Lazarus Jones: A Novel

By Robert Johnson Jr.

Lazarus Jones, a native of Boston and a Vietnam War veteran, travels to Mt. Kenya, East Africa to escape from his haunting war demons and the racism of 1970's Boston.

On his journey, Lazarus meets Mukuria who has led a life of privilege in Nairobi, and now seeks out her Kikuyu traditional roots on the mountain.

Lazarus Jones is a story of self-discovery and redemption as two young people encounter in death spiritual transformations that forces them to make unexpected and monumental choices in life.

ROBERT JOHNSON, JR. is an attorney, playwright and former Chair and Professor of Africana Studies at University of Massachusetts Boston.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781636929255

Book preview

1

Suddenly Lazarus ascended into the sky, hand in hand with Tefnut. She began to recite words in a tongue that he didn’t understand. Righteousness is given to him who cometh therewith. The more Tefnut chanted the words, the easier it became for Lazarus to breathe, think, and understand. Even his walking became effortless. The ankle he thought had been broken on Mount Kenya was miraculously healed, and his formerly weak legs had gained strength.

He could see clearly. The intense heat disappeared, and he could hear the sound of a rushing cool stream of water. As he whispered the words Righteousness is given to him who cometh therewith, his thoughts focused on the journey ahead and the passage that would take him to the Great Hall where his life on earth would be judged.

I sense your uncertainty, spoke Tefnut, and your fear and confusion.

Yeah, I’m afraid…but in some strange way, I feel as if I know you. Even when your lips never move, I hear you talking to me. And who is this King of Kings, Lord of Lords you’re going on about? asked Lazarus.

The Lord of Eternity.

Is there more than one Lord? asked Lazarus.

Yes. They are all around us. But there is just one you must meet, Ma’at, the Goddess of Righteousness and Justice. She will ultimately decide where you go, added Tefnut. Ma’at is the judge of truth.

I’m a nobody. What do I know of truth? Lazarus pled in bewilderment.

From the foundations of the universe the gods have created you, the children of Africa. You have come back home, to your motherland. Think upon your life. Know what was good in it. Repudiate all evil acts. Celebrate what has been good in your heart.

Okay, I will examine myself, Lazarus conceded.

Do it in twelve hours. Look at everything. And at the end raise up the good. Raise up the good, roared Tefnut.

Okay, I will, said Lazarus as he descended back to Nairobi to take inventory of his life. But how can I examine twenty-five years in twelve hours?

Look at your right hand, Lazarus. Can you see the atoms that make up your hand? asked Tefnut.

Of course not. I just see a hand.

Well, twenty-five years is less than 1/100th of a second in my world, Tefnut continued. You must begin.

Now? he asked.

Yes, right now.

I was recently on Mount Kenya in East Africa, responded Lazarus.

I know. said Tefnut.

It’s rough up there. The air is thin, so it is hard to breathe. We were in a cave that had cold rainwater running into it. But Mukuria is there. Waiting for me. And it’s cold there.

It’s a mountain, Lazarus, she replied with laughter. And they are not easy to climb.

Lazarus looked away from her shamefully and whispered, I handled ’Nam, but I’m not so sure about mountains.

Now you must confront the mountains in your heart, spoke Tefnut slowly.

I’m not sure I understand what is required of me, responded Lazarus.

But you must know whether righteousness can be found in your heart, spoke Tefnut. As he pondered what had just been spoken to him, Tefnut disappeared into the clouds of the sky.

2

Suddenly Lazarus was back in Nairobi, Kenya, at a nightclub dancing the night away. He should have been home with his wife of one year, Perniva. Yet there he was, stepping off the dance floor hand in hand with a Kenyan beauty. Inadvertently he bumped into a man who shouted, Excuse me! with an American accent. The tie-dyed shirt set him apart as an African American. The shirts were very popular with the tourists, and he wore it well with his tall medium build and a large fluffy unkempt Afro and beard. Women in America liked this look, but Lazarus wasn’t sure it went over in Kenya.

In America, the unkempt Afro was considered a way of connecting with Africa. However, in Kenya, where the people were not as politically expressive, the unkempt Afro represented a sign of disrespect to some.

Oh, I’m sorry, my brother, I wasn’t watching where I was going, he said, smiling at Lazarus.

It’s cool. It’s kind of dark in here.

Yeah. It is. My name is Charles. From Montclair, Jersey. And this is… He looked around and smiled at an attractive girl who clung to his right arm with a grin that revealed perfect white teeth. This is Princess. My princess, Charles said with a smiling face.

Charles was self-assured and direct in his conversation and quite proud that he had Princess at his side.

