Eggplant Man Read online

  Patiently, she waited until a small pool of melted wax formed around the wick. She adeptly applied the warm melted wax over the length of the wound until it dried and formed a neat bandage.

  She felt trapped in her clothes, which were now wet with sweat. Ruby stripped completely. When she had removed her tee-shirt, a smell of fear blended with sensuality was released into the stagnant air of her apartment. As she peeled off her damp underwear, Ruby noticed the crotch of her white cotton panties. It was again filled with a creamy sticky discharge. Her right hand went nervously to her vagina, where she could feel a bean-sized bulge poking its way through the lips, boldly contacting the pad of her second finger. A pulsating surge of sensation moved out in concentric waves over her entire body. Ruby instinctively brought her index finger to her nose. Her own intimate odor was intoxicating to her. “Mercy, mercy!” Ruby called out, just in case God existed and was listening.

  Feeling herself moving out of her domain of control, she quickly pulled out two more candles and lit them, watching all three flames dance and flicker. The candle fire competed the morning sun, which seeped into the room over the wood covering the window across the room.

  Her mind drifted back to her morning encounter. She had run away! Ma’ Dear’s voice crept into her head. “Baby, runnin’ away don’t solve no problems. You gots to face it, and try yo’ best to solve it or it follows you all yo’ days. Baby, there ain’t no place to hide from yo’self.”

  “Yes, Ma’ Dear.”

  She could not imagine what Eggplant Man must think. Had he even seen her? Ruby’s mind was racing. She had too many thoughts running around in her head. It was making her lightheaded.

  She found her little plastic bag, two inches by two inches. It contained five miniature dolls made of cloth. Her mother, both a religious and a superstitious woman, had given her these little figures when she reached the age of reason, seven years old.

  Ma’ Dear had told her there would be times in life when she had to make important decisions. If she put the dolls under her pillow and slept on them, she’d been told, they would help her make good decisions while she slept.

  “Only use these dolls for really important decisions, Baby,” Ma’ Dear had warned. “They is very powerful. If you misuse them they can drive you crazy.”

  “Yes, Ma’ Dear,” Ruby had replied.

  To date, she had used them only once before, afraid of their power. She had slept with the dolls under her pillow when she was trying to decide whether to leave Metairie and move to New York. She had been expecting her good fortune ever since.

  Her brain was tired, so Ruby decided to take a short nap. For a moment, she sat on her cot, nude and damp, her index finger resting under her nose. She inhaled the forbidden scent of her own desire, laid down in a fetal position and pulled some newspapers over her body. Placing the figurines neatly under her makeshift pillow, Ruby read the headline on her newspaper coverlet: “Woman Awakes From Coma” After 20 Years.” The story wasn’t important, she thought. It was all in the headlines. At that moment, she drifted into sleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  The First Wait

  Baby, baby you’re avoiding me

  Don’t you know what will be will be

  The future knows as it takes its wind

  A truer love you will never find

  Eggplant Man was busy in his own thought processes. He was starting to get hungry. It crossed his mind that if he left, Ruby might return to find him gone. That he even had that thought scared and annoyed him. He could not let this thing mess with him. Rising quickly, he casually walked towards Amsterdam to the fast food stand and ordered a sausage sandwich and a coffee for $2.69. He purposely stayed there to finish it, chewing slowly, determined not to rush back to his spot. One of his mother’s favorite dishes to prepare for the family breakfast was pork sausage smothered in onions, peppers and garlic, home-fried red potatoes, eggs easy over and buttermilk biscuits. His sausage sandwich meal was a far cry from how things used to be.

  Back at Bubba’s, Eggplant Man resumed his wall-holding position and closed his eyes. He began to reminisce about his childhood. He was trying not to think about Ruby. The strong sensation of heat and firmness in his groin was betraying him. His hands instinctively covered his aroused member, while the smell of coconut and honeydew filled his nostrils. His last thought before sleep was of his mother making biscuits and placing them in the wood burning oven. Eggplant Man was fading into a restless slumber.

