Read Online Fortunate Son: A Novel by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online
Authors: Walter Mosley
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Suspense, Male friendship, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Thrillers, Suspense fiction, Race relations, Social classes, Conduct of life
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about Elton. He ain’t mad at you. Him an’ me just fight sometimes.”
After that May showed Thomas her and Elton’s bedroom and then her “sewing room” at the end of another long hall. They got the sheet and a blanket, a pillow and a lamp—which had a ceramic mermaid as a base—for his back-porch room. Thomas had learned to make his own bed from his mother, and so he told May that he could make up the room on his own.
She went to make a phone call, and when she got off she told Thomas that she was going out and to tell Elton, when he got back, that she was going to have dinner with August Murphy.
Thomas wasn’t worried to be alone. All he could see out of his screen walls were the trees of their yard and the yards of their neighbors. Beyond the trees there was a dark area and then the houses of the people behind.
Thomas threaded the cord for his lamp through a small window that led from the kitchen to the porch. He plugged the cord into a socket near the sink. He found a small transistor radio and turned the dial until he came upon a station playing the violin music that Ahn liked to listen to when she was washing clothes.
The back porch was filled with life and death. There were spiderwebs that had dead and dying moths and flies trapped in them. And there were crawling spiders and flying gnats. There was a hornet’s hive on the other side of the screen. Slow-flying yellow-and-black stingers hovered on the breeze humming their low-pitched songs.
In the crook of a tree’s trunk, not five feet away from his transparent wall, Tommy spied a bird’s nest. The chicks chirped and cried until their mother came with food that she forced down their gullets. Then they cried again. On the ground at the foot of the tree lay a dead chick. Three long lines of black ants led to and from the small, gray feathered corpse.
Thomas was happy with his half room at the back of the dark house. He settled down on his knees on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to be that open-eyed, open-mouthed chick on the ground below his peeping brothers and sisters, the soft tickle of tiny ants across his body, the spiky grass growing up from underneath.
After a while Thomas forgot the dead chick. He was just there on his knees slowly becoming one with the floor, searching for his mother again among the timbers and nails and then into the ground below.
As he sat there the sun, which filtered onto the porch bringing sweet green light down, began to fade. He even forgot about his mother, being aware of only the cool evening breezes and the sonorous buzzing of hornets.
Just before it was fully night, a banging sound jarred Thomas from his ruminations. Hard footsteps through the floor made him open his eyes. And the loud “May, where are you?” brought him to his feet.
When the back door to the porch opened, he was looking up, ready to face Elton.
“Where’s May?” the man asked his son.
“She’s having dinner with August Murphy,” the boy said.
“What?” Elton cried, the word sounding more like a threat than a question.
Thomas repeated the answer, thinking that his father must have thought that he was saying something else.
“Did she tell you to tell me that or did you hear her on the phone?”
“She was on the phone, and then she said to say it,” Thomas replied.
“What the hell is this lamp doin’ out here?” Elton asked then. And before Thomas could reply, “What the hell you doin’ here with all the lights in the house out? If you leave the lights out then thieves think you ain’t home an’ come an’ rob you. Didn’t they tell you that at those white people’s house?”
“I don’t know.”
“What you mean you don’t know? You stupid?”
Thomas realized that there was no answer he could give that would keep Elton from getting angrier, so he didn’t say anything.
“She said to tell me that she was going out to dinner with August Murphy?”
Thomas nodded.
This
After that May showed Thomas her and Elton’s bedroom and then her “sewing room” at the end of another long hall. They got the sheet and a blanket, a pillow and a lamp—which had a ceramic mermaid as a base—for his back-porch room. Thomas had learned to make his own bed from his mother, and so he told May that he could make up the room on his own.
She went to make a phone call, and when she got off she told Thomas that she was going out and to tell Elton, when he got back, that she was going to have dinner with August Murphy.
Thomas wasn’t worried to be alone. All he could see out of his screen walls were the trees of their yard and the yards of their neighbors. Beyond the trees there was a dark area and then the houses of the people behind.
Thomas threaded the cord for his lamp through a small window that led from the kitchen to the porch. He plugged the cord into a socket near the sink. He found a small transistor radio and turned the dial until he came upon a station playing the violin music that Ahn liked to listen to when she was washing clothes.
The back porch was filled with life and death. There were spiderwebs that had dead and dying moths and flies trapped in them. And there were crawling spiders and flying gnats. There was a hornet’s hive on the other side of the screen. Slow-flying yellow-and-black stingers hovered on the breeze humming their low-pitched songs.
In the crook of a tree’s trunk, not five feet away from his transparent wall, Tommy spied a bird’s nest. The chicks chirped and cried until their mother came with food that she forced down their gullets. Then they cried again. On the ground at the foot of the tree lay a dead chick. Three long lines of black ants led to and from the small, gray feathered corpse.
Thomas was happy with his half room at the back of the dark house. He settled down on his knees on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to be that open-eyed, open-mouthed chick on the ground below his peeping brothers and sisters, the soft tickle of tiny ants across his body, the spiky grass growing up from underneath.
After a while Thomas forgot the dead chick. He was just there on his knees slowly becoming one with the floor, searching for his mother again among the timbers and nails and then into the ground below.
As he sat there the sun, which filtered onto the porch bringing sweet green light down, began to fade. He even forgot about his mother, being aware of only the cool evening breezes and the sonorous buzzing of hornets.
Just before it was fully night, a banging sound jarred Thomas from his ruminations. Hard footsteps through the floor made him open his eyes. And the loud “May, where are you?” brought him to his feet.
When the back door to the porch opened, he was looking up, ready to face Elton.
“Where’s May?” the man asked his son.
“She’s having dinner with August Murphy,” the boy said.
“What?” Elton cried, the word sounding more like a threat than a question.
Thomas repeated the answer, thinking that his father must have thought that he was saying something else.
“Did she tell you to tell me that or did you hear her on the phone?”
“She was on the phone, and then she said to say it,” Thomas replied.
“What the hell is this lamp doin’ out here?” Elton asked then. And before Thomas could reply, “What the hell you doin’ here with all the lights in the house out? If you leave the lights out then thieves think you ain’t home an’ come an’ rob you. Didn’t they tell you that at those white people’s house?”
“I don’t know.”
“What you mean you don’t know? You stupid?”
Thomas realized that there was no answer he could give that would keep Elton from getting angrier, so he didn’t say anything.
“She said to tell me that she was going out to dinner with August Murphy?”
Thomas nodded.
This
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