help. That's just the problem. You got this boy all of a sudden realizes he ain't been doin' right and now he just wanna walk in on a woman and say, ?Okay, baby, the boss is home now,? when what he should be doin' is askin', ?How can I help you, ma'am???
?An' does he have to get down on his knees too?? Chip asked angrily.
?Wouldn't hurt,? said Cynthia. ?Wouldn't hurt one bit. You know women been down on their knees cleanin' and beggin' while their men be drinkin' that wine and jokin' out here on Central and a hundred and third.?
Socrates tried to hear past the piercing tones to get at Cynthia's words. He hadn't said much at Nelson's Wednesday meetings. Ever since he'd done a little apprentice work for Nelson, Socrates had an open invitation to the Saturday prayer meeting and the Wednesday night talk. Socrates usually spent his Saturday days with Darryl and most weekend evenings, lately, with Iula.
But Socrates came to Nelson's on Wednesdays and listened to the men and women talk. There was no dress code but the men often wore sports coats and ties. Socrates wore a pair of tan slacks and a black dress shirt with a Salvation Army pullover sweater even on a hot day like that one.
?All us men don't do like that,? Leon complained. ?I'm here ain't I??
?Here callin' me honey an' tellin' it like you was the boss.? Cynthia's anger drove her voice higher.
?But men should be the boss,? Leon argued. ?Man was made to be the boss but somehow the black man lost his uh, his uh, authority.?
?Oh please,? Cynthia said with disdain.
?I agree with part'a what Cyn says,? Veronica agreed. She was a pear-shaped woman with large hips and a small chest. Her face was luxurious and full featured, as dark and shiny as polished ebony. ?I mean I don't need no man comin' in on me an' mine all of a sudden sayin' he the boss. But I don't want no man on his knees either.? She paused, considering the imagined pose with her eyes. ?Well, maybe sometimes.?
The sly grin that the cigar-smoking woman revealed got everybody laughing again.
?But what I mean is,? Veronica continued, ?that I want a man to feel good about hisself. And men are different. They protect the home while the women raise chirren.?
?Black men don't do shit,? Cynthia said flatly.
?They come here,? Nelson said. ?I open my doors for you. Chip works on the neighborhood watch.?
Socrates thought that Cynthia was biting her lip so as not to snap at Nelson. They all appreciated the Wednesday meeting because of the good conversation but also because of the chicken sandwiches and port wine that Topper served.
?Yeah,? Leon barked. ?You always wanna make all that's hap-penin' bad the black man's fault. It ain't all our fault. If you'd back us up more better maybe we'd get somewhere.?
?You can't have it both ways Leon.?
Everybody turned when they heard Socrates speak. Even Cynthia seemed interested in what the quiet man had to say.
?What you mean, Socrates?? Nelson asked.
?I mean if a boy wanna be a man he cain't be askin' for help. He just got to pick up and do what he have to do. Now Cynthia over here don't want him. Well, okay, don't ask her for nuthin'. There's some woman out here want your help.?
?So you mean that it's on Leon not on black women?? Chip Lowe frowned. He was smaller than Socrates, but still large, with a gray mustache and black skin except for his hands and a big splotch on his face that had turned a milky white.
?It's on everybody, man.? Socrates fought to keep the anger out of his voice. ?Everybody think it's them or their people got it bad. We all got it bad, all of us.?
?I don't know, Socrates,? Nelson Saint-Paul said. ?Some people have it better, easier, than some others. Some have homes, some are homeless.?
?Yeah,? Leon said bitterly. ?Some is white, the rest sleep outside.?
?You don't sleep outside, Leon,? Cynthia said. ?You live at home with your mother.?
