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The Man in My Basement

Page 6

by Walter Mosley


  some help with my basement.”

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  “Okay,” he said. “I gotta give my sister a ride, but then 25

  I’ll be over.”

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  “Is it dry?” Ricky asked, holding his tumbler of iced 1

  Southern Comfort and peering down into the darkness of 2

  the cellar.

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  “Yeah. These doors are triple ply and high. No rain can 4

  get in.” I took a few steps down and pulled the chain on 5

  the light.

  6

  Ricky followed.

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  “Big down here,” he said.

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  “All this junk, man. I gotta get rid of it.”

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  “Why? You gonna rent to that white man?”

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  “No,” I lied.

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  I’ve lied all my life. To my parents and teachers and 12

  friends at school. I lied about being sick and not coming 13

  in to work, about romantic conquests, my salary, my fa-14

  ther’s job. I’ve lied about where I was last night and where 15

  I was right then if I was on the phone and no one could 16

  see me. I have lied and been called a liar and then lied 17

  again to cover other falsehoods. Sometimes I pretend to 18

  know things that I don’t know. Sometimes I lie to tell 19

  people what I think they want to hear.

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  It’s not such a bad thing — lying. Sometimes it pro-21

  tects people’s feelings or gives them confidence or just 22

  makes them laugh.

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  But I never told a lie like that one-word fib to Ricky about 24

  Anniston Bennet. Somehow I knew that I shouldn’t talk 25

  about the little man who calls from Arabia about a base-26

  ment sublet. I wanted to keep those cards close to my vest.

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  “Damn, you got some old stuff down here,” Ricky was 2

  saying.

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  “Junk.”

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  “Uh-uh, man. This is antique-quality shit.”

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  “Shit is right.”

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  “No, Charles. These old dolls and wood toys are valu-7

  able. So’s the furniture, the trunk, probably the clothes in 8

  the trunk, and maybe even these old paintings. You can’t 9

  tell, man. These people out here spend five hundred dollars 10

  on an old broked-down chair in a minute.” Ricky had lived 11

  his teenage years in Brooklyn with his father. The way he 12

  talked was different than the way most of my friends did.

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  But he had an eye for profit. One summer he and Clarance 14

  ran a nighttime hot-dog stand in East Hampton. Charged 15

  three and four dollars for hot dogs, and got it.

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  “How do I sell this stuff ? Yard sale?”

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  “That’s sucker shit right there, man. Uh-uh. There’s 18

  some dealers in East Hampton and Southampton. I know 19

  who they are, but you know they wanna rob you. But 20

  there’s this sister out around Bridgehampton run a little 21

  store that specializes in old quilts. Narciss Gully. If we 22

  could get Narciss out here to look at your stuff and then 23

  broker it with the other dealers, then you might make out.”

  24

  “You know her?”

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  “Ten percent.”

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  “Say what?” My tumbler was empty and I just felt the 27 S

  Southern Comfort in my blood.

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  “Ten percent,” Ricky said again. “I don’t do any man-52

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  ual labor and I’m not responsible if at the end you don’t 1

  think you got enough money.”

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  “What does she get out of it?”

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  “I’ll suggest ten percent for her too, but she might ask 4

  for as much as twenty.”

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  “Thirty percent gone and you two don’t do nothing but 6

  introduce?” I was arguing, but I knew it was a lost cause.

  7

  I had the woman’s name; I could have called her on my 8

  own. But that would have cut Ricky out — I would never 9

  have treated a friend like that.

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  I spent the next day pulling junk out of my basement. It 13

  was a day full of the dry husks of spiders and centipedes, 14

  and dust on top of oily grime that had been laid down be-15

  fore the Civil War. I washed and swept and scrubbed with 16

  every brush I had — even my uncle Brent’s old tooth-17

  brush. My work yielded six boxes of old books (including 18

  three diaries from three generations of Blakeys and 19

  Dodds), wooden toys, tools that I couldn’t even figure out 20

  how to hold, and so many piles of old clothes that I could 21

  only make a stab at separating them. Tuxedos and jeans, 22

  fancy dresses and all kinds of undergarment straps, dried-23

  up elastics, and buckles. Most of the clothes looked like 24

  they could have been for children, but it was just that I 25

  had a long line of short people in my family. My parents 26

  were only the second generation of big Blakeys. I’m six S 27

  foot two. My father was six one.

