The Man in My Basement - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Walter Mosley (ч. 3)

After I’d locked him in, I brought my prisoner some C 14

water and a dry ham-salad sandwich that I made from 15

white bread and a can off the shelf. There was a small 16

space between the bottom of the cell door and the floor.

This space was large enough to pass the tin plate and 18

squat glass through.

“Lights out,” I said at the hatch.

The look in his eyes was both frightened and resolved.

I pulled the string on the lightbulb. I decided to put a 22

lock on the hatch door in the morning. For one night in 23

the hole, he could go without security.

I didn’t sleep much that night. Fidgety and nervous, I 25

broke out into sweats every now and then. Sounds that 26

could have been the hatch to the basement drove me from S 27

the bed a half-dozen times. I looked out the window and R 28

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once even ventured into the yard. I didn’t lift the cellar door 2

though. I didn’t want to show Bennet how scared I was.

He was locked up in a nine-foot cell and I was still 4

afraid of him. Actually the fear started when the lock en-5

gaged. He was empowered by the fact of his helplessness.

And I was at risk. I lay in bed worrying about kids sneak-7

ing into the cellar and finding Bennet. Then they’d tell 8

their parents and then the police would come . . .

One of the few times I fell off to sleep, I dreamed that I 10

was in a courtroom. Lainie and Mr. Gurgel and Ira Min-11

der testified that I was a bank robber. They said that it was 12

armed robbery because I had carried my pocketknife to 13

work and, somehow, the pocketknife turned into the 14

.22 rifle that was in a box on the shelf in my father’s li-15

brary. The judge found me guilty. I was convicted, sen-16

tenced, and put into Bennet’s cell. But it was much 17

smaller than nine by nine, more like three by three. I 18

couldn’t stand up and there was barely any light. A wave 19

of despair so profound went through me that I was stand-20

ing next to the bed before I came awake. I wanted to run.

I wanted to cry. I definitely wanted Anniston Bennet out 22

of my life.

I roamed the rooms of the house after that, going from 24

floor to floor trying to figure out how I could beat this 25

thing. I wanted a drink but my stomach and intestines 26

were roiling. I couldn’t even make out words in the books 27 S

I paged through.

28 R

I was up in the old fortress, my mother’s sewing room, 128

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when the sun hit my great-grandfather’s old oaks. Amber, 1

orange, a hint of yellow, and deep-blue strips made the 2

horizon line. They were the colors of majesty’s approach.

I was arrested by the promise of morning light. I imag-4

ined those deer I had seen all dewy and shivering in the 5

morning chill. The night was behind them, and if the air 6

smelled clean and clear of danger, they marked another 7

night gone with hunger and thirst for the next.

I awoke with my head on a bag of pieces my mother 9

kept for quilting. The sun was hot on my ear and my own 10

loud breath was like a wind tunnel.

Outside the granite headstones stood in the high weeds 12

like soldiers hunkering down in the grass before a morning 13

assault. My mother spoke to me then. “You should cut 14

those weeds,” she said as clearly as if she were still alive. It 15

was the first time I had ever imagined hearing her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

I showered and shaved, brushed and ironed. Anniston 18

Bennet’s breakfast — a boiled egg, cornflakes, and apple 19

juice — was ready at 9:23.

When I opened the hatch, a scent assailed me. It wasn’t 21

strong but it was living — the man in my basement tak-22

ing ownership with his spoor.

“Good morning, Charlie,” Bennet said as I stooped 24

over to slide the tray and glass under the cage door.

“The name is Charles Dodd-Blakey. You can call me 26

Mr. Dodd-Blakey, Mr. Bennet. That will keep us civil S 27

over the next two weeks.” It was a voice I hadn’t heard in R 28

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many years — fourteen years. The tone I used on Uncle 2

Brent when he was lying in his bed dying, smelling up my 3

home with death.

Bennet’s thin eyebrows raised. He took up the tray and 5

stood, using his toe to push the previous night’s tray out.

I realized that I was expected to take his dirty dishes and 7

wash them — like a manservant, a butler doing his mas-8

ter’s dirty work for him.

“Okay.” He paused. “Mr. Dodd-Blakey. Good morning 10

to you. Did you sleep well?”

“I’ll connect a hose from the sink that you can use to 12

wash your dishes,” I replied. “It’s just cold water but 13

that’ll have to do. You want me to leave the light on?”

“I didn’t get my books last night,” he said. “Would you 15

get them for me?”

“Which one did you want?”

This curt question caught Bennet up short. He put out 18

a hand and touched the metal slats of his cage. For a mo-19

ment hardness shone in his eyes, but then he said, “The 20

first volume in the Story of Civilization. ”

I complied without comment. The book was a tight fit 22

under the cage door and the cover ripped.

“Maybe you could open the door for the other ones,”

Bennet suggested.

“The only reason that lock comes off,” I said, “is when 26

you get your ass out of here.”

27 S

“You sound angry, Mr. Dodd-Blakey.”

28 R

I regretted having asked him to refer to me in that way.

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It was a show of respect, but not to me. I was Charles, son 1

of Mr. Blakey.

“Not angry,” I said. “It’s just . . . just this whole thing is 3

weird.”

“What?” Anniston Bennet asked, sitting back in his 5

chair behind metal bars as if he were in his den in Green-6

wich.

“You,” I said, “in this cell under lock and key, with me 8

like some kinda warden and butler all rolled up into one.”

Bennet smiled.

“Have you ever read the Story of Civilization? ” he asked.

“A long time ago,” I lied. “I’m not so good on a lotta 12

details though.”

“All throughout history there have been men who have 14

isolated themselves from the world,” he said. “They go to 15

mountaintops or sit in meditation for months at a time.

They flagellate themselves and refrain from having sex or 17

masturbation. That’s mostly what I’m doing here.”

“But you said that you’re a criminal paying for his 19

crimes,” I pointed out.

Anniston Bennet smiled and hunched his shoulders as 21

if to say, You got me there.

“Many ancient belief systems are based on the concept 23

of sin, my friend,” he said. “The Hindus accept as truth 24

that they are answering for crimes committed in previous 25

lives. The Hebrews and Christians are answering for the 26

sins of their long-ago ancestors.”

S 27

“But that’s not you, is it?”

R 28

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“No. I don’t have the luxury of a god. But what I do 2

have is not contagious.”

“Come again?”

“In the eyes of the world, Mr. Dodd-Blakey, I am an 5

upright and innocent man. My time here with you would 6

be seen merely as an eccentricity. You can collect my 7

money and serve me dry sandwiches and Kool-Aid. No 8

one will blame you or indict you for the crimes that I rec-9

ognize as my own.”

“That’s just a lot of talk, Mr. Bennet. I think that it’s 11

crazy what you’re doing, but I took your money, so I’ll 12

hold up my side of the bargain. But don’t you think that 13

I’m gonna be a part of all this crazy talk. I’ll bring you 14

your meals and whatever else I have to do. But I don’t like 15

it and I’ll put you out of here in a minute if anything gets 16

to be too much for me.”

I don’t know how he felt about that because I left before 18

he could engage me anymore. Outside the cellar I began 19

to sweat. My heart was pounding and my ears rang. In-20

side my chest there was laughter, but the mirth could not 21

make its way to my lips. It came as a throbbing rumble 22

that might have been pleasant if it had an outlet.

I stumbled to the house, up to my room. There I sat on 24

the old maple bed, thinking about Brent and all the mean 25

things he had said to me. I imagined him walking down 26

the halls in his slow shuffling pace. I thought about him 27 S

cursing the summer for its heat and the winter for cold. I 28 R

hated his smell and scratchy voice.

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I could almost hear him, his wheezing through those 1

last dying days.

Ears ringing, heart pumping, chest throbbing, and 3

sweat dripping, I tried to rise above my body, hoped for 4

my spirit to transcend grief.

It was grief I felt. Deep sadness that no mother or god 6

could calm. I hated Anniston Bennet, hated him. I blamed 7

him for everything that was wrong with me. His damned 8

money and smirks.

I was wondering how long a boiled egg and cornflakes 12

could keep someone alive. Everything was orange colored 13

through closed lids, and my skin was dry and cool.

I opened my eyes. The air and the light in the room told 15

me that it was afternoon. I had been dreaming of the pris-16

oner’s luncheon. His life was like an invisible pulsing bea-17

con, a second heart, a child who needed attention. He was 18

living in my dreams as well as my cellar. I despised him 19

already and he hadn’t even been there a whole day.

I prepared baked beans from the can, boiled potatoes, 21

and cranberry juice for his late lunch. He was already 22

halfway through the thousand-page volume of history, 23

wearing red-rimmed glasses and sitting in the red plastic 24

chair. The breakfast tray was already pushed out. I shoved 25

the lunch tray into his cell.

