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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.

11

12

13

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27 S

28 R

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8

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10

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13

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.

14

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.

19

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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The Man in My Basement

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

1

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.

4

5

6

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.

11

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.

15

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.

19

20

21

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.

24

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.

4

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

threshold. His small hand held a surprisingly strong grip.

6

“Mr. Bennet. Come in.”

7

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

through the living room that was crowded with the refuse 9

of my ancestors.

10

“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.

16

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.

19

“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.

22

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

see the cellar now?”

24

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