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PART THREE
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“Why are you here?” I had brought him panfried scrod C 14
and boiled potatoes for dinner — that and a small pitcher 15
of chilled Irish Breakfast tea.
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“I don’t understand.”
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It was the first jab and counter in our contest.
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“Why do you want to be here in this cell in my base-19
ment? Why do you feel you should be in jail?”
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Bennet had been sitting in his red plastic chair. He 21
stood, held his hands out, and splayed his fingers. One 22
hand was held high; the other was at waist level. They 23
were like an ancient image of twin suns.
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“Because, Charles. I am criminal.” The suns turned to 25
fists. “I have broken every commandment and dozens of 26
laws and ordinances.”
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“What laws have —”
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Walter Mosley
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“It’s my turn,” he said.
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“I only asked you one question.”
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“Why am I here?” he said, holding up a solitary thumb.
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“Why do I want to be here?” The forefinger. “And why do 5
I feel I should be in jail?”
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His count was correct, and I wanted to play by the rules.
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“Did you embezzle money from Harbor Savings?” he 8
asked.
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My first impulse was to say no. I almost did. Then I 10
wanted to say yes, but I couldn’t get the word out of my 11
mouth. I sat there, gritting my teeth. Bennet’s only emo-12
tion was bland patience.
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It dawned on me that I had gotten into a game that I 14
could lose. If I played by the rules we’d set out that morn-15
ing, I was open to questions that made me just as vulner-16
able as Bennet. If I answered truthfully, he would have 17
something on me.
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And I couldn’t be sure if what he told me was the truth.
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“Yes,” I said anyway. “Yes, I took money from the 20
drawer. I guess you could call it embezzlement.”
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Anniston Bennet smiled.
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“Have you ever murdered anybody?” I asked, expecting 23
to wipe the smirk off his face.
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“No,” he replied, still showing his small teeth.
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I stood up, knocking the standing book trunk flat on 26
the floor behind me. “That’s it!” I shouted. “Four days’
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solitary!”
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He leaped to his feet also.
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The Man in My Basement
“That’s not fair!” he cried, a bit playfully.
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“Yes it is. You lied. I already know that you murdered 2
that soldier in North Vietnam. Either you lied then or 3
you are now.”
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“I did not lie on either count,” Bennet complained. “I 5
never said that I murdered that soldier. I said that I killed 6
him, shot him actually. But I was ordered to do so by a le-7
gal representative of the government. I no more murdered 8
that soldier than an executioner murders a condemned 9
man.”
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“You said that you broke every commandment,” I ar-11
gued. But I realized before I finished that the command-12
ment says Thou shalt not kill; it does not say murder.
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“Are you a lawyer, Mr. Bennet?” I asked.
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“No. I have no formal training as a lawyer and neither 15
have I taken or passed the bar in any state or nation.”
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“What did you steal?”
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“Only one thing,” he said. “It was years ago, in the sev-18
enties in a villa outside of Rio de Janeiro. A painting that 19
was just there leaning up against the wall in a poorly lit 20
hallway that no one went into much. It was in a rich 21
man’s house. I was newly out of Asia and looking for a 22
shipping connection outside the U.S. that would be will-23
ing to move what some saw as contraband. The man who 24
owned the house also owned a dozen ships. Not big ships 25
but big enough for my purposes. But it wasn’t working 26
out. The man either wanted too much or was scared and S 27
asked for too much, so I would have to abandon my ef-R 28
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forts. I stayed a day or two too long. His daughter hated 2
him. She would come up to my room every night and 3
make love to me and tell me how much she hated him.
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She was the one who showed me the painting.
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“It was a nude, a foot high and nine inches wide. She 6
was peach colored and leaning over a blue chair. Picasso.
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Just threw it in my suitcase while Embado’s daughter was 8
sleeping in my bed. She slept late that day, and I managed 9
to leave without waking her.”
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I allowed the idea to seep in. It wasn’t the painting or 11
Brazil or a beautiful young woman coming to him for sex 12
in her own father’s home. It wasn’t any one of those things 13
but all of them together. Thinking about his access to 14
power and wealth, about his almost innocent lack of 15
morals, set off an empty feeling in my chest.
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I looked into his blue eyes while I thought of how to 17
phrase my next question.
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He saw what was going on in my eyes and said, “My 19
turn.”
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I counted to myself and then nodded.
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“Have you ever killed anybody?”
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I wanted to get up and leave right then, to run away 23
from Bennet — and everything else. I thought that I 24
could free him and then I’d drive to New York. From 25
there I could make it down to Atlanta, change my name, 26
get a job unloading boxes.
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But there was something about the peach-colored nude 28 R
and the naked woman in the bed — something about me 188
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The Man in My Basement
spending an entire lifetime up in my room reading comic 1
books and masturbating while there was a real world out-2
side that I was too scared to acknowledge. These things 3
held me. Bennet’s question was the deepest contact that I 4
had ever had with another human being.
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Brent was dying. He was almost dead already. The hos-6
pice nurse came in every morning to see about him. She 7
changed his diapers and washed him. She fed him break-8
fast and then a volunteer would come later in the day to 9
feed him dinner. The meals were the same, just a can of 10
vitamin-enriched milk-shake–like stuff. Chocolate for 11
dinner and banana in the morning. The nurse said that I 12