Crooks, Crimes and Christmas by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0373264739
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2003-10-23T21:00:00+00:00

TWO

The tide in the Hudson was coming in, making the river appear to flow backward. A finger of new sunlight poked its way between the buildings and pointed out the wavelets heading upstream. I followed the current in the wrong direction, salt water flowing inland from the sea.

The morning Jamal was handed to me began in almost the same way as this one.

Since Benno is Jewish, our Christmas celebration includes his favorite breakfast: bagels and lox. Mama Joy’s Deli doesn’t open until eight, so I had time to inhale a cup of coffee and wash up the leftover dishes from our annual Christmas Eve party before heading down to the store.

On my way out of the apartment, I always make a withdrawal from the cash pocket of Benno’s jeans. I like to have dollar bills rather than quarters for the street people on Christmas morning. Our neighborhood, just north of 110th Street on the upper west side of Manhattan, has what some residents feel is more than our fair share of social service agencies for the homeless and the mentally ill.

Me, I don’t begrudge them. New York City is a tough place to get by if you can’t afford The Donald’s rents. I’m a regular contributor, and not only out of altruism. All those eyes on the street, they know who we are, and they watch out for us. The time three-year-old Clea got away from me and ran to cross the street on her own, it was Marilyn whose grimy, callused hand shot out of nowhere to grab the back of her jacket and stop her. Nothing about Marilyn, from her matted dreadlocks to her limping gait, had given any previous indication of how fast she could move. Or that she’d been pregnant at the time.

Later, when Clea was in junior high at Saint Hilda’s and Saint Hugh’s, I’d get reports from Leon, who maintained a regular spot on the steps of Broadway Presbyterian Church. “Saw your girl this afternoon,” he’d tell me, “with a bunch a her friends. Lot of books in those backpacks, isn’t there? She was all bent over. I don’t think it’s good for their shoulders.”

I agreed with him on that. Clea regularly carries twenty-five, thirty pounds to school. They all do; education is serious business already by junior high.

Another time, it was, “Look like your Clea gots herself a boyfriend. I see this red-haired kid, alla time walking with her. You better watch that child.”

I never revealed my sources, but Leon’s tip prompted a conversation with Clea wherein I learned that she thought the boy had a crush on her, but she didn’t like him so much. I had my doubts about his affections being unrequited, and I paid a bit more attention to the social doings at school than I might have without Leon.

The street people are part of the village that’s raising my child, and I’m part of the village that feeds them.

The weather ten years ago did not start out sunny, like today.

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