Free Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do by Pearl Cleage Page B

favorite restaurant. The people who work here seemed to be part of some organization that has black entrepreneurship as part of its overall mission to uplift the race . They are soft-spoken, neatly dressed, and have the slightly self-congratulatory air that descends on some folks when they stop eating meat, even though they're still wearing leather shoes.
    I ordered the eggplant casserole because I couldn't resist the thick layer of cheese on top and a ginger beer that was so spicy it brought tears to my eyes. Flora, who was clearly a regular, got the collard green quiche, applecarrot juice, and a cup of jasmine tea. The booth near the window was open, and we took it. The food tasted even better than it looked, and for a minute we just enjoyed our choices. But my brain was still swirling around what she'd said back at her apartment, and I eased it back into the conversation.
    “What did you mean about Mr. Hamilton having a plan for me?” I still felt forward calling him Blue.
    “I didn't mean to make it sound sinister,” she said, with a reassuring smile, “but I've known Blue for fifteen years. I know how his mind works. That's how he got me to take charge of the gardens.”
    She took a bite of her quiche and pointed her fork at the layer of collards in the custard. “These are my greens. My gardeners supply this place with all their vegetables in the summer. In the winter, all we can do are greens, but come summer? Our tomatoes are legendary!”
    “Tell me about the gardens,” I said, taking a tiny sip of my ginger beer, and hoping this would give me some idea about what kind of plan we were talking about.
    “The gardens,” she said. “How can I tell you about the gardens?”
    “Start at the beginning,” I said. It was cozy in here, and I was in no hurry to get back.
    Flora wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin. “Okay. The first time I came here with Hank, there were still crack houses all over the place. Blue had just come off the road for good, and he had made plenty of money, so he started buying up property, including the place we're living in, but he was really focused on the crack houses. He had already burned down four or five of them.”
    “Burned them down?” My fork stopped midway to my mouth.
    “He made sure nobody was inside,” Flora said calmly.
    “Where were the owners?”
    Flora shrugged. “Absentee, I guess.”
    “Did anybody try to contact them?”
    “Of course, but after a while, when things kept happening in the houses and the owners never even appeared in court—”
    “Things like what?” I was trying hard to follow the line of reasoning that tells you it's okay to burn up somebody else's property if you don't like the way they chose to manage it. Last time I checked, the laws of the United States of America still applied in southwest Atlanta, and property rights were everything to the founding fathers. They owned us, didn't they?
    Flora put down her fork and looked at me. “Have you ever lived near a crack house?”
    “I don't think so.”
    “You'd remember if you had.” Flora's voice was hard and tight. “Because it's a constant parade ofthe worst of what we've become. All crackheads care about is crack, and all crack dealers care about is money. It's a lethal combination, and you can't build a community around it.”
    She took a sip of her tea. “Blue tried all the goodcitizen ways to deal with it. Calling the police, tracking down the owners, talking to the politicians, but nobody seemed to care enough to do anything. Then the crackheads killed a little kid for her lunch money right around the corner from here. Nine years old. She was waiting for the school bus, eight o'clock in the morning, and they dragged her into the crack house and strangled her.” Flora's eyes were hard as granite. “Then they raped her.”
    There was nothing to say after that, so I didn't try. Flora didn't say anything for a few minutes either. I folded my napkin and set my plate to one