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The Republic
by
J. B. Powell
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What is justice, what is virtue, asked Plato in his Republic.
The characters in J. B. Powell’s novel ask the same thing in their quarter of Berkeley. The sculptor Aidan, aka George Bush, faces not only municipal charges from the city for refusing to buy a permit to park on his own street, but federal charges for impersonating a government official. Annie, a runaway mother from Montana, searches for a father for her child, but gets side-tracked by crack cocaine. Liam, he has misplaced himself in Bogart’s role in Casablanca, looking for an outmoded (perhaps sadly so) ethic. Raja, father of eleven—or is it twelve?—children, pack-rats the city’s streets to eke out a living and fight the racism he and his children face, while his daughter Bianca gets shuffled to a foster home. Sonny wants to be a chef, but can’t shake the vision of a slain Mexican donut maker, nor the vision of Annie’s smile. . . . So, does Cold Water, a killer loan shark, represent the only justice we’re likely to find? Or will Matthew’s gamble pay off—does that compose the only true justice, true virtue? The medieval wheel of fortune? Descend into Powell’s modern Berkeley cum Piraeus
ISBN 0-942979-95-8, trade paper, $14.95
ISBN 0-942979-94-X, library binding, $26.00
Excerpt from the book:
Ms Nelson takes up the whole couch, so we on the
carpet in front a the TV. But I ain’t really watching. Missy wet herself and
she’s kind a crying, but not too loud. Louise is sleeping next to her and Tina
been asleep in the bedroom already. Mr Underwood’s asleep in his chair with his
hat in his lap, but he keeps snorting real loud, waking himself up. He got a
glass eye.
When I first seen Ms Nelson, I got an idea that she was going
to eat us. I thought, what if this house ain’t really a house but a oven? I put
my face in Mama’s leg cause tears was coming into my eyes. Mama said, “This is
Ms Nelson. She’s going to take care of you and Tina and Louise and Missy for a
little while.” I wanted to ask her “Why?” but instead, I said, “How long?” I
said it into her leg, so only she could hear. Mama bent down and said, “Not too
long.” But it’s been three days since the judge told Mama to give us to Ms
Nelson and Mr Underwood, and Romeo and Lucas and Sammy and Elden to them other
people.
Missy keeps on fussing, so Ms Nelson tries to get up off the
couch. But it don’t work. She goes up a little and her big purple dress flops
down, but then she falls back and the whole couch shakes. She breathes heavy,
like, “Heeeh” and it sounds to me like when you first turn on a hose, the water
rushing out. Then she tries pushing herself up but one a her arms just sinks
down into the pillows and the other arm jiggles on the side a the couch. She
stays like that for a while and it starts to look like a cartoon. But then she
rocks back and pushes and stands up. Her breath is real loud now. It comes out a
her mouth all, “Heh, Heh, Heh.”
“What’s wrong with your sister?” she asks me.
“I think she wet herself.”
“Oh now, poor dear.”
I smell Ms Nelson when she picks Missy up, like soap and
cigarettes and maybe cottage cheese. She feels Missy’s bottom. Missy starts to
cry for real and Louise raises up her head.
“Yes, Lord,” Ms Nelson says. “She wet herself again.”
