—I came to see you.
—About what?
—Come on down and I’ll explain.
—Townhouse don’t come off the stoop for no one, said freckles.
—Shut up, Maurice, said Townhouse.
I looked at Maurice with a feeling of sympathy. All he had wanted was to be a dutiful soldier. What he didn’t understand was that when he says something like Townhouse don’t come off the stoop for no one, a man like Townhouse has no choice but to do exactly that. Because while he may not take instructions from the likes of me, he doesn’t take instructions from his second lieutenant either.
Townhouse rose to his feet and the boys made way for him like the Red Sea making way for Moses. When he got to the sidewalk, I told him how good it was to see him, but he just shook his head.
—You AWOL?
—In a manner of speaking. Woolly and I are passing through on our way to his family’s place upstate.
—Woolly’s with you?
—He is. And I know he’d love to see you. We’re going to the Circus tomorrow night for the six o’clock show. Why don’t you come along?
—The Circus isn’t my sort of thing, Duchess, but give Woolly my regards just the same.
—I’ll do so.
—All right then, Townhouse said after a moment. What’s so important that you had to come to Harlem just to see me.
I gave him the shrug of the penitent.
—It’s the Hondo fiasco.
Townhouse looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about.
—You know. The John Wayne picture that we went to see on that rainy night back in Salina. I feel bad because of the beating you took.
At the word beating, Townhouse’s boys dropped any semblance of indifference. It was like a jolt of electricity had gone right up the stoop. The big fella must have been too insulated to feel the full force of the charge because he just shifted in place, but Maurice came to his feet.
—A beating? asked the big fella with a smile.
I could see that Townhouse wanted to tell the big fella to shut up too, but he kept his eyes on me.
—Maybe I took a beating and maybe I didn’t, Duchess. Either way, I don’t see as it would be any cause of concern for you.
—You’re your own man, Townhouse. I’d be the first to say so. But let’s face it: You wouldn’t have had to take this beating that you did or didn’t take, if I hadn’t hitched the ride from the cop.
This sent another jolt of electricity up the stoop.
Townhouse took a deep breath and gazed down the street almost wistfully, like he was looking back on simpler times. But he didn’t contradict me. Because there was nothing to contradict. I was the one who baked the lasagna and he was the one who cleaned up the kitchen. It was as simple as that.
—What now? he asked after a moment. Don’t tell me you came all this way to apologize.
I laughed.
—No, I don’t put much stake in apologies. They always seem a day late and a dollar short. What I had in mind is something more concrete. Like a settling of accounts.
—A settling of accounts.
—Exactly.
—And how is that supposed to work?
—If it were only a matter of the movie, it could have been a switch for a switch. Eight minus eight and we’d be done. The problem is that you still owe me for the Oreo incident.
—The Oreo incident? said the big fella with an even bigger smile.
—It may not be worth the same as a switching, I continued, but it should count for something. Rather than an eight minus eight sort of situation, what we have here is more of an eight minus five. So I figure if you take three swings at me, that should make us even.
All the boys on the stoop were looking at me with varying degrees of disbelief. An act of honor has a way of doing that to the common man.
—You want to have a fight, said Townhouse.
—No, I said with a wave of the hand. Not a fight. A fight would imply that I’d try to hit you back. What I’m going to do is stand here and let you hit me, uncontested.
—You’re going to let me hit you.
—Three times, I emphasized.
—What the fuck? said Maurice, his disbelief having transitioned into some form of hostility.
But the big fella, he was trembling with soundless laughter. After a moment, Townhouse turned to him.
—What do you make of this, Otis?
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Otis shook his head.
—I don’t know, T. On the one hand, it seems pretty crazy. But on the other, if a white boy comes all the way from Kansas to ask you for a beating, I think you gotta give it to him.