You right about that. She’s a real princess, said Lazarus.

Hello, Princess said, extending her right hand to Lazarus.

Lazarus shook her hand and said, What a name.

My father gave it to me, she quickly responded. And my grandma gave it to him for me on the day I was born. She told him the name would bring me great honor too.

Princess had full, well-developed lips and rounded hips that commanded the attention of every man in the place, especially with her short Afro and tight-fitting skirt. If melanin was gold, this woman would be rich beyond imagination. She wore a neatly coiffed short Afro atop her slender, five-foot frame. She was twenty or slightly over. She tightly latched on to Charles’s arm, determined not to let him get away. She had already asked if he would help her get a scholarship to America. Charles explained to her that you do not get scholarships to America, but to a university in America, but she didn’t understand the distinction. All she knew was that she wanted to go to New York City to become a fashion model; and Charles, being an American, should be able to help her get there.

But then in Charles’s opinion, nearly all Kenyans wanted to get to America for all kinds of reasons. He knew that these international clubs attracted Kenya opportunists of every description and gender. Everyone wanted to go to America, when many blacks were looking to Africa as an alternative to the perceived racism there. Charles, on the other hand, didn’t get into all the rhetoric about Black Power and black liberation. And in this modern Nairobi club, he found Kenyans and Europeans getting along just fine, which suited him well. But Princess wanted something in exchange for the time she spent with Charles. Even in the two hours that Charles had known her, she had asked if he could write a letter to the American embassy on her behalf so she could apply for a visa. Charles told her he might be able to do that, but he knew he wouldn’t because all he wanted was to get into her bed or get her into his.

Lazarus followed Charles to his seat against the wall while Princess drifted across the room into the dark, continuing to keep her eyes on Charles. She was not going to let another pretty girl sweep him away. As they approached the wall, Lazarus noticed a backpack leaning against it. The pack, of the same make and color as the one he owned, had a paperback book protruding from the top. He thought it was odd to see a backpack and book in a club.

That your pack? he asked.

Yeah, responded Charles.

Hey, my brother. I see you doing well for yourself, he said, pointing to Princess on the other side of the crowded floor.

The Papu Club seems to be the joint man for fine honeys, Charles responded confidently as if he expected to have his pick.

This your first time? asked Lazarus.

No, and it won’t be my last. It’s impossible to stay away. These sisters are smokin’.

You right about that, brother, Lazarus responded. My name is Lazarus, and I been in Nairobi for two weeks.

Charles looked at him and put out his fist for a dap, a slight pounding on the top of the other’s fist.

Clubs seemed to be the same no matter where you are in the world, Lazarus thought. Music, pretty girls, and alcohol. What a mix! He had spent plenty of time with all three since he arrived and had done nothing more. Lazarus thought his arrival in Africa would help him get his life together, but all he seemed to be doing was hanging out in the clubs. If he didn’t close down the clubs, he would occasionally leave home and disappear for hours (sometimes days) without Perniva, his recent bride, knowing where he was. When he would eventually get back, he would have no satisfactory explanation for where he had been. He wouldn’t answer any of her questions. His refusal to talk worried Perniva. They had been married for a year, but things were rocky. Lazarus did what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it and did not care how she felt about that. When she objected, Lazarus believed she was trying to control him, and he was determined not to let Perniva control him as the Marines once had.

The music kept his mind free of all that. As soon as his dance partner came from the bar where she had been talking to friends, Lazarus was back on the floor, staring into her lovely brown eyes. Thoughts of Perniva quickly faded as he lost himself in the music again. The evening slipped away after many songs and dances, and by 2:00 a.m., the lights came up, and the club quickly emptied. Lazarus said goodbye to his lady friend who disappeared down the street with the other girls who giggled as they and their speech blended into the night. It was late, so Lazarus decided he better begin the walk to his flat. As the last batch of girls dispersed, Charles exited the club with a dazed look on his face and Princess on his arm. He waved goodbye to her and spoke to Lazarus.

I guess it’s time to roll up the sidewalk, said Charles.

What sidewalks? Lazarus laughed, looking at the backpack and noticing the book again. Hey, man, what’s the book? he asked.

Charles grabbed his backpack to make sure the book was still there. Oh god, I thought I lost it. It’s Malcolm’s book. His autobiography.

Now, brother. You cool, reading that. But why you bring Malcolm to a party? asked Lazarus.

Well, when I left the house about 3:00 p.m. today, I told my wife, Susan, I was going to the library.

And you think she is going to believe the library was open until 2:00 a.m.? Lazarus laughed loudly.