“What time is it?” he asked.

S 27

“Four,” I said, turning to leave.

R 28

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“It’s not so bad, is it?” he asked.

I turned back and said with false bravado, “Not bad for 3

me at all. I’m not the one locked up in a cold basement on 4

a summer day. I’m not the one kept away from my family 5

and friends.”

“That’s true,” he said. “But you know there’s a belief 7

that any society that is forced to punish its citizens is, to 8

one degree or another, an unhealthy state.”

“That’s crazy,” I said. “What country do you know of 10

doesn’t have laws?”

“It’s a question of degree, Mr. Dodd-Blakey,” Bennet 12

replied, “not one of law. A man who recognizes his crime 13

and accepts his punishment is a member of good standing 14

in his country. But the criminal who runs and hides, who 15

is unrepentant even though he knows what he’s done, is a 16

symptom of a much greater disease.”

“None of that has anything to do with you being here,”

I said. “You’re renting a room and locking the door —

that’s all.”

“No,” the enigmatic white man said to a space some-21

where over my head. “I am here answering for crimes 22

against humanity. I am doing so because I am guilty, not 23

because I was caught. And in doing so I am making the 24

world a better place. I’m setting an example down here.”

“How can you be doing that when no one even knows 26

where you are?”

27 S

“There’s more to the world than one plus one, Mr.

28 R

Dodd-Blakey.”

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I barely heard him over the pounding of my heart. I 1

worried that maybe he wasn’t crazy, that he wasn’t even a 2

common crook. Even though I didn’t understand what he 3

was saying, I feared that maybe he was right, that he was 4

living out some moral dilemma and that I was caught up 5

in the center of it all without knowing it.

Once outside I was sweating again. I didn’t want to go in my 9

house, so I got in the car and drove into town. I went to 10

Harbor Savings with the money Narciss had sent. The teller 11

went over the check for a full minute before cashing it.

Everyone in the Harbor must have known about my thefts.

From the bank I went to Nelson’s Hardware, where I 14

bought three combination padlocks and heavy hinges to 15

hold them. Ricky was sitting on a public bench on Main 16

Street, drinking orange juice from a carton. I pretended 17

not to notice him from across the street.

“Hey, Charles,” he called.

I looked up, feigning surprise, and then crossed over to 20

him.

“Hey, Cat,” I said. “I thought you were working for 22

Wilson Ryder?”

“Took the day off,” he said. “Clarance said he saw you 24

at the train station in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah. I met some girl and she said she wanted to come 26

back out to see me, said she’d be on that train but damned S 27

if she was.” I lied smoothly and without a skip.

R 28

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“Who is she?”

“Abby Peters,” I said, pulling the name out of thin air.

“White girl?”

I said nothing then. If he wanted to wonder about 5

something, I thought it would be best to have him think-6

ing about a girl who didn’t exist.

“Clarance said that you looked upset,” Ricky said.

“Upset?”

“Well actually he said crazy. He said that you had a 10

crazy look in your eye.” Ricky cocked his head to the side 11

in order to see up into my eyes. He was searching for in-12

sanity.

“How are you, Cat?”

He made a painful face. “Bethany dropped me.”

“When?”

“Almost two months but I still miss her.” The honest 17

hurt in his voice and eyes told me that he had no suspi-18

cions about who Bethany was with now. “It hurts way 19

down. You know, that girl could get somethin’ cookin’ in 20

me. I was thinkin’ about startin’ some kinda serious busi-21

ness, about makin’ a life for myself, for us. You know?”

“You always got life, Cat. Or else you don’t have it.

There is nothing else.” It sounded right when I said it.

Now it’s just a meaningless line of words.

“Are you crazy, Charles?”

I laughed and said, “Just tired, Ricky. Tired of every 27 S

day.”

28 R

“What you mean?”

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“I want something else, I guess. Something different.”

“Like what? A vacation?”

“Maybe a journey,” I said. The words were coming 3

from my lips, but I wasn’t thinking about them.

“What’s the difference?” Ricky asked.

“A vacation’s over after two weeks. You go out on a 6

journey and you might not ever come back.”

S 27

R 28

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That evening I took three suits from the hall closet. I 15

hadn’t worn a suit since I worked for the bank. There was 16

a brown one, a deep green, and a blue so dark that I 17

bought it thinking it was black. They were all cleaned and 18

pressed. Before he got sick my father had repaneled all the 19

closets with cedar, so no moths had gotten to them. I 20

rummaged around for some dress shirts and ties. They 21

were my father’s, but we were the same size. His suits fit 22

me too. They seemed to have more character than my 23

straight-cuffed wear. His pants were roomier in the thighs.

His socks were argyle. He had bigger shoulders than me, 25

so the jackets were loose but stylish. There were a dozen 26

of his suits in my mother’s closet. And they covered the 27 S

rainbow.

28 R

I’d always wondered why he had so many suits. He was 138

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a butcher in Southampton his whole life until he died. I 1

guess he just liked them.

I brought Bennet a Big Mac and fries at about 9:00. He 5

wanted to talk to me, but I didn’t bite. I just shoved his 6

food in and carried the dirty dishes back to the house.

The next day, after feeding the prisoner, I put on a white 10

gabardine that my father wore and a dark-blue dress shirt 11

and cream-colored tie. Tennis shoes were all I had to go 12

with the ensemble, but they looked good in the full-13

length mirror. I noticed something different about me, 14

but I wasn’t sure what it was. It might have been the hip-15

ster clothes, but maybe it was something else.

Giving up that mystery, I drove off to see Narciss Gully.

She wasn’t expecting me. The door to her shop was 18

locked. But after a long while, she came from somewhere 19

and peered through the linen curtains.

Seeing me, she was startled. I don’t know if it was the 21

suit or the surprise appearance, but she opened the door 22

and said, “Mr. Blakey? What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d check up on my business.” The words 24

didn’t sound like me and the voice was queer. I didn’t 25

know why I had come out to Bridgehampton, to the little 26

converted cottage that Narciss used as her shop and home.

S 27

You had to step down to enter the house. The front room R 28

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was large and there were quilts everywhere — hanging from 2

the walls, spread out on chairs, folded in stacks in the cor-3

ner. The designs were rude on the whole and the cloth was 4

old, stained, and often yellowing. The dominant color was 5

white, and that made the room nearly glisten. Narciss wore 6

a black skirt that came down to midcalf. It clung to her slen-7

der figure and stood out against the whiteness of the room.

Her skin, with its subtle variations, seemed like a black-and-9

brown flame that had been stylized in a painting.

“I was working out back,” she said as an excuse or 11

maybe as a reason to be left alone.

“I thought this shop was your work?”

“It is — in a way. I’m writing a book too, about the Ne-14

gro quilts of the northeastern states. I hope that it will be 15

a historical document as well as a craft and collecting re-16

source. Harvard University Press wants to publish it.” She 17

rubbed her long fingers against the side of her face and 18

looked down at the floor.

“That sounds nice,” I said. “How long you been work-20

ing on it?”

“Years,” she said, smiling an apology.

“Good work needs time,” my mother said often and I 23

repeated then.

She smiled again and I blessed my mom.

“How’s it going with my stuff ?” I asked.

“Great. I’ve sent out all of my inquiries and people are 27 S

starting to respond. A few serious collectors of African 28 R

American art were interested in the masks, but I told them that they were in your permanent collection.” She 140

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looked at me, and there was something like pride in her 1

eyes.

“How much do you think we’ll get in the end?”

“I don’t know, maybe eighty thousand dollars.”

If I was in my own clothes, speaking my own words, I 5

would have probably yipped and shouted. Instead I stuck 6

my lips out and nodded.

“That sounds good,” I said. “Sounds like what I ex-8

pected.”

Narciss was happy to be appreciated. I was happy that 10

she was happy.

“I’ve been reading about your masks,” she said.

“They’re really interesting. They were used for tribal iden-13

tification, but they also were to remind their owner of 14

their home and family — their people.”

I was listening close enough to have repeated her words 16

but I wasn’t concerned. Her skin and fingers and figure so 17

slight that it seemed like they could be easily broken —

that’s what I was thinking about.

“You know I’m busy for the next couple of weeks,” I 20

said. “But maybe after that we could have that dinner we 21

keep missing.”

Miss Gully’s mind was in Africa and history and identity, 23

but I don’t think she was upset to switch over to dating.

“That would be nice,” she said. “You know, I’ve tried to 25

call you a few times, but there’s never been any answer.”

“I’ve been away some lately.”

S 27

“Oh? Where have you been?”

