The Man in My Basement - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Walter Mosley (ч. 2)

Maybe they were his gods, carved by some uncle.

“Touch them,” Narciss said like an impatient lover 14

showing a virgin the ropes.

Instead I closed the box and took a deep breath. When 16

I put down the lid, the music stopped. Not real music but 17

something that played in my mind. Something high-18

pitched but soft and repeating like a squeaky woodwind 19

playing its rendition of cascading water.

My intestines grew colder and a spasm wanted to run 21

down my spine but did not. I clutched Narciss’s forearm 22

for support and took another deep breath.

“Tell me about the rest of this stuff,” I said.

She had to disengage from my grip to look at her spiral 25

pad. She said a lot of stuff about quality and pedigree, 26

condition of resins and uniqueness in the market. She S 27

talked about the market a lot, but I didn’t understand R 28

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most of it. It was just good to hear her talking. So self-2

assured and serious. Every beat was a word and every 3

word meant something. Maybe I didn’t understand, but I 4

hoped to, I wanted to.

“So?” she asked. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Blakey?”

Just then Ricky broke out into loud laughter. I looked 9

toward the kitchen and then back to Narciss.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a frown. “You seem dis-12

tracted. When I came you were sitting in that window in 13

the dark, and you seemed like you . . . you were in a daze.

But I think I understand.”

“Well if you do I hope you let me in on it.”

She smiled at my helplessness and said, “I’m sure that 17

all of this digging into your family history has made you 18

very upset. Bringing it all out. Thinking about selling it 19

off. It must feel like selling your soul, or even worse, sell-20

ing your ancestors’ souls.”

Again what she said cut right into me. I was beginning 22

to fear her words.

“It’s just stuff,” I said. “Something that’s been in the 24

basement. I didn’t even know I had most of it. I would 25

have thrown it away if it wasn’t for Ricky.”

“It might be better that way,” she said. “At least if you 27 S

threw away the spirit of your heritage, you wouldn’t make 28 R

it into merchandise.”

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“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” I asked the slen-1

der brown woman.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blakey. You know, I come to the antique 3

business through school. I got my B.A. at Penn with a 4

double major in anthropology and archaeology. Then I 5

went to RISD for a graduate degree in textiles. Every-6

thing I know about antiques comes from the inside out.

It’s more than a business with me; it’s a way to see our his-8

tory. And I thought maybe you had the same feelings 9

when you got so low.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said again in that low voice. “I’m 11

sorry. This is all new to me. But you know I’ve got to sell 12

this stuff. Even if it’s something important and I don’t 13

know it. Maybe we could find some people like you to 14

appreciate what they got. How much do you think it’s 15

worth?”

“That depends,” she said. “If the paintings have artistic 17

value, which I doubt, they could go pretty high. But I 18

think I can authenticate the dates they were done and the 19

artist, Blythe Blakey-Richards, and so I’m sure there are 20

some museums and universities that would have at least 21

an anthropological interest. The furniture is Arts and 22

Crafts and earlier. The clothes have museum possibilities, 23

and there are also some collectors. The toys and tools 24

might be the most valuable items. I would try to sell them 25

to dealers. The whole lot, with the exception of the 26

masks, might bring in anywhere from forty to a hundred S 27

thousand. Probably closer to forty.”

R 28

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“Damn.” That was Ricky. He was standing in the door-2

way to the kitchen. “Four gees just for knowing who 3

should shake hands. That’s what I need to do for a livin’.”

He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “You’all can 5

tell me the damage later. Right now I got to go see some-6

body. Have a nice dinner.”

Ricky shook my hand, maybe for the first time ever, 8

and he kissed Narciss on the cheek. Then he danced out 9

the front door, full of the expectations of Bethany’s 10

charms.

When he was gone I asked, “So how do we do this?”

“I’ll come over with a camera and photograph every-13

thing. You’ll get a copy of each image. I’ll give you a re-14

ceipt for the items and have them moved to a room above 15

my shop in Bridgehampton. Then I begin to invite buy-16

ers. As I sell off items, I pass on the proceeds to you —

minus expenses and twenty percent.”

“Twenty? I thought you got ten.”

“Richard wants me to retain his fee also. I said I would, 20

but if you have a problem with that —”

“No, no, no. That’s okay. So how soon before I see 22

some money?”

“Well let me see. I’m going on a buying trip starting to-24

morrow that will last for ten days. One day for the pho-25

tographing and delivery. Then I have to e-mail, call, or 26

write to the right clients. The museums may take months 27 S

to get back to me —”

28 R

“Months?”

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The Man in My Basement

“— but many of the dealers are around here and so I’ll 1

probably start getting something in a month to six weeks.”

I wondered how soon the bank would move in to try 3

to foreclose on the bad debt. I was already more than a 4

month late in my payments. I needed at least twelve hun-5

dred dollars to get the debtors off my back. For a moment 6

I wondered if I could get an advance from Narciss. It was 7

worth a try, but I couldn’t get the words out. I didn’t want 8

her to see me begging.

“It’s a little late for dinner,” I said. “I’m tired from all of 10

this work. Can we make it the day you come for photo-11

graphs?”

The momentary shadow of sadness across her face 13

made me glad that I hadn’t asked for the advance.

“Oh sure,” she said. “I understand. This kind of work is 15

exhausting not only physically but also in your heart.”

She reached out and curled her long finger around my 17

forearm. It was meant to be supportive and it was suc-18

cessful.

“Mr. Blakey?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Keep the masks with you for a while. For at least a year.”

“Don’t you want to study them? To figure out how old 23

they are and where they’re from?”

“It’s more important that you keep something that has 25

your roots in it. You should sleep next to them and feel 26

their presence. No amount of study will take the place of S 27

your family’s heart.”

R 28

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She leaned forward. I could feel the breath from her 2

nostrils on my arm. The way she looked at me held a 3

question, a request. I knew it was her desire for me to 4

keep the masks, but that wish called up another whole 5

feeling in me.

She moved back and whispered, “You’re a sweet man.”

I wanted to kiss her but she moved too quickly, putting 8

on her jacket and hefting her shoulder bag. When I ap-9

proached she stuck out a hand at me. All I could do was 10

shake and say good-bye.

27 S

28 R

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The next few days went by quickly. I spent them scrub-C 14

bing and cleaning the basement. I also straightened up 15

the house as well as I could. The walls and floors of the 16

basement needed paint, but all I had was forty dollars, so 17

elbow grease was the only oil-based liquid I used.

My uncle Brent used to say that I was lazy and worth-19

less. He said it whenever my mother was out.

“I’m surprised that a boy like you don’t starve ’cause he 21

too lazy to lift the fork to his lips,” he said often. And 22

then he’d laugh in a wheezing manner and I’d wish that 23

he’d fall down the steps and die.

I hated everything about Brent. The fact that he talked 25

in a southern Negro dialect made me hate his kind of 26

blackness. I didn’t want to be associated with street. You S 27

had to prove yourself to me if you didn’t speak like an ed-R 28

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ucated person, a white person. When Ricky came back 2

from Brooklyn, I didn’t like him because I heard the whis-3

pering, muttering southern talk of Brent in his words.

Even then, in that room, fourteen years after Brent had 5

died, I was still angry at him.

“You stupid fuck,” I said to a memory. “Dumb shit 7

motherfucker. I’ll kill you.”

Sometimes I’d spend the whole day walking around the 9

house cursing Brent and all the mean things he said. At 10

odd moments his name would come to my lips with some 11

new curse to level at him. It was like he was still alive and 12

I was in my late teens, forced to care for him after bury-13

ing my own mother.

He was bedridden by that time. A nurse came in from 15

social services and Medicare, but I was still expected to 16

feed him and give him some of his drugs. I was never late 17

or forgetful because my mother made me promise before 18

she died that I would take care of him.

But that didn’t mean I had to talk. I walked into that 20

room with his tray, sullen and closemouthed. He tried to 21

be friendly, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I blamed 22

Brent for everything that ever befell me. My father’s death, 23

my mother’s, the feeling I had that I couldn’t tie my shoes 24

right — all of that I blamed Brent for. Even when he 25

looked pitiful and small, I hated him. The skin on his face 26

was brittle and creased. He resembled the center mask in 27 S

the set — a crack down the forehead to the lips.

28 R

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At night in those last days, I would dream about Brent.

In the dream I cried over his suffering. But the next 2

morning, when I brought in his soft-boiled egg, my heart 3

hardened again.

I spent three days cursing Brent and cleaning up years of 7

squalor. At night I’d buy a cheap pint of Greenly’s Gin and 8

drink it, but only after 10:00 — only after I’d read and 9

eaten and done everything that I had to do. I wanted to cut 10

down on the booze because of Clarance and Narciss.

Clarance because he thought he was mad at me but really 12

what he was mad at was me from tipsy to drunk. I get mean 13

with alcohol. When I’m high I think I’m being funny, but I 14

knew that Clarance hated being called Clara. I knew it.

