.
There, up ahead by her locker. She saw me and looked down. The act of submission. My heart raced more. I reminded myself of my asthma. Breathe. I approached her. Along the entire way there was a lump in my throat. All the noise around me had quieted. I could hear my heart beating. I felt a bead of sweat on my right temple. Then I remembered…infamous STAIRWAY 16.
It was where all young trysts were consummated. I had never been in STAIRWAY 16; I never had a reason to go before, until now.
I grabbed her hand and told her we had to talk. I led her to STAIRWAY 16. She never resisted. When we went through the doors, I was thinking of the right words to say. I stopped, turned around and looked her in the eye. Then I said.
“I’m going to have to do this.”
I kissed my mythic queen right there and then. I wished I remembered how it felt.
Ahh, the past must be forgotten as soon as it’s completed.
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 Dancing in HarlemI had reached the middle of the block when I saw a car parked near the hydrant. A yellow cab. I looked at the tag. I always looked at the tags of cars. I divided, multiplied added, and always try to make the numbers equal to 1. I once tried to stop, but found out I was addicted. The license plates read T478562939C, but the tag on top said R45T. He was a cop. I had seen him earlier, but I think he really had a passenger that time. He dropped her off then had been at the hydrant for the past 30 minutes. Now he was joined by Neely.
I never met Neely, but Ithaca had told me about him.
“Don’t let that dude know nothing about you.” he had said. “He talks to the cops more than stool pigeons.”
I never really considered if Ithaca was being truthful or not. I guess I could take his word to the bank on this one. Neely sat in the front passenger seat chatting to the undercover. The sun was just going down, but I could still make out the words printed on his t-shirt:
STOP SNITCHING
Man craves power. In nearly all religious ethos humans are meant to be shepherds of the animals. Yet, we have abused that power, and the ones we were meant to protect, using them at the pleasures of our whim. We slaughter them. We cage them. We do experiments on them. We parade them at our pleasure. Worse, we try to humanize them.
We have disturbed that precious balance between us and them. But man is heading for destruction. Our quest for power is slowly destroying us. We quest for power over other human beings; the animals; the plants; even nature itself, that which gives us life. Our quest for power and our insatiable desires for passion keep us attached to this world, and so we cannot soar.
Power blinds. We stifle innocent life as we grasp for the reigns of that golden chariot. The wheels tear asunder the very foundations that are meant to uphold and sustain us.
The epoch of the anthropocene is about us.
Let go of the need for power over this world. Let go of the desires for passion in this world. And you let go of this world. You are free to become a God. You are free to soar through the universe.
A young man calls my attention.
“Yo my man, you looking for a Quintex twenty-five four hundred. This is the second generation model, poppa. It has a hardware component with an updated software package that makes version two look like chicken shit.”
“Nah man I don’t think so. What that do anyway?”
“What that do? Yo man. This baby just tracks your movement like nobody’s business.”
“Bullshit…what the hell does that mean?
“Your basic tracker man. Pin on one of these beacon LEDs here. Connect the diodes, spodes, throes and groes and you are in business. Anywhere your honey goes, she’s gonna be pinging her location to you. Better than that shit the NYPD does with cell phones. Software allows you to see real-time surrounding on that person. She’s fucking around with some guy, you get a 3-D layout of his apartment. Exact street and block location. You can’t beat it.”
“How much you want for it?”
“For you, one hundred. I only got 3 LED’s I give you at 10 apiece. That’s one thirty altogether.”
“I’ll give you sixty for everything.”
“Aw man… come one man, that’s just hurting me. You can’t do that. Alright, alright I’ll make it one ten.”
“sixty”
“Aww man, I can’t fuck around with you. Do you know what LED’s are going for these days?”
He walks off.
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Wine Tasting My super was smoking a joint in the basement. He stood in the doorway leading to the back. He invited me over.
“Yeh man. Come take a pull off this.”
“Can’t brotha, I’m on a fast.”
“A what?
“Fast. No food, no juice, no smoke, no sex.”
“Oh yeh, for how long?”
“A month.”
“Whatcha”
Rio was 60 years old but still smoke more marijuana than anyone I knew. His brown aging face reminded me of KFC chicken. He had a perfectly round patch of grey hair to the left side of his head. Everyone said he dyed it.
“Why the hell would I want to dye my hair grey, or white or whatever the hell it is?” he once told me.
He was a good super. He reacted quickly whenever we asked him for something and he usually was on our side whenever we had a complaint against management. He was even lobbying on our side for more heat once.
“That bastard landlord is trying to freeze me out too.” He retorted when I began complaining about the heat. “Cheap on the heat, but he’s buying up the whole of Harlem.”
“What you mean?”
“Well for one, that cocksucker politician is selling Harlem away. He even sold his home. Sold away The Secarret.”
He lived in the basement and always had a different woman each night. He had showed me his place once before.
“Welcome to my studio.”
