The Changeling. Victor LaValle
even a mention on NY1. It might’ve become more of a story if someone had been able to capture clean video of the birth, but Cowboy had been as good as his word. Cellphone footage from that night showed four black kids waving and smiling and looking gleeful, and generally speaking news outlets don’t find that sort of thing worth sharing.
Apollo checked the back room. A couch and a television and four filled bookshelves were in here. So was the Moses basket they’d be using with Brian for the next few weeks as they slept him in their bedroom. Before Brian this had been their lounge; after Brian it would be his room. Apollo scanned the space, imagining what they’d need: a crib, plush toys, a dresser for the blankets and clothes, a Diaper Genie, a few crates of diapers, and much more stuff than he could currently guess. They should’ve made all these purchases long ago. In fact, Emma had created a list, but then her job went to half time, with the possibility of losing the work altogether, and with that they had to wait a little longer and plan a little better for exactly what they needed first. The Moses basket, newborn diapers, one-piece sleepers, baby wash and washcloths, those were the only things to make the initial cut. But now Apollo couldn’t help wanting to give his son more. He closed his eyes and kissed the doorframe.
How long had he stood there before the buzzer rang? It’s entirely possible he’d fallen asleep upright. Kim and Lillian appeared in a cluster at the door. Both women carried large bags. Kim made a supermarket run for them, basic ingredients, and Lillian brought meals she’d prepared at home. Four cartons of red bean soup, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, lasagna and samosas, two quiches, and oxtail soup. He set all their things down in the kitchen, then led both women into the bedroom, where Emma tried to disguise the tears of frustration she’d been shedding as she still tried to get Brian to latch.
Kim slipped Brian from Emma’s hands. A chance for the midwife to check the baby, for an aunt to hug her nephew. As Kim undressed the baby, Lillian moved close to Emma and kissed her head.
“I had the same trouble with Apollo,” Lillian said softly. “I didn’t know what to do, and my mother wasn’t with me.”
Emma nodded. She understood that problem.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get it,” Lillian said. “But it just took time.”
Now Emma leaned into Lillian and breathed deeply. Lillian held her close.
Kim turned a now naked Brian onto his stomach. “I love that little blue butt!” she shouted.
“Let me see what you’re doing,” Lillian said to Emma. “Maybe I can help.”
Kim returned Brian to his mother. Emma brought him close and stroked his cheek. The baby’s eyes waggled and swam, and his mouth opened to pucker.
“Wait,” Lillian said. Now she examined Emma’s breasts like a jeweler. She nodded gently, then sighed. “It’s too bad your breasts are the wrong shape,” she finally said.
“Mom!” Apollo shouted. He yoked his own mother to get her out of the bedroom. Kim stepped in between Emma and Lillian, showing Lillian her back. Emma didn’t even cry out or sob at what Lillian had said. She just returned to lining her nipple up with the baby’s mouth.
Apollo enlisted Lillian in unpacking the food and supplies, and once that was finished, he took her out to get coffee. She didn’t understand what she’d said wrong. Apollo tried to explain three times but gave up. Eventually he thanked her, sincerely, for the food and walked her back to the A train.
On the way to the apartment, his cellphone vibrated with a text message from Patrice: Estate Sale Today. Come with me. You got mouths to feed!
He wrote back: Too soon.
Patrice wrote again: Your family can’t live with us when you get evicted.
Apollo laughed as he slipped his phone away. He missed Patrice. Also, he knew he couldn’t wait more than a week before he had to get back on his grind.
Kim already had on her shoes and jacket when Apollo returned. He let her out and came back to the bedroom. He closed the curtains, and the place went dim. He climbed in beside them.
“‘I had a rooster, my rooster pleased me,’” Emma sang. “‘I held my rooster by the old willow tree.’”
Apollo moved closer to his wife, his son.
“‘My little rooster sang cock-a-doodle-doo.’”
She sang, and each of them fell asleep in turn. First Apollo, then Emma. The baby kept his eyes open the longest but soon enough joined his mother and father.
At one point, well after midnight, Apollo woke and crept out of the bedroom. He found his bag, the one he’d been wearing the night Brian was born. He opened it to find the copy of Fields of Fire inside. In the kitchen he opened his laptop and sent an email to that collector in Virginia. He attached a photo of the cover. The glow of the screen lit his face.
“I am the god, Apollo,” he whispered as the god got to work.
He fell asleep at the table within half an hour.
PATRICE SENT WORD of an estate sale in the Bronx. Close enough to Washington Heights that Apollo had to get on the road, no excuses and no more delays. And he had to bring Brian with him. Six weeks was the most time Emma could take off from work before her salary vanished. In the United States this counted as generous.
Going out the door that morning, she’d cried worse than when she’d been in labor. Apollo promised to be careful with the boy, but that wasn’t what crushed Emma. Of course she trusted Apollo, but leaving her baby so soon after birth felt like stepping out of an airlock without a space suit, no source of oxygen. How would she breathe? Nevertheless, she had to do it. They couldn’t afford for her to lose her job.
Apollo rented a Zipcar for the trip, something sturdy, a Honda Odyssey. The company gave each car a name. This one’s was Suave. He admired that level of self-delusion. He strapped the boy into his rear-facing car seat and arranged the armful of pillows he’d brought along on the floor and around the car seat. The baby lay surrounded by padding, and still Apollo never drove faster than fifteen miles per hour along the Henry Hudson Parkway. Other drivers beeped and cursed as they swerved around him. This bothered Apollo not a bit. The pair crept all the way to the Riverdale section of the Bronx. The twenty-minute trip took almost an hour. At one point, on Dodgewood Road, a street sweeper passed them.
This pocket of the Bronx turned suburban, nearly rural, with uneven single-lane streets and two-story homes sitting on large grassy plots. On Dodgewood Road, Apollo found the place: a large single-family house with a driveway and two-car garage. A familiar car by the curb, a red 2001 Toyota Echo. Its bumper sticker read LIBRARIAN OF ALEXANDRIA.
Patrice Green had beat him here, and that man lived in southeastern Queens.
Apollo turned off the car and arched himself over the front seat so he could see his son. Brian Kagwa watched the bright sky through the passenger window, mouth opening and closing as if he was actually feeding on the sunlight.
“Let’s go hunt some books,” Apollo said.
Apollo came around and unlatched his son. Wind rattled the property, and Brian seemed to focus on the quaking limbs of a tree. Apollo looped on his BabyBjörn baby carrier and strapped his son in. Daddy’s heartbeat would be mood music for the kid.
Apollo went through the baby bag, cross-checking like a pilot about to take flight. Bottle, three diapers, wipes, burp cloth, set of plastic keys for rattling, and finally, a small, fluffy blanket.
“Flight attendants take your seat,” Apollo whispered. “We are prepared for takeoff.”
As he rolled the minivan’s door shut, a man’s voice came from the garage.
“I didn’t have that much gear on when I was fighting in Fallujah.”
Patrice