And Narciss thought I was sweet. She thought I was 16

something sensitive and discriminating. Maybe if I stayed 17

sober for a while, I’d become a better person; maybe I 18

could make something out of myself.

Anniston Bennet came on Friday at 4:00 exactly. He wore 22

yellow short sleeves over a blue T-shirt, and brown 23

trousers. His tennis shoes were the same blue as his shirt.

He had no tie and the yellow shirt was open at the throat, 25

showing a hairy pale neck over the top of the T-shirt col-26

lar. His head was oval and his chin came to a tip like the S 27

R 28

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masks that I kept in their box on the windowsill next to 2

my bed. His blue eyes were a perpetual shock, but there 3

was no wonder or magic in the rest of his face.

“Mr. Blakey,” he said, extending a hand over the 5

threshold. His small hand held a surprisingly strong grip.

“Mr. Bennet. Come in.”

“You’re house cleaning?” Bennet asked as we went 8

through the living room that was crowded with the refuse 9

of my ancestors.

“Cleaned out the cellar.” I led my guest into the nook 11

off the kitchen. There was a round maple table there with 12

three chairs. The window looked out into a stone yard, 13

fenced in by vine-covered trellises. The ground was tiled 14

with broad slabs of mossy granite plates. Sunlight dap-15

pled in through the slat roof.

I thought such a beautiful sight would jack up any price 17

that the white man was willing to pay. But he barely no-18

ticed the view.

“Do you want some cola or lemonade?” I had shopped 20

for this meeting. I also had crackers, French bread, and 21

Parma ham if he was hungry.

“No, thank you,” he said without gratitude. “Can we 23

see the cellar now?”

I led him out the back door and to the entrance in the 25

ground. I threw the trapdoor open and stepped aside, indi-26

cating that he should go first. I’d left the light on so he would 27 S

have no trouble descending the stairs. But he hesitated, 28 R

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even took a step backward. Then, with a visible force of 1

will, he steeled himself and walked down the sixteen stairs.

I followed.

He glanced furtively from one corner to the other, then 4

up to the ceiling and back to the stairs. He squinted but 5

the light wasn’t bright. He clapped his hands together, 6

took a deep breath.

I said, “Cellar’s got running water, but there’s no toilet 8

down there, Mr. —”

“First let me tell you,” he interrupted, “that I have par-10

ticular requests. I want to rent this cellar for sixty-five 11

days, starting on July one. I will remain here for the whole 12

time, and I expect no one to enter except for you. You will 13

prepare and bring food and you will dispose of any mate-14

rials that need disposing of. Everything else I need will be 15

delivered two weeks before I am due to arrive. With that 16

will come instructions for any construction necessary.”

“So you want me to be your cook and butler?”

“Not exactly, but that’s close enough to the truth.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bennet, but —”

“I will pay all expenses, plus seven hundred and fifty 21

dollars a day.”

The math stopped me in my tracks. Zero times, five 23

times, seven times. “Forty-eight thousand seven hundred 24

fifty dollars,” I said.

Anniston Bennet smiled. Math done right seemed to 26

please him.

S 27

R 28

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He was uncomfortable in the basement, however.

“Let’s go back up,” he said, leading the way up the stairs.

I didn’t understand how he could be so anxious to rent 4

that room if he couldn’t bear five minutes there.

Back in the breakfast room, he regained his composure.

“I will give you eight thousand five hundred right now 7

as a deposit and then on June fifteen you will receive what 8

paraphernalia I will need for my recluse. You will follow 9

any instructions I have given, and then I will arrive at 10

midnight of June thirty. At that time, after I have in-11

spected the work, I will give you twenty thousand dollars, 12

plus another five for expenses. Sixty-five days later I will 13

give you the balance. All moneys will be in cash.”

Tiny shafts of sunlight shone on Bennet’s head and his 15

small hands, which were folded on the table in front of 16

him. He was unchanged by the light. I realized that the 17

insecurity and friendliness he’d shown on our first meet-18

ing were an act.

“Man so cold,” my uncle Brent would say of evil white 20

men, “that he could take a bath in ice water and still take 21

his whiskey on the rocks.”

“Well?” Bennet asked.

“What if . . .” I stalled. “What if I just take your money 24

and then say I didn’t?”

The smile this time was a memory of some previous 26

event. “In my experience, Mr. Blakey, people rarely re-27 S

nege on their promises. It’s always easier to keep your 28 R

word than to enter into lies or intrigue.”

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The Man in My Basement

Looking back on it I should have been scared by his 1

words, but instead I was confused. I wondered what point 2

of view could see honesty as the stronger virtue in a world 3

I knew was full of cheating and lies. Didn’t they lie in 4

commercials on TV and ads in newspapers? Didn’t politi-5

cians lie about what they’ve done and what they’re about 6

to do? Clarance lied all the time to his wife, and he had 7

more girlfriends than I did.

But then I thought about Narciss and how the truth 9

had been so easy with her.

“You say you’re going to lie to the government, not tell 11

them about the money,” I said.

“The government isn’t real,” he replied. He might have 13

been talking about Santa Claus or God. “I don’t owe any-14

thing to anyone who in themselves are lies and liars.”

Talking to the white man made me very nervous. There 16

were all these thoughts in my head. Thoughts about love 17

and lies and money. Especially money. Money and the 18

mortgage and food and work. I had been calling around 19

about jobs for days, but no one wanted to hire me ex-20

cept for a McDonald’s out on the highway and the plas-21

tics factory in Riverhead. But those jobs were part-time 22

and minimum wage. No way I could pay my bills with 23

that.

“Why did you come to me, Mr. Bennet? Of all the 25

places out here, how did you choose my house?”

“I had an associate of mine question Teddy Odett. My S 27

friend was looking for a place that I could go. He knew R 28

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my requirements and asked Odett and also Minder at the 2

bank in town what my best options were. As you know 3

you can’t find a job around here and your mortgage is in 4

arrears. My offer settles your problems and gives me what 5

I need.” Bennet’s words and his bright blue eyes were 6

pure and innocent. But what he was telling me was that a 7

stranger could walk into my life and find out more about 8

me than my closest family and friends ever knew.

“How do you make your money, Mr. Bennet?”

“I’m an agent for a consortium of investment and oil 11

companies. I do research and reclamation work all through 12

the world.”

“Reclaiming what?”

“Wealth.” He said the word and it tickled him.

“No drugs or anything?”

He shook his head. His hands hadn’t moved and the 17

sunlight now shone on his forearms.

“You got the money on you?”

“In a brown paper bag in my trunk,” he said.

“So you hand over the money and I just wait for your 21

furniture and stuff ?”

He nodded.

“You really found out about my mortgage and house 24

and everything?”

“I’m a man who gets what he wants, Mr. Blakey. I want 26

your cellar and I’m willing to give you what you need.”

27 S

I couldn’t see anything wrong with a man wanting to be 28 R

a monk. I certainly didn’t have any problems with fifty 76

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thousand dollars. But there was something, some formal-1

ity, an expectation from Bennet that made me feel this re-2

cluse, as he called it, was more than just a vacation or 3

retreat. I wanted to find the right question to ask, to pull 4

out the truth that he professed to believe in.

But I felt that it couldn’t go on much longer. If I said 6

no that day, then my chances would be over. The bank 7

wouldn’t give a petty embezzler a break on the mortgage.

I couldn’t work.

“What do you plan to be doing down there in my 10

basement?” I asked.

“Reading, thinking. If I get the opportunity maybe I’ll 12

do some writing.”

“Nothing else?”

“Eat and sleep.” Bennet’s face was reposed and patient.

He even gave me a wan smile.

“What do you mean, if you get the opportunity? ”

“Many things depend on circumstance, Mr. Blakey.

Opportunities stem from these circumstances.”

I was beaten by this last interchange. Anniston Bennet 20

wanted to live the hermit’s life in a two-hundred-year-old 21

cellar. I needed the money. I tried to think about what my 22

mother would advise, but all I could come up with was a 23

sad face and a deep sigh, a beseeching look that said I 24

hoped I did right. Uncle Brent would have damned me 25

for either choice.

I wanted to say no, but instead I said, “Okay, Mr. Ben-S 27

net. Bring me your paper bag and we have a deal.”

R 28

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■

The white man handed me the bag and shook my hand 4

in the street in front of my house. Irene Littleneck 5

watched and smoked over our exchange.

“See you on July one,” Bennet said softly.

“You bet.”

Again he got into his turquoise Volkswagen, made a U-9

turn, and drove off. Irene met my eye from her porch 10

across the street. She probably wanted an explanation. I 11

had known her since I was a child — getting into mis-12

chief and having my ears twisted by her and her sister, 13

Chastity.

“How is Chastity, Miss Littleneck?” I hailed.

“Restin’,” the aged woman replied.

