Babayaga

“Sure. The music is great, the art, you know, there’s a lot to like…” His answer trailed off as he realized it was nothing more than their blackness that was making him uncomfortable. He could have easily talked about how much he enjoyed this town, he could have spelled out the specifics of all the things he loved, from the thyme- and sage-scented smells of the coq au vin that spilled out of so many kitchens to the buzzing sounds of the Vespa scooters whizzing by to the chiming of the bold church bells through the days and nights, all of this had been top of mind of late as his looming departure from the city made him sensitive to how much he adored being here, like a man with a death sentence painfully aware of the final moments of life. But he felt tongue-tied in front of these dark men who sat patiently staring at him, waiting for a response. It wasn’t that he felt superior in any bigoted manner, but rather because in all the time he had spent growing up in Detroit, he never mixed much with its Negro population, sizable though it was. Even when he was out on the town, exploring the different scenes, hanging out at bars and clubs that had a mixed clientele, he still rarely found an occasion to mingle with them. In fact, he realized he had never sat at a table and talked with three Negro men before in his life.

Flats seemed to sense his nervousness and gave him a reassuring grin. “You know what I like most about this city?”

“What?” Will asked.

‘The tubs,” Flats said.

“The tubs?” said Kelly.

“Yeah, the bathtubs,” said Flats. “See, when I was growing up down South, we didn’t have any kind of proper tub or shower or bathroom, we were, you know, what’s the word for it?”

“Poor,” said Red.

“That’s right. That’s the word.” Flats smiled. “We were poor. Dirt poor. So I won’t even tell you how we washed up back then. But in the army, they put us in those big shower rooms with all the other men. It was all right, but it was the military, so how good could it be? But now, here, in my little flat, I have got this white Parisian-style tub, and I tell you, it fits me like a glove. I dig getting in there, crouching down and scrubbing in all my nooks and whatnot. I tell you, it keeps me familiar and intimate with every bit of myself. You take a shower, your head is up, far away from everything, lost in the clouds, but down in the tub, man, you know who you are.”

Red and Kelly both chuckled, Flats grinned, and Will smiled too. Thinking Oliver was probably finished with his call by now, he started to get up to leave, but Red stopped him. “Don’t let us make you nervous, son. There’s no rush. Your friend’s not done yet. Tell us a little bit more about yourself. Stateside-wise, where exactly are you from? New York?”

“No. Detroit, Michigan.”

“Oh yeah? No kidding.” Kelly slapped his hands together.

Flats started singing: “Michigan water tastes like cherry wine…”

Kelly ignored him. “Listen, I’m from Detroit too. Black Bottom, you know it?”

Will nodded. “I grew up over on the west side of town, but, yeah, I know it.”

“Well, if you know it, forget it.” Kelly’s smile disappeared as his face slid into a bitter expression. “Black Bottom ain’t no more. They bulldozed the whole neighborhood. Paradise Valley district, gone. Club Sudan, gone. Sportree’s, gone. They erased the entire history. I mean, Floyd Patterson grew up there, right? You’ve seen him fight, right? They should be building a statue to that man, not tearing down his damn home. When I hit this town I couldn’t believe it. I mean, Paris has got whole city blocks and neighborhoods that have all been up for centuries. The place where I live is three hundred years old, beautiful place, older than Napoleon. Hell, I bet even Flats’s little bathtub is older than Napoleon. But back home, they raze it down to dirt or pave a tollway through it. That’s why I ain’t never steppin’ foot in Detroit again, ’cuz there’s no Detroit there left to step onto.”

Will was unsure how to respond. “I know, it’s too bad.”

Kelly nodded hard. “Yes, it is, son. It’s too bad. It’s like that magic trick where the magician tears away the tablecloth and leaves all the glasses standing. It’s exactly like that, only the opposite.”