And Zulu came over, his plate piled high with the food Belle had cooked, and for the next half hour, in between bites, he pontificated to Geoff on what he considered crises, such as the pigs who oppressed their people in their neighborhoods. Also, that outrageous report by Moynihan, who was trying to say, the Black man was useless in his own community. Obviously, Moynihan was a tool of white imperialism. Zulu was serious about making a change. That’s why he advised the brothers to read the revolutionary classics: Malcolm X and Marx and Fanon. Even Du Bois, as old-fashioned as he’d been, but reading Chairman Mao was key. Read Little Red Book. It would blow the mind, what Mao said about class struggle and Black folks.
Days later, when Belle bought a copy of the slender manifesto from a street vendor, she wasn’t impressed.
“This Mao man isn’t saying anything special. And he doesn’t even mention ladies.”
Geoff told her that she didn’t get the point. Mao was all the way in China, but he was thinking about Black folks. They lay in bed under the covers, and Geoff was trying to get something started. He’d kiss her neck, and she’d push him away. She didn’t have the energy, after dealing with her toddler since dawn. Since Lydia had started walking, that child was a handful and a half.
“How’s thinking going to do anything?” she asked. “I can think I’m the Queen of England, but that doesn’t make it so.”
“Woman. Please.” He’d taken to calling her that, and it reminded him of older men from her hometown, how they laid claim to their wives with only one word.
“I’m saying, how is this Mao man supposed to be so profound? And why should I be grateful that he knows that over here we have Negroes or Black folks or whatever we call them now? I’ve been knowing about China, but nobody’s calling me a revolutionary.”
“Mao’s showing the brothers how to lead.”
“What about the sisters?”
“They’re included, baby.”
“Included where?”
“It’s an implicit message. When brothers lead, we bring the sisters along. I mean, where could we go without our women?”
“Plenty places. My uncle and his boyfriend been living together for years. Whatever they doing, ain’t no ladies involved.”
Geoff sighed. “All right, woman. I guess I’m not getting any tonight.”
“No, sir. You are not.”
*
Belle’s sister-in-law explained that Geoff was a male chauvinist. As a Garfield man, it was in his nature. Actually, chauvinism was in any man’s nature.
Diane had learned that in her women’s group, a gathering of like-minded individuals who met to complain about their husbands. She needed those regular meetings, too, because the women in her group kept her from stabbing Geoff’s brother in his sleep. The marijuana they shared at the women’s group was great, too, and Diane was going to smoke as much grass as she could, before she finally got pregnant and had to cast away her fun. Grass wasn’t safe when you were pregnant.
It was a Monday afternoon, and Diane had a day off from classes in her master’s program. Lydia was asleep in her crib, and the coast was clear for Diane to sit on the floor of Belle’s kitchen, next to an open window. She took a bud of marijuana from her purse. She rubbed it between her fingers and sprinkled it into the folded cigarette paper.
“Our husbands are nothing alike,” Belle said. “Geoff is sweet as candy. I won’t say anything about Lawrence, because I’m not trying to be mean.”
“You’re not bothering me. Say whatever you feel like, but I’d be careful making assumptions. They’re blood brothers. Also, both Black. That means they’re alike.”
“Diane, what have I told you about saying things like that? You’re a white woman! You have to be careful, especially in this neighborhood.”
“Why? I live here, too. I’ve been here for almost two years.”
“Then I would expect you to know better.”
“Are you saying I don’t have freedom of speech, Belle?”
“Not when it comes to saying things like that around Black folks. You saying my husband is like yours because they’re both Black is like me saying you must be like Bull Connor because you’re both white.”
“I’d kill myself if I was related to that fucking murderer.” Diane finished assembling the joint and gestured with it. “Light this, please.”
Belle went to the stove and turned on an eye. When the joint caught, she held her breath, turned her head, and handed it to Diane. She didn’t want to accidentally inhale the smoke.