“Give her my best,” I said.

“Thank you,” Irene said, and she turned off the heavy 18

stare of accusation. A kind word about her family always 19

softened her punishing ways.

27 S

28 R

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I answered the phone after it had been ringing for a C 14

very long time.

“Helah,” I said.

“Charles? Charles, are you awake?”

It was Monday morning and I was sprawled out on the 18

floor in front of the couch in the living room. My pillow 19

was a paper bag that held almost eight thousand dollars 20

on top of a brand-new boom box that I’d picked up in 21

East Hampton. Next to me was a half-empty bottle of 22

Courvoisier. A cognac high is the smoothest thing in the 23

world. Even the hangover is like being squeezed by a vel-24

vet vise.

“Ricky? Ricky, what time is it?”

“It’s afternoon, Charles. Afternoon.” As wild as Ricky S 27

thought he was, he was still a blue-collar man. The R 28

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thought of sleeping during daylight hours was sinful to 2

him.

“What you want, Ricky?”

“My mom got back home from her sister’s last night.”

“Yeah? Tell her hello for me,” I said. Ricky’s mother had 6

always been kind to me.

“Yeah, okay. But listen. Bethany wanna come over 8

tonight, you hear what I’m sayin’? She got a roommate 9

and I got my moms.”

“Doesn’t she have a room?” When I sat up, a spasm 11

went through my intestines. For a moment I thought I 12

was going to vomit right there on my money.

“Yeah, man, but the kinda lovin’ she spoons out is too 14

loud for a small apartment.” I could hear the greed in 15

Ricky’s voice. “Let us stay with you tonight? You know —

the same deal you used to make with Clarance.”

I saw a hawk through the window. She was stiff-winged 18

and wheeling round.

A huntress, I thought, honing in on her prey.

The thought chilled me, and I forgot for a moment or 21

two about Ricky on the other end of the line.

“You could keep the fifty you owe me,” he said.

“I got your fifty right here in my wallet, man.”

“Where you get that?”

I rose to my feet, holding the bag of money in my right 26

hand.

27 S

“Yeah, you two could stay,” I said. “I’ll even make you 28 R

dinner.”

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■

I spent the day taking care of business. I went to the bank 3

in Southampton and gave them four payments on the 4

mortgage, in cash. I paid ahead on the rest of my utilities 5

too. I bought groceries that would last a month or more.

That included six quarts of cheap bourbon — I didn’t 7

want to waste any more money on cognac. I also bought 8

paint, paintbrushes, tools, and every kind of cleaning liq-9

uid, brush, and rag. I bought three pairs of jeans, a pair of 10

Timberjack work boots, four checkered flannel shirts, 11

and a new toothbrush. I renewed my subscription to the 12

New York Times, partially because I thought Bennet 13

would want to read it, and bought four CDs of Thelo-14

nious Sphere Monk, whose music was the only thing in 15

the world that Brent and I both loved.

I went to the used bookstore in the Harbor and bought 17

fifteen sci-fi hardbacks. Mostly Philip K. Dick and Brian 18

Aldiss. I was digging in for the long haul. This was mainly 19

due to the fear that I’d waste all the money Bennet gave 20

me before I had taken care of business.

Brent used to say that money went through my fingers 22

like water down the drain. He wasn’t wrong. The first 23

thing I did when Bennet left was to go out and buy a 24

pure gold ring that I had seen in an antique store in 25

East Hampton. It was a slender thing with a pale green 26

stone for a setting. It was from India, Mrs. Canelli said. It S 27

was a woman’s ring and too small for me, but I wanted it R 28

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anyway. And once I had the money, I couldn’t help 2

myself.

My mother gave me my allowance every Saturday 4

morning, and I’d spend the rest of the day shopping for 5

candy and gifts for her.

“Don’t spend everything, baby,” she’d tell me. But her 7

eyes were alight whenever I’d bring out a bottle of per-8

fume or some glass trinket.

By the time Ricky and Bethany arrived, I was making 12

dinner. Hot and sweet Italian sausages fried with whole 13

cloves of garlic and then simmered in red wine and 14

tomato sauce. The water for the vermicelli had just come 15

to a boil when Ricky and Bethany came in. She was a few 16

inches taller and almost twice the size of Ricky, but 17

Bethany wasn’t fat. She had a big chest and powerful legs, 18

but the stomach was flat. Her face was wide and the color 19

of dark amber. She had big teeth, an embarrassing laugh, 20

and eyes that glittered when they saw you.

“Hey, Charles,” she called. They had let themselves in 22

the front door. “That smells delicious. You got some for 23

us?”

“I didn’t know if you guys had time to eat. From what 25

Ricky said I thought you were real tired and had to go to 26

bed.”

27 S

“Uh-uh,” she denied. “We came to see you and eat 28 R

some sausages too.”

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The Man in My Basement

She put her arms around me and gave me a kiss that 1

made me hug her back.

“Let’s eat!” Ricky declared. And for a while I had some 3

company and no thoughts in my head.

Bethany loved eating and sex, as I have said before, but 5

she also loved to talk about herself. We heard all about her 6

plans of moving down to Atlanta and starting a braid-7

and-nail parlor. She loved children and had gone to some 8

wild parties at crazy artists’ homes in Southampton. One 9

well-known painter had asked her to model three times, 10

but every time he was so moved by her ample beauty that 11

he had to make love to her instead.

I could see that most of her stories were designed to ex-13

cite her male audience. It worked. Ricky was almost 14

swooning over her words. He had run into her at a shop-15

ping mall near Riverhead a week or so earlier, and she 16

gave him hopes. Now he was only a sausage away.

“Hey, Bethy,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I wanna show you somethin’ upstairs.”

“What?” she asked.

“Somethin’.”

“You comin’, Charles?” Bethany pursed her lips and 23

lowered her eyelids. If we were out in nature, I would 24

have killed Ricky right then.

“In a few minutes,” I said.

Ricky sighed in relief.

S 27

“Okay,” she said, smiling. “But you come on up now.”

R 28

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“I’ll be there.”

“Come on,” Ricky said, grabbing her by the arm.

“Ow! Don’t be so rough, Ricky. I’m comin’.”

I washed the dishes and looked out the window. I was 5

thinking about Anniston Bennet and the bag of money 6

that I had hidden in the foldout sofa bed in my father’s old 7

library. A bagful of money was not a normal thing — that’s 8

what I was thinking. No matter how much the little white 9

man had acted like it was a simple business transaction, it 10

was obvious that he wanted to hide what he was doing. It 11

made me nervous, but I couldn’t see any way out of it.

Twenty-five hundred dollars of the money was already gone.

But how bad could it be? He couldn’t hurt anybody in 14

my basement. He was just little so I knew he couldn’t hurt 15

me. Unless he had a gun. But I could lock the doors while 16

he was down there. Of course a man with a gun could get 17

through a door, or a window.

But why would he need to pay me money? Why not 19

just shoot me in the breakfast nook?

“Ohhhh.”

I couldn’t believe that Bennet had any designs on my 22

welfare. I decided to get drunk and stop worrying about 23

things I couldn’t change.

“Ohhhhh.” It was only a whisper. But, I thought, it had 25

to be a roar to make it all the way down into the kitchen 26

from my parents’ room on the third floor. That was the 27 S

deal I usually made with Clarance. He could come to my 28 R

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house with one of his girlfriends. They’d stay on the third 1

floor and I’d sleep downstairs in my father’s den. But it 2

was the first time that Ricky had asked for the deal.

I never imagined that Bethany, who spoke in a small 4

high voice, could get the volume to disturb me downstairs.

That’s when I remembered being a child. Now and 6

then my parents wanted to be alone, to talk, they said.

They’d go into their room and tell me to go play. But all I 8

wanted was to play with them and talk to them. After 9

they sent me away from the door a few times, I’d wander 10

down to the pantry with my toy soldiers and guns. I was 11

happy then because there was a vent that let me hear my 12

parents’ soft murmuring voices while I played soldier.

“That’s it, baby,” Bethany said. She might have been 14

talking to me, her voice was so clear. “Right there. Right 15

there. Right there.”

Ricky was saying something, and she replied with a 17

whole drawerful of yeses.

I hadn’t masturbated in three days because of the alco-19

hol. By the time I got around to that, I was too dizzy to 20

do anything. Bethany was telling Ricky where to move 21

and when he got it right she let go with a strained roar.

That was my first orgasm too.

I could hear the furniture rocking and Bethany’s 24

squeals. She knew what she wanted and was very specific 25

in her requests. To hear a woman ask for pleasure like that 26

had me on my knees among the boxes of cereal and plas-S 27

R 28

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Walter Mosley

tic containers of grape juice. After my third orgasm I had 2

to leave the pantry for the living room. There I began to 3

drink. It was necessary to slow down my beating heart.

From the sofa I could hear the occasional moan or 5

gasping sob, but the whiskey dulled my urges and I fell 6

half into a doze.

