die. No dignity, no manhood. Just four walls and a Bible on his nightstand. You ain't never asked me about what happened, Luvia. You think you know but you wasn't there. You didn't see him in his final suit tellin' stories and laughin' about the short skirts some'a these girls wear out in the street. You didn't hear him say good-bye to Charla and then tell me t'leave him on the bench. He said that he wanted to stay and watch the lights, Luvia. What business did I have to tell him no??
Socrates had lost his sense of humor. Luvia, from his experience, never had one to begin with. Socrates was wondering how far he'd have to go to look for a smile when a long, gold-colored Lincoln drove up behind him.
?Damn you, Socrates Fortlow,? Luvia said. ?Come on.?
Luvia Prine whisked past the big ex-con and he turned around to see a dapper man standing at the open door of his car. He was about Socrates' age with a mustache and no beard. He was wearing a light brown sports jacket and dark brown pants but his red, yellow and green shirt was an African cut, as was his brimless and beaded hat.
?Luvia,? the man said. When he smiled Socrates could see that one of his bottom teeth was gold.
?This here is Socrates Fortlow, Milton,? Luvia said. ?If you have any room he wants to go out and pay his respects, I guess.?
?Hey, my man,? Milton said extending a hand. ?All I got is room in this boat. Ride on up front with me. You know Miss Prine always take the backseat.?
With that Milton pulled open the back door for Luvia. Socrates made his way around to the passenger's side and let himself in.
?Strap yourself down, brother,? Milton said as he turned the ignition key.
?Say what??
Milton, who was the color of coffee mixed in with an equal amount of cream, turned and smiled brightly at Socrates. ?Between alcohol and cigarettes, guns and blunt objects, between high blood pressure and low test scores in these piss-poor schools they??
?Milton!? Luvia cried.
?Sorry about the language, Miss Prine,? Milton said and then he continued, ?? caught in between all that I'm as cautious as butterfly in a hurricane.?
Socrates buckled his belt feeling a little foolish and not knowing exactly why.
They drove down Central for a long while, cruising, stopping at every third traffic light. Every now and then Milton would beep his horn at someone making their way to early service. He seemed to know a lot of people.
?Car's in good shape,? Socrates said. He knew that the compliment would get the driver to smile.
?Bought it new twenty-five years ago when I was a letter carrier with nuthin' but a room, a bed and this here car. I hate to let anything go. This the fourth engine on this sucker but you know I'd really be sad if I ever had to give'er up.?
Socrates turned away and looked out of his window. Luvia had moved to the seat behind him. She was staring out at the same street that Socrates was watching but he still wondered what it was that she saw. He knew that Luvia lived in a completely different world than he did. Maybe the world she saw had different colors; maybe there were truths revealed to her scrutiny that Socrates missed.
?You just like me, eh, my man?? Milton words were wrapped in the rhythms of sixties jazz.
?What you mean??
?The name. Some old dead white man wrote a book an' our mommas hoped the name'd rub off on us. They didn't think that a famous black man is usually dead before his time.? The driver's laughter sounded hollow to Socrates.
?I don't know 'bout all that,? Socrates said.
?All what??
?How you know that somebody's a white man? I mean Augustine was a African. Socrates come up around the Mediterranean, you know that's spittin' distance from the Arab world. Maybe your name is really a black man's name too.?
?Will you please keep it down,? Luvia said. ?This
