James Baldwin - If Beale Street Could Talk

IF BEALE STREET

COULD TALK

JAMES BALDWIN

Copyright 1974 by James Baldwin

for YORAN

Mary, Mary,

What you going to name

That pretty little baby?

ONE

Troubled About My Soul

I look at myself in the mirror. I know that I was chrstened Clementine, and so it would make sense if people called me Clem, or even, come to think of it, Clementine, since thats my name: but they dont. People call me Tish. I guess that makes sense, too. Im tired, and Im beginning to think that maybe everything that happens makes sense. Like, if it didnt make sense, how could it happen? But thats really a terrible thought. It can only come out of trouble trouble that doesnt make sense.

Today, I went to see Fonny. Thats not his name, either, he was christened Alonzo: and it might make sense if people called him Lonnie. But, no, weve always called him. Fonny. Alonzo Hunt, thats his name. Ive known him all my life, and I hope Ill always know him. But I only call him Alonzo when I have to break down some real heavy shit to him.

Today, I said, Alonzo?

And he looked at me, that quickening look he has when I call him by his name.

Hes in jail. So where we were, I was sitting on a bench in front of a board, and he was sitting on a bench in front of a board. And we were facing each other through a wall of glass between us. You cant hear anything through this glass, and so you both have a little telephone. You have to talk through that. I dont know why people always look down when they talk through a telephone, but they always do. You have to remember to look up at the person youre talking to.

I always remember now, because hes in jail and I love his eyes and every time I see him Im afraid Ill never see him again. So I pick up the phone as soon as I get there and I just hold it and I keep looking up at him.

So, when I said, Alonzo? he looked down and then he looked up and he smiled and he held the phone and he waited.

I hope that nobody has ever had to look at anybody they love through glass.

And I didnt say it the way I meant to say it. I meant to say it in a very offhand way, so he wouldnt be too upset, so hed understand that I was saying it without any kind of accusation in my heart.

You see: I know him. Hes very proud, and he worries a lot, and, when I think about it, I know he doesnt that thats the biggest reason hes in jail. He worries too much already, I dont want him to worry about me. In fact, I didnt want to say what I had to say. But I know I had to say it. He had to know.

And I thought, too, that when he got over being worried, when he was lying by himself at night, when he was all by himself, in the very deepest part of himself, maybe, when he thought about it, hed be glad. And that might help him.

I said, Alonzo, were going to have a baby.

I looked at him. I know I smiled. His face looked as though it were plunging into water. I couldnt touch him. I wanted so to touch him. I smiled again and my hands got wet on the phone and then for a moment I couldnt see him at all and I shook my head and my face was wet and I said, Im glad. Im glad. Dont you worry. Im glad.

But he was far away from me now, all by himself. I waited for him to come back. I could see it flash across his face: my baby? I knew that he would think that. I dont mean that he doubted me: but a man thinks that. And for those few seconds while he was out there by himself, away from me, the baby was the only real thing in the world, more real than the person, more real than me.

I should have said already: were not married. That means more to him than it does to me, but I understand how he feels. We were going to get married, but then he went to jail.

Fonny is twenty-two. I am nineteen.

He asked the ridiculous question: Are you sure?

No. I aint sure. Im just trying to mess with your mind.

Then he grinned. He grinned because, then, he knew.

What we going to do? he asked me just like a little boy.

Well, we aint going to drown it. So, I guess well have to raise it

Fonny threw back his head, and laughed, he laughed till tears come down his face. So, then, I felt that the first part, that Id been so frightened of, would be all right.

Did you tell Frank? he asked me.

Frank is his father.

I said, Not yet.

You tell your folks?

Not yet. But dont worry about them. I just wanted to tell you first.

Well, he said, I guess that makes sense. A baby.

He looked at me, then he looked down. What you going to do, for real?

Im going to do just like I been doing. Ill work up to just about the last month. And then, Mama and Sis will take care for me, you aint got to worry. And anyway we have you out of here before then.

You sure about that? With his litte smile.

Of course Im sure about that. Im always sure about that.

I knew what he was thinking, but I cant let myself think about it not now, watching him. I must be sure. The man came up behind Fonny, and it was time to go. Fonny smiled and raised his fist, like always, and I raised mine and he stood up. Im always kind of surprised when I see him in here, at how tall he is. Of course, hes lost weight and that may make him seem taller.

He turned around and went through the door and the door closed behind him.

I felt dizzy. I hadnt eaten much all day, and now it was getting late.

I walked out, to cross these big, wide corridors Ive come to hate, corridors wider than all the Sahara desert. The Sahara is never empty; these corridors are never empty. If you cross the Sahara, and you fall, by and by vultures circle around you, smelling, sensing, your death. They circle lower and lower: they wait. They know. They know exactly when the flesh is ready, when the spirit cannot fight back. The poor are always crossing the Sahara. And the lawyers and bondsmen and all that crowd circle around the poor, exactly like vultures. Of course, theyre not any richer than the poor, really, thats why theyve turned into vultures, scavengers, indecent garbage men, and Im talking about the black cats, too, who, in so many ways, are worse. I think that, personally, I would be ashamed. But Ive had to think about it and now I think that maybe not. I dont know what I wouldnt do to get Fonny out of jail. Ive never come across any shame down here, except shame like mine, except the shame of the hardworking black ladies, who call me Daughter, and the shame of proud Puerto Ricans, who dont understand whats happened no one who speaks to them speaks Spanish, for example and who are ashamed that they have loved ones in jail. But they are wrong to be ashamed. The people responsible for these jails should be ashamed.

And Im not ashamed of Fonny. If anything, Im proud. Hes a man. You can tell by the way hes taken all this shit that hes a man. Sometimes, I admit, Im scared because nobody can take the shit they throw on us forever. But, then, you just have to somehow fix your mind to get from one day to the next. If you think too far ahead, if you even try to think too far ahead, youll never make it.

Sometimes I take the subway home, sometimes I take the bus. Today, I took the bus because it takes a little longer and I had a lot on my mind.

Being in trouble can have a funny effect on the mind. I dont know if I can explain this. You go through some days and you seem to be hearing people and you seem to be talking to them and you seem to be doing your work, or, at least, your work gets done; but you havent seen or heard a soul and if someone asked you what you have done that day youd have to think awhile before you could answer. But, at the same time, and even on the self-same day and this is what is hard to explain you see people like you never saw them before. They shine as bright as a razor. Maybe its because you see people differently than you saw them before your trouble started. Maybe you wonder about them more, but in a different way, and this makes them very strange to you. Maybe you get stared and numb, because you dont know if you can depend on people for anything, anymore.