because he received my message. That would have been a 28 R
good moment for me to take his bag, but I did not.
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“My car is over there.” I indicated the brown Dodge.
1
We made our way. Bennet threw his bag in the backseat 2
and we were off.
3
“Why did you need me to pick you up?” I asked, turn-4
ing onto the highway. “You know we didn’t say anything 5
about you paying for a limo service.”
6
“I want to be circumspect about this retreat, Mr.
7
Blakey. No one knows where I’m going. Part of the idea is 8
that I am to be kept from everything in my world —
9
completely. I don’t want my car in your driveway or some 10
driver who remembers where he dropped me off.”
11
“That sounds illegal, Mr. Bennet. I don’t want to be in-12
volved in anything that’s against the law.”
13
He looked at me and laughed silently. Then he said, 14
“Not illegal. No. You see, in my world I’m pretty well 15
known, and some people think that I’m important — for 16
their money. I don’t want anybody finding me. This time 17
is my own.”
18
Off the side of the highway, I spotted three deer, their 19
luminescent eyes transfixed by my high beams. We sped 20
past them. I thought that at least they were witnesses to 21
our passage.
22
“What were you laughing about?” I asked.
23
“Ask me later.” Bennet sat back in the passenger’s seat, 24
letting out a deep sigh. It could have been pleasure or the 25
last breath of a dying man.
26
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1
“Can you pull into your garage?” Bennet asked me as we 2
drove up my gravel driveway. “I mean, if we’re going to 3
see this secrecy thing through, we might as well do it right.”
4
I almost sneered, but then I remembered Miss Little-5
neck. She was probably sitting on her front porch, smok-6
ing a cigarette and spying on the night. I wasn’t sure if I 7
wanted the neighborhood to know about my tenant, so I 8
opened the garage door and drove in. Bennet and I exited 9
out the back door of the garage and down through the 10
hatch to the cellar. I snapped on the light and immedi-11
ately Bennet began to inspect my work. I had unpacked 12
and constructed a small red plastic table and chair. These 13
seemed to satisfy him. There was also a futon that I had 14
unfurled.
15
“Help me with these,” he said, dragging the table and 16
chair toward the small door of the cage.
17
He crawled into the cage, and with a little effort, I 18
passed the furniture in to him.
19
He arranged the pieces like a small bedroom. I handed 20
him the clothes and stationery and a few other small 21
items.
22
“Pass the crapper,” he then said. I dragged the oval-23
shaped cylinder to the door, and he strained over it until 24
it was against the back wall of the cage.
25
“Now all we need is to put the pump back here and 26
we’re in business,” he said.
27 S
He stood up then and approached me. Looking at him 28 R
through the diamonds of the cage, I thought not for the 118
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first time that the structure might bear more than a re-1
semblance to a prison cell.
2
“Have you figured it out yet?” he asked me as if reading 3
my mind.
4
“What?”
5
Again the silent laugh.
6
“What?” I asked again.
7
“This is my prison,” he said. “And you are my warden 8
and my guard.”
9
“Are you crazy?” The sentence just came out of my 10
mouth. It wasn’t really a question.
11
“You like to drink, don’t you, Charles?” he asked. “Why 12
don’t you go up to the house and get us some liquor? I’ll 13
explain to you why I’m not crazy and why this is impor-14
tant for both of us.”
15
It was a request bordering on a gentle command. There 16
was no polite answer except to go get a bottle and two 17
glasses. I wanted to be out of his presence for a minute.
18
Anniston Bennet was a man who made you do what he 19
wanted. He seemed reasonable and generous and knowl-20
edgeable — not mad. But what he was saying made me 21
want to run.
22
I walked away instead. Up toward the house and the 23
cheap bottles of whiskey in the pantry, where I first heard 24
Bethany’s cries of passion and where my parents mur-25
mured deep secrets that made me feel at ease.
26
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14 C
“Let’s just say . . .” Anniston Bennet was saying. I had 15
brought my cheap whiskey and two squat glasses that had 16
been on the shelf since before my mother could remem-17
ber. I was sitting on the stairs and he had pulled out his 18
red chair to join me. “. . . that I’m a criminal wishing to 19
pay for my crimes.”
20
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why don’t you just turn your-21
self in to the police if you want to go to jail?”
22
“I don’t recognize any organized form of law enforce-23
ment, or government for that matter, as valid,” he stated 24
simply. He might have been a prime minister or anar-25
chist. He could have even been some advanced form of 26
alien life, looking down on humanity as we might look 27 S
on a mob of ants. “But even if I did, there is no crime that 28 R
I could be tried for in this country. Well, maybe some 120
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The Man in My Basement
laws having to do with money. But I would never allow 1
the hypocrites on our benches to stand judgment over 2
me.”
3
“I still don’t get it,” I said, downing my glass in frustra-4
tion and refilling it with the gratitude of a full bottle.
5
“What does my basement have to do with all that? What 6
do I have to do with it?”
7
“Everything about us is random,” Bennet said. “Maybe 8
the universe has laws, but they aren’t concerned about 9
you or me or the people we touch. We’re just mistakes 10
who got up and walked off. The only things that are cer-11
tain are death and the will to survive . . .”
12
He was a tiny man talking as if he were a giant. But he 13
was convincing too.
14
“. . . We make our own victories and our own mis-15
takes,” he said, and for a moment there was a sad little 16
chink in his armor of certainty. “There is no justice unless 17
the judged agree. Without understanding and repentance 18
there can only be revenge.” He reached over to the stair 19
next to me and refilled both our glasses.
20
“What are you talking about, Mr. Bennet? What kind 21