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  I moved all the furniture out of the living room and 2

  brought in the loot, piling it in each of the corners ac-3

  cording to type. When the job was done, I sat in the wide 4

  seat of the bay window to appreciate my labor.

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  I liked hard work. A big pile of stones that need to be 6

  moved, a field to plow. What I love is a big job that takes 7

  muscle and stick-to-itiveness. I’m not into a lot of details 8

  or measuring or comparing. I don’t want to build a steam 9

  engine; just give me a sledgehammer or a shovel and I can 10

  work all day long, all month if I have to.

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  “Hello?” The voice came from the front door, which was 14

  open. “Mr. Blakey?”

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  I had been asleep. The room around me was dim be-16

  cause there was no light on and the sun was setting out-17

  side.

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  “Mr. Blakey?” She was tall and thin, brittle looking on 19

  first glance. That was probably because she was so tenta-20

  tive coming into a stranger’s home.

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  “Over here,” I said. My voice was heavy from sleep, but 22

  there was a quality to it that was different. I don’t know if 23

  you want to call
it musical or assured or maybe mature, 24

  like a man.

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  “Charles Blakey?” the tall woman asked.

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  “Yeah. And I guess you’re Narciss Gully.”

  27 S

  Hearing her name calmed the skittish woman a bit.

  28 R

  “Oh,” she said. “It was dark and I didn’t know . . .”

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  I went to the wall near where she’d entered the room 1

  and turned on the light.

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  “. . . didn’t know if something was wrong.” She was 3

  brown, mostly dark brown, but here and there it light-4

  ened a little, lending a subtle texture to her skin. I imag-5

  ined the broad sweep of clouds across the earth from an 6

  astronaut’s view. Or maybe it was a parchment, incredibly 7

  old and almost erased by age and rain, the slight grada-8

  tion of color coming from sepia glyphs whose secrets were 9

  now gone.

  10

  “. . . I mean it was so dark,” she continued, obviously 11

  still nervous about coming into a strange man’s house 12

  without the proper reception.

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  I didn’t help to relieve her fears, looking her over, think-14

  ing strange thoughts about her skin.

  15

  “. . . and you were just sitting there . . .”

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  “I’ve been working all day pulling stuff out of the cellar 17

  because Ricky said you’d come by at eight. I guess I 18

  worked so hard that I fell asleep here in the window.” And 19

  there it was — the truth. There was no lie in my words, 20

  body language, or voice. And again I wondered what had 21

  happened. It was almost as if I were in one of my beloved 22

  Philip José Farmer fantasies. Like I had gone to sleep in a 23

  mundane world and awakened in a fantastical place where 24

  the colors were brighter and youth was eternal. It was par-25

  tially like that, like some fantasy, but this new world of 26

  mine was only subtly different; only my point of view and S 27

  clarity of vision had altered.

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  “Oh,” Narciss said, looking around the large living 2

  room. “There’s a lot, isn’t there?”

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  She wasn’t a beautiful woman, except for that skin.

  4

  Probably my age, give or take. Her face was squarish and 5

  the white-rimmed glasses were too big for her features.

  6

  Her eyes were a muddy color and her fingers were too 7

  long it seemed. But when she splayed out those digits to 8

  indicate the immensity of the trove I had uncovered, I 9

  appreciated their reach.

  10

  “You think it’s worth anything?”

  11

  “I can’t tell until I’ve studied it, but it certainly looks in-12

  teresting.”

  13

  “Hey, Charles?” came another voice.

  14

  “In here, Ricky,” I said.

  15

  When he came in I was disappointed because he wasn’t 16

  carrying a bottle in a bag. Whenever I heard Ricky’s voice, 17

  I got the urge to drink. I wondered then how often since 18

  we were children that we had been sober together.

  19

  “Hey, Narciss. How are you?”

  20

  “Fine, Richard,” she said.

  21

  “You guys met, huh?”

  22

  “Yeah, Cat.” Ricky winced when I called him by his 23

  nickname. I didn’t use it again that night.

  24

  Narciss was already down on her knees, looking through 25

  the toys. She had on close-fitting khaki trousers with a 26

  matching woman’s jacket. She took off the jacket, reveal-27 S

  ing a loose black T-shirt. She was dressed for hard work.