“Charles?” she said. “You awake?”

I was asleep on the couch in the living room. At least 11

I think I was asleep. It seemed to me that I had been 12

looking at Bethany in her tight satin slip for quite some 13

time.

“Are you awake?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ricky’s asleep,” she said as if it was an important piece 17

of information.

She sat down next to me and I got up, almost without 19

thinking, and moved to the chair. That made Bethany 20

smile.

“You scared of me, Charles Blakey?” she asked.

“You know a lot of those rich people come in here from 23

New York, don’t you, Bethy?” I asked.

She was confused by my changing her subject but still 25

answered, “Some.”

“They do some crazy things, right?”

27 S

“I guess,” she said. “I mean, they think they’re all crazy 28 R

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and wild. And they don’t have to get up and go to work in 1

the morning. Really all the difference I can see is that they 2

think that they’re smarter and better than people don’t 3

make as much money as they do. And they want a lot 4

more. You know, like that artist I used to go with. He 5

wanted to be the best at everything. And he was so rich 6

that everybody told him that he was the best. When he 7

started playing trumpet, his friends said that he sounded 8

like Miles Davis. It wasn’t like us. You know somebody set 9

you straight in a minute around here.”

Bethany smiled and I wanted to kiss her, not because 11

she was beautiful, even though she was, but because she 12

wasn’t impressed by the lies rich people wore like clothes.

She knew where her feet were planted. Right then I think 14

she wanted to be standing a little closer to me.

She stood up and walked over to my chair. I stood to 16

meet her.

She was about to lay her hand on my chest, but I took 18

hold of her wrist and gently pushed her away.

“I want to see you, Bethy,” I said. “But not downstairs 20

from Ricky after you made him all happy like that.”

“We could take a shower,” she suggested.

“It’s not that. You know Ricky can get low and dirty, 23

but he’s the only friend I got right now. Believe me, this is 24

not easy. But can I make you some tea?”

Bethany frowned for a few seconds, and then she 26

shrugged and smiled. There was a sweater on the floor.

S 27

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She must have let it fall from her shoulders when she saw 2

me slouching on the couch. Now she picked it up and 3

covered all that youthful beauty.

Over Irish Breakfast (it was 4:30) we discussed the rich 7

white people she’d known. Bethany liked the fine dinners 8

and fancy houses, but rich people — even the black ones, 9

she said — couldn’t satisfy her like people from our neigh-10

borhood.

“It’s just like my people know me better,” she said.

“Like Ricky. You know for a while tonight I thought he 13

might have a heart attack, he was so excited. And before 14

he fell off asleep he was talking about Johnetta Johnston 15

and Kirby. You know? Everyday stuff. Rich men always 16

want to be teaching something, asking, Did you know?

when they know you don’t know and don’t care neither.”

Ricky came down when the sun was just coming up. At 19

first he looked suspicious, but when Bethany showed him 20

her big teeth and said, “Mornin’, baby. Charles made me 21

some tea,” he calmed down and kissed her face and neck.

After that they went back upstairs. I was so tired that I 23

didn’t even listen. I went to sleep with my bag of money 24

in my dead father’s foldout sofa and dreamed about An-25

niston Bennet. He was humongous and wedged tight in 26

my cellar, sticking his head out of the trapdoor and beg-27 S

ging to be let free.

28 R

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I spent the next week working on the basement and C 14

reading the books I had bought. Late every afternoon 15

Ricky would call to crow about his further conquests with 16

Bethany. One night they did it on the beach. The next 17

night in an almost-empty movie house. Late late every 18

night Bethany would call me. She just wanted to talk, 19

she’d say. Every conversation would end with her worrying 20

that Ricky was too much in love with her. She liked him 21

and he was sweet, but he wasn’t the kind of man who 22

could ring that bell. Twice she wondered if she could come 23

over in those wee hours, but every time I was strong.

“I’d like to see you,” I said. “I really would, but Ricky 25

likes you and I can’t see it to break his heart.”

“What if we broke up?” she asked me one night.

S 27

“Could I come over then?”

R 28

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“I don’t know.”

“ ’Cause you know it seem like that if you didn’t wanna 3

hurt Ricky you’d let me come over and just not tell ’im.

That way nobody gets hurt.”

I told her that I would think about what she said.

I didn’t care about Bethany and Ricky right then. The 7

next morning Narciss Gully was due to come over to take 8

the photographs. I had spent the day cleaning again. Ac-9

tually I just moved whatever mess had collected into the 10

pantry. I didn’t drink for twenty-four hours previous to 11

her arrival, and I took a long bath and shaved.

When the doorbell rang I wasn’t expecting the twenty-13

something copper-toned Dominican Adonis of assistants.

“Hola,” he said to me. “I am Geraldo. Miss Gully sent 15

me to set up for the shoot.”

I’m tall but Geraldo had me beat. He was six four at 17

least, wearing only cutoff jean shorts and a white T-shirt.

His muscles were well defined but not grotesque, except 19

for calves that bulged. His hair came in big golden-brown 20

locks. His face was beautiful.

“Huh?” I said.

“Preparation,” he said slowly, taking time over the syl-23

lables. He indicated a pile of paraphernalia behind him.

Lighting, screens, rugs, and big camera boxes. “See?”

“Oh. Uh-huh. Yeah. Why don’t you come in here in the 26

living room?”

27 S

Geraldo lifted the great pile of materials into a rippling 28 R

embrace and carried it in. I showed him where to set up, 90

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and he spent a long time with a light meter looking at 1

windows in order to find the exact right position for his 2

rugs and screens. He examined my heirlooms, holding 3

them up to the light and using his meter.

“Are you taking the pictures?” I asked after a lot of 5

watching.

The boyish smile and manly shaking of his head must 7

have broken many hearts before. “No,” he said. “Miss 8

Gully takes the pictures. I just set it up.”

“You work for her?”

“We are friends. She loves my work, my painting, and so 11

she gives me jobs when she can. I live at the house of Harry 12

Lake in East Hampton. He is my master in oils. A great 13

master. He sent for me from New York after seeing my show 14

at the Rhinoceros Gallery on Avenue A. Do you know it?”

“Know what?”

“The Rhinoceros Gallery. It is a very important place.

Harry found me there, and he lets me use his garage as a 18

studio and to sleep.”

“So how do you know Narciss?” I asked.

“I was walking down the street,” he said, tossing his 21

locks for effect. “Just walking and I see the most beautiful 22

quilts hanging in her window. The designs are like the 23

ones that I paint and I had to see them, touch them . . .”

There was a passion building up in Geraldo, and I 25

couldn’t help but wonder what all he was touching up in 26

Narciss Gully’s store.

S 27

“I know,” I said for no reason, “she sells quilts.”

R 28

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Walter Mosley

“Sells?” he sneered. “It’s not a hot-dog stand. This is art.

She collects, she shares, she teaches. Sometimes someone 3

might pay for learning something, to live with beauty.

But she does not just sell quilts.”

I’ve never really gotten the knack of talking to artists.

You can’t talk to them about how much it pays or about 7

what you think you like. If I think a painting is ugly, 8

somebody just tells me that I don’t understand. If I think 9

a painting is good, they tell me the same thing. It’s like 10

artists see a different place, a higher place, whereas I’m on 11

the level of some stray dog who only knows how to hunt 12

for pussy and food in a world that’s black and white.

Geraldo sneered at me again and turned to his work.

I considered kicking him out of my house but then 15

thought better of it. I didn’t want trouble with Narciss 16

Gully. Just the opposite — I had begun to have deep feel-17

ings for the antique dealer. Every night after talking to 18

Bethany, I would have lascivious dreams about Narciss.

In those dreams we always started at the dinner table, ei-20

ther in a restaurant or at someone’s house, maybe a bar-21

becue or a picnic. No matter where we ended up, we 22

always started out eating. I’d bring the wine and she was 23

barely dressed. She was shy about her small breasts and 24

slender thighs, but I would console her by stroking her 25

body and rubbing my face against her magnificent skin.

In these dreams my excitement grew and grew, but always 27 S

before we could embrace, something happened to inter-28 R

rupt. The waiter would arrive with the check, a down-92

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pour fell on our picnic, someone would come to the 1

door — her mother or Clarance wanting to apologize.

No matter who it was I’d get so angry that I’d wake up 3

with a powerful erection. Awake, I couldn’t recapture the 4

ardor of my dreams. And without passion there was no 5

desire for the consummation of my lust.

“Mr. Blakey?” She had come in behind me while I 7

watched her assistant and thought of her.

“Oh,” I said. “Hi, Narciss.”

“Hello, Geraldo,” she said, having satisfied her social 10

obligation with me. “Have you been here long?”

“Not long,” the godling reported to his muse. He was 12

holding up a terrible painting done by my aunt Blythe.

“Is this really worth the film?”