It was just one big room. There was a shaggy red carpet over the entire floor. It felt like it needed to be mowed. He had a huge bed at one end and the bathroom at the other. He had only one love seat, an arm chair and nothing else. Pillows of various sizes covered the floor. Most were red and heart shaped. There was a curtain of beads separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment. There was no door to the bathroom.
“For the ventilation, you know.”
Next to the toilet was what seemed like a urinal.
“What’s that?” I had asked pointing to the object.
“A bidet,” he replied. “Use it to wash your ass after a shit. Don’t leave none of the shit in your ass like toilet paper. With this, you wash everything out. Very refreshing.”
I kept walking past the building.
“You not going home?” Rio asked.
“Nah, I’m going to pick up a bottle of wine. My wife’s mother is coming in.”
He perked up.
“Hey man, I got the best wine for you to try.”
“What do you know about wines?” I looked at him with a skeptical look on my face.
“Well, I know a little something, something.”
“So what’s this wine you want me to try?”
“One second.” He darts into his apt and shortly returns with a bottle and he hands it to me.
“It’s an Ethiopian honey wine. Made entirely from pure natural honey.”
I read the label.
“Does it have grapes in it?”
“No grapes, just honey. It’s very good. I’ve been drinking it for ages. Every single woman that comes here, I have them taste it and they love it.”
“What’s it called?”
“Sheba Tej. It’s named after the Queen of Sheba…Ethiopia, ya know.”
“Uh huh, I don’t know about this Rio. Not sure my mother-in-law might like this. I think I’m just gonna play it safe.”
“Listen to me man. This is some good stuff. High class you know. Very prestigious. I’ll tell you this. This wine is great if you are eating anything spicy. It’s the perfect pairing.”
“What you know about pairing wine and food, Rio. You a super!”
“So because I’m a super I can’t taste and appreciate the finer things in life.”
“Well I didn’t quite mean it like that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Now, listen to me on this. This will be great for your mother-in-law. I know your wife, and her mother will be the same, very sophisticated. If you are having a nice spicy diner, this wine is the perfect compliment. African, Caribbean, Asian, even Indian it’s a great match. It’s not as sweet as you think and has a very good flavor. It has a nice acidic aftertaste that cools your mouth when you’re eating spicy food. Just try it man. If you don’t like it I’ll buy the leftover bottle from you.”
“OK Rio, I’ll try it.” I hand back the bottle and he lovingly caressed it. I wonder about him sometimes.
He tapped the wall by the entrance of the building as I walked away.
“Keep your eye out for this guy!” he said motioning with his head to a poster taped there.
“What’s his story?” I asked sto pping in my tracks.
“Lost.”
“What?!” I was really taken aback. “He’s a grown man.”
“He’s a little kooky up there you know. Taking some medications.”
I walked off. He was right. Human beings are lost. We get lost in the details of this world. We are lost in the world order. We are lost in our consumption. We are lost in our self-gratification. We are lost in our labor. We are lost in tradition. How are we to find ourselves when we aren’t even looking?
Lost… thinking of the day-to-da y grinds that humans have invented for themselves in exchange for a small return of peace and love - war and hate - peppered by personal or family whimsical gain. What do we lose in exchange for this path? What have we failed to see? What have failed to experience?
“Have we stunted our evolutionary growth?” I spoke out loud. I realize I get lost in myself too.
As I walk on, three young men approach me. Each of them wore a T-shirt or sweatshirt with Obama’s image on it. One is done up with rhinestone. I know one of them and hail him.
“Whats up Obi?”
“Just cooling, bout to head to the garden.”
I tug at his T-shirt.
“Where you get this man?”
“Ithaca. He selling T-shirts now since Obama won.”
“Shit, he didn’t offer to sell me one.”
“He just got a batch a few minutes ago.”
Ithaca works quick.
“So you voted for Obama?”
“Hell yeah, first time in that booth.”
“So how you feel about that?”
“Good, we all felt it was like the first time we could actually vote.” Another friend chimed in.
“It’s not like we never wanted to vote. I listen to the news and see what’s going on. But all those other times, none of those politicians was talking to us. Obama spoke to us.”
Another friend spoke up, his T-shirt had Martin Luther King Jr. and Marcus Garvey together with Barack Obama.
“Obama took Marcus and Martin to the next level. He basically mobilized the black population in America. But this time they were working within the system, so white folks weren’t too upset or scared. The other times shit was hitting the fan.”
“Alright, so you guys ready to do your part to move America forward.”
Obi paused, “I ain’t making no sacrifices till somebody makes some for me.” His other friends nodded their heads in agreement
They waved to a few young women who were in the middle of the block.
“There they are, let’s go.”
“We’ll catch up later.” And with that they walked away.
I turned the corner to walk along Malcolm X Blvd.
Harlem has changed.
What is old is no longer here. Only what is new is going to remain.
Harlem is changing her dress, and shuffling out all the fleas. The pests are to be laid to the wayside so this new dress can take her to the ball. And Harlem is ready to dance. Any willing suitor need only step in line and eventually this lass will have a spin with him around the dance floor. Hang on boys…its going to be one hell of a ride!
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