R 28

“Down to the city. I’ve been considering working in 141

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Manhattan for some time now. You know, I’ve been here 2

my whole life. I think it’s time for a change.”

“Oh. But the city is so crowded, so overwhelming.”

I laughed in a knowing way. “Sometimes I’m crowded 5

and overwhelmed just living in my own head.”

Who was it talking? Not me. At least I didn’t think it was 7

me. Whoever it was, Narciss seemed to like him. She smiled 8

and pinched my baby finger with her forefinger and thumb.

I left there, making a beeline to Bethany’s apartment.

She answered the door and we fell into each other’s 11

arms, not wasting a single word.

When our passions were satisfied, she lay against my 13

chest and started crying.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her.

“I wait for this every day,” she sobbed. “I love you, 16

Charles. But you don’t care.”

“There’s a lot going on right now, honey. A lot that I 18

can’t talk about yet.”

“You got a girlfriend?”

“No. Not that. It’s inside my head. My head.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I have to go.”

“To her?”

“To who? I’m not going to anybody.”

“If you aren’t going to anyone, then why do you have to 26

go? Don’t you like being with me?”

27 S

“I can’t explain it, Bethy,” I said and then stood up from 28 R

the bed. I still had a half-hard erection. Bethany stroked the hard-on lightly underneath and it jumped at her 142

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touch. But I put on my pants anyway, being careful not to 1

do any damage to myself with the zipper.

“If you go now you can’t come back,” she said.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t really care.

She didn’t follow me from the bedroom. Her room-5

mate, Robin Talese, was sitting in the living-room chair. I 6

wondered if the chubby white girl had listened to our 7

hollering out love earlier on. From the way she was star-8

ing at my crotch, I was pretty sure that she had.

“Where have you been?” Anniston Bennet shouted when 12

I returned to the cellar at about 10:00 that night.

“I had car trouble,” I said. “Flat tire outside of Bridge-14

hampton. Sorry.”

I handed him a Kentucky Fried Chicken four-piece 16

meal that came with a biscuit, corn on the cob, cole slaw, 17

and a root beer. The large paper cup wouldn’t fit under 18

the bars, so I creased it and poured the soda into a squat 19

glass he’d used for lunch.

“You can’t leave me down here all day without a meal,”

Anniston said in an angry but soft tone.

“You want out?” I asked. “You can leave anytime.”

He didn’t have an answer to that.

“You want the light to eat by?” I asked.

“Please,” he said.

I left without sweating for the first time. And I slept the S 27

whole night through.

R 28

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14 C

The next ten days passed as one. Every day was the 15

same as far as I was concerned. I delivered Bennet’s meals 16

at regular intervals. I pumped out his toilet twice and 17

gave him books. I never spoke to him except to answer 18

specific questions, and he was pretty quiet most of the 19

time.

Sometimes I’d come into the room after he’d gone to the 21

toilet. The smell was bad and I’d leave as soon as I could.

The air was pretty dead in there, so I opened the hatch 23

twice a day to freshen up the place with an electric fan.

For my part I dressed in my father’s clothes and went 25

down to Curry’s, an East Hampton bar where tourists 26

and summer residents went to mingle and get drunk. I 27 S

met people there and joked around and drank beers. Not 28 R

too much drinking. Just enough for a buzz. There were 144

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some nice white girls there who liked me, but I always 1

went home alone.

I received two letters in that time. One was from 3

Bethany apologizing for how angry she got at our last 4

meeting. She understood, she said, that I was under stress 5

and that we didn’t have the kind of relationship where she 6

could make demands. She hoped that I would under-7

stand how strongly she felt about me and that I would call 8

soon. The words she used were different but that’s what 9

she said.

The other letter was actually a postcard. It was Narciss 11

saying that she was looking forward to our dinner and 12

asking when I would answer my phone.

I kept those letters on the windowsill next to my bed, 14

beside the passport masks that I had standing there.

Many nights I would imagine some Senegalese or Con-16

golese sailor on a Portuguese ship, carrying his mask to a 17

new land. A black man, infinitely darker than me, with 18

bright whites in his eyes, making his way to a world his 19

people had never even imagined. And when he saw 20

America, he jumped ship. The white people feared him as 21

the devil, so he probably took on a Shinnecock bride. He 22

came out to just about where I was now and built a life 23

that most people never even suspected.

Between my make-believe ancestors and the women who 25

loved my shadow, I was happy. Drinking and masturbating 26

and feeding my prisoner three times a day. Wearing my fa-S 27

ther’s clothes (sometimes even using his name) and preR 28

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tending that I was a summering lawyer or stockbroker. Life 2

meant nothing, but I was having a good time.

And then, two days before Anniston Bennet had agreed 4

to leave, I went down to serve his dinner.

“Will you let me have a whiskey?” he asked mildly.

“Sure,” I said. I was feeling flush and generous. Why 7

not give the convict a snort?

I went to the house and returned with a bottle and a glass.

“I don’t really want to drink alone,” he said. “Here, you 10

use the clean glass. I’ve got one from lunch.”

I poured the whiskey for both of us and then sat on the 12

large trunk used to deliver his books.

“It’s pretty odd being locked up down here,” he said.

“It’s great for reading. You can really concentrate if there’s 15

no phone or messages or radio. I mean, I don’t even know 16

what’s gone on in the world for almost two weeks. But 17

I know about the Renaissance as if it happened this morn-18

ing.”

He was the same man who came to my door two 20

months before. Friendly and humble in his gestures. He 21

didn’t fool me this time, but I was fascinated by the show.

“Tell me, Mr. Bennet . . .”

“Yes, Mr. Dodd-Blakey?”

“Doesn’t anybody miss you? Don’t you have a mother 25

or wife or good friend who you play golf with on Satur-26

days? Isn’t somebody asking where you are?”

27 S

“Does anybody wonder about you, Mr. Dodd-Blakey?”

28 R

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an insight to my soul. My heart gave a quick gallop and I 1

groped for an answer. But I needn’t have worried.

“I mean,” he continued, “we all disappear sometimes.

We have to go to the toilet or sleep, go to work or down 4

the street for some bread. It might take five minutes or 5

ten. It might be overnight. Sometimes you forget to call 6

or have to stay an extra day. Sometimes you fall in love 7

with someone else or have an accident. One day you die.”

He smiled knowingly, toasting me with his glass. I joined 9

him in the drink and then poured the second round.

“One day you just don’t come back,” he said. “People 11

are worried at first. They make calls to the police and hos-12

pitals. They hire detectives. They lose sleep. Some people 13

are so close to their loved ones that they’d die without 14

them. But most of us don’t. Most of us adapt. We recog-15

nize thirst. We go to the toilet and close the door for 16

privacy. We eat. New lovers and friends take the place of 17

those we miss. People die every day, Mr. Dodd-Blakey.

We live in the valley of death. That’s our heredity.”

“But you aren’t dead, Mr. Bennet. You’re alive and 20

locked up in a cage in a stranger’s basement. You aren’t in 21

love or lost or the victim of some car crash or mugging.

You’re in a hole in the ground reading books and farting 23

out cornflakes.”

Bennet laughed. I poured two more drinks and relaxed.

In the back of my mind I worried about letting my de-26

fenses down against this crazy white man, but then I S 27

thought to myself, He’s locked up; what can he do to me?

R 28

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“But I could be dead,” he said. “Just like the man who 2

goes away to prison, I’m gone from the lives of my peers.

Anathema and death are the same thing. Most people 4

don’t want to go to prison or even to know about it. They 5

don’t want to go to the toilet with you or witness your 6

fear. No one wants to watch you starve or bleed or suffer 7

in any mortal way. We can’t help but to see ourselves in 8

one another, and what we want to see is beauty and life.”

“You don’t sound like a businessman, Mr. Bennet. You 10

sound more like a philosophy teacher.”

“I don’t teach,” he said. “But I’m not what you would 12

call a businessman either. I’m a specialist.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, in reclamations.”

“That’s right.” He smiled. “But the word has a different 15

meaning than one might think.”

“Like what?”

“Suppose,” he said, “you knew that there were dia-18

monds in the ground somewhere in Montana. Dia-19

monds. Fabulous wealth. But worthless unless you could 20

retrieve them. As worthless as dirt.”

“Get a mining company going and dig,” I said.

“But you’re not quite sure where they’re located. You 23

have the knowledge to go looking, but you don’t know 24

who owns the land. Maybe it’s government land, maybe 25

an Indian reservation. Maybe some old communist has it.

You don’t know.”

27 S

“That’s why they have corporations,” I said. “You go 28 R

into business with somebody and take your share.”

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“But you don’t know who to go into business with. You 1

don’t know where the diamonds are, and if you let the 2

word out, people will start looking on their own. If they 3

have your knowledge, then they don’t need you.”