Naw. She’ll be asleep when I get there. She won’t know the time I get in. I’ll just tiptoe to the couch.

You think so? replied Lazarus. Man, those women know everything. Believe me, brother, she’ll know the exact second you step through that front door.

Not Susan, man. She needs to have her sleep. She’s religious about that. Don’t miss a wink.

Man, the best thing to do is blame it on me. That’s what I used to do. Blame it on my buddies.

And your buddies took the rap for you?

If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be my buddies. They know me. They know I want to do right, but the women won’t let me. Lazarus laughed. Man, when you get home, you better act like you done finished that book.

It was half finished when I left the house. It will be finished, retorted Charles, laughing loudly.

You think she gonna believe Malcolm kept you away from home twelve hours. Lazarus laughed again.

You haven’t read it? asked Charles.

"No. I don’t do much reading, man. Just a few magazines. I pick up Muhammad Speaks sometimes and the Black Panther paper."

Muhammad Speaks was the newspaper for the Nation of Islam that had as members Muhammad Ali, Malcolm X, and Louis Farrakhan. The Black Panther paper was the Black Panther Party’s vehicle of propaganda. Some of its members consisted of Huey P. Newton, Bobby Seale, and Eldridge Cleaver.

You won’t be able to put it down. You want to read it? asked Charles.

No. I won’t have time.

What you got to do?

Nothing.

Nothing? You got to be doing something. How long you been in Nairobi? asked Charles.

A few weeks.

What brings you here? You working? asked Charles.

Look, why all the questions? snapped Lazarus.

Hey, man, just making conversation, that’s all. If you don’t want to talk, that’s cool. Besides, it’s late.

Yeah, it is, said Lazarus as they walked along the road.

Hey, man, I was thinking about going up to Mount Kenya in a few days, interjected Charles, changing the subject abruptly.

You got to be kidding. It’s 2:00 a.m., responded Lazarus.

Not today! Tomorrow.

What you going to do up there? asked Lazarus.

Climb it! Charles declared, as they walked briskly along.

By this time, the two had reached the intersection that would take them in different directions.

Hey, man, I got to go this way, Lazarus stated, pointing down the road that went off to his right.

Why don’t you climb with me? asked Charles.

The mountain? asked Lazarus incredulously.

Yes. We could do it, man. It ain’t nothing but a long hike. You’re in shape, ain’t you?

Man, these legs are strong. Lazarus laughed, pointing to his legs.

Let me get your number, Charles said.

Lazarus took out a piece of paper and pencil, wrote the number, and gave it to Charles.

Thanks. I’ll call you later, responded Charles.

Yeah, real late. Got to get out of the doghouse first, said Lazarus.

I’ll call you about noontime today! yelled Charles as Lazarus disappeared down the street.

As Lazarus walked home that night, he thought about Mount Kenya. He had never climbed a mountain. It would certainly be an adventure and another opportunity to clear his mind. Boston was quickly fading from his memory, and so was Vietnam. Maybe the climb would help him relax his mind. But he had never really done much of anything on his own initiative. A woman in Vermont had suggested Tanzania when he told her he needed to get out of the country for political reasons. Those were the magic words: political reasons. Everything was political in America: the war, the assassination of Dr. King, and the riots in one hundred and twenty cities, including Boston.

He needed to keep moving. Keep busy or he would explode. In the Marines, he was always being told to do things. Keep up! Go to meals! Go to drills! Go into the bush! Kill the gooks! Go to sleep! Pick up the body parts in the field! Even after two weeks in Nairobi, he still felt he had to keep moving, doing different things. But for what reason?

He didn’t know.

3

Surprising himself, Lazarus decided to climb the mountain with Charles. When he finally gathered the courage to tell Perniva at breakfast the next morning, she yelled at him at the top of her voice, No! I’m tired of you going places without me! as she slammed a breakfast cup against the kitchen sink, causing it to shatter piece by piece across the white tiled floor.

Careful now, Perniva. We don’t have no money to buy new dishes, chided Lazarus, surprised at her uncontrolled anger.

Don’t I know? We don’t have money for much of anything. Thanks to you, Perniva shot back.

Okay, okay. I’ve heard that before. Blame Lazarus. That’s all you got going for you, ain’t that right, Perniva, he said in a loud voice.

If the shoe fits, wear it! Wear it, Lazarus! Why are we here in Nairobi in the first place?

You didn’t have to come. Nobody put a rope around your neck and dragged you here! Lazarus shouted as he gathered his blue backpack.

Yeah, but once I got here, I found work. All you do is hang out on the weekend and sleep the rest of the week!