  Involuntarily, two words slipped from his lips: “Mercy, please.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Night Magic in the Harlem’s Summer

  Ruby awoke to find that day had faded into evening. She could not believe she had slept so long. The candles had burned all the way down to their wicks with occasional alternating flickers of light remaining. She sat straight up with a startle, scattering everywhere the newspapers that had covered her. She detected the familiar sound of a rat scurrying across the floor towards the kitchen. Her abrupt awakening had obviously surprised it.

  Her first thoughts were of Eggplant Man. He surely must have thought she was crazy, if he had even seen her at all. “Was he still there? she wondered. Where did he go at night, or did he sit there all evening? Most businesses didn’t allow sleeping at their entrances at night. The white owners displaced from their uptown residences in New Rochelle or across the bridge in Queens, and the Asian owners with heavy broken English accents, were always adamant about their business entrances. Both groups had their harsh, condescending commands and threats.

  Ruby had observed over the years that the Street Peeps—her own name for the homeless—sometimes sought shelter in the winter at the missions on Lenox and 114th or further downtown if available. Normally they were unsuccessful, as homelessness was rampant in Harlem in the 1980s and 1990s. Shelters were usually full, with long waiting lines by midday. The old and the disabled were often too slow, or unable to climb the steps to get to the sleeping quarters. Unable to fend for themselves, they were often the victims of crimes by other street people. No one ever seemed to pay attention to them. Some of the homeless even walked to the Bronx or crossed the 59th Street bridge to Queens, hoping to find temporary relief from the ravages of the city. Most of the street peeps just slept on the streets. They made use of doorways, store fronts, alleys or hallways of abandoned buildings overrun by drug addicts. In the hot and humid Harlem summers, many of the homeless just remained on the streets. In the winter, it was wicked. The weak often did not make it to the summer months. Ruby felt extremely lucky. She had her secret abode. This caused her to be overly diligent in changing her route home on a regular basis.

  For a moment, she allowed her mind to entertain the fantasy of inviting Eggplant Man into her space for a night. The thought caused her to break out into a profuse musky sweat. The now familiar river of thick molasses began again its slow sensual journey between the cleavage of her breasts down a winding path, downward, downward. Ruby arose and ran into the bathroom, allowing the thin stream of cool water from the constantly flowing shower to chase the syrup, catch it and cool her down. Ruby quickly washed her body with the unscented soap and simply rinsed her face in the narrow stream draining from the rusty showerhead. Methodically, she got dressed, putting on a clean white tee and khakis. Remembering her arm laceration, she gingerly peeled off the wax covering. There was no pain or bleeding, but it was still a bit raw. Using the last of the melted wax on the bottom of the three candles, Ruby applied a new wax bandage to her wound. She then completely extinguished the candles. The room lit by moonbeams seeping eerily into her space.

  “It must be about nine in the evening she thought. The moon was full. A good omen. Ruby felt. She unplaited her hair and brushed the 113 mandatory strokes to complete the mojo. She then applied her coconut oil and re-plaited her hair.

  Pulling back her pillow, she viewed her five little problem solvers still lying in a ho
rizontal line. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Had the doll in the red dress now moved to position number one, instead of position number two? Ruby sat on the cot and lit a candle momentarily to check it out. No, they were all in the same sequence. After she had reassured herself, Ruby blew out the candle and sat quietly in the moonlit darkness.

  When night was approaching, she always sought the security of her respite. As a young homeless female, Ruby had endured multiple verbal and physical assaults and harassments, when she first became homeless. It had become her policy not to roam the night streets of Harlem.

  Now, however, she was feeling an insistent pull to return to 125th and Amsterdam. Ruby knew there would be many people out tonight. It was still hot and muggy and most people would find it difficult to sleep. In their crowded apartments, fans uselessly circulated stagnant heavy air. Blended scents of sweaty bodies, cooking grease, roach spray, cigarettes, dried urine and cheap cologne floated in the thick dampness. It hung like a dense nighttime cloud, ensnaring all of those beneath it to inhale its poison. Apartment dwellers and street peeps alike mixed together in the noxious heat. They joined together in some partner-less dance, each group boogying to its own music, sharing the same dance floor but imagining virtual detachment from each other.

