Free Flight to Canada by Ishmael Reed Page B

who has taught me a lot about loving.”

11
    Q UICKSKILL WENT OVER TO the address that Stray Leechfield had given him. It was located in the old warehouse district of Emancipation City. He looked at the directory. “Leechfield & Leer.” Their office was located on the third floor. He got off the elevator and walked down the hall. The door was ajar, so he walked in. He heard some people talking. One man seemed to be giving directions, telling people to move into certain positions. What was going on? He walked into the hall from the outer office and came upon an area closed off by some curtains. He opened the curtains and took a peek.
    Oh my God! My God! My God! Leechfield was lying naked, his rust-colored body must have been greased, because it was glistening, and there was … there was—the naked New England girl was twisted about him, she had nothing on but those glasses and the flower hat. How did they manage? And then there was this huge bloodhound. He was licking, he was … The Immigrant was underneath one of those Brady boxes—it was flashing. He … he was taking daguerreotypes, or “chemical pictures.”
    “Hey, what’s the matter with you? The sun, there’s too much light. Quickskill, what’s wrong with you?”
    Leechfield said, “Damn.” The unclothed girl looked up. She had a strange smile on her face. Her eyes were glassy. She was panting heavily.
    “I want to talk to Leechfield. It’s important.”
    “I have to deliver this film to a distributor tonight. Make it quick,” Leer told Leechfield.
    “Wait outside,” Leechfield said, annoyed.
    Quickskill went outside. Soon Leechfield came through the curtains. He was dressed in a robe he was tying around the waist.
    “What was that?” asked Quickskill.
    “None of your goddam business, Quickskill. Look, man, don’t you worry about me. We supposed to be free, aren’t we?”
    “That’s true.”
    “Then don’t handcuff yourself to me.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It’s my bi’ness what I do. I ain’t your slave, so don’t be looking at me with those disapproving eyes and axing me questions.”
    “I …”
    “Shit, everybody can’t do anti-slavery lectures. I can’t. I have to make it the best I can, man. I don’t see no difference between what I’m doing and what you’re doing.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You have to get evil-smelling eggs thrown at you, and I heard up in Buffalo they were gettin ready to throw some flour on William Wells Brown. Remember when those mobocrats beat up Douglass? Even Douglass, knocked on the ground like any old vagrant.”
    “I don’t want to go into it. I was just shocked because I didn’t expect it.”
    “You shocked? What you shocked about? I’m not watching no houses for nobody. I’m not feedin nobody’s cats and forwarding nobody’s mail. I get it this way. I pull in more in a day than you do in a whole year. You green, man. Brilliant but green. You one green Negro.”
    “Listen, Leechfield, I didn’t come in here to get in an argument—”
    “House nigger. Yes ma’am, no ma’am—you and that Uncle Robin. I see you coming down to the field village, putting on airs and shit. I used to watch you.”
    “If it wasn’t for us, they would have discovered your game a long time before.”
    “What?”
    “They knew about the poultry. They asked us about it when we made inventory of the eggs. We told them it was a mistake the Texas calculator made. We knew it was you. I saw you over in the other county when I was doing errands for the Swille family.”
    “What? And you didn’t say nothin?”
    “We covered for you all the time—made excuses for you and sometimes did the work ourselves that you were supposed to do. And when some of you ran away, we provided you with a map, and so some of us are traveling all over the country pleading for the Cause. So what if we get eggs thrown at us and are beaten unconscious? Swille was the one who stirred up rivalry among us. Don’t you think I