Children of the Knight - Michael J. Bowler (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📗

erupted with enthusiastic cheers and applause. Jack elbowed Mark, and the blond boy raised his fist into the air with the others. Jack threw his arm around his friend’s shoulders.

Lance looked around him at the energy, the excitement and enthusiasm, and hoped with all his heart that this new venture would indeed turn the tide for all of them.

Boyle Heights basked in the warm sunlight, its streets calm after the recent shooting, but the squalor of its dwellings, when laid bare to the glaring summer sun, always cried out for attention. On one such street, nestled within Esteban’s neighborhood, two small children, a boy and a girl, tossed a dirty Frisbee back and forth, when suddenly the sound of approaching vehicles caused them to leap in fear for the sidewalk.

Crouching hurriedly behind a battered blue mailbox, the two dark-haired kids peeked out to see what was coming. Their mother frantically dashed across the street to crouch with them, sweeping both children protectively into her arms. Curious residents, drawn by the noise, stood behind the young woman and her children, gawking in disbelief at what was approaching.

Arthur, on Llamrei, trotted lazily down the street toward them. Behind him followed numerous junk-filled vehicles and hundreds of his knights in their medieval garb walking alongside or riding battered bikes or skateboards. Most of the knights did not carry their swords, but many, led by Reyna, carried bows and arrows for protection.

This very odd procession marched past the curious residents, many of the knights waving and bowing as they passed. The two small children, delighted at the sight, jumped from behind the mailbox and waved frantically. Lance, Mark, Jack, Esteban, Jaime, Darnell, Luis, and Enrique, all of whom flanked Arthur, waved to the children as though they were part of a parade.

To Lance, that was what this felt like—being in the Rose Parade or something. Since this was Esteban’s own ’hood, he was the most recognizable celebrity, but his reputation up until now had been violent and criminal, so many of the locals scowled distastefully as he passed.

More and more residents spilled from the shabby apartment complexes, storefronts, and houses to gape in wonder at this most curious spectacle. Arthur stopped in what looked to be the center of this particular neighborhood, and his army halted with him. The young knights quickly began unloading their tools, which Arthur and the kids had purchased from Home Depot, and the “junk,” while the king pointed to various groups and indicated which area of the ’hood each should attend to.

Several groups, led by the more artistically minded Enrique and Lavern and Luis, hauled numerous paint cans out of the truck beds, grabbed brushes or rollers that they’d scavenged and cleaned, and began painting over the graffiti that littered the area. Because there were only little amounts of paint in each can, the walls quickly took on a rainbow-like appearance as one color blended into the next.

As the eager knights worked furiously to turn these buildings into multi-colored works of modern art, more residents emerged and stared in amazement. Arthur noted that the graffiti clean-up was proceeding apace and dropped down off Llamrei, handing the reins to Mark with a smile.

“Care for her, Sir Mark.”

“Anything you want, Arthur,” the boy replied, but Arthur had already started down the street with Lance, gazing about him for other needed repairs. The other knights followed, leaving Jack to shrug at Mark, slap him on the back, and then follow. Mark led the massive animal along after them.

Arthur spotted some broken fences and pointed them out to Darnell. “Sir Darnell, take some men and repair these.”

“Sure, Arthur,” replied the husky boy who liked being in charge. He called out to some of the others still waiting for an assignment, “You guys there, come wit’ me.” They headed toward the truck that carried tools and cast-off pieces of wood.

Arthur pointed at the trash strewn about the streets, and Reyna took charge of the group who set about collecting it and filling the local dumpsters. One house clearly needed a new door—there was a large hole in the current one. It looked like someone had tried to kick it down, and his foot went through instead.

Arthur waved, and another group led by Esteban ran to one of the trucks to retrieve an old door they’d gotten at the city dump. Bringing tools and hauling the door over, the boys set to work installing it as best they could.

The Hispanic lady and her young son initially kept their distance from Esteban, but when he flashed a disarming smile, they somehow sensed he was different from the gangster they used to know and happily assisted him and his team with the repair.

Still more stuff came out of the pickup trucks. There were beds and bedframes, furniture that was useable, even one of the heavy bathtubs Lance and Jack had unearthed at the city dump. When one of the locals told Lance in Spanish that she needed a bathtub because hers was leaking, Lance translated for Jack, who had some prior experience helping out his uncle, a plumber. The big boy grinned devilishly at Lance.

“Okay, Lance, more weightlifting, like I promised.” He flexed his biceps and laughed.

Lance groaned in mock horror and laughed with him. “Let’s do it, buff man.”

And so they hefted and heaved and got the tub into the tiny, two-bedroom house. Taking the old tub out strained muscles in his arms and back that Lance didn’t even know he had, and when they had to tilt the new bathtub upright to get it through the bathroom door, his biceps screamed in protest. He grunted to Jack as they inched it in, “Much more of this and my guns’ll be… uggh…bigger’n yours.”