  Ruby slipped out into the alleyway, careful not to reinjure her arm. She looked up and down the length of the dark pathway and saw only several overturned trash cans with two hungry felines scavenging for food. She eased onto 114th Street, merged into the night culture and began her erratic walk up to 125th.

  CHAPTER 19

  Restless

  Eggplant Man was so restless he could not sleep. The smothering New York humidity engulfed him, its weighted air forcing lots of people out into the streets. They arrived loud, boisterous and agitated from their inauspicious lives and the toxic hellholes in which they existed.

  Eggplant Man wanted to escape the noisy crowd. Needing to clear his mind, he decided to strum a tune on his banjo. He suppressed a vision of Ruby’s face that was straining to materialize in his mind. Usually, Eggplant Man found respite in his strings. To his dismay, his fingers, uninstructed, choose a melody that betrayed him. The mirage of Ruby’s visage finally managed to emerge.

  From nowhere through a caravan

  Around the campfire light

  A lovely woman in motion

  With hair as dark as night

  Her eyes were like that of a cat in the dark

  That hypnotized me with love

  She was a gypsy woman…

  His fingers continued their involuntary strum.

  Despite his inner protest, the 1970s Curtis Mayfield erotic hit, “Gypsy Woman,” would not stop swimming in his mind. After his phalanges had finished their mutiny, He placed the banjo back into its case, locked it with a punishing snap and abruptly rose to find somewhere to sleep. Looking down 125th towards Amsterdam, he saw her standing there. Her familiar slight figure was staring back at him.

  “There is a God after all,” he thought, flabbergasted. “Sweet Jesus.”

  Eggplant Man began to walk slowly towards Ruby.

  CHAPTER 20

  Entanglement … The Web We Weave

  Ruby was frozen in place despite the city swelter. Her legs felt leaded, glued to the cement. The river of sweet nectar cruising down her body had finally crossed over Mount Pubis and was flowing through the crevice between her legs. It felt hotter than the heat of the night. Ruby feared it would continue its flow down her legs and drip embarrassingly onto the ground. It must have found its mark, however, because it stayed warm and sticky right where it was.

  She saw him walking toward her. He was a big man, with broad shoulders, slightly bowed legs and mixed gray and black hair that defiantly stood four inches vertical on top of his head. Ruby noted he had high cheek bones, a strong nose, and that his dark purple skin was shining blue black in nighttime Harlem. His visage was hypnotic. He was looking dead ahead, directly at her.

  Ruby’s heart pounded uncontrollably against her chest wall. In moments, Eggplant Man stood directly in front of her, his six foot plus frame towering more than a foot above hers. He glanced down, patiently waiting for Ruby to make eye contact. Taking her hand into his, he exerted a reassuring squeeze. Ruby looked up but said nothing. Although she was silent, a single word screamed in her head: “Yes!”

  With his money burning a hole in his sock, Eggplant Man had waited all day to ask one question: “Hungry?” He was yearning to do something for her.

  Ruby replied with a subdued “Yes.” She had not eaten in the last 24 hours, but eating was the last thing on her mind. She was much more aware of him holding her hand, causing her throbbing heart to jolt and her knees to quiver.

  On 125th and Amsterdam, there was a coffee shop that stayed open 24/7 and didn’t mind serving the homeless as long as they paid. The pair sat there for five hours sharing their stories, eating soup, sandwiches and drinking coffee.

  Eggplant Man told Ruby his name was LeRoy but he liked the name she had given him. He explained that he, too, was from Metairie and remembered her story about the fire and her husband. He had wondered over the years what had become of her. Ruby did not remember crossing paths with Eggplant Man at all. It all seemed so natural between the two of them. It felt as if they were old friends. As dawn broke, a peacefulness came with it. Their glances and smiles grew longer, deeper.