“We’ll do the paintings first,” she said. “And after that 15

the clothes and then the hard objects.”

The crestfallen look on Geraldo’s face was worth a 17

whole week of hard labor.

“Excuse us, Mr. Blakey, but we’re going to be working 19

in here for a while.”

“If you call me Charles, I’ll let you alone.”

She smiled without answering and I left, grinning 22

broadly at the sour-faced Geraldo.

The next few hours were tough for me. I was reading a 26

book but wanting a drink. The book was about a prince S 27

who had been stripped of his memory and exiled from a R 28

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magical kingdom to mundane Earth. There were agents 2

trying to kill him, but in his confused state he couldn’t 3

understand why. I liked the story because I often felt like 4

that, like I was being persecuted but didn’t know why.

Why was I alive and seeing and thinking and dreaming if 6

everything was just stoplights and televisions, tests and 7

failures, red wine and death?

But I didn’t want a drink to escape, not then anyway. I 9

needed a drink because I wanted to ask Narciss for that 10

rain check for the dinner we’d missed.

The first obstacle would be asking the question in the 12

presence of the adoring Geraldo’s imposing physique. But 13

I got over that. I could see that Narciss wasn’t all that in-14

terested in the Dominican artist. When he strutted and 15

preened, she hardly noticed. He was actually just an assis-16

tant.

But even when I saw that he was no competitor, I still 18

held back.

After being nearly crushed to death and then incarcer-20

ated in a mental hospital, the prince escaped and was run-21

ning. I decided to go in and check on my guests.

“How’s it going?” I asked, entering the room.

Geraldo sneered but Narciss took off her glasses and 24

smiled.

“We’re halfway through it,” she said. “It’s taking longer 26

than usual because I’m taking a separate slide shot. Some 27 S

of these pieces are so wonderful that I’ll have to send 28 R

them for projection.”

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“Oh,” I said. “Good. Good. Would you like to get d-1

dinner after this?”

Just that one small stammer made me want to bite off 3

my tongue. One double skip on the letter d and I’d told 4

Narciss all about my fears and weaknesses. Geraldo was 5

standing behind me, but I’m sure he was grinning at my 6

failed manhood. The smile on Narciss’s lips I took to be 7

pity and pleasure at the discomfort of a child.

“I’m sorry, Charles, but I have plans,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” I nodded, putting an upbeat tone to the 10

grunt and realizing too late that that made me sound even 11

more pitiable.

“But maybe we can have coffee or something after we’re 13

finished here. There are a couple of things that we need to 14

discuss.”

“No problem. Just as long as we’re through before seven 16

’cause you know I got to get out and eat something.”

Every word out of my mouth seemed calculated to make 18

me look more like a fool.

I went back into the kitchen feeling as if I were de-20

scending into a pit. Every step brought me lower. And all 21

it was was just that double d. A stuttering skip and my 22

fingers were tingling, the light in the room refused to il-23

luminate. I didn’t feel hungry; I didn’t want a drink. My 24

months of unemployment, my loneliness, my drunken 25

poverty all came to the surface then. I would have liked to 26

cry but I couldn’t. The prince in my novel was reduced to S 27

a mass of unreadable words.

R 28

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The minutes went by and I kept sinking. At some point 2

Narciss came in. She had sent Geraldo away, but I didn’t 3

care. She wanted coffee and I made it, but the brew was 4

unbearably weak and she took no more than a sip.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, you look kind of 6

sad.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about those masks.” Narciss was excited. She took 11

a large book from her shoulder bag and opened it. Be-12

cause I didn’t move my head, she pulled her chair next to 13

mine and opened to a page marked by a red ribbon. On 14

the page was a carven mask that resembled the three masks 15

on my windowsill.

“Passport masks,” she said. “That’s what this is and it’s 17

also what we found in that box. They were used as iden-18

tification but also as a way of bringing home along with 19

you when you were away on a long journey. It’s hard to 20

say, but the masks you have could represent a family, 21

maybe three brothers or friends who set sail for America 22

as indentured servants. The majority of passport masks 23

are made of wood, so the fact that these are ivory might 24

have special significance.”

“Uh-huh,” I said because she seemed to be waiting for 26

some kind of response.

27 S

“They might have belonged to rich men, maybe even 28 R

royalty. Your family might descend from a direct blood-96

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line of kings. ” The emphasis she put on kings was dra-1

matic and full of feeling.

But if I was a prince, I too had forgotten.

“I’m getting hungry.” It was almost impossible for me 4

to get out those few words. “Why don’t you write me or 5

call about the stuff, you know, that you’re selling.”

“But these masks —”

“I have to talk about it later. Later.”

I was looking at the book, the picture of a longish face 9

carved from wood. The eyes were gouged out, making a 10

ridge for the nose. The forehead was high and the mouth 11

was just a slit. Narciss’s hands closed the book and then 12

pulled it away. I heard her chair sliding backward. As she 13

moved away the air on that side seemed to cool, as if her 14

body heat had been keeping me warm.

I didn’t want her to go but I couldn’t even look up —

much less ask her to stay.

“The boy so retarded he sit on the toilet waitin’ for in-18

spiration to wipe his ass.” That’s what my uncle Brent 19

used to say about me on report-card day four times a year.

That’s how I felt.

I heard the front door close.

My descent progressed even though I didn’t move a 23

muscle for a very long time.

S 27

R 28

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PART TWO

C 14

S 27

R 28

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I closed the windows and locked the front and back C 14

doors at 3:00 in the morning. I snapped the phone con-15

nections out of the wall and moved the masks down into 16

my father’s library. I slept with the money and the masks 17

for a day and a half. People came to the front door but I 18

didn’t answer. Once Ricky came around to the library 19

window and called out my name. After he was gone I 20

connected the phone long enough to call his mother’s 21

house and leave a message on his answering machine.

“I’m okay, Ricky,” I said. “Just thinking about some 23

stuff, so I need to spend some time alone.”

After that I disconnected the phone again and spent al-25

most the next six weeks alone in my house. I only went 26

out for pizzas and whiskey. And as time went by, I had less S 27

and less desire to see or speak to anyone.

R 28

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I got letters, mainly from Bethany. Long yearning let-2

ters about wanting to see me and asking what was wrong.

Ricky had told her about my phone message, and she said 4

that she was worried about me. Every letter she sent was 5

more intimate and more passionate. They were long let-6

ters, ten to twelve pages in a rolling cursive hand. I didn’t 7

finish most of them but I got the gist. On week three she 8

broke up with Ricky and wanted to see me. By week five 9

she confessed her love.

“I don’t know how it happened, Charlie,” she wrote.

But I love you. I love you more than any other man I 12

have ever known. There’s something so strong and gentle 13

about you. You don’t care what people think and you just 14

follow your own mind. I don’t know what you’re doing 15

or thinking right now, but I hope when you’re ready that 16

you will call me and see how deep I feel.

I got a letter from Narciss Gully too.

“Dear Mr. Blakey,” she wrote.

Enclosed you will find a check for six hundred dollars 22

thirty-two. This is from the sale of four of your great-aunt’s 23

paintings to the African American Experience Museum in 24

Charleston, South Carolina. They were very excited to ob-25

tain these works and wish to buy more. First I thought that 26

I would see how you felt you were being represented. I 27 S

tried to get you on the phone, but there’s never any answer.

28 R

I also wanted to apologize about the way I acted at your 102

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house. I realized afterward that you were saddened over 1

the loss of so much of your family’s history and that Ger-2

aldo and I were like invaders in your home. I would like 3

to make it up to you by buying you a dinner sometime. I 4

know it seems that we’re always at cross-purposes when it 5

comes to dinner, but I’m sure we can make it work.

Please advise,

Narciss

I wrote a note in response:

Dear Ms. Gully,

You seem to be handling the sales well. Please continue 13

as you see fit. I’ve been under the weather lately, but 14

when I revive I will call.

Charles Blakey

Two women wanted to see me. At least they thought 18

they wanted to. In my mind I had convinced myself that 19

it was my unavailability that piqued their interest. If I 20

dared to go out on one date, it would all be over.

I wanted to call both of them. I almost connected the 22

phone two or three times every day. But when the mo-23

ment came, I lost my nerve.

Bethany even came to the door one night. She rang and 25

knocked and called out my name. But I didn’t answer. I 26

just stood at the second-floor window at the top of the S 27

stairs and watched until she went away.

R 28

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Walter Mosley

Those weeks, I felt, were just a small sample of my 2

whole life up until that time — a waste. I slept and ate 3

and drank according to my own clock. I didn’t shave or 4

bathe hardly at all. I read for escape. If I was a brave man 5

I would have probably killed myself.

I was everything that my uncle Brent said that I was, 7

and less. Nothing ever changed and I never got any better 8

or worse.

But then I received Anniston Bennet’s boxes, and the 10

world I knew receded like an unfinished novel whose 11

story had become overwrought and tedious.

