“I want to make friends with Naja. I want to help her to discover who she is and what she really likes and wants to pursue. I want to help her to get her adventure started.”
* * *
At the break of a pink dawn, standing beneath an ancient gingko biloba tree whose branches each pointed towards the sky and whose leaves dangled like beautiful emerald jewels, my second wife also told me, ‘You and I have to keep our love a secret.’ ” I laughed some, but I was listening. I was thinking, Is she saying that because the tree is in front of our house and Akemi or Umma or Naja could see us through any front-facing window, standing pressed against one another?
“How can our love be a secret when I married you in a mosque in the presence of the Imam and the witnesses?” I asked her. “And both of our families already know it. And my first wife, she agreed to it and made it possible. Where’s the secret in that?” I asked her.
“I mean,” she said, “the secret is in the amount of our love, in the intensity of our love, and especially the expression of our love.” She sounded sincere. Yet, I still wasn’t clear where she was headed with it.
“It’s funny—no, it’s peculiar. Have you noticed that when two people love each other a lot, it makes the people around them feel bad on the inside?” she asked me. I never thought about it. Figured these were some feminine thoughts she was having.
“Almost everyone, because when a man and a woman love deeply, it seems others feel locked out of that love. And even if the others are people who the man and woman also love, they still feel cheated. Each person wants the same amount of love, it seems, even when their roles are different. Like Naja—she’s your little sister, but because of the intensity of our love, she somehow feels locked out. Even my family, Aunt Tasha and Uncle Clem and their sons, who I really do love, seemed a bit irritated by the love that you and I share openly,” she said, and then I could see her point clearly.
“Sometimes, I feel Umma’s feelings . . .” Chiasa continued. I sat down at the roots of the tree, always alert when hearing my Umi mentioned by anyone, even her.
“She is a beautiful mother and she’s young. Because I am a woman, I’m sometimes wondering if Umma feels lonely on the inside. Sometimes I don’t want to laugh too much or let myself go when you are loving me. Like when I want to shout out in joy. But I restrain myself because I think Umma might hear. She must miss that feeling so much that your father must have given her. It’s impossible not to miss that feeling once you have felt it even once,” she said.
“I know all of this is a little strange sounding,” she said softly. “And I just want you to think about it, but don’t worry. I already know how we can solve this problem. First, we have to have a ‘secret love,’ like how the Japanese people conceal their feelings and even manage their facial expressions and gestures and body language.” She was looking down towards me. I was looking up towards her.
“Next, we have to spread our love around more . . .”
“What? Spread our love around?” I cut her off. “You want us to hide it and spread it around?” I repeated to show her that maybe she was just having one of those emotional, confusion days that women have. She laughed.
“No! I mean yes! We hide ours and we spread more love around to the ones who we love. The ones who feel that you and I, or you or I, are not loving them enough. Get it?” she asked me, smiling.
“I see,” I said.
“Then, when you and I are alone, I mean alone alone, really just you and I, that’s when you’ll feel me burst and explode and shout.” She jumped up in the air like a cheerleader. Then she dropped down beside where I sat and leaned on me. I leaned on her too.
“So what are we doing now?” I asked her. “Are we hiding it, or are we spreading it around?” I hugged her. She liked it. She threw her leg over mine.
“I know it’s really hard to hide all of these feelings, isn’t it? But I want everyone around us to be as happy as we are, and to feel loved enough and comfortable. And . . . if I can conceal all of this love that I have for you, and improve the love between us and each of our family members, that would be a really good thing, Riyoshi,” she said passionately.
“Don’t hide too much,” I told her. “Or else this hunter will do anything to track you down and drag out whatever you’ve been hiding that belongs to me.” I touched her face. She leaped on me and we fell down, lying on the roots of the tree. We kissed.
“You’re making it hard on me,” she said.
“You’re making it hard for me too.” I smiled.
* * *
In the evening as Chiasa cleaned the kitchen and Naja helped, I overheard them.
“Are you planning to go to summer school with me every day?” Naja asked her.
“Why not? My college will not begin until September,” Chiasa replied.
“Yes, but what for? Why are you following me around?” Naja asked.
“Because I’m your sister, and we should at least understand one another.”
“Understand what?” Naja asked.
“Understand who you are, Naja, and who I am as well.”
“You’re my brother’s second wife.” Naja said it like it was an insult.
“We already know that, but each woman has an identity of her own. I have my own identity and my own reasons. Maybe if you knew my reasons, you might understand me and then we could love each other more,” Chiasa pleaded.
“Love! I guess we better start off with ‘like,’ that’s probably better,” Naja said.
“Okay, ‘like.’ That’s just fine,” Chiasa said softly. “Let’s start off with the onions that you asked me about?”
“Yes. Eating them like that makes your breath smell,” Naja said.
“Have you ever smelled my breath?” Chiasa asked.
“Not really . . .” Naja said.
“It’s really nice because I eat healthy. I love onions because they are a powerful vegetable. They’re good for your heart and they cause your hair to grow really nicely. I happen to love them a little more than most people, who use them to season foods or thicken soups.”