Jack laughed, but Lance was happy to hear strain in his voice. “In your… uuggh… dreams, little man!”

Once they got it into the bathroom, installing it was a pain because the pipes were old and rusty. Both boys streamed with sweat, their tunics plastered to their backs and arms as they used old wrenches to tighten the joints. Jack made Lance do half the tightening.

“That’s how you get massive forearms like mine,” he said with a snicker as Lance looked at him in annoyance.

“Remind me never to work out with you again,” Lance said with a grunt as he strained against the rusty old pipe.

“Too late, Lance. You made me promise to give you guns like mine, and I never break my promises.”

Lance muscled that last pipe into place and swatted dripping hair from his face. “I was afraid you were gonna say that.” They cracked up and high-fived each other, feeling good about what they’d accomplished.

Reyna and her posse of girls had cleaned up the trash and helped hang window coverings, blinds, and curtains and had passed out damaged, but still useable household appliances to residents who desperately needed them. Reyna had never been around poor people in her life—her parents wouldn’t hear of associating with such as them. Thus, until Arthur, she had always had a stuck-up attitude toward “those” people.

But now, talking and laughing in Spanish with these nice, sweet moms who loved their children and fawned over Reyna and her crew, offering them food for their efforts, her eyes were opened to reality, one hidden from her by her parents. Poor people were no different than rich—some were jerks, but most were very cool. These ladies in one day felt more like moms to her than her own had in seventeen years.

Having finished hanging curtains for a nice grandmother who was raising her two young grandchildren by herself, Reyna once again found her eyes searching for Esteban. This was his ’hood, after all, so his familia must be around here somewhere. She’d been a snooty bitch before she’d joined up with Arthur, and after, too, but she’d truly felt bad about not going to the hospital with everyone, and now she wanted to tell Esteban how much she loved his neighbors. And she wanted to meet his mother and sister.

After wandering a bit, almost giving up hope of finding him, Reyna finally spotted the muscular teen just down the street, painting a single-story house with a little girl, whom Reyna deduced must be his sister. Suddenly, butterflies filled her stomach, and she hesitated. For the first time she could remember, she was nervous, because she actually cared what someone other than herself thought.

Smoothing out her hair and tugging on her tunic to accentuate a bit more of her lithe figure, she crossed the street and stood behind Esteban. His back was to her as he helped the adorable girl—who looked to be three or so—move a small paintbrush up and down. The color was purple, of all things. A line of mostly empty paint cans sat beside them.

The little girl turned and saw Reyna.

“Who are you?” she asked, causing Esteban to whirl around protectively.

He gave her the head nod and returned to painting.

“That’s just Reyna, Rosa,” he told the little girl, his voice deep and emotionless. “She thinks she’s better’n us.”

Reyna smarted at that, but knew she deserved it.

“I think she’s pretty,” the girl said, pulling away from Esteban to approach Reyna, who squatted down so she could look the little girl in the eye. “Can I touch your hair?” the little one asked, and Reyna laughed.

“Sure, sweetheart,” she said and felt real joy as the tiny hand caressed her silky ponytail.

“Wow, smooth,” the little girl gushed.

“I think your hair is pretty too,” Reyna assured her with a warm smile.

Esteban stayed in his crouched position, scowling at the exchange.

“You can hold me if you want,” the girl offered, so Reyna scooped her up and stood, the light-as-a-feather child grabbing her around the neck in a big hug of joy. “I like you, Reyna.”

Reyna felt almost giddy. She’d always wanted a little sister and now it felt oddly as if she’d just acquired one. That seemed to be how this neighborhood worked. “I like you too, Rosa,” she replied sincerely. Then in a conspiratorial whisper, which she knew Esteban would hear, she said into the girl’s ear, “I like your brother too, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Rosa laughed. “Okay, I won’t tell Este you like him.”

Reyna cracked up, and Esteban actually smiled. She gazed down at him, her eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Well,” Esteban said with mock harshness, “don’t just stand there. Grab a brush and get to work… Lady Reyna.”

She grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

And so they sat and painted and laughed at Rosa’s funny yammering about everything under the sun while they finished turning Esteban’s residence into a multi-colored something that vaguely resembled a gingerbread house. For the first time in her life, Reyna felt like she was home.

The graffiti-cleaning operation continued throughout the afternoon, with residents and storeowners assisting with the painting. There was so much graffiti and scrawling and tagging on walls and fences and buildings and the bus stop benches that the majority of Arthur’s knights wound up working this detail. As the day wore on, the entire neighborhood began to look like an acid trip gone bad. But it was clean and fresh, rather than dirty and rundown, and that energized both knights and residents alike.

On the large wall beneath the “Pray for Peace in the Barrio,” painting, which they’d left intact after scrubbing off some of the tagging, Enrique, Luis, Lavern, and some other artistic members of the group painted a simple mural of Arthur with his sword in hand and the knights crowding around him. It was not worthy of an art gallery, but given