3
“It fits the center hinge on the door,” he said.
4
He crawled into the cage, dragging his red chair, and I 5
fit the lock through and slammed it shut. Then I pulled 6
hard to make sure that the lock held.
7
The loud crack of the lock snapping shut had a pro-8
nounced effect on my self-proclaimed prisoner. His face 9
visibly paled and he grabbed onto the bars of the door 10
with both hands.
11
“I thought you wanted this,” I said.
12
“I do.”
13
“Then why do you look so scared?”
14
“I had certain experiences thirty years ago that made 15
me nervous about close spaces and locked doors,” he said.
16
“So then why you want to lock yourself in a basement?”
17
“This is a punishment, Mr. Blakey, not a vacation.”
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27 S
28 R
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2
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6
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8
9
10
11
12
13
After I’d locked him in, I brought my prisoner some C 14
water and a dry ham-salad sandwich that I made from 15
white bread and a can off the shelf. There was a small 16
space between the bottom of the cell door and the floor.
17
This space was large enough to pass the tin plate and 18
squat glass through.
19
“Lights out,” I said at the hatch.
20
The look in his eyes was both frightened and resolved.
21
I pulled the string on the lightbulb. I decided to put a 22
lock on the hatch door in the morning. For one night in 23
the hole, he could go without security.
24
I didn’t sleep much that night. Fidgety and nervous, I 25
broke out into sweats every now and then. Sounds that 26
could have been the hatch to the basement drove me from S 27
the bed a half-dozen times. I looked out the window and R 28
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Walter Mosley
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once even ventured into the yard. I didn’t lift the cellar door 2
though. I didn’t want to show Bennet how scared I was.
3
He was locked up in a nine-foot cell and I was still 4
afraid of him. Actually the fear started when the lock en-5
gaged. He was empowered by the fact of his helplessness.
6
And I was at risk. I lay in bed worrying about kids sneak-7
ing into the cellar and finding Bennet. Then they’d tell 8
their parents and then the police would come . . .
9
One of the few times I fell off to sleep, I dreamed that I 10
was in a courtroom. Lainie and Mr. Gurgel and Ira Min-11
der testified that I was a bank robber. They said that it was 12
armed robbery because I had carried my pocketknife to 13
work and, somehow, the pocketknife turned into the 14
.22 rifle that was in a box on the shelf in my father’s li-15
brary. The judge found me guilty. I was convicted, sen-16
tenced, and put into Bennet’s cell. But it was much 17
smaller than nine by nine, more like three by three. I 18
couldn’t stand up and there was barely any light. A wave 19
of despair so profound went through me that I was stand-20
ing next to the bed before I came awake. I wanted to run.
21
I wanted to cry. I definitely wanted Anniston Bennet out 22
of my life.
23
I roamed the rooms of the house after that, going from 24
floor to floor trying to figure out how I could beat this 25
thing. I wanted a drink but my stomach and intestines 26
were roiling. I couldn’t even make out words in the books 27 S
I paged through.
28 R
I was up in the old fortress, my mother’s sewing room, 128
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The Man in My Basement
when the sun hit my great-grandfather’s old oaks. Amber, 1
orange, a hint of yellow, and deep-blue strips made the 2
horizon line. They were the colors of majesty’s approach.
3
I was arrested by the promise of morning light. I imag-4
ined those deer I had seen all dewy and shivering in the 5
morning chill. The night was behind them, and if the air 6
smelled clean and clear of danger, they marked another 7
night gone with hunger and thirst for the next.
8
I awoke with my head on a bag of pieces my mother 9
kept for quilting. The sun was hot on my ear and my own 10
loud breath was like a wind tunnel.
11
Outside the granite headstones stood in the high weeds 12
like soldiers hunkering down in the grass before a morning 13
assault. My mother spoke to me then. “You should cut 14
those weeds,” she said as clearly as if she were still alive. It 15
was the first time I had ever imagined hearing her voice.
16
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
17
I showered and shaved, brushed and ironed. Anniston 18
Bennet’s breakfast — a boiled egg, cornflakes, and apple 19
juice — was ready at 9:23.
20
When I opened the hatch, a scent assailed me. It wasn’t 21
strong but it was living — the man in my basement tak-22
ing ownership with his spoor.
23
“Good morning, Charlie,” Bennet said as I stooped 24
over to slide the tray and glass under the cage door.
25
“The name is Charles Dodd-Blakey. You can call me 26
Mr. Dodd-Blakey, Mr. Bennet. That will keep us civil S 27
over the next two weeks.” It was a voice I hadn’t heard in R 28
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many years — fourteen years. The tone I used on Uncle 2
Brent when he was lying in his bed dying, smelling up my 3
home with death.
4
Bennet’s thin eyebrows raised. He took up the tray and 5
stood, using his toe to push the previous night’s tray out.
6
I realized that I was expected to take his dirty dishes and 7
wash them — like a manservant, a butler doing his mas-8
ter’s dirty work for him.
9
“Okay.” He paused. “Mr. Dodd-Blakey. Good morning 10
to you. Did you sleep well?”
11
“I’ll connect a hose from the sink that you can use to 12
wash your dishes,” I replied. “It’s just cold water but 13
that’ll have to do. You want me to leave the light on?”
14
“I didn’t get my books last night,” he said. “Would you 15
get them for me?”
16
“Which one did you want?”
17
This curt question caught Bennet up short. He put out 18
a hand and touched the metal slats of his cage. For a mo-19
ment hardness shone in his eyes, but then he said, “The 20
first volume in the Story of Civilization. ”
21
I complied without comment. The book was a tight fit 22
under the cage door and the cover ripped.
23
“Maybe you could open the door for the other ones,”
24
Bennet suggested.
25
“The only reason that lock comes off,” I said, “is when 26
you get your ass out of here.”
27 S
“You sound angry, Mr. Dodd-Blakey.”
28 R
I regretted having asked him to refer to me in that way.
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