When finally he got back home there were police cars and an ambulance in
front the apartment building across the street, and knots of people on the
sidewalk. What was going on?
Someone shot the Super of the building. Put a bullet through his head. How
did this happen? When did it happen?
The two overweight women didn't recognize him in his jacket and brief case;
they shrugged their shoulders. He didn't speak Spanish well, and he appeared
to creep up on the women, startling them. Like everyone they waited for some
sort of closure to the excitement; the dead man taken away; the police cars
and ambulance driving off; the apartment building with its graffiti and broken
doorway handed back to its occupants.
When did this happen? Radix asked again. The women shrugged their shoulders
again, shifting their heavy bodies. Hey, I live on this block too, he wanted to
shout.
He had an urge next to see the dead man's body. He remembered vaguely a
stocky man with a cigar stump in his mouth and a bunch of keys at the hip,
going in and out the front door with a mop and pail; and arguing, always
arguing, in defiance or defence, with tenants in the building.
He crossed the road, ducked under the yellow police tape and peered into
the entrance. He saw a covered body, just the shoes and socks on the man's
feet. White men in dark suits stood around; they turned and looked at him,
struck by the jacket and tie, the intense curious face. They asked what he
wanted, did he live in the building. Radix shook his head and backed away.
Down the block four kids were playing street basketball; the hoop, an old
milk crate nailed to a lamppost. Two police officers, no longer needed,
ambled back to their cars, smooth white faces grim. They had the air about
them of men called in to put down some local disturbance, leaving their cars
up on the sidewalk, just about anywhere until this nasty business was over.
The basketball got loose and one of the officers caught it, did a quick
dribble, then shaped himself to take the shot. The boys froze where they
stood and watched. The shot hit the rim and went wide. His partner cracked
a thin smile and shook his head like a disappointed coach. Radix went inside.
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!", a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 