It made sense and I nodded. The whiskey tasted rich. I 5

smacked my lips.

“No,” Anniston Bennet said. “The diamonds only ex-7

ist for the man who has imagined them. They only exist for 8

the man who knows and who can realize their extraction.

That’s where I come in. Through various means I locate the 10

wealth and then acquire the property that contains it. I’m 11

paid handsomely for every step, and then I receive a stipend 12

based upon the value of my reclamation.”

“But it’s not really something reclaimed,” I argued. “It 14

belonged to someone else and you took it. It’s more like 15

stealing.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Knowledge is the only 17

true prerequisite for ownership. If you don’t know some-18

thing, then you can’t work with it. There are only two 19

things that are important in ownership. The first, like I 20

said, is knowledge. The second is the ability to exert con-21

trol over the wealth. Seize the day. That’s what I do.”

“So you work in Montana?” I asked in a doubting tone.

He smiled at my insight. I was proud of his attention 24

and embarrassed by my pride.

“No,” he said. “America has been picked clean. There’s no 26

wealth here. Not in its natural state, at any rate. There’s no S 27

meat on the bone. I mean, I guess there’s some potential.

R 28

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I’ve been playing with the idea of real estate and graveyards.

That’s one natural resource that could give up a few bucks.”

I poured the glasses full. I drank and experienced a cer-4

tain tipsy joy, but it wasn’t just the liquor. I was in the 5

presence, I believed, of a kind of mastermind, a Moriarty 6

or Iago. A man who had been across the line of lies that 7

defined good and evil for most normal folks. I mean, we 8

all say at some time or other that politicians are crooks or 9

that the rich are the best thieves. But no one seems to 10

really know how they cheat and steal. It always comes as a 11

surprise when some politician has taken money. As a mat-12

ter of fact, it’s hard to see sometimes when a crime has 13

been committed even when it’s been proven and docu-14

mented. But Mr. Bennet could explain the arcane prac-15

tices of the rich and powerful, and he was willing.

“So you spend your time making up schemes,” I 17

prompted. “Figuring out where to reclaim something no-18

body has found yet.”

“No. Most resources are already known. There’s uranium 20

in some third-world countries. Other natural deposits or 21

labor that’s dirt cheap. The usual question is the cost of ex-22

traction. How much do I have to put in compared to what 23

I can pull out? No. I don’t have to find lost treasure. The 24

companies come to me as a kind of consultant when they 25

want to get in on the ground floor or, more often, when 26

they want to keep a good thing.” Bennet clasped his hands 27 S

under his chin as if he were preparing to pray.

28 R

“It’s a complex world, the one in which we live,” he said.

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“The elements of power — greed, public opinion, applied 1

wealth, hunger, the natural distrust between groups, and 2

the quirks of politics and current events — must be dealt 3

with in such a way that you and your tribe are able to end 4

up on top. Sometimes it’s simple. A million dollars in a 5

military bag or toward both sides in a political campaign 6

can yield hundreds of millions. You never have to worry 7

about your commitment to a side or ideology. Your ideol-8

ogy is always the same. It’s amazing,” he said, looking up 9

at me in wonder, “how a girl-child of eighteen can get a 10

senator or prince to the conference table.”

“Do you kill people too?” I asked. God bless whiskey, I 12

say. Four shots and I knew no fear.

His look was both stern and startled. His left eye quiv-14

ered; his shoulders hunched slightly.

“Life,” he said, “has little to do with progress. More of-16

ten than not men make the decisions that lead to their 17

own deaths. They delegate, hate, stay when all the signs 18

say go. Mostly they’re unwilling to make a deal. And 19

they’re almost all forgotten. No better remembered than a 20

cockroach who succumbs to a poison that you set down 21

under the pantry six months before.

“Did you kill the Kurds in Iraq? Was Roosevelt guilty of 23

the gassing of the Jews because he refused to bomb the 24

camps or the rails leading to them? What about God at 25

the River Jordan using Moses as his word?”

It was a good enough answer for me. Even leaning S 27

toward drunk, I didn’t want the details.

R 28

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“Yeah,” I said. “I guess we all have some blood on our 2

hands. If America does something, then the people do it 3

too. That’s why they call us Americans.”

It was a lame attempt to end what my question had 5

started. I believed every word that Anniston Bennet had 6

said, and I didn’t want to hear any more. He smiled, under-7

standing my discomfort.

“Could you bring me down some detergent?” he asked.

“I’d like to wash out my uniforms. They’re starting to 10

smell.”

I went up to the house and brought back a cupful of 12

soap flakes. I also brought a flatish and wide aluminum 13

bowl that slid neatly under the locked cage door. He 14

thanked me and I left quickly.

The moon was out that night, and I watched it for a 16

long time. Well, I didn’t watch as much as I looked. Be-17

cause my mind was not on the moon but back in the 18

basement, hearing things that were something like an-19

cient secrets that had been revealed coincidentally in my 20

presence.

27 S

28 R

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Up in my room, I studied the passport masks on the C 14

windowsill. I had them standing on their chins with their 15

heads propped up against the glass. One’s mouth formed 16

an O, making him seem like he was singing. The two oth-17

ers were tight-lipped, maybe humming the music for their 18

brother’s song.

Maybe they were black slavers, I thought, and maybe An-20

niston Bennet’s ancestor owned the ship that they navigated.

I realized that I wasn’t afraid or upset for the first time 22

in many years. And even though I had had a lot to drink, 23

I wasn’t tired or even tipsy anymore. The talk with Ben-24

net exhilarated me. I didn’t even remember at that time 25

what he’d said. I just knew that it was important, that I 26

was privy to a way of thinking that wasn’t taught in S 27

schools or at the dinner table. In some crazy way it was R 28

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what I liked about the wild. There were no moral laws or 2

rules governing the lives of wolves and bears. Those crea-3

tures lived only by the instinct of survival. What Bennet 4

said about the world was the same thing, only with the 5

added ingredient of sly thought. Looking out of my win-6

dow, I wanted to howl at the moon.

The night moved along, but I did not tire. Snatches of 10

phrases kept returning from my discussion with Bennet.

Knowledge and ownership, a hundred times the return on 12

an investment. But most of all I was taken by his confi-13

dence and certainty. He knew how the world worked. Not 14

like Clarance or the construction boss Wilson Ryder. They 15

just repeated what they read in books or what they wanted 16

to believe. I believed that Bennet knew the truth that lay 17

under the newspaper stories and the hypocrisy of politics.

He made me question what was, when for a whole lifetime 19

up till that moment, I accepted the world’s excuses.

Wandering the house and thinking about my prisoner, I 23

was still awake at 2:00 in the morning. Not only awake 24

but excited. All of my fears about being tricked and sent to 25

prison — all of my worry about how odd Bennet was —

dissipated with the thrill of a new way of seeing the world.

27 S

I tried to lie down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Finally I 28 R

decided to call Narciss. Not her, actually, but the answer-154

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ing machine at her store. I wanted to go out with her, to 1

discuss passport masks and notions of power.

She answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Narciss?”

“Mr. Blakey? Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Narciss. I thought that you wouldn’t hear 6

the shop phone. I was going to leave a message on your 7

machine.”

“It’s okay,” she said in a voice more sultry than usual. “I 9

don’t sleep very much. The doctor says it’s my metabo-10

lism. I take naps during the day and work most nights.”

“On your book?”

“On anything. I read and quilt and watch bad TV.”

“Huh. I sleep most nights through. But tonight I was 14

just up.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why did you call?”

I wasn’t prepared to set up a date with a real person.

Not with Narciss at any rate.

“Did you ever study evil at college?” I asked instead.

The question surprised me. “I mean, what people in the 22

past thought made a man evil, bad?”

“No,” she said with a note of wonder in her voice. “No, 24

we never studied that. And now that you mention it, it 25

seems that it should have been at least a seminar if not a 26

whole branch of study.”

S 27

“That’s the thing, right?” I said. “I mean, here we got R 28

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evil all over the place: in our history books and fiction and 2

on movies and TV. We just fought a war against a sup-3

posedly evil man, but then if you ask what evil is, every-4

body has a different answer.”

“I suppose they cover it in divinity school,” Narciss 6

said, “but that would be religious, and you’re really asking 7

about something else. The idea of evil. Why do you ask?”

Because I have the devil living in my basement — that’s 9

what came to my mind.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was just sitting up thinking 11

about it and I thought about you and archaeology and 12

thought maybe you would know. I went to college for 13

three years and I never heard anything about it.”

“What college did you go to?”

“Long Island City College. I studied political science 16

mainly.”

