There Goes Tatum
By Umar Kayam
It began to drizzle and dark gray clouds that sneered at passers-by convinced them to cease their journey. But because in New York a light rain rarely turns into a shower, I ignored the threat and continued my walk, neither decreasing nor increasing my pace.
Riverside Park looked quiet and deserted with only an occasional bus or car passing by. For me this was a treat, a luxury that I rarely found in New York. The smell of newly- dampened earth, the chirping of birds in the trees, squirrels jumping from trees to benches and then back to the trees again. It was the fragment of a scene I once had witnessed but could not remember where or when. But suddenly...
"Mistuh, gimme fifty cents, please."
The squirrels and birds vanished and a young black man appeared before my eyes. He must have been hiding behind a tree. The sudden sound of his voice gave me a start. Now that he was standing directly in front of me I was able to study him more closely. He wore a black beret on his head, a dirty army jack covering his chest and a frayed pair of blue jeans. He was tall, muscular and stood erect. Sticking his hand out he smiled and said, "Fifty cents, Mistuh."
Amused by his begging manner, I smiled, too. "Fifty cents?"
"Yep, fifty cents."
"Isn't that a bit higher than normal?"
He continued to smile, his hand still outstretched before him. And though I knew I would be forced to give him a half dollar, I decided to play along with him first: "Fifty cents? I could buy myself a salami hero the size of a bolster with that kind of money."
"Yeah, right... A salami hero. Hmmmm... You know, that's just what I was thinking about too: a big salami hero."
"But do you think that this is the best way to get that salami hero?"
"Yep."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure as ever. Or maybe you got a better idea?"
"You could get a job."
"Right, a job! And I suppose you're Mr. Employment Agency hisself?"
"No, I'm just a student."
"So you tell me what that's got to do with finding me a job?"
"Nothing... It was just a suggestion."
"If all you got's suggestion, then why don't you suggest I become mayor of New York City to replace Wagner?"
"Great idea. We can go to city hall right now and take care of him."
"Hold it... I still need that fifty cents for my salami hero..."
"Fifty cents?"
"Yep, fifty cents."
"And if I don't want to give it to you?"
He laughed. "Oh, you want to give it to me; I know that."
Suddenly, from the direction of 116th Street, there came the sound of a woman's scream.
"Heeeelp!"
Startled by the cry, my heart began to race. Turning towards the sound of the voice I saw a black man with a woman's purse in his hand run across Riverside Drive, race into the park and, in a flash, disappear into the lower park.
"Heeeelp! Heeeelp!"
No one appeared and, soon, it was silent again.
"There goes Tatum!"
"Who?"
"Tatum, my friend."
"You mean that mugger."
"Yessiiir. Who else?"
"Your friend?" I repeated slowly.
"Yeah, my friend. We're neighbors."
"Where's that?"
"Where? You men where do we live?"
"Yes," I replied softly.
He laughed uproariously. "Well I'm on Madison Ave and Tatum, my buddy, on Park."
I groped in my pocket and found two quarters which I presented to him. Then, somewhat unsure of my step, I began to leave but the grip of a strong hand on my shoulder halted my movement.
"Wait a minute, Mister."
"Now what is it? You got enough for a hero now, don't you?"
"Yeah, I guess I do, but I ain't hungry just yet."
"But I have to get to class."
"Oh, Columbia? That's just a few blocks from here."
"Not Columbia; N.Y.U."
"On Washington Square?"
"Yes. Now I have to get going."
"Wait a minute. I want to ask you something."
"What?"
"That watch of yours. What is it?"
"A Titoni. Why?"
"Made in Switzerland?"
"Yes."
"You know, Mister, I think American watches are for shit?"
"Maybe they are but, really, I have to go."
"You agree then, don't you, that the best watches are Swiss watches?"
"Sure, sure. But, look, I've got to go."
"And you know, if I'm going to be mayor, I think I should have a watch, too."
I said nothing.
"Wagner, Levitt, even Adam Clayton Powell up here in Harlem; they all got watches. Come on, man. You want me to beat Wagner don't you?"
I said nothing. The young black man smiled and patted my shoulder.
"I want your watch, Mister. You can buy yourself another one tomorrow, okay?"
"But, hey, isn't there some kind of unwritten code colored people don't steal from each other?"
"Yeah, I guess there is. Why?"
"Well, I'm colored too."
"You, colored? Don't be funny. Now I'm colored. And Tatum's colored. Pepe's colored and Pedro, too. But you?"
"I'm colored."
"No, you're not. You're Filipino."
"No, I'm not."
"What are you then? Chinese? Japanese? Indian?"
"No. Indonesian."
"But you're not colored. Just ask one of our fine Southern governors. I bet they'd let you piss in a white man's john."
I gave up. It seemed that my Titoni, a gift from my father, and I would have to part. It began to rain harder. I looked around, trying to figure how long it would take me to run to 112th Street and the refuge of a friend's place in Colonial House. But it was too late. Even with the sound of the drizzling rain, I heard distinctly the sound of a "click". I watched as my young black friend tested the sharpness of his switchblade on his beard, something I thought maybe only Richard Widmark or Jack Palance could do. Here, in the middle of the rain in Riverside Park we had young talent going to waste. Slowly I took the Titoni off my wrist and handed it to him.
He smiled. "That's a good boy. Thank you, Mistuh." Then whistling, he skipped with ease down the stairs that led to the lower part of the park. It was raining hard now. The sky was ashen black. The charade was over; his had been no empty threat.
I was soaking wet.
Translated by John H. McGlynn
Umar Kayam was born in East Java in April, 1932. He obtain his Ph.D from Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, in 1965. It was there that he began to write fiction and, following his return from the States, published his first collection of short stories, Seribu kunang-kunang di Manhattan (A Thousand Fireflies in Manhattan). His short story There Goes Tatum is taken from New York After Midnight, 11 Indonesian Short Stories. Copyright of the English translation is held by the translator.