“Onions make everybody’s hair grow?” Naja asked curiously.
“Of course, because onions are good for your heart, and if your heart is good, your blood will circulate nicely. You need great blood circulation for your body to be able to grow nice hair. What about my hair? Do you think it’s nice?”
“Akemi’s is better,” Naja said nonchalantly.
“I used to think so too,” Chiasa admitted. “But then, I realized that what a girl thinks about, and also what she thinks about her looks and her hair, is what makes her and her hair beautiful. I love my hair now. It’s healthy. I keep it moisturized with coconut oil and olive oil. My hair is thick. It’s long and I feel pretty. I think Akemi is beautiful. I don’t compare my look to hers, though. She’s unique and I’m unique.”
“Sounds like you’re making a salad on your head!” Naja mumbled.
“Oh, and the ‘not eating four-legged animals,’ that also helps me to be healthier on the inside. People who eat a lot of meat make themselves heavy, sometimes even sick, and you can smell the meats they eat through their pores when they sweat. Americans eat a lot of meat. So they have to use a lot of deodorant. So it’s like they ruin their insides, then they clog the pores of their skin with a lot of chemical deodorants. I don’t want that,” Chiasa said thoughtfully.
“How do you know? Maybe everything you’re saying is not all the way right?”
“Naja, I only know what I have learned from people who are older and who have lived longer and have already studied and figured a lot of things out. I’m a good student because I really want to learn and because I’m a good listener. I don’t just always automatically block out everything that I hear. Besides, when I learn something, I experiment and I research it just to double-check that it’s true.”
“So you think that only old people know everything?” Naja asked.
“I think the wise ones among
them know best. But I also learn from young people too, like you and the little girls in your school. I am learning some Arabic words from them and more about Islam. You all were born Muslim, so you’ve actually been training longer than I have. You should know more,” Chiasa admitted.
“I do know more,” Naja mumbled softly.
“I’m a fighter, Naja. I need to be smart and sharp. I also have to be healthy and light on my feet. And if I don’t want to be detected, I don’t want the smell of meat oozing from my pores,” Chiasa explained.
“Detected,” Naja repeated and then laughed. “Is somebody chasing you?” She laughed again.
“No.” Chiasa laughed too. “Not that I know of, but you never know. I’ve been training since I was five, in martial arts. We don’t train necessarily because we believe that someone is chasing us. We train because we should and because we want to be prepared for any and all situations that life might show us. I know you and I are girls, Naja. But, I believe that girls should be trained and ready and able to defend themselves. I don’t have a big brother like you do. But even if I did, I would still train myself.”
“I asked my brother to teach me how to fly. He didn’t!”
“Fly?” Chiasa repeated with excitement.
“Yes, like he does in the dojo. I’ve been there before. Those guys leap up in the air like they’re flying,” my sister said, with amazement coming into her voice.
“I can teach you that, if you want to learn. I can definitely!” Chiasa smiled.
“I wanted him to teach me,” Naja said softly.
“It’s better if a girl teaches you.”
“Why?”
“Because our bodies are made the same way and we just know more stuff about women than men know.”
“Like what?” Naja challenged.
“Like the reason I soak my feet twice a week in cranberry juice.”
“Oh, that . . .” Naja said, back to sarcasm.
“In martial arts we train most often without wearing shoes. We are walking and running, jumping and leaping. Sometimes we are inside of the dojo. A lot of times we are barefoot outdoors. That can make the soles of a girl’s feet toughen and feel hard. But if you want your feet to be soft feeling, and to remove the germs from all of the places where you were barefooted, cranberry juice does that,” Chiasa explained. “Would you like to see and touch my feet for proof?”
“No!” Naja raised her voice and almost dropped the teacup she was drying with the dish towel, but Chiasa caught it.
“Okay.” Chiasa laughed. “They’re really soft and I was just joking about you touching my feet.”
“No you weren’t!” Naja retorted.
“And about the books that I read . . .” Chiasa began.
“That’s enough for today,” Naja said. “I’m going up to my room to do my homework. Now that I know you’re gonna follow me to school every day, I have to worry about you telling my brother if I don’t complete my assignments.”
“No, I’m not spying or telling on you. I’m just going for a few days each week, to help out and to get to know you better. I hope that you’ll want to get to know me too.”
18. FRIENDS • A Reflection
“We should autograph this wall,” Ameer said.
“Man, straighten up your block,” Chris criticized him. “We get paid to build the owner’s wall. We almost done. Now you wanna tag it up, put your name on it! Damn, you could take the nigga out the ’hood, but can’t take the ’hood out the nigga,” Chris joked him. Me and him both laughed, but Ameer didn’t.
“First this brother shows up in his Izod and Stan Smith kicks talking tennis. I can forgive him. He lives in Brooklyn Heights. Then today, you been talking about ‘Let’s go take horseback riding lessons.’ How many New York cats you know riding around New York on a goddamn horse?” Ameer asked me.
“True,” Chris jumped in. “The cops, some of them ride horses,” he added.
“It’s a skill,” was all I said in reply to Ameer’s complaints.