“Why’d you stop going?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. My grades weren’t so good 19

and I couldn’t remember anything. Nothing. The last se-20

mester of my sophomore year I was going to fail a course 21

in ancient political thought. Some of those guys talked 22

about evil. But that was a long time ago. You’d think that 23

there’d be a modern study of it.”

“Are you ever planning to go back?”

“To school? No.”

“Why not?”

27 S

“It doesn’t mean anything to me. I mean, let’s say I 28 R

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bachelor’s degree. What then? They don’t have political 1

scientists in the want ads —”

“But they have jobs for college graduates.”

I stopped myself before I could say any more. I realized 4

that I was about to start talking like I always did. I was go-5

ing to make fun of school and jobs and careers. That’s 6

what I always did when somebody tried to give me ad-7

vice.

“I got other plans,” I said. “School didn’t do it for me 9

and so now I have to find another way.”

“What way?”

“Reclamations,” I said. And then before she could ask 12

another question — “It’s a form of international finance.

I’ve been studying with a guy named Dent. He’s been, ah, 14

tutoring me, kind of. That’s one of the reasons I go down 15

to New York. I meet with Mr. Dent every week or so.”

“Is he a teacher?” she asked.

I could tell by the tone in her voice that she believed 18

me. But that’s not what shocked me. I was stunned that 19

the lie, as it came out of my mouth, became truth. The 20

most important part of what I said was true. I was Ben-21

net’s student. That’s why I was wandering the house, be-22

cause I was learning.

“Yes,” I said to Narciss’s question. It seemed like hours 24

since she asked it. “And no. I mean, it’s not like school.

We just happened into each other at Curry’s bar a while 26

back. He explained to me that he worked for multi-S 27

national corporations, helping them to acquire wealth all R 28

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Walter Mosley

over the world. I was interested and he said that not that 2

many people showed real interest in what he did. He 3

agreed to teach me, to tell me what he knows.”

“It doesn’t sound good,” she said. “It sounds like what 5

all those American businesses do when they go to other 6

countries and exploit labor or just steal. They say that 7

Nigeria is one of the richest African countries, but most 8

of the people there live in poverty. They say that’s because 9

of the oil companies.”

“That might be, Narciss,” I said in earnest. “But stand-11

ing on the outside quoting Engels and Marx isn’t going to 12

help. Sayin’ that’s not fair won’t do anything either. What 13

I want is to find out, to get in there and see for myself. Be-14

cause you know they aren’t going to stop doing what 15

they’re doing just because we whisper something against 16

them at night on the phone. I mean, I put gas in my tank, 17

don’t I? That’s what voting is to big business, you know.

It’s not a secret ballot; it’s a purchase. If you buy from 19

him, that’s your vote of confidence.”

I was making it up as I went, but it sounded right. It 21

sounded true. Snatches of classroom dialogues and dime 22

novels, even some things my uncle Brent had said, came 23

together in a lie that was fast becoming my life.

“Being true doesn’t make something right, you know,”

Narciss argued. “Some things are wrong. Just because you 26

know how to get some slave labor doesn’t make it okay.”

27 S

“I know that,” I said, more as a musical beat than any 28 R

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people are still dying, then how can you say that you did 1

better than me?”

“I don’t know,” she said after a short pause. “But I don’t 3

want to talk about it anymore. I . . . I have to go.”

“Okay. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“No, you didn’t. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

At one time I would have been near despair at that kind 8

of ending to a phone call. So few women ever seemed to 9

show an interest in me that if I had one on the line I never 10

wanted to let go. But that morning I wasn’t worried about 11

anything. I had discovered my calling. Or at least I had 12

found a door.

It was like a fairy tale my mother used to read to me —

The Brownie’s Gift. A child was walking in the woods 15

looking for his cat, Bootsie, who had run away. The boy 16

searched and called and was very very sad when he came 17

upon an iron door in a tree. There was a tiny slit in the 18

door through which the boy could see a small elfin crea-19

ture — called a brownie — who was locked up and every 20

bit as sad as the child. They made an alliance, boy and elf, 21

that one would help the other and they would both be 22

happy ever after.

I don’t remember the particulars, but the brownie was 24

freed and Bootsie was found. I spent years after that search-25

ing my ancestral woods for a door in a tree or the ground.

I believed that somewhere there was a beneficent genie who S 27

I could free in exchange for happiness for all times.

R 28

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Walter Mosley

I had found that door after thirty years of searching. It 2

was the hatch to my own basement, and the brownie was 3

a white man who wanted to be caged. No matter the dif-4

ferences the main story was the same. I went to bed think-5

ing that I’d never fall asleep. But after only a moment I was 6

unconscious beneath the heads of my ancestors.

27 S

28 R

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“Good morning,” the naked man said to me. The pris-C 14

oner was standing in the middle of his cell, his pajamas 15

hung neatly from the back of the cage. The concrete sur-16

rounding his cell was dark from the water he must have 17

thrown there. “I washed both pair last night. I wasn’t at all 18

tired.”

Anniston Bennet had a huge uncircumcised penis. It 20

was the biggest one I had ever seen on a human male. It 21

just hung down flaccid and heavy between his thighs.

“I was thinking about our talk,” he said, seemingly un-23

conscious of his nakedness or endowment. “I don’t usually 24

think about things much. Usually there’s too much to get 25

done. I’ve lived a pretty active life, you know. But you had 26

me thinking last night. And to answer your question —”

S 27

“What question?”

R 28

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“About killing —”

“I have to go, Mr. Bennet,” I said. I put down the fried 3

eggs and heated potato patties and pushed them under 4

the door to his cage. I was rattled by his ease at being 5

naked. He wasn’t a powerfully built man, small except for 6

that big dick. And there was a cascading series of cross-7

hatched scars down his right shoulder that was painful to 8

see. His feet were tiny. Something about standing there 9

conversing with the naked man was too much for me.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” I said. “We could talk 11

then.”

“Where you going?”

“To see my friend. We said we’d get together today.”

He wanted to keep on talking, but I had to get out of 15

there. I rushed up the stairs and slammed the hatch shut.

I threw the newly attached bolts and secured them with 17

the padlocks and went straight to my car.

I never did figure out what it was exactly that drove me 19

from the cellar that morning. I have what I always thought 20

was a normal-size penis. I’ve never measured or anything, 21

but it has the feel of average. The women I’ve known were 22

never surprised, one way or the other, when my erection 23

was finally exposed to them. And even when they whis-24

pered sweet compliments, it had to do with how hard it 25

got rather than how deep it went. Some men, I knew, 26

were better endowed. Bethany had told me that it was 27 S

just this fact that kept her attached to Clarance for so 28 R

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but I had seen him in the boys’ gym and he didn’t hold a 1

candle to Anniston Bennet.

I’d never felt embarrassed or inferior before that morn-3

ing. And it wasn’t just Bennet’s anatomy but also his ease 4

at being naked. As a child I learned to be ashamed of ex-5

posing my genitals or buttocks. Some dresses that women 6

wear today make me avert my eyes.

I was halfway to Clarance’s house before I realized that 8

I had not lied to Bennet. It was Tuesday. Clarance always 9

took Tuesdays off and worked the lighter Sunday shift. I 10

got there a little after 10:00. His oldest daughter, Athalia, 11

was sitting on the front porch. She was a big girl, sixteen 12

I believe, and a magnet for boys.

“Hi, Mr. Blakey!” she shouted. “Daddy’s havin’ break-14

fast.”

Even that small piece of information was delivered 16

across the lawn in an engaging manner. Athalia was what 17

is known as a daddy’s girl. She loved to see men happy.

I’ve often thought that Clarance must have sold his soul 19

at some East Hampton crossroads to be blessed in so 20

many ways.

“How’s summer school, Thalia?”

“They suspended me ’cause I had a dirty magazine,”

she said, her smile dimming for a moment.

“You in trouble?”

“Naw. Momma’s mad but Daddy just laughed.”

She was wearing loose shorts and a pink blouse that S 27

didn’t make it down to her navel. She caught my eye and R 28

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I thought about Anniston Bennet — about how he was 2

as unashamed as a child.

“When can you go back?” I asked.

“I gotta go Friday. I don’t see why I can’t just have the 5

whole week off.” She was bothered, but nothing kept 6

Athalia down for long. She gave me a big grin and opened 7

the door for me. I went through the small ranch-style 8

house toward the back. There was no one in the dining 9

room. Through the window I could see big Clarance sit-10

ting down to a meal at his cast-iron patio table. He was 11

wearing shorts like his daughter, with a strap undershirt 12

and red thongs. The iron table and chair were painted 13

lime green. Behind him was a child’s rubber pool in the 14

middle of the back lawn. Clarance’s house was a small af-15

fair, built in the midfifties. His family had lived in the 16

Harbor for at least a hundred years, but they came from 17

slaves down in Georgia. He still had cousins in Atlanta.