  28 R

  While she worked Ricky and I sat side by side in the 56

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  window seat, watching her plow through my family’s ac-1

  cumulation of junk.

  2

  “You wanna go get a shot at Bernie’s?” Ricky asked me.

  3

  That meant the drinks were on him. That was our code —

  4

  the man who suggested drinks paid for them.

  5

  I wanted to go. But I was also interested in everything 6

  about Narciss. By then she was sitting in a half-lotus po-7

  sition, going over old photographs and letters that my 8

  mother kept in a miniature steamer trunk she’d inherited 9

  from some aunt or another. With every new letter she 10

  clucked her tongue or hummed. I felt like she was a 11

  teacher impressed by my homework assignment.

  12

  Narciss was marking out a history that would probably 13

  have captured the interest of historians and anthropolo-14

  gists around the nation. But for me there was only her, 15

  scrutinizing a pile of refuse that, if it weren’t for her con-16

  cern, I would have used to make a bonfire in the back-17

  yard.

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  Ricky was fidgety. He wasn’t used to sitting around 15

  while others worked.

  16

  “I saw Clarance last night,” he said.

  17

  “What’s he have to say?”

  18

  “Nuthin’. He’s gonna add a rumpus room onto the house 19

  this summer. He asked if I could work on it, but I told him 20

  that I was already working for Wilson Ryder. I told him 21

  you were looking for a job, but he didn’t say anything.”

  22

  “You don’t have to do me any favors, Ricky,” I said. “I 23

  don’t need Clarance’s charity or yours.”

  24

  “You need somethin’,” Ricky declared.

  25

  He wanted me to take up the bait and fight or make a 26

  joke out of it or anything. But I just stuck out my lower 27 S

  lip and shrugged. I didn’t have the energy for that kind of 28 R

  talk right then. I focused my attention on Narciss. She 58

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  was writing down notes on slips of yellow paper, which 1

  she attached to different pieces. She also made entries in a 2

  small spiral pad she
had.

  3

  “Hey, Charles?” Ricky said.

  4

  “Hey what?”

  5

  “Could I use your phone?”

  6

  “Local or long distance?”

  7

  “I wanna call Bethany. She said that —”

  8

  “Okay,” I said, cutting him off. “Make your call.”

  9

  Ricky gave me a sullen look and then went into the 10

  kitchen to use the ancient Princess phone in there. I heard 11

  him say Bethany’s name and then I returned my attention 12

  to Narciss.

  13

  She seemed extremely competent. Now and then she’d 14

  take some reference book or another from her shoulder 15

  satchel to prove or disprove some point she was making 16

  to herself. She would write more notes and then move on 17

  to the next object. In the meanwhile Ricky was laughing 18

  and chattering on the phone in the other room.

  19

  I was having a fine time in the chilly window seat, 20

  watching the earth-toned woman judge my lineage. The 21

  moon shone on her, glaring over my shoulder.

  22

  “Are you hungry?” I asked Narciss after it was com-23

  pletely dark outside.

  24

  “I’d like something after I’m done here,” she said.

  25

  “We could go over to Dinelli’s in Southampton,” I of-26

  fered and immediately I was sorry. I didn’t have a single S 27

  paper dollar to my name. I probably didn’t have enough R 28

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  in change to cover a dinner at Dinelli’s, and my only 2

  credit card had been canceled more than a year before.

  3

  “That would be nice,” Narciss Gully said.

  4

  She turned back to her work, and I jumped up to go to 5

  the kitchen.

  6

  “Be right back,” I promised.

  7

  Ricky was cradling the phone with both hands against 8

  his face. His voice was low, and I knew that he must have 9

  been getting somewhere with Bethany Baptiste. Bethany 10

  was a heavyset young woman who liked food, dancing, 11

  and men. She could never get enough of any one of them, 12

  and we all loved her for it.

  13

  She’d been married once but that didn’t take. Bethany 14

  married Lawrence Crelde, but she was in love with 15

  Clarance, who was already married. Whenever Clarance 16

  called, Bethany came running, and one day when she got 17

  back, Lawrence was gone. Bethany wasn’t upset about los-18

 

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