“Maybe, but what you gonna do with that skill? We ain’t gon’ be no cops. That’s dead! So what else we riding horses for?” Ameer asked me.
“Maybe one day I’ll buy a thousand acres of land, and we can ride horses out there on my land,” I said casually.
“Fuck that. Me and you live in the Brooklyn projects. We about balling, Hustler’s League. You in or out?” Ameer asked me, flipping topics.
“I’m in,” I told him, laid-back like it wasn’t nothing to me.
“Word!” Ameer got excited. “How’d you pull that off? I’m saying, shit just be going your way nice and smooth. No other cat could walk off the court for more than a month and just show up at playoff time six weeks later, except you.”
“You don’t want me to play?” I asked him straight-faced. “Scared?” I taunted him. “Can’t take the heat?”
“Man, we can leave this wall now and run one,” Ameer challenged me. “I been on the courts daily perfecting my game, lining my pockets, getting ready to take the League titles and eat up all da cash.”
“Nah,” I said. “Work first, play later. But I’ll run one with you, why not?”
“That’s not how we do it,” Chris chimed in. “It’s us against them, us against them. Not us against us.”
“Whose ‘them’?” Ameer asked.
“It don’t matter,” Chris said. “If you hitting the courts every day, we should be with you. As long as we us, them could be any fucking three guys. Long as we three stick together.” He silenced us with those words. It felt real. Even Ameer had to flow with it. “And as far as the horseback riding lessons, I’m down. It’s something new and different. How much does it cost?” Chris asked me.
“I got you,” I told him. “I’m not gonna charge you nothing for going along with my idea.”
“Aw that’s sweet, you two going riding in them funny pants?” Ameer asked.
“We riding denim,” I told him.
“Something tells me the girlies would like that shit,” Chris said.
“What, a nigga on a horse?” Ameer asked.
“A young strong brother like myself on a horse. Ameer, you better get up on it,” Chris challenged him.
“If you paying, I’ll show up. But I’ll only take lessons from a fly-ass female. I can’t see two dudes sitting on one horse,” Ameer said. We laughed. “And on Friday night y’all come through. I’m DJ-ing a party, my first gig.”
“Where at?” I asked him.
“In the East of course, East New York projects, in the center.”
“No thanks, that’s gon’ be a sausage party,” Chris said.
“Nah, it’s not!” Ameer said. “We got some badass shorties in my building.”
“Yeah right, y’all so crazy in the East, everybody gon’ be strapped, faces gon’ be tight, scary niggas too cool to dance. Somebody gon’ do something extra stupid. And the girls already know y’all, so they ain’t gon’ show up in the first place.” Chris sounded sure.
“Everybody in the building know it’s my party. I’m on the turntables. My pops gon’ be there holding it down for me. The old heads will show him respect. And, I put together a little crew. The young ones will definitely show me respect. I’m pulling three hundred fifty in one night, one three-hour gig from ten p.m. till one a.m. That’s half of what I earn here building the wall, and we been at it for almost two weeks!”
“Three hundred fifty for one night is good money,” Chris admitted. “But not if it’s the last night of your life.”
“Come on, man, don’t jinx it,” Ameer said to Chris. “Why you so quiet?” Ameer turned to me.
“There’s nothing to talk about. If it’s your thing, I’m gon’ rock with it,” I said.
“Heard that, Chris? That’s what you should be saying. You was just talking all that ying-yang about unity, and how we three gotta stick together,” Ameer chided him.
“Only way I could come is if I lie to my father. I’m telling you. I won’t even get th
e whole sentence out before Reverend Broadman shuts me down. Remember the last party we went to? I ended up in jail. Y’all ended up in church checking to see if I was dead. Me in jail, and y’all in church, everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong that night.” Chris made his point with intensity in his voice. I agreed with him. It didn’t matter, though. If Ameer was gonna do it, I had to have his back. I remembered of course that he had already flashed my nine on some of them boys in the East. That was enough for me to know I needed to show up.
“Give him a pass,” I said to Ameer. “Chris could sit this one out so he don’t have to lie to his father. I can understand that.”
“Alright, cool, we give Chris a pass on the party. Y’all give me a pass on the horses,” Ameer bargained.
“That’ll work,” me and Chris both said at the same time.
“And there gon’ be some girls there. It’s a sweet sixteen party, for a girl from my building. She gave out invitations and the whole shit.” Ameer wanted to get the last one in on Chris.
* * *
“It’s the Globe Trotter!” Ameer’s father greeted me. “We need to set up a separate thing just for me to hear about your trip.” He wanted to know about Asia.
“He ain’t gon’ tell you. Don’t take it personal, Pops. Me and Chris see him every day and he still ain’t tell us shit.”
“It’s the silent man who has the best stories to tell. Give him time. It will flow out naturally when you least expect it. I’m sure it will be worth the wait.” His father made me feel relieved. “And I see you got skills with the clippers. Thanks for using them,” he said, about the clippers he gifted me before I left for Japan.
“I cut a few potholes in my head before I got it right,” I said, joking.
* * *
Back in Ameer’s room, chilling while he’s getting ready.