The truck that came that afternoon was unmarked 15

brown. The burly moving men had a knock that could 16

not be ignored. I came down, expecting the police or 17

maybe the fire department.

Both men wore green work pants and strap undershirts.

They were white and at least one of them bore tattoos, 20

but I think that they were both marked up with naked 21

women, knives, and hearts.

“We’re supposed to put this delivery in the basement,”

the blond and balding one said.

“Around the side,” I told him.

I was in swimming trunks and tennis shoes. We went 26

around the side and down into the cellar. The men hefted 27 S

six long flat boxes, one at a time, laying five of them on 28 R

the floor in the rudimentary pattern of a flower (one flat 104

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box in the center and each of the other four parallel to 1

one of the sides). The sixth flat box was laid up against the 2

far wall. These boxes were very heavy. I could tell by the 3

way the men strained when carrying them.

After that they brought in two dozen boxes of various 5

sizes and weights. Finally they delivered a loose-leaf note-6

book that was vacuum sealed in shiny see-through plastic.

Upon handing me the notebook, the balding blond 8

man said, “Well, that’s it.”

“Do I sign something?” I asked.

“No signatures, no tips,” he replied.

They turned away and climbed out of the cellar. I suppose 12

that they got into their truck and drove back to a garage 13

somewhere in Connecticut near where Anniston Bennet 14

told me he lived. I didn’t see them out. Instead I sat on the 15

stairs of the basement and began to read my instructions.

I don’t remember what I was doing when the movers 17

came, but I do know I was suffering from a severe hang-18

over. That was gone as soon as I saw the first handwritten 19

page. The notebook contained about thirty of these pages.

The paper was unlined but the words followed an equal 21

and rigid pattern from side to side that resembled march-22

ing ants — they were so small and even in their progress.

the construction of the cell was the headline of 24

the first page. “open box #1, the center flat, and re-25

move the cardboard,” the sentence began. Following 26

the instructions revealed a heavy slatted piece of metal S 27

that opened into a nine foot square. The flat steel bands, R 28

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which were at least a quarter of an inch thick, became a 2

latticework grid. A woman might have gotten her hands 3

through one of the openings, or maybe a small-boned 4

man, but a workman could only get a few fingers through 5

one of those holes. At each angle there was a tie that the 6

book told me would fit the tough-looking little padlocks 7

that I also found in the box.

Box number nine held a heavy rubber mat that fit over 9

the slats. Boxes two through five were the walls of the 10

cage. These were exactly the same in design except that 11

there was, of course, no matting. Also, number five had a 12

small square opening in the front, three feet by three feet.

Box number twelve contained the door that was to be fit-14

ted into this space. It had conventional bars and was de-15

signed to open by lifting it kind of like a portal that some 16

people put on their back doors for pets. The roof of the 17

cell was heavy, but it had been placed in such a way that, 18

with a little oomph, I was able to push it over and on top 19

of the nine-foot-cube cage.

All the walls and top and bottom had loops that fitted 21

together and were designed to be held fast by the little 22

padlocks. Each of the thirty-seven padlocks had a num-23

bered key and a small brass key chain. There was a larger 24

key chain onto which fit all of the smaller keys.

It took a couple of hours to construct the cage, or cell, 26

as the instructions called it. The basement was large but 27 S

that structure dominated the space. The tough metal slats 28 R

gleamed as if they were brand new. I wondered what kind 106

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of animal Bennet would bring with him that was so dan-1

gerous it had to be kept in a cage.

There were more instructions but I was tired. I went to 3

the house and ate some frosted cornflakes, and then, on a 4

whim, I went back to the cellar, crawled into the cage, 5

and stretched out. It was an odd sensation. I had never 6

been in jail, but I thought that this was close to the expe-7

rience of incarceration. The light around me seemed to be 8

teeming, like insects in a swamp, because of the winking 9

between the slats and spaces. The rubber was comfortable 10

enough. There was a certain reassurance to the walls’ en-11

closure. I wondered if this cage was for Anniston’s rest.

Maybe he was afraid that people would attack him in his 13

sleep. Maybe he just liked the walls.

I wasn’t aware of falling into sleep. It was a deep, deep 15

rest. The electric light moving across my face as I shifted 16

around felt like a cloudy afternoon. The silence of my cel-17

lar spoke glowingly of eternal rest.

But when I woke up I was disoriented. I had forgotten 19

where I was and the reality of the cell scared me. I jumped 20

to my feet, trying to find a way out. But there was none.

At least that’s what I thought.

I shouted for help, running from side to side, hitting 23

the walls, but there was no give there. Finally I forced my-24

self to sit down. I was shaking and wondering in spite of 25

the situation how much of the shakes came from whiskey.

Then I saw the door. It was down and unlocked, but the S 27

fit was snug and I had to push pretty hard to get out.

R 28

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When I crawled out of the cage, the shakes got even 2

worse. Cold and nauseous, I couldn’t rise from my knees.

It came to me that I had never known real fear before, 4

that I had lived a whole lifetime in complete safety. But 5

there was no solace in that knowledge. I rolled up into a 6

fetal ball and began to moan. Salty sweat trickled down 7

between my lips. The shuddering music of a mothlike 8

throbbing played along the nerves of my neck.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that. It may have 10

been an hour or more. But when the fear subsided, I ex-11

perienced a release so profound that even breath was an 12

ecstasy of incredible joy.

It was dark outside. The evening was cool and clear. I got 14

into my car and drove out to the beach past Bridgehampton 15

and parked. I walked for hours down along the shore. The 16

ocean played its music and the moon cast shadows through 17

the clouds. My feet were bare and the wet sand was cold, 18

but this was a good thing. I needed sensation in my body to 19

counteract the fear that had not left but simply subsided.

Many miles down from my car, I came to an empty 21

parking lot. It was 2:30 in the morning. There was a 22

phone booth in the lot. Information gave up Bethany’s 23

number, and she answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Bethany?”

“Hi, Charles,” she said, suddenly awake and happy.

27 S

I told her about the lot and she knew where it was. She 28 R

didn’t ask how I got there or what I wanted.

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“I’ll be right there,” she said.

I sat on the ground next to the phone and waited.

After nearly half an hour, a pair of headlights came 3

down the long path from the road. A fog had rolled in by 4

then. This softened the beams and tinged them with yel-5

low. I stood up and began waving at the same time, won-6

dering whether or not this late-night motorist was Bethany.

The car veered toward me and I felt a catch in my lungs, 8

fear that I was alone in the dark.

“Charles!” Bethany yelled out the window. “Charles!”

She applied the brakes, making the car squeal and slide 11

on the gravelly asphalt. It was right out of an old movie, 12

where the star-crossed lovers finally come together after 13

war and famine and other cruel twists of fate.

A short black dress with no hose, lips a deep red, and 15

every hair in place — that was Bethany.

“Baby,” she said. And then she took me in her arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I said and it wasn’t a lie. “I need to take 19

a bath.”

It only took ten minutes to get back to her place. She 21

kept asking what had happened, what was wrong, but I 22

said I couldn’t talk yet. My teeth were chattering and I 23

blamed the cold. She accepted my excuse. Maybe that 24

really was why I couldn’t talk.

“My roommate’s gone back to Baltimore for the week,”

she told me as she gave me a big towel.

S 27

I spent a long time under the shower. I washed com-R 28

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pletely, even brushed my teeth with a blue brush I found 2

on the sink.

When I came out, draped in the towel, I was ready to 4

talk but the time for talking was over for a while.

We kissed more than I had kissed in my whole life. Long 6

wet osculations with hungry little grunts punctuating our 7

pleasure. I kissed her breasts and her toes, the round crack 8

of her buttocks and spaces behind her thighs. I massaged 9

her shoulders while licking the back of her neck. When she 10

moved back to watch me, I kissed the blankets on her bed.

After we had made love, I held tight.

“Charles,” she said. “Hold me.”

The hugging went on into the morning. It led to many 14

more bouts of passion. I was making up for a starvation 15

diet, broken in a fit of fear.

The next day I asked Bethany to take me back to my car.

“When will I see you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll call you when all of this is over.”

“All of what?”

“I don’t know what, okay? I don’t know.”

She drove me without asking anything else. At the car 22

she said, “Charles?” and hesitated. “Charles, I want to see 23

you again.”

“Me too,” I said.

I left her feeling no shred of the love we’d shared the 26

night before.

27 S

28 R

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After that night with Bethany, the days passed quickly.

C 14

I spent most of the time reading sci-fi novels, but I un-15

packed the rest of Bennet’s boxes too. There I found three 16

tin plates, each broken into different-size segments like a 17

TV-dinner tray, and a portable toilet unit that was to be 18

connected by rubber tubing to a canister designed to 19

empty the contents of the toilet. There was a box of books 20

and various elastic exercising devices. A cigar box held 21

three pens and two pencils with a dozen cream-colored 22

envelopes along with a small ream of blank sheets of 23

notepaper.

