Read Online Gone Fishin' by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online Page B

wanted to know why he had come back I couldn’t
tell, but Mouse didn’t even try to figure it out.
    ‘Dom
axed me t’ax you t’keep Easy here for a night ‘cause
Easy’s sick. Come on up here, Ease, an’ let Miss Dixon
see ya.’
    I moved up
to his side, looking as hard at that little old woman as she was at
me.
    ‘Anyway,’
Mouse continued, ‘Dom has got business down in Jenkins an’
he wanted Easy someplace where he’d be warm. You know he’s
got the grippe an’ that can come to pneumonia in a second.’
    ‘Don’t
I know it,’ she said.
    ‘Dom
said that he gonna come get Easy tomorrah if he can please stay in
some ole corner t’night.’
    ‘Domaque asked you this?’
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’
    ‘And how am I to know that Domaque asked you this?’
    ‘Well you know ma’am that Dom an’ me is the best of
friends…’
    ‘I
know,’ she interrupted, ‘that you are a sinner, Raymond
Alexander, and a bad influence on the ground you trod. I was hoping
that you were gone forever and that that sweet poor chile Domaque was
free of your evil ways.’
    ‘I’m
just visitin’, ma’am.’
    She looked
at him and then at me. ‘Why, this boy could be as bad as you.
How’m I to know?’
    She moved
to dose the door but Mouse spoke up again. ‘Ma’am, I’m
not lyin’