He saw me through the window and waved a turkey 19

drumstick at me.

Once outside I hailed him. “Hey, Clarance.”

“Charles.” He used his drumstick to point out an iron 22

chair, which I dragged to the table.

“You want some food?” he asked me.

“No, thanks.”

“You look like you could use somethin’, man,” he said.

“You losin’ weight?”

27 S

That was what was different about my image in the 28 R

mirror.

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“How are you, Clarance?”

“Can’t complain. Athalia had a Playgirl magazine at 2

school and they kicked her out. Can you imagine that?

Here they had lawyers holding up the president’s dick on 4

TV every night and they wanna suspend a girl for buyin’

a magazine off the rack.”

“Sorry if I was rude when I saw you at the train sta-7

tion,” I said.

That raised Clarance’s eyebrows a notch. It might have 9

been the first apology that I ever gave without being 10

forced into it.

“That’s okay,” he said. “You okay?”

“Been thinkin’. Been thinkin’.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know, Clarance. I guess I’m wondering why I’m 15

out here doin’ what I do. You know, there’s nothing to it.”

“What you mean?”

“It’s like I’ve been asleep my whole life,” I said. “And 18

even now it feels like I’m still asleep, or almost out. I wake 19

up for a minute and then three days go by and I wake up 20

again.”

“You mean you been up in your bed all this time?”

“Naw, man. Not sleeping — sleepwalking. I wake up 23

and I’m in a store buying pot roast. Or somebody’s talk-24

ing to me, I mean I’m in the middle of a conversation, 25

and I don’t even know what the person just said. I don’t 26

even know what we’re talking about or how I even got S 27

there. You know?”

R 28

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I could tell that Clarance was concerned because he 2

stopped eating.

“Like you black out?” he asked.

“No. If I think about it, I remember, but it’s hard to 5

concentrate. It’s like nothing is important enough to 6

think about.”

What I was saying to Clarance had always been true for 8

me — my whole life. Not a single day went by that I 9

wasn’t lost in daydreams. Teachers talking at you, my 10

mother or father telling me what was right or wrong. The 11

reason I didn’t watch TV was because I couldn’t sit still for 12

a movie or sitcom. Halfway through a war film I still 13

wasn’t sure which side was which. I could read books, fun 14

books, and I could follow an animal through the woods 15

for hours. A blaze in the fireplace could keep my atten-16

tion for a whole night. But anybody telling me anything 17

was just a waste of good breath, as my uncle Brent used 18

to say.

“Maybe you drinkin’ too much,” Clarance said.

“Maybe.”

“You want a job, Charles?”

“What kind of job?”

“Driving a taxi. I could hook you up there.”

I looked at Clarance, feeling like I had just come awake 25

again. His act of kindness felt like the gentle nudge my 26

mother used to give me when I was too tired to get up the 27 S

first time she called.

28 R

“I got money,” I said.

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“How’d you get that?”

“Cat introduced me to Narciss Gully. She has an an-2

tique business. She specializes in quilts, but she’s helping 3

me sell the stuff that was in my cellar. It’s a lotta money.”

“How much?”

“Enough for the mortgage and a couple’a years or so.”

Clarance didn’t have much money. He worked hard at 7

the taxi business, and his wife, Mona, was a nurse at the 8

hospital in Southampton. Their families had nothing to 9

give them. They spent everything on their kids. And so 10

when Clarance still had concern on his face for my di-11

lemma, I understood that he was a real friend. We’d 12

known each other for thirty-three years, my whole life, 13

and that was the first moment that I knew he really cared 14

for me.

“I got to go, Mr. Mayhew,” I said.

“You just got here. Stay for a while. Maybe we could go 17

pick up Cat after work and go to some bars.”

“No,” I said. “But thank you. Thank you. And I’m 19

sorry if I ever made you mad, man. You know I was just 20

jealous. See ya.”

I stood up from the iron chair and walked out past the 22

teenager on the front porch. I glanced at her and realized 23

that she was thumbing through the naked photographs in 24

the Playgirl magazine that got her suspended.

“Bye, Thalia.”

“Bye, Mr. Blakey. You come on back, okay?”

S 27

R 28

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14 C

Bennet was dressed when I returned. Seated in the red 15

chair, he wasn’t reading or doing anything else as far as I 16

could see.

“Mr. Dodd-Blakey,” he said in greeting.

“Mr. Bennet,” I replied.

It was an acknowledgment, the beginning of an under-20

standing.

I pulled the trunk up to his cell and sat.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“To serve out my time. To pay my debt.”

“Pay who?”

“Every minute I’m in here costs me something, 26

Charles. May I call you Charles?”

27 S

“It’s my name,” I said.

28 R

“My business relations are delicate, Charles. My atten-168

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tion is needed sometimes within moments of certain 1

events. When my phone rings I’m supposed to answer. If 2

I fail to respond there are consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?”

“That depends on the event.” He shrugged and crossed 5

one leg over the other. “Money might be lost, a political 6

player could be discredited. Someone might die.” He 7

looked up at the ceiling. “Later on I’ll be held responsible.”

“By the law?”

“By the rules.”

“Are the rules different than the law?”

He smiled in that knowing way. “The rules don’t need 12

a judge’s interpretation. There’s no defense. When you’re 13

absent you’re dealt out. And then no one recognizes you 14

but your enemies.”

“All that’s going to happen, but you still want to stay in 16

here?”

“No.” His impossible eyes looked straight into mine.

“Then why?”

“Have you ever been in love?” was his reply.

I stalled, not wanting to. I would have liked to have said 21

Of course. Everybody’s been in love. But it wasn’t true. It 22

wasn’t true and I didn’t want to lie to my new mentor.

I’d never been in love. Never even for a moment. I 24

adored, idolized, lusted after, and cared for many women.

I dated, kissed, had sex with; I waited for, stood by, and 26

wanted. But I’d never been like those deer that moved to-S 27

gether through the woods, keeping each other company R 28

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as a matter of course. I’d never been attached by the sense 2

of smell and warmth and security. I once read in a novel 3

that love and gravity are the same thing, that natural at-4

traction in nature is also the passion of man. I thought 5

then that I was like a weightless astronaut, locked in a 6

protective shell and floating in emptiness.

“Me neither,” Anniston Bennet said, addressing my si-8

lence. “I’ve always done what I wanted to do or what I be-9

lieved I needed. But I’ve never been brought to an action 10

because of my heart.”

It was almost ludicrous, listening to the reclamations ex-12

pert’ s talk about the heart, but I was moved anyway. The 13

contradiction of emotions rattled around in my head.

“What’s that got to do with you sitting down here 15

locked up in a cage?”

“That’s why I asked if you had ever been in love, 17

Charles. Because love isn’t a short skirt and shapely legs.

It’s not a clap of thunder or a chance meeting with a pros-19

titute in a library in Paris.”

“How would you know what it isn’t if you’ve never been 21

there yourself ?” I felt dizzy and precarious on my trunk.

“I’ve never felt love, but I’ve studied it,” he said. “In my 23

line of work you pay attention to every human emotion 24

the way doctors examine their patients. The desperation 25

borne from hunger, for instance, is a powerful force that 26

will turn the victim in on himself. It’s the desire to devour 27 S

the source of the pain. The pang of nationalism can make 28 R

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a man as blind and dense as a stone. He will cut off his 1

own arm, kill his children, for a flag and a ten-cent song.”

“But what about love?” I really wanted to know.

“Love, as the poet says, is like the spring. It grows on 4

you and seduces you slowly and gently, but it holds tight 5

like the roots of a tree. You don’t know until you’re ready 6

to go that you can’t move, that you would have to muti-7

late yourself in order to be free. That’s the feeling. It 8

doesn’t last, at least it doesn’t have to. But it holds on like 9

a steel claw in your chest. Even if the tree dies, the roots 10

cling to you. I’ve seen men and women give up every-11

thing for love that once was.”

“And so you love somebody?” I asked. “That’s what 13

brought you here?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t have that affliction. I’m here 15

alone and there’s no one waiting or gone.”

“So then why are you talking about love then?”

“Because that’s the closest thing to what forced me into 18

this cage. Everything else is immediate and measurable, 19

pretty much. Fear, desperation, greed. I’m fifty-six years 20

old, Charles. My first job was as an accountant in Saigon 21

at the age of twenty-one. From there, on a forged Swiss 22

passport, I got a job doing the same work for higher pay 23

in Hanoi. My employers worried after accepting me that 24

I was a spy. In order to test my loyalty, they brought me 25

to a holding cell where there was an American sergeant 26

held captive. They told me to kill him. They said that he S 27

R 28

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had been sentenced to death anyway and that this was my 2

first duty. And I shot him. I didn’t hesitate or flinch. I 3

didn’t enjoy it or feel remorse. I just shot him.”

