?Did you kill him?? Darryl whispered the question so that Howard and Corina wouldn't hear if they were close at hand.
?I meant to. The guns was out and he passed not three feet from me. But I just stood there?smiling, thinkin' 'bout how good it felt to be in my own skin.?
Socrates took his newfound freedom to work that day. He smiled at people and asked after their health. He told gentle jokes and paid more attention to the details of the produce department than he ever had before. He was tired from two weeks with little sleep and suffered from a slight cold from all those nights spent in the alley. He detected a whiff of staleness about his person like the smell of old clothes taken out of the bottom drawer after many years.
It was the finest day of Socrates Fortlow's life. Death held no dominion that day. And if his aunt Bellandra's blue god was in his heaven Socrates had no quarrel with his remoteness.
The elation lasted deep into the night. Socrates turned off all the lights in his small garden home and walked around in bare feet touching the wood and metal and glass of his house with wonder and joy. He lay down on the new sofa in the living room unaware that he would fall asleep. He just sat down for a moment and then stretched out with a silly glee. Sleep came upon him like a highwayman who had been lying in wait.
The dream was a variation on an old theme. A small room with a single cot on which the ex-convict slept. The pounding on the door that roused him was like artillery fire in a war film.
Socrates simply opened the door for the ebony giant who was stripped to the waist and powerful in a way that only wildness can breed. The big man towered over Socrates but there was no more fear in the bald ex-con. Their gazes met and somewhere Socrates knew that he was dreaming. He also knew that he had to go along until the end.
?What you want from me?? Socrates asked.
?I only wanna know what you gonna do now. You done the first job. You done dug up all the dead an' set 'em free. Now what you gonna do with all that power??
Freedom was old hat in twenty-four hours.
?You know I couldn't believe it, Darryl,? he told the son of his heart that weekend. ?Here I been lookin' to be free for my whole life. Whole life. An' when I get it it's just like a pocket fulla change somebody done give to me 'cause I looked wretched an' poor. Now that change is just jinglin' in my pockets but there ain't nuthin' I got to buy. Uh-uh. I could just pass it on to somebody else now. Yeah, pass it on to somebody like you.?
Darryl looked a little stunned into his friend's eyes, his skinny boy's body moving with the rhythm of his breath.
?I need a favor, Lavant,? Socrates told the self-styled anarchist. They were sitting in the garage where Lavant slept and created the bright yellow broadsides that he hoped would be the clarion call to revolution for the working men and women of L.A.
?What's that, Socco?? the black zealot asked.
?I need to know everything I can about somebody and then I need your printin' skills.?
Two weeks later Socrates took the first paid vacation of his life. He gave short notice and Marty Gonzalez was hard pressed to explain to the main office that it was worth it to give their new produce manager a week off after only six months on a job that had benefits.
?You know they don't like it, Socco,? his boss said.
?I don't like it either, Marty. But you know I got to take the time, got to.?
Saturday he spent with Iula. He went to work with her early in the morning and helped her get ready for the day. He managed the big pots and did some of the little jobs that she never got around to. When he wasn't working he sat at the counter drinking tea with lemon, something he'd always pined for in prison but never drank once he was on the outside.
That night they made love, speaking hardly at all. Iula could tell that there was something wrong but she kept silent.
Sunday he went down to Venice Beach to see Darryl with Corina and Howard Shakur. They all went down the beach with the children, Winnie and little Howard.
?That's a good job you got down at Bounty now.? Howard's statement seemed to contain a question.
?I guess.? Socrates was distracted by the sound of the waves and the wind. The ocean's power always made his heart race.