It seemed as if Anniston Bennet had everything he 25

needed to live in that hole for a very long time.

The books were all hardback. The Wealth of Nations, The S 27

Prince, the complete collection of Will and Ariel Durant’s R 28

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Story of Civilization. Maybe ninety books in all. About fif-2

teen of these were nonfiction (not including the Durants’

eleven volumes), and most of these were economic texts 4

and not titles that I knew. The fiction and poetry was of a 5

high quality, for the most part. I recognized The Alexan-6

dria Quartet by Durrell and The Adventures of Huckleberry 7

Finn. He had the collected works of the poet Philip Larkin 8

and Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot. Moby Dick was there and 9

a book called Vineland. He also had the Bible and Koran.

He had one very large atlas that didn’t have any publica-11

tion information in it. I got the feeling that it was privately 12

published and contained specialized geographic informa-13

tion. Many of the maps were color coded with initials that 14

made no sense to me and were not explained in any table.

They were all books that I would’ve liked to have read 16

at some time in the past. I mean that I would’ve liked to 17

know what was in the Bible and the history of the world 18

so when I had arguments with Clarance I could sound 19

smart. But I can’t concentrate on that kind of reading. My 20

mind just drifts when there are too many facts or tough 21

sentences on the page. That’s one of the reasons why I fi-22

nally left college. As long as classes were lectures, I picked 23

up most of what I needed by ear. But as soon as I had to 24

read some heavy text, I was in deep water.

There were two sets of powder-blue pajamas decorated 26

by red dashes at all angles to one another. All in all it was 27 S

like a summer camp for a cracked adult.

28 R

All except for that cage.

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■

Three days before Anniston Bennet was due to arrive, I 3

received a telegram. It had been slipped under my front 4

door sometime the day before.

Mr. Blakey,

After numerous attempts to reach you by telephone, 8

we are contacting you by this method to confirm the ap-9

pointment and to ask you to meet the client’s train at 10

12:04 a.m. Please confirm your agreement by calling the 11

number on the card that the client gave you at your first 12

meeting.

There was no signature, but of course none was necessary.

I thought the secrecy was strange, but then again Bethany 16

had told me about rich people and how odd they were.

It took me the entire day to find that card. I turned the 18

house inside out. Finally I found it in the upstairs ham-19

per, in the pocket I had put it in after calling Bennet the 20

first time.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice. “You have reached the 22

Tanenbaum and Ross Investment Strategies Group” —

the click — “Mr. Bennet” — the next click — “is not in at 24

the moment but will return your message at the earliest 25

possible time. Please leave your name and number after 26

the signal.”

S 27

“I’ll be there at midnight,” I said and hung up.

R 28

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■

And I was there, in the lamp-lit parking lot, at midnight.

An obese family — the Benoits, mother and children —

was also there, waiting. The Benoit family had come 6

down to the Harbor from Montreal at the turn of the 7

century. I don’t remember ever having spoken to Raoul, 8

the father, or any of his clan, but I knew them because 9

they were part of my community. Trudy, the mother, 10

looked at me nervously, a black man at midnight and the 11

train not in yet.

“Hello, Mrs. Benoit,” I hailed. “You meeting Raoul?”

I said it to put her at ease. It worked too. She smiled 14

and nodded. She didn’t remember my name. Maybe she 15

couldn’t distinguish between black men. But it didn’t 16

matter what white people saw when they looked at me.

Why would I care?

The train came in and a few people got off. Most of 19

them got into cars. Three taxis rolled up from the colored 20

company that Clarance dispatched for. The few travelers 21

who did not have cars climbed into the cabs. Raoul 22

Benoit, a thin and dapper man wearing a silver-gray suit, 23

tried to get his arms around his wife and failed. He kissed 24

his children and herded them, like so many beach balls, 25

toward a blue station wagon.

“Hey, Charles,” a man said. Behind me Clarance had 27 S

driven up in a cab. In the back there were three passen-28 R

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friend. All of the passengers were white. The riders looked 1

uncomfortable. One man in the backseat checked his 2

watch.

“You drivin’ now?” I asked.

“Athalia needs braces, so I’m drivin’ three nights a week.

How you doin’?”

“Fine,” I said, looking over my shoulder.

“You need a ride?”

“No.”

“What you doin’ out here?” he asked. “Meetin’ some-10

body?”

“Can we get going, driver?” the woman next to 12

Clarance asked, barely restraining her impatience.

“Must be the next train,” I said vaguely.

“Next train’s tomorrow,” Clarance informed me.

“Oh.”

“Driver,” a man in the backseat said.

“What?” Clarance’s tone was sharp.

In the darkness, on the platform next to the station 19

sign, I saw the silhouette of a small man.

“We need to get home,” the passenger was saying.

“Well if you can’t wait a minute while I find out how 22

my friend is, then you could walk.” That brought silence.

“You go on, Clarance,” I said. “I got my car. I can drive 24

home.”

“I tried to call you,” Clarance said.

“I been thinkin’,” I replied.

S 27

“You wanna get together?”

R 28

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Walter Mosley

“I’ll call you next week,” I said.

Clarance looked at me a moment. There was concern 3

in his face. He was a good man, and we had been friends 4

as long as either one of us could remember. But there was 5

no way to talk to me. He shrugged.

“See ya,” he said and then drove off.

As he left, Anniston Bennet approached from the plat-8

form. I stood my ground, waiting.

“Good evening,” he said.

The air was cool but my windbreaker was enough to 11

keep the chill off. There were moths floating around the 12

floodlights, and I detected the barely distinguishable mo-13

tion of bats feasting on the fluttering bugs in the hovering 14

darkness.

I took a deep breath and prepared myself. I wanted to 16

start this thing with Bennet on the right foot. I never had 17

a tenant before and didn’t want to be taken advantage of.

Everything mattered. The fact that I waited for him to 19

walk to me, that I didn’t offer to take his satchel. All he 20

carried was that small leather bag. I wondered what he 21

was planning to wear for two months.

“Mr. Blakey,” he said.

“Mr. Bennet.”

“I tried to call,” he said. “But there was no answer.”

“I know. I got the telegram. Did you get my message?”

He shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he was there 27 S

because he received my message. That would have been a 28 R

good moment for me to take his bag, but I did not.

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“My car is over there.” I indicated the brown Dodge.

We made our way. Bennet threw his bag in the backseat 2

and we were off.

“Why did you need me to pick you up?” I asked, turn-4

ing onto the highway. “You know we didn’t say anything 5

about you paying for a limo service.”

“I want to be circumspect about this retreat, Mr.

Blakey. No one knows where I’m going. Part of the idea is 8

that I am to be kept from everything in my world —

completely. I don’t want my car in your driveway or some 10

driver who remembers where he dropped me off.”

“That sounds illegal, Mr. Bennet. I don’t want to be in-12

volved in anything that’s against the law.”

He looked at me and laughed silently. Then he said, 14

“Not illegal. No. You see, in my world I’m pretty well 15

known, and some people think that I’m important — for 16

their money. I don’t want anybody finding me. This time 17

is my own.”

Off the side of the highway, I spotted three deer, their 19

luminescent eyes transfixed by my high beams. We sped 20

past them. I thought that at least they were witnesses to 21

our passage.

“What were you laughing about?” I asked.

“Ask me later.” Bennet sat back in the passenger’s seat, 24

letting out a deep sigh. It could have been pleasure or the 25

last breath of a dying man.

S 27

R 28

■

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Walter Mosley

“Can you pull into your garage?” Bennet asked me as we 2

drove up my gravel driveway. “I mean, if we’re going to 3

see this secrecy thing through, we might as well do it right.”

I almost sneered, but then I remembered Miss Little-5

neck. She was probably sitting on her front porch, smok-6

ing a cigarette and spying on the night. I wasn’t sure if I 7

wanted the neighborhood to know about my tenant, so I 8

opened the garage door and drove in. Bennet and I exited 9

out the back door of the garage and down through the 10

hatch to the cellar. I snapped on the light and immedi-11

ately Bennet began to inspect my work. I had unpacked 12

and constructed a small red plastic table and chair. These 13

seemed to satisfy him. There was also a futon that I had 14

unfurled.

“Help me with these,” he said, dragging the table and 16

chair toward the small door of the cage.

He crawled into the cage, and with a little effort, I 18

passed the furniture in to him.

He arranged the pieces like a small bedroom. I handed 20

him the clothes and stationery and a few other small 21

items.

“Pass the crapper,” he then said. I dragged the oval-23

shaped cylinder to the door, and he strained over it until 24

it was against the back wall of the cage.

“Now all we need is to put the pump back here and 26

we’re in business,” he said.

27 S

He stood up then and approached me. Looking at him 28 R

through the diamonds of the cage, I thought not for the 118

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first time that the structure might bear more than a re-1

semblance to a prison cell.