You call what you do work? You don’t get paid a cent for your so-called work! retorted Lazarus.

So what! It’s still work! Why does everything have to have a dollar sign to it before it’s of value? Tell me that, Lazarus!

That’s bullshit! Academic bullshit! I’m going on that climb.

For how long? asked Perniva, glaring at him, hands on her hips.

Maybe I’ll just keep going and never come back. You wouldn’t miss me. Anyway! You said the marriage had lost its flavor, he stated, getting angrier.

Lazarus! She stood in front of him as he headed toward the apartment door. You know I don’t mind you going, but you only been here two weeks. Get adjusted to Nairobi first! To me! And why Mount Kenya? And why didn’t you bring this guy over to meet me?

Why? He’s my friend, not yours.

You met him at a bar and he’s a friend already? Perniva asked as she put both of her hands gently on his chest.

It’s a club! he said.

What’s the difference? shouted Perniva.

Plenty! You dance at a club, and you just drink at a bar, she said.

Then why don’t you ever take me to the club? I like to dance. I always wanted to go dancing with you, Perniva said as she tried to hug Lazarus, who abruptly stepped back, preventing her from getting her arms around him.

Don’t worry, we got plenty of dancing years ahead of us, Lazarus said. But silently he wondered if they did. His thoughts turned to Vietnam, then to Boston and his trouble with the law. He kept running, this time all the way to Africa. Now, with the mountain climb, it seemed like he was running away from Perniva, the one person in the world who was in his corner. While he believed that he and Perniva were safe from US authorities in Kenya, he was not absolutely sure. What if he climbed the mountain and the authorities came and took Perniva into custody? How could he abandon her to that? They had been married for a short time. She had volunteered her time for the children’s breakfast program in Roxbury. She always had his back.

The sudden uprooting from America, however, made her more irritable and unsure of Lazarus. She needed him to give her more attention. Ever since they got married, she wanted him to treat her as his queen, the center of his existence, but he always had other things that took his attention. In America, increasingly she had found it impossible to focus upon her research because of her constant worry about him. And now, she believed she deserved much better given what she had left in Boston to support him.

Maybe Lazarus didn’t know how to treat women. There hadn’t been many in his life before Perniva. The few women he did date were of short duration. For some reason, he felt that if he called them back after the first date, he would be allowing them to control him. And he couldn’t have that. He had to be the man at all costs and not be controlled by women.

He discussed this fear of women with his therapist after he came back from Vietnam. The therapist felt it stemmed from his sexual encounter as a child with an older girl. He was eight years old and had gone to visit his aunt in Pittsburgh. And since his aunt had a small house with two bedrooms, all the children had to sleep in one room. Some slept on the floor and some on the queen-size mattress on the floor. His aunt couldn’t afford a bed frame, but it made no difference to the kids because they could jump and play on it to their hearts’ content.

Late one summer night when everyone was sleep, Lazarus’s fourteen-year-old cousin slipped her hand into his pants. And for the first time, he felt a sensation that altered his life forever. Through it all, he didn’t move as her warm hand caressed his member followed by her moist mouth that rocked up and down until he screamed out in pleasure. For the rest of the visit, Lazarus said nothing to his cousin. He liked what she did to him, but felt at her mercy. For years he was tormented by feelings of guilt, believing he had brought the encounter upon himself. For some years afterward, he stayed away from girls altogether.

It was not until years later that he learned from his male cousin that Clara had done the same thing to all of her brothers.

The sex with his cousin was a kind of rite of passage for Lazarus. Before that night, he had never thought about sex but only about children’s games, like marbles and cowboys and Indians. After that, he became a man-child and quickly grew to understand what was expected of him whenever he visited Clara’s house in Pittsburgh. In some way, Lazarus thought he couldn’t have a genuine relationship with Perniva because of Clara, a grown woman who stole his innocence.

Eventually, his aunt and Clara moved to Boston. Clara would come to his house on Friday and babysit until Sunday night because on the weekends, Lazarus’s mother worked for a white family, cleaning house and cooking. The white lady had dinner parties and needed a sleepover maid.

His mother liked the weekend work. On Sunday nights, she always brought home leftover food from the white folks’ parties. They had them every weekend, it seemed. Lazarus wondered why white folks spent so much money on food they didn’t eat. His mother used to say she brought the food home so it wouldn’t be given to the dogs or thrown out in the trash. Her employers had two dogs, German shepherds, who ate better than most people in Boston’s black community. She used to tell him about the husband of the house who took the dogs out for walks in the suburban community of Weston, and when he did, those dogs walked prouder than many