  Eggplant Man took her left hand into both of his and firmly massaged the palm. He was momentarily distracted when he noticed the tall brown-skinned lady again, dressed in shades of blue. She glanced casually at the engaged duo as she continued her saunter. He swiftly returned his attention to Ruby and looked profoundly into her eyes, searching for an answer to the question he really wanted to ask but did not.

  “Where do you go at night, Ruby?” he asked instead. Ruby had never told anyone where she stayed. Her mother’s warnings in reference to men rolled through her mind.

  “Men love you and leave you, Baby. People die and men leave.”

  “Once they get it, they gone, baby.”

  “You lucky if they stays, and you ain’t the lucky type.”

  “A good man is hard to find.”

  Ruby was hesitant, but she answered. “I stay on 114th Street.”

  As if he could read her mind, Eggplant Man whispered in a low tenor tone. “Don’t worry, Ruby. I got you.”

  With that assurance, Ruby allowed him to walk home with her. She could not get past those three words. The “I got you” meant she was safe.

  They turned into the alley between 115th and 114th Streets. Meandering down the dark pathway, strewn with garbage and debris, the pair arrived at the entrance to her dwelling. The cats were still there, now satiated and sleeping near the trash cans they had overturned.

  Eggplant Man became acutely aware of the dangers Ruby faced coming to this place every evening. His mind was already thinking of ways to make it safer for her. Ruby pointed to her window entry. It was obvious Eggplant Man would not be able to easily slip in, as she had all of these years. He removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had to partially remove the metal plate and force it back, bending it to an almost 90 degree angle. Ruby watched his muscles flex as he forced the metal plate back. Once in, he adjusted the metal from the inside.

  Ruby lit a large candle and placed it on the desk. She was nervous but excited. The molasses river which was latent in the crevice between her legs came alive now, and was bubbling. It sent pulsating waves beyond its borders. The throbbing sensation coursed back and forth in an undulating pattern, from the crack of her butt to the crannies of her labia.

  Ruby craved for his touch, all over, especially where she throbbed. It amazed her that she was also aching to touch Eggplant Man. Her mother’s advice on touching took a back seat to what she now felt.

  Eggplant Man was as hard as steel. He felt the firm throbbing o
f his erect member and was trying to mentally offset the untimely conclusion to its rigid state. For a moment they stood facing each other, candlelight flickering. His dark eyes enveloped hers. Confidently, he pulled her to him, cupped her firm but quivering buttocks with both of his calloused hands and gently squeezed as his mouth found her erect nipples.

  Eggplant Man’s ebony lips then found Ruby’s now dancing scar. He gently planted multiple tender kisses along its length. The frolicking scar stopped its gyrations, enchanted by this new sensation. It submitted to the cleansing. The memory of what had happened vanished, as this new feeling replaced the old pain with pleasure.

  Feeling the stark stiffness in Eggplant Man’s groin, Ruby surrendered in an earthy moan. He deftly removed her clothes. Less skilled, she found it easier than she thought to undress this large man. Ruby succumbed and touched him everywhere. She kissed him wherever he was taut until he groaned. Nothing was out of bounds.

  It was all smoky wine and dark chocolate, as they rubbed, caressed, weaved, entered private caches and imbibed each other’s nectars.

  At the end of their passionate embraces, they laid spent and exhausted, intertwined in each other’s arms and lives. They were sprawled on top of Ruby’s cot, with Eggplant Man’s long legs and arms dangling languidly over the sides and Ruby curled up on top of him, in her usual fetal position.

  CHAPTER 21

  Love’s Aftermath

  Ruby awoke languorously around noon the next day. This was contrary to her normal 6 AM rising. Eggplant Man was still soundly asleep. The sun was at its brightest. Its rays were streaming into the room, over the tops of the wood plank and readjusted metal plate.