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The Man in My Basement

Page 7

by Walter Mosley


  ing her husband, but she was devastated when Clarance 19

  refused to leave his own wife for her.

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  Ever since then Bethany was alone. She’d go out with 21

  this man or that for a few days or weeks, but something 22

  always got in the way. Right now it looked like Ricky was 23

  going to be her date. At any other time I would have sat 24

  back and waited for him to finish with his line, but right 25

  then I had my own troubles.

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  “Ricky,” I said.

  27 S

  He waved at me to go away.

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  “Ricky,” I said a little louder.

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  Again he waved.

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  “Get off the phone, man. I have to talk to you.”

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  “It’s Charles Blakey,” he said into the mouthpiece. And 3

  then after listening to something, he said to me, “Bethany 4

  says hey.”

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  “Tell her that you have to talk to me for a minute.”

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  “Let me call you back in five?” he said. Whatever she 7

  said must have been promising because Ricky smiled and 8

  whispered something so soft that I couldn’t make it out.

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  “What you want, Charles? Damn. Here I am tryin’ to 10

  promote somethin’ an’ you all up in my face.”

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  “I got to have forty bucks, man. Got to have it.”

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  “Charles . . .”

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  “No, Ricky. No games. No fuckin’ around. I don’t have 14

  a single dollar bill, but Narciss wants to eat.”

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  “Who cares what that skinny bitch want?”

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  “Sh!” I was worried that she might hear us even though 17

  we were whispering. “I care.”

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  All of a sudden Ricky was sly. He let his eyes almost 19

  close and then he nodded. “I see,” he said.

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  “I’ll pay you back the minute this stuff is sold. Fifty dol-21

  lars for forty.”

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  Ricky reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of 23

  twenty-dollar bills. He must have had six hundred dollars 24

  in his hand. He smiled and peeled off two bills. He handed 25

  them over and then grinned again.

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  “You got what you want now, brother?” he asked me.

  S 27

  “Thanks,” I said.

  R 28

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  “Well then can I get back on the phone and get what I 2

  need?”

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  Ricky was crooning to Bethany before I had left the 4

  room.

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  I found Narciss holding up a lopsided pink glass vase.

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  She was scrutinizing every aspect of the vessel like a 7

  budget shopper studying a possible buy from an over-8

  crowded reject table.

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  I sat there with knots in my stomach. It made me sick 10

  to have to ask Ricky for charity. And watching Narciss sift 11

  through my family’s history now somehow made me sad.

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  The cold from the window worked its way into my gut. I 13

  wondered if I was getting sick.

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  “Oh my,” Narciss said.

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  “What?”

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  Instead of answering she came to me with a wooden 17

  box held delicately in both her hands. She sat down next 18

  to me, placing the old scarred box between us. Other 19

  than its obvious age, it was unremarkable. About a foot 20

  long and six inches in depth and width, it was plain and 21

  held together by smith-made iron hinges. There were 22

  three letters roughly carved on the lower right side of the 23

  lid — jld.

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  “Look.” She lifted the lid.

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  Inside there were three hand-carved masks, rust to dark 26

  brown, ivory I was sure. Each one was about five inches 27 S

  from crown to chin and three inches from one cheekbone 28 R

  to the other. They were simple images with sloping fore-62

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  heads and slitted eyes. One was smiling, one possibly feral, 1

  and one looked like he was whistling through an O-shaped 2

  mouth. They were laid out on an old crumpled newspaper.

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  Two of the faces had been broken in places but were 4

  seamed back together with some kind of adhesive. There 5

  was a blue splotch on the delicate chin of the leftmost im-6

  age. They were beautiful and commanding, fitting perfectly 7

  in the wood box that, I supposed, was built to hold them.

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  “It’s the history of your history,” Narciss whispered.

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  The words came to me as truth. I believed I was look-10

  ing at the cargo, carried on some European ship, of an 11

  African who had sold himself into indentured servitude.

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  Maybe they were his gods, carved by some uncle.

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

  showing a virgin the ropes.

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  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.

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  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.

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

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  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.

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  “So?” she asked. “What do you think?”

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  “About what?”

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  “Is there something wrong, Mr. Blakey?”

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

  toward the kitchen and then back to Narciss.

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  “Why do you ask that?”

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  “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.

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  But I think I understand.”

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

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  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.”

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

  to fear her words.

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  “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.”

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  “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.

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  “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.

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  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.”

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  “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?”

  16

  “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’.”

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  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.”

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  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.

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

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  “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 —

  17

  minus expenses and twenty percent.”

  18

  “Twenty? I thought you got ten.”

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

  but if you have a problem with that —”

  21

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

  some money?”

  23

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

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

  2

  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.

  9

  “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?”

  12

  The momentary shadow of sadness across her face 13

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

  14

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

  exhausting not only physically but also in your heart.”

  16

  She reached out and curled her long finger around my 17

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

  cessful.

  19

  “Mr. Blakey?”

  20

  “Uh-huh.”

  21

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

  22

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

  they are and where they’re from?”

  24

  “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.

  6

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

  7

  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.

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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.

  18

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

  less. He said it whenever my mother was out.

  20

  “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.

  24

  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.

  4

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

  died, I was still angry at him.

  6

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

  motherfucker. I’ll kill you.”

  8

  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.

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