The Man in My Basement

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The Man in My Basement Page 8

by Walter Mosley

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.

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  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.

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

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  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.

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  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.

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  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.

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  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.

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  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.

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  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

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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.

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

  threshold. His small hand held a surprisingly strong grip.

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  “Mr. Bennet. Come in.”

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

  through the living room that was crowded with the refuse 9

  of my ancestors.

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  “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.

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  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.

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  “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.

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

  see the cellar now?”

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  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.

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  I followed.

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  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.

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

  down there, Mr. —”

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  “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.”

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

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

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  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bennet, but —”

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

  dollars a day.”

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

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

  fifty dollars,” I said.

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  Anniston Bennet smiled. Math done right seemed to 26

  please him.

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  He was uncomfortable in the basement, however.

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

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

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

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  Back in the breakfast room, he regained his composure.

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  “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.”

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  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.

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  “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.”

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  “Well?” Bennet asked.

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

  and then say I didn’t?”

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  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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  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.

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  But then I thought about Narciss and how the truth 9

  had been so easy with her.

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

  them about the money,” I said.

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  “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.”

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  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.

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

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

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  “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.

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

  10

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

  companies. I do research and reclamation work all through 12

  the world.”

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  “Reclaiming what?”

  14

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

  15

  “No drugs or anything?”

  16

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

  sunlight now shone on his forearms.

  18

  “You got the money on you?”

  19

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

  20

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

  furniture and stuff ?”

  22

  He nodded.

  23

  “You really found out about my mortgage and house 24

  and everything?”

  25

  “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.

  5

  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.

  8

  I couldn’t work.

  9

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

  basement?” I asked.

  11

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

  do some writing.”

  13

  “Nothing else?”

  14

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

  15

  He even gave me a wan smile.

  16

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

  17

  “Many things depend on circumstance, Mr. Blakey.

  18

  Opportunities stem from these circumstances.”

  19

  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.

  26

  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.”

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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.

  6

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

  7

  “You bet.”

  8

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

&nb
sp; 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.

  14

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

  15

  “Restin’,” the aged woman replied.

  16

  “Give her my best,” I said.

  17

  “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.

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

  very long time.

  15

  “Helah,” I said.

  16

  “Charles? Charles, are you awake?”

  17

  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.

  25

  “Ricky? Ricky, what time is it?”

  26

  “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.

  3

  “What you want, Ricky?”

  4

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

  5

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

  always been kind to me.

  7

  “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.”

  10

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

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

 

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