“Killed him?”

“Scared the shit out of the officer who brought me 6

down there. He expected me to balk. But I took the pis-7

tol and shot the man in the head. I saw the lay of the 8

board immediately. The man had been tortured. He was 9

skinny and bloody and miserable. They would have killed 10

him anyway.”

“Was it a black man?” I asked, wondering at the words 12

even as I spoke them.

“I don’t know” was his reply.

“How can you not know?”

“It was a dark cell and he was filthy. His skin wasn’t 16

black, but whether it was tanned or negroid I don’t know.

I didn’t spend any time wondering about him. I took the 18

pistol and shot. Then I left. The next seven years I worked 19

back and forth across the borders of Communism and the 20

West. That’s where I made my nest egg. I had two million 21

dollars by the time I came back home. On top of that I 22

had connections with millionaires, intelligence agencies, 23

and political leaders. I even had a code name. They called 24

me Sergeant Bilko because of my bald head and the fact 25

that I could procure almost anything.”

“Are they after you?”

27 S

“Who?”

28 R

“The Americans. I mean, you were a traitor.”

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“They don’t care about that. They dealt with me too. I 1

got three prisoners out from captivity for a fee. Asian com-2

munists are far more practical than the European variety.”

“You still haven’t explained why you want to be here.”

“I don’t want to be here, Charles. I have to be.”

“Because you shot that man?”

“No. I mean, that’s part of it. A small part. I’ve done a 7

lot of things. Too many things. Sometimes it was that I 8

did nothing. And now it’s too late. Like with love, it’s 9

grown up all around me and I can’t get away.”

Again there was a break in Bennet’s armor. He became 11

distant and misty. Not near tears but vulnerable.

“And you think being down here will help make up for 13

it,” I said.

“No.”

Through the diamonds of his cell Bennet took on the 16

quality of a martyr. He was like one of those death-row in-17

mates that they interview just before the sentence is exe-18

cuted. You see all the evil that they caused, but you still feel 19

like death is not the answer — that killing this man would 20

in some strange way take away his victims’ last hope.

But Bennet wasn’t going to die. He was on vacation. He 22

was in the Hamptons for the summer. He was a thief and 23

a murderer taking time off from his trade. This made me 24

angry. I began to resent the arrogance of Bennet. How 25

dare he think that by pretending to punish himself that 26

he would somehow have answered for his crimes.

S 27

“Why here, Mr. Bennet? Why my house?”

R 28

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“There’s lots of reclamations in Africa, Charles. Dia-2

monds and oil, slave labor to cobble tennis shoes and as-3

semble fancy lamps. They have armies over there who will 4

strip down to the waist and go hand to hand with bayo-5

nets and clubs. They have tribal factions and colonizers.

The streets, in short, are paved with gold.”

“My house isn’t in Africa.”

“But you are a black man. You come from over there. I 9

need a black face to look in on me. No white man has the 10

right.”

“Suppose I was crazy? Suppose I hated white people 12

and I decided to torture you in here and kill you?”

He shrugged again. “Killing is hard work, Charles.

Children have the stamina for that kind of labor, but 15

most mature men do not. Not unless there’s something to 16

gain — or if they’re in love.”

“You’re supposed to leave here in two days,” I said.

“Unless you change your mind.”

“Is this some kind of trick?” I asked. “Are you playing 20

some kind of game on me?”

“No. I’m not, Charles. I’m simply executing a punish-22

ment. A repentance.”

“You don’t seem to be suffering to me.”

“You wouldn’t know,” he said. “But living locked up 25

with no out, with no control over food. Most of the time 26

you won’t even talk to me. And the world I live in is mov-27 S

ing on while I sleep. No one knows where I am. When I 28 R

get out of here, it’s going to be hard on me.”

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In a flash of intuition I asked, “Is somebody after you 1

now, Mr. Bennet?”

He was struck and smiled to show it.

“No more than they’re looking for diamonds in Mon-4

tana.” He laughed.

I laughed too.

“So you’re a reclamation?” I asked.

“Can I have The Alexandria Quartet? ” was his response.

“No. Tonight it’s lights out and no book. Tonight you 9

start your sentence for real and then we’ll see how much 10

you really want to be here.”

A spasm twisted Bennet’s face for half a moment.

Hardly long enough for me to be sure of it. But I believed 13

my sudden assertiveness frightened the smug assassin. I 14

knew that he was afraid of the locked door and the dark.

S 27

R 28

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14 C

That night I dreamed that there were agents of some 15

malevolent power prowling around on my porch. I woke 16

up at 3:00 a.m. wondering if I had really heard some-17

thing. I found an envelope lying just outside the front 18

door.

“She was here about five minutes ago,” a voice said.

I yelped and jumped like a frightened eight-year-old.

Irene Littleneck was standing at the foot of the stairs, 22

grinning at my little-girl shriek.

“I came over to see if she did something, but it was 24

just a letter so I was going back. Then you come blunderin’

down.”

“It was a woman?”

27 S

“The one that came and moved all that stuff outta your 28 R

house with that Puerto Rican boy.”

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“You were sitting outside?” I asked. It felt nice to have 1

words with a neighbor even if it was 3:00 in the morning 2

and I was running a private prison in my home.

“Havin’ a cigarette,” she said. “You know Chastity’s too 4

sick for me to smoke in the house. Doctor said that her 5

lungs are too weak.”

Irene had always been old. When I was five, she was in 7

her fifties. She and her sister, Chastity, used to come over 8

and visit with my mother and Brent. I think Irene was 9

sweet on my sour uncle.

“Oh,” I said. “How is your sister, Miss Littleneck?”

“Not so good, Charles. She’s been in that bed for al-12

most a year now. I make her walk around the room twice 13

a day, but it’s getting harder and harder to get her up.”

The sadness in Irene’s voice was pitiful. She and 15

Chastity had lived together their entire lives. But the only 16

time I ever saw Chastity in the previous five years was 17

when the ambulance came now and then to take her off 18

to the hospital for some kind of treatment.

“I’m sorry to hear it, Miss Littleneck. If you need any-20

thing, just come over and ask, okay? If I’m not here just 21

leave me a note.”

“Oh, thank you, Charles. Thank you. Thank you.” She 23

was too far away to touch me, but she held out a thin 24

hand anyway. Her gratitude was beyond anything I had 25

said or done.

“Well,” I said. “I better be getting back to bed. Good S 27

night.”

R 28

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Walter Mosley

“Good night,” she said, but she didn’t move until I 2

went back inside my door.

Dear Mr. Blakey,

I apologize for getting off the phone so abruptly the 6

other night. I called back the next day, but there was no 7

answer. Tonight I was up late working on my book and I 8

decided to write you.

I’m sorry for not giving you a chance to express your 10

feelings about your business. I suppose that we’re just of 11

different temperaments and shouldn’t try to force com-12

munication. But I want you to know that I do respect 13

your wishes and I will execute the sale of your property 14

with the utmost professionalism.

Sincerely,

Narciss Gully

The only reason I mention the letter here is to docu-19

ment how much my life had changed. Not my life exactly 20

but the circumstances of my world. Narciss wanted me to 21

call her, that is what I believed. She was up in the middle 22

of the night thinking about me, trying to get me out of 23

her head and then trying to write me out of, or into, her 24

life.

All that and I was no closer to love.

I made coffee and plans instead of going to bed. I 27 S

wanted something. I didn’t know exactly what that some-28 R

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the key. I had to come to a deal with him, an understand-1

ing. But up until then I felt that he was in control of every 2

interaction even though he was the one locked up.

I read Narciss’s letter a dozen times while thinking in 4

the back of my mind about Bennet.

She answered on the first ring. “Hello.” It was 5:00 in 6

the morning by then.

“Hey, Narciss,” I said. “I just found your note.”

“You’re up early,” she said.

“Let’s have lunch tomorrow. You know, not later today 10

but the next day.”

“I don’t know.”

“The Japanese place in Sag Harbor is open for lunch, I 13

think. Let’s go there,” I said.

“What time?”

“One-thirty. We can go at one-thirty and avoid a lunch 16

crowd.”

“I don’t know if I should, Mr. Blakey.”

“The name is Charles and don’t think about it, just 19

meet me. I won’t bite and I won’t make you see me again 20

if you don’t want.”

“Are we going to talk business?”

“No. No business. I just want to clear up a couple of 23

things.”

