“You’ve been by far my favorite chauffeur … there really isn’t any comparison, by any stretch of the imagination. You’re hardworking, you’re respectful, you’re a good guy to be around. It’s been really great.”
Please say what you want to say quickly before I die, Jende pleaded inwardly, even as he nodded, managed a half-smile, and said, “I am so glad you like my work, sir.”
Clark ran his fingers through his hair. He exhaled, shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. For a moment Jende wasn’t sure what the man wanted to say. Was he sick and wanted him to know what it would be like working for a sick man? Was he moving and wanted Jende to move with him? It seemed as if the discussion was going to be about him, not Jende. But then Clark looked at him, and Jende could see it in his eyes.
“I’m really sorry, Jende,” he said, “but I’m going to have to let you go.”
Jende bowed his head. So this was happening to him. It was happening.
“I’m really sorry,” Clark said again.
Jende kept his head bowed. He had been prepared for it, and yet unprepared. A hundred different emotions overcame him but he wasn’t sure which to surrender to.
“I know it’s a horrible time for something like this to happen, with the new baby—”
“Why, sir?” he asked, looking up.
“Why?”
“Yes, sir!” he said. “I want to know why!”
He couldn’t control himself. Anger had defeated the other ninety-nine emotions, and there was no use trying to contain it. The sweat on his palms was no longer of fear but of fury. “Tell me why, sir!” he repeated.
“It’s … it’s complicated.”
“Is it Mrs. Edwards, sir?”
Clark did not respond. He looked away to avoid Jende’s eyes.
“Is it because of Mrs. Edwards?” Jende asked again. His voice was loud—he couldn’t keep it down.
“There’s just too much going on now, Jende … I’m really sorry. I’m trying to do the best I can … I really am, but, apparently, it’s not good enough, and it’s … it’s all getting to be a bit too much.”
“You still have not told me if it’s Mrs. Edwards, sir!”
“I’m just … It’s a very complicated—”
“Don’t lie to me, sir! It’s her!” Jende said, standing up and pushing his chair back. He picked up his briefcase from the floor and slammed it on the table so hard Clark jerked backward.
“It’s the book, sir!” he said as he flipped open the briefcase and pulled out the blue notebook. He flung the briefcase back on the floor and held the book up in his hand, glaring at Clark as he shook the book vigorously. “It’s this stupid book, isn’t it, Mr. Edwards?” he shouted, his voice pained, angry, defeated, betrayed. “You told me what to write for her, and I wrote it. I wrote only what you told me to write. That’s what I did, sir! So, please tell me, sir! It is this book, isn’t it, Mr. Edwards?”
Clark did not reply. He did not ask Jende to lower his voice. He covered his face with his hands, rubbed his eyes again.
“I only did what you told me to do, sir! I do this for you, Mr. Edwards! But she doesn’t like it because she believes something else, is that not so, sir? She thinks I am a liar. She thinks I am a liar, right, sir? But I am not a liar! I swear by my grandfather that I would never do anything to cause trouble in another man’s house. What I did, I did so you will not have any trouble. And now you will punish me, sir? You will punish me and make my children suffer for doing what you told me to do?”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry for me!” Jende cried, slamming the book on the desk. “I don’t want sorry. I want a job! I need this job, Mr. Edwards. Please don’t do this to me! Please, I’m begging you, Mr. Edwards, for the sake of my wife and my children and my parents! For the sake of me and my family, please, please, sir, I’m begging you … don’t do this to me.”
He sat down, sweating and panting. His handkerchief was in his briefcase, but there was no use pulling it out to wipe his sweat.
Clark opened a drawer in his desk, took out a check, and handed it to him. “Your paycheck for the rest of the week,” he said. “Plus more.”
Jende took the check without looking at him, folded it without looking at the check. He got out of his seat and stooped by his briefcase, picked up his lunch container and his dictionary, which had fallen out when he threw the briefcase on the floor. After slipping the check into the dictionary, he stood up, adjusted his suit, and lifted his briefcase.
Clark Edwards stood up, too, and offered him a hand.
“Thank you for everything, Jende,” Clark said, shaking Jende’s weak hand.
“Good night, sir.”
Thirty-nine
REJOICING WITH OTHERS IN THEIR TIMES OF JOY AND YOUR TIMES OF SORROW is a mark of true love, Natasha preached at Judson. It shows an ability to subjugate the ego and view one’s self not as a separate entity but as a vital piece of the Divine Oneness.
Neni wanted to tell Jende about Natasha’s message when she returned home from church. She wanted to say that in spite of their circumstances, they should be happy because there was so much happiness in the world and because all of humanity was one. She wanted to say all this and more, but couldn’t, because she wasn’t sure if she believed it. She was hopeless, and there was nothing anyone else’s happiness could do about it.
The Jende who had returned home to her on the night of his firing was a husband pitilessly bowed by life. She had suspected something was wrong that night but she did not deem it right to push an exhausted man to talk, so she let him be. He went to bed without eating, saying nothing to her except that he’d had a bad day and was very tired.
“I won’t be working for Mr. Edwards anymore,” he told her at five o’clock the next morning, when she woke up to feed Timba.
What happened? she wanted to know. Oh, God. What happened? How were they going to manage? How could this be happening now? With the court date only a couple of months away?
Nothing happened, he told her. Mr. Edwards is a good man and has been very happy with his service. He just did not need him anymore.
“But why!”
“He didn’t say why. He just thanked me and said he won’t be needing me anymore.”
“Oh, Papa God. Why, oh, Papa God, why?”
They would survive, he assured her. Mr. Edwards had given him a nice goodbye check which was equal to two months’ salary. By the time the money ran out, he should be back driving a cab in the Bronx. He only had to call Mr. Jones and get his old job back.
“Have we not come this far?” he asked her, holding her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. “If someone had told us back when we were in Limbe and I was collecting garbage that we would be in New York City, would we have believed it?”
She shook her head and closed her eyes to release her tears. Timba was cooing on the bed next to them, still living in a perfect world.
“It’s Mrs. Edwards!” she said.
“It doesn’t matter, bébé.”
“It’s her!”
“Come,” he said, drawing her to his chest.
Forty
MR. JONES, THE OWNER OF THE LIVERY CABS, HAD NO SHIFTS FOR HIM. “People are lining up around the block to drive a cab,” he said. “Too many people. Don’t even got enough cars to rent to everyone.”
“Not even graveyard shift?” Jende asked. “I’ll take anything.”
“I only got five cars. Five cars and fourteen people who wanna drive them.”
Jende tried to coax him into taking shifts from other drivers to give to him. “But I used to take good care of the car, Mr. Jones, remember? No accidents. No scratches.”
“Sorry, bro. Ain’t no more shifts. Nothing for the next two months. I’ll call ya if someone calls to cancel, promise. Keep you on standby.”
Neni came into the bedroom as he was ending the call. His head hung so low it seemed in danger of falling off. She sat beside him on the bed.
“We still have a good amount of money saved,” she said, placing her hand on his lap.
“So what?”
“So, let’s not worry too much, eh?”