“Have you figured it out yet?” he asked me as if reading 3

my mind.

“What?”

Again the silent laugh.

“What?” I asked again.

“This is my prison,” he said. “And you are my warden 8

and my guard.”

“Are you crazy?” The sentence just came out of my 10

mouth. It wasn’t really a question.

“You like to drink, don’t you, Charles?” he asked. “Why 12

don’t you go up to the house and get us some liquor? I’ll 13

explain to you why I’m not crazy and why this is impor-14

tant for both of us.”

It was a request bordering on a gentle command. There 16

was no polite answer except to go get a bottle and two 17

glasses. I wanted to be out of his presence for a minute.

Anniston Bennet was a man who made you do what he 19

wanted. He seemed reasonable and generous and knowl-20

edgeable — not mad. But what he was saying made me 21

want to run.

I walked away instead. Up toward the house and the 23

cheap bottles of whiskey in the pantry, where I first heard 24

Bethany’s cries of passion and where my parents mur-25

mured deep secrets that made me feel at ease.

S 27

R 28

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14 C

“Let’s just say . . .” Anniston Bennet was saying. I had 15

brought my cheap whiskey and two squat glasses that had 16

been on the shelf since before my mother could remem-17

ber. I was sitting on the stairs and he had pulled out his 18

red chair to join me. “. . . that I’m a criminal wishing to 19

pay for my crimes.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why don’t you just turn your-21

self in to the police if you want to go to jail?”

“I don’t recognize any organized form of law enforce-23

ment, or government for that matter, as valid,” he stated 24

simply. He might have been a prime minister or anar-25

chist. He could have even been some advanced form of 26

alien life, looking down on humanity as we might look 27 S

on a mob of ants. “But even if I did, there is no crime that 28 R

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laws having to do with money. But I would never allow 1

the hypocrites on our benches to stand judgment over 2

me.”

“I still don’t get it,” I said, downing my glass in frustra-4

tion and refilling it with the gratitude of a full bottle.

“What does my basement have to do with all that? What 6

do I have to do with it?”

“Everything about us is random,” Bennet said. “Maybe 8

the universe has laws, but they aren’t concerned about 9

you or me or the people we touch. We’re just mistakes 10

who got up and walked off. The only things that are cer-11

tain are death and the will to survive . . .”

He was a tiny man talking as if he were a giant. But he 13

was convincing too.

“. . . We make our own victories and our own mis-15

takes,” he said, and for a moment there was a sad little 16

chink in his armor of certainty. “There is no justice unless 17

the judged agree. Without understanding and repentance 18

there can only be revenge.” He reached over to the stair 19

next to me and refilled both our glasses.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Bennet? What kind 21

of crime and justice and revenge do you mean?”

“The worst,” he said. “You think of the worst crime you 23

can imagine and then make it worse. And then you will 24

have a glimmer of what I have done.”

The whiskey was having an effect on both of us. My vi-26

sion was skewed and the tone in his voice tended toward S 27

humanity.

R 28

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“I don’t need to know this,” I said. “I don’t need to be a 2

part of it.”

“But I paid you.”

“To rent my basement, not to start a private prison.

Damn, man. I don’t know you. The police could come 6

down here and find you all locked up. They could get me 7

on kidnapping and who knows what else? No. No.”

“Have you spent my money?” Bennet asked.

“I’ll give you back what I have and then repay the rest.”

“You need money, Charles. Why not take it when you 11

can?”

“What do you know about me? What do you know 13

about what I need?”

“Everything.” He smiled and nodded.

“Like what?”

“I know where you went to high school and who your 17

friends were. Clarance and Ricky, who you also call Cat.

I know that you worked at Harbor Savings and that 19

you embezzled four hundred and thirty dollars from your 20

drawer . . .”

Whiskey softened the blow. I wondered if it was part of 22

Bennet’s plan to get me drunk.

“. . . The bank president, who liked you at first, felt be-24

trayed, and blacklisted you among the town business com-25

munity. Your mother and father are dead and no one else in 26

your family is much interested in your well-being. You 27 S

drink too much and you cried for five days after your 28 R

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College. But you dropped out, didn’t you? I don’t know 1

why you left. You had passing grades.” Bennet peered at me 2

with a Milquetoast expression on his face. “You’re broke, 3

you don’t have a job, and there’s a thirty-thousand-dollar 4

mortgage hanging over your head that might lose your line 5

their home.”

“Where the hell did you get all that?”

“There’s a man who used to work for me, a Filo Nunn.

He now has a job for the investigation division of Mor-9

ganthau and Haup.”

“Who’s that?”

“You wouldn’t know, Charlie, but the bank president 12

did. He started stuttering when Nunn got on the line. He 13

understood that even the smallest toehold with that firm 14

would completely transform his career in finance.”

Bennet refilled my glass. I didn’t even know that it was 16

empty.

“So this guy, Nunn, found all that out? But you said 18

that he doesn’t even work for you anymore.”

“Filo Nunn owes me his life.” Anniston Bennet smiled 20

again. If he had been a child, I would have said that he 21

thought he was cute.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bennet, but I can’t go along with this.

No. I will not be a part of this.”

“That’s final?” Bennet asked.

I nodded.

“But what if I made you a deal? What if I gave you the S 27

twenty-five thousand dollars now and we went ahead as R 28

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we’d planned? Then in two weeks you tell me what you 2

think. If the answer is still no, then I’ll leave. If it’s not I 3

stay the rest of the time and double the final payment. All 4

in cash. Always in cash.”

I don’t think the money interested me even that far 6

back. And I was worried that once Bennet dug in, he’d be 7

hard to dislodge. I was drunk but not that drunk. I re-8

member the night and every word that was spoken. Maybe 9

the whiskey made me less fearful. The consequences that 10

bothered me earlier (and the next morning, for that mat-11

ter) seemed manageable.

But that’s not why I agreed to Bennet’s request.

I agreed because of knowledge and intimacy. Anniston 14

Bennet knew more about me than any other person —

and he was still willing to enter this business deal. Those 16

shocking blue eyes looked right into mine and knew what 17

they were seeing. Not like Bethany and not like Clarance.

Unlike Uncle Brent, Bennet made no judgments. If he 19

felt he was better than me, it was only because he felt bet-20

ter than everyone, and that, in some strange whiskey-21

soaked way, made me an equal in the world — at least in 22

the world as seen through his eyes.

“Yeah, all right,” I said. “Let’s do this thing.”

Bennet smiled and retrieved the satchel from the floor 25

next to his cell. He took five bound stacks of twenty-26

dollar bills.

27 S

“Twenty-five thousand, as we agreed,” he said.

28 R

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The Man in My Basement

Then he came out with an ugly chunk of black metal 1

that had some mechanical purpose that was not immedi-2

ately obvious.

“It’s an original lock used to hold down a line of slaves 4

in the old slaving ships,” Bennet told me. Along with the 5

lock there was a brass key with a cylindrical tip that had 6

teeth and slats made to fit the archaic mechanism. “It’s 7

over a hundred and fifty years old. I got it in Mali.”

As far as I knew there was no one in the Blakey family 9

who had ever been a slave. We came over as indentured 10

servants and sailors on Spanish and Portuguese ships. It 11

was even intimated that one distant cousin was himself a 12

slaver, selling black bodies on the wharves of New York 13

City from a ship called the Dahomey.

Many of my relatives didn’t like to think that they were 15

a part of the mass of blacks in this country. They would 16

say, secretly, that they were no different from the English 17

or Irish immigrants. But most Negroes, even the old fam-18

ilies that dotted our neighborhood, understood that racism 19

doesn’t ask for a pedigree. I knew that many white people 20

didn’t like me because of my dark skin. I wasn’t stupid. At 21

the same time I didn’t feel the pang or tug of identity 22

when slavery was mentioned.

But that lock was a vicious thing. It must have weighed 24

four pounds. The loop of metal used to secure the bolt was 25

half an inch thick. I could imagine that ugly device hold-26

ing down twenty men in the cold fastness of the Atlantic.

S 27

R 28

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Walter Mosley

Bennet worked the key, which was new, in the lock and 2

the long loop came away from the barrel-like body.

“It fits the center hinge on the door,” he said.

He crawled into the cage, dragging his red chair, and I 5

fit the lock through and slammed it shut. Then I pulled 6

hard to make sure that the lock held.

The loud crack of the lock snapping shut had a pro-8

nounced effect on my self-proclaimed prisoner. His face 9

visibly paled and he grabbed onto the bars of the door 10

with both hands.

“I thought you wanted this,” I said.

“I do.”

“Then why do you look so scared?”

“I had certain experiences thirty years ago that made 15

me nervous about close spaces and locked doors,” he said.

“So then why you want to lock yourself in a basement?”

“This is a punishment, Mr. Blakey, not a vacation.”

27 S

28 R

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