She hesitated. I heard a tapping on her end of the line.

“I don’t do much dating . . .”

“I just want to get together. It’s not a date. It’s lunch.”

S 27

“Okay. One-thirty tomorrow.”

R 28

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Walter Mosley

“See ya then.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Good morning, Mr. Bennet,” I said at 6:45.

I snapped on the light and he jerked up from his mat-7

tress on the floor.

“Good morning.”

I shoved the cold cereal and fruit under the door and 10

sat on the trunk.

“Here’s the deal,” I said.

Bennet sat in his red chair and ran his hand down 13

across his face until he was clasping his throat.

“Go on,” he said.

“Everything is a privilege. Food is a privilege and so is 16

water and light and the books to read. If you want me to 17

be the warden of your life, then that’s just what I’ll be.”

“How do I earn these privileges?” Bennet asked. He was 19

very serious.

“I will ask you questions. And you will answer them. If 21

you refuse or I don’t like your answers, then a privilege 22

will be taken away. If I don’t like your attitude, I will sus-23

pend privileges. If you lie, the same thing.”

“But how will you know if I’m lying?”

“You will have to prove it to me.”

For some reason that answer made Bennet flinch.

27 S

“And what are my rights?” he asked.

28 R

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you can ask to be released. And then, ninety-six hours af-1

ter that request, I will open the door and you can go.”

“Don’t forget your money.”

“I don’t care about the money. All I care about is my 4

rules in my jail.”

“And why the ninety-six-hour delay?”

“Because you’re not going to be the boss here. This is 7

my house. If you want to play some stupid game, you 8

have to play by my rules. And believe me, if you say to-9

morrow that you want out, I will turn out the light and 10

leave you down here with nothing but a mug of water for 11

four days.”

I believe that that was the first time I saw the true An-13

niston Bennet. All artifice was gone from his face. His 14

brow knitted and his fingers did a jittery little dance.

“And if I don’t answer your questions to your satisfac-16

tion?” he asked.

“Same thing,” I said. “Solitary confinement. No light.

Bread and water. For four days.”

“What is this, Charles? Do you think you can break 20

me?”

“This is my home,” I said. “My home, my rules.”

“How long do I have to think about this?”

“Right now. Right now. Either you say that you agree 24

or I pull your ass outta there and drive you to the train 25

station in those pajamas.”

Underneath the glowering eyes a smile came to Annis-S 27

ton Bennet’s lips.

R 28

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“I will agree on one condition,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Even though I might not exercise the option, I reserve 4

the right to ask you one question for every three you ask 5

of me. And you give me your word that you will answer 6

as honestly as you can.”

“Deal,” I said.

“And if I answer the question you ask of me, that is, if 9

you believe my answer, then I won’t be punished because 10

your question was inadequate. Also you have to ask spe-11

cific questions and not something like Tell me everything 12

about this or that. ”

“Okay,” I said. I had already thought about the types of 14

questions that would be fair. I agreed with his reserva-15

tions. I believed that if I couldn’t ask the question, then I 16

didn’t deserve an answer. “Okay. I’ll be specific and I will 17

say why I don’t believe something.”

Anniston Bennet nodded his agreement. He was deadly 19

serious. I can’t even begin to explain how I felt.

27 S

28 R

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PART THREE

C 14

S 27

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“Why are you here?” I had brought him panfried scrod C 14

and boiled potatoes for dinner — that and a small pitcher 15

of chilled Irish Breakfast tea.

“I don’t understand.”

It was the first jab and counter in our contest.

“Why do you want to be here in this cell in my base-19

ment? Why do you feel you should be in jail?”

Bennet had been sitting in his red plastic chair. He 21

stood, held his hands out, and splayed his fingers. One 22

hand was held high; the other was at waist level. They 23

were like an ancient image of twin suns.

“Because, Charles. I am criminal.” The suns turned to 25

fists. “I have broken every commandment and dozens of 26

laws and ordinances.”

S 27

“What laws have —”

R 28

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“It’s my turn,” he said.

“I only asked you one question.”

“Why am I here?” he said, holding up a solitary thumb.

“Why do I want to be here?” The forefinger. “And why do 5

I feel I should be in jail?”

His count was correct, and I wanted to play by the rules.

“Did you embezzle money from Harbor Savings?” he 8

asked.

My first impulse was to say no. I almost did. Then I 10

wanted to say yes, but I couldn’t get the word out of my 11

mouth. I sat there, gritting my teeth. Bennet’s only emo-12

tion was bland patience.

It dawned on me that I had gotten into a game that I 14

could lose. If I played by the rules we’d set out that morn-15

ing, I was open to questions that made me just as vulner-16

able as Bennet. If I answered truthfully, he would have 17

something on me.

And I couldn’t be sure if what he told me was the truth.

“Yes,” I said anyway. “Yes, I took money from the 20

drawer. I guess you could call it embezzlement.”

Anniston Bennet smiled.

“Have you ever murdered anybody?” I asked, expecting 23

to wipe the smirk off his face.

“No,” he replied, still showing his small teeth.

I stood up, knocking the standing book trunk flat on 26

the floor behind me. “That’s it!” I shouted. “Four days’

27 S

solitary!”

28 R

He leaped to his feet also.

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“That’s not fair!” he cried, a bit playfully.

“Yes it is. You lied. I already know that you murdered 2

that soldier in North Vietnam. Either you lied then or 3

you are now.”

“I did not lie on either count,” Bennet complained. “I 5

never said that I murdered that soldier. I said that I killed 6

him, shot him actually. But I was ordered to do so by a le-7

gal representative of the government. I no more murdered 8

that soldier than an executioner murders a condemned 9

man.”

“You said that you broke every commandment,” I ar-11

gued. But I realized before I finished that the command-12

ment says Thou shalt not kill; it does not say murder.

“Are you a lawyer, Mr. Bennet?” I asked.

“No. I have no formal training as a lawyer and neither 15

have I taken or passed the bar in any state or nation.”

“What did you steal?”

“Only one thing,” he said. “It was years ago, in the sev-18

enties in a villa outside of Rio de Janeiro. A painting that 19

was just there leaning up against the wall in a poorly lit 20

hallway that no one went into much. It was in a rich 21

man’s house. I was newly out of Asia and looking for a 22

shipping connection outside the U.S. that would be will-23

ing to move what some saw as contraband. The man who 24

owned the house also owned a dozen ships. Not big ships 25

but big enough for my purposes. But it wasn’t working 26

out. The man either wanted too much or was scared and S 27

asked for too much, so I would have to abandon my ef-R 28

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Walter Mosley

forts. I stayed a day or two too long. His daughter hated 2

him. She would come up to my room every night and 3

make love to me and tell me how much she hated him.

She was the one who showed me the painting.

“It was a nude, a foot high and nine inches wide. She 6

was peach colored and leaning over a blue chair. Picasso.

Just threw it in my suitcase while Embado’s daughter was 8

sleeping in my bed. She slept late that day, and I managed 9

to leave without waking her.”

I allowed the idea to seep in. It wasn’t the painting or 11

Brazil or a beautiful young woman coming to him for sex 12

in her own father’s home. It wasn’t any one of those things 13

but all of them together. Thinking about his access to 14

power and wealth, about his almost innocent lack of 15

morals, set off an empty feeling in my chest.

I looked into his blue eyes while I thought of how to 17

phrase my next question.

He saw what was going on in my eyes and said, “My 19

turn.”

I counted to myself and then nodded.

“Have you ever killed anybody?”

I wanted to get up and leave right then, to run away 23

from Bennet — and everything else. I thought that I 24

could free him and then I’d drive to New York. From 25

there I could make it down to Atlanta, change my name, 26

get a job unloading boxes.

27 S

But there was something about the peach-colored nude 28 R

and the naked woman in the bed — something about me 188

3rd Pass Pages

ManInMyBasemnt_HCtext3P.qxd 10/24/03 8:16 PM Page 189

The Man in My Basement

spending an entire lifetime up in my room reading comic 1

books and masturbating while there was a real world out-2

side that I was too scared to acknowledge. These things 3

held me. Bennet’s question was the deepest contact that I 4

had ever had with another human being.

Brent was dying. He was almost dead already. The hos-6

pice nurse came in every morning to see about him. She 7

changed his diapers and washed him. She fed him break-8

fast and then a volunteer would come later in the day to 9

feed him dinner. The meals were the same, just a can of 10

vitamin-enriched milk-shake–like stuff. Chocolate for 11

dinner and banana in the morning. The nurse said that I 12

should look in on him at night, but I never did — letting 13

him sleep, I said to myself.

By then he couldn’t even talk. He’d open his eyes when 15

I’d come into the room though. He looked at me with 16

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