Soon after that we’d finished the wipe-down.
“Put this somewhere down in the basement and leave it there for a day,” I told her. “Then bring it back up here. Get a few prints on it. Call the cops and tell ’em you found it looking for your husband’s legal papers.”
“Okay.” She was looking into my eyes. “Stay with me tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s because I been with so many men,” she said. “You think I’m some kind’a whore.”
“No.” I put my hand on her side. “I think you saved my heart from turnin’ back to stone.”
“What?”
“That’s why I’m helpin’ you. Because you gave me somethin’ and you didn’t even know it.”
I kissed her for a moment longer than I should have but then I leaned back.
“Thank you,” I said.
“HI, DADDY,” Feather said, as I came out of the bedroom the next morning.
She was all dressed for school in a green outfit and brown shoes. She looked taller.
“Baby.”
“You better?”
“Better than what?”
“You not nervous no more?”
I remembered our talk and sat next to her at the breakfast table.
“Yeah, baby,” I said. “I’m better. It was just that I was jealous that Bonnie goes all over the world and meets such wonderful people.”
“And you wisht that you could go?” Feather asked.
“No. I was wanting her to stay home and not have anybody but us as friends.”
“But she can’t do that because, because that’s her job.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
“Everybody got to do their job,” Feather added.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and Feather giggled and kissed me.
Gray-Eyed Death
ACAR DOOR SLAMMED on the street somewhere but it didn’t mean anything to me. I was at home drinking lemonade from the fruit of my own trees on a Saturday in L.A. Nobody was after me. My slate was clean. Bonnie had gone out with her friend Shirley, Jesus was taking sailing lessons near Redondo Beach, and Feather had gone down the street to her little boyfriend’s house, a shy red-headed child named Henry Hopkins.
Just four weeks before I would have spent my solitary time wondering if I should ask Bonnie to be my bride. But she had spent a weekend on the island of Madagascar with a man named Jogaye Cham. He was the son of an African prince born in Senegal while I was raised a poor black orphan.
Bonnie swore that the time they spent together was platonic but that didn’t mean much to me. A man who expected to be a king, who was working to liberate and empower a whole continent, wanted Bonnie by his side.
How could I compete with that?
How could she wake up next to me year after year, getting older while I made sure the toilets at Sojourner Truth Junior High School were disinfected? How could she be satisfied with a janitor when a man who wanted to change the world was calling her name?
Sharp footsteps on concrete followed the slamming door.
Bonnie had made my life work perfectly for a while. She never worried about my late-night meetings or when I went out for clues to the final fate of my old friend Mouse. I knew he was dead but I needed to hear it from the woman who saw him die. EttaMae admitted that she buried him in a nameless grave.
The footsteps ended at my door. They were the footsteps of a small man. I expected Jackson Blue to appear. Maybe he wanted my advice about his crazy love affair with Jewelle now that Mofass was dead. Or maybe he had some scheme he wanted to run past me. Either way it would be better than moping around, wishing that my woman wasn’t born to be a queen.
The knocking was soft and unhurried. Whoever it was, he, or she, was in no rush.
When I pulled the door open I was looking too high, above the man’s head. And then I saw him.
He pushed me aside and went past saying, “If it wasn’t for ugly, Easy, I woulda never even seen you again.”
“Raymond?” I could feel the tears wanting to come from my eyes. I was dizzy too. Torn between the two sensations I couldn’t go either way.
“You know I been drivin’ up an’ down Pico for the last hour and a half tryin’ to figure out if I should come here or not,” Mouse was saying.
He wore dark gray slacks and an ochre-colored jacket. His shirt was charcoal and there was gold edging on three of his teeth. On his baby finger he wore a thick gold ring sporting an onyx face studded with eight or nine diamond chips. His shoes were leather, honed to a high shine.
He wore no hat. Kennedy killed hats by going bareheaded to his inauguration, any haberdasher will tell you that. And if Mouse was a slave to anything it was fashion.
“Where the hell you been, Ray?”
He grinned. He laughed.
That was one of the few times I ever hugged a man. I actually lifted him off the floor.
“All right now, Easy. Okay. It’s okay, brother. I missed you too, baby. Yeah.”
Mouse was still laughing. It wasn’t a guffaw or even a roll. It was a calculated chuckle that only debutantes and killers had mastered.
“Where the hell you been?” I asked again.
“You got somethin’ to drink around here, Ease?” he replied. “I know you don’t drink but I thought maybe your woman did.”
Bonnie kept a bottle of brandy on the top shelf in the kitchen, behind the mixing bowls. I poured Mouse three fingers and refreshed my lemonade. Then he got comfortable on my recliner and I sat on the loveseat Bonnie brought from her home when she moved into mine.
“Well?” I asked after his first sip.
“Well what?”
“What happened?”
“You saw me get hit, didn’t you? You saw me sprawled out there at Death’s door. Shit. I was almost dead, Easy. Almost. Everything looked different. Slow and like black-and-white TV through red sunglasses. I heard Etta cryin’. I heard the nurse tellin’ her I was dyin’. I believed her. As far as I was concerned I was already dead.”
Mouse stared at the kitchen window through the door, his gray eyes amazed with the memory of his own demise.
“Where did Etta take you?”
“Mama Jo’s,” he said. “That’s why I’m here, partly.”
“You were too hurt to be taken all the way down to Texas,” I said. “Your heart wasn’t even beating.”
“Jo moved up around Santa Barbara six years ago,” Mouse said. “Etta knew about it but she never told no one. Domaque had got himself in trouble down Harrisville and she helped ’em move here.”
“She called me.”
“Etta?” Mouse asked.
“No. Jo. Couple’a months ago. She called and asked if I knew where you were. It was that same deep voice. Yeah. I couldn’t place it at the time. She healed you?”
“Yeah, baby. You know Jo’s a witch.” I remembered Mouse saying the same words when we were only nineteen. He’d taken me to her cabin in the woods outside of Pariah, Texas. Jo was twenty years older than we were. She was tall and jet black, crazy and full of need.
She seduced me and then saved my life when I came down with a fever.
“She used powders and ointments,” Mouse continued. “Stayed up all night by my side, every night for six weeks. She sat next to me almost the whole time. Etta and LaMarque was in the corner worryin’ and Domaque did all the work. You know, Easy, I believe that her standin’ sentry was why Death couldn’t pull me off. When my heart got weak she held foul-smellin’ shit up under my nose. And then one mornin’ I was awake. Everything looked normal. My chest hurt but that was fine. I was walkin’ in seven days’ time. I woulda been fuckin’ but Etta was mad at me for gettin’ myself shot.”
He sipped while he talked. After each swallow he hissed in satisfaction. As the moments ticked by I got used to seeing him. That was easy because Mouse had never really been dead for me. I took him with me everywhere I went. He was my barometer for evil, my advisor when no good man would have known what to say. Raymond was proof that a black man could live by his own rules in America when everybody else denied it. Why couldn’t he crawl up out of the grave and return to life whenever he felt like it?