Manchild in the Promised Land by Claude Brown

Author:Claude Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone

9

One night in the fall of 1956, I was walking down Lenox Avenue, and I saw somebody coming toward me. The face looked familiar, but the way he was walking . . . there was something about him that just didn’t resemble anybody I knew. As he got closer, he started smiling, and I recognized him. It was Billy Dobbs.

Billy walked up to me and said, “Peace, brother.”

I thought, Oh, shit, here’s another one of those cats on this Muslim kick. I said, “Hey, man, how you doin’?”

He said, “Oh, I’m doin’ fine, Sonny. I’m doin’ better than I’ve ever been doin’ in my life.”

“That’s good, Billy. I’m glad to hear it.” I was all prepared for a sermon or a long spiel about the Muslim thing, Allah, and Elijah Muhammad, all that bullshit. I didn’t want to hear it. I had heard enough of that. It just didn’t get to me. Those cats were crazy, the way I saw it.

Billy started talking, and I was surprised. I had never thought that Billy could get into that thing. The last time I’d seen him, Billy was strung out. He had at least a forty-dollar-a-day habit. He was far away from any kind of religion then, unless it was drugism. Billy said he’d found a whole lot of peace.

“Yeah, man, everybody’s finding some peace.”

“Have you found any, Sonny?”

I said, “Yeah, man. I just had a nice piece last night, a fine bitch, man,” and I went on. I was doing this because I didn’t want to hear any of that nonsense about peace. I was just being nasty to avoid all that.

“Sonny, I remember when you were talking to me about getting away from drugs, when you started going to school. Now I want to do something for you. I want to show you how to find your way, if you haven’t found it.”

“Thanks anyway, Billy, but I think I’ve found my way.”

“Have you got a minute, man? Could I have a minute of your time?”

“Yeah, sure, go on. What’s on your mind?” I didn’t want to hear that stuff, but I didn’t want to be rude to the cat.

When I had decided to go to school and get out of street life in Harlem, I talked to Billy. He was dealing heroin at the time. I told him, “Look, man, you know what’s going to happen? Sooner or later, you’re going to start dabblin’ and you’ll be strung out.” I tried to tell him to give it up, but he said, “No, man, what am I going to do if I give up dealing drugs?” I thought he was convinced that he was going to be doing that for the rest of his life, so I just stopped talking to the cat. Now here he was, deep in this religious thing and trying to sell me on it too. It was damn surprising.

“Tell me something, Billy. What happened to you, man? How did you get into this Muslim thing?”

“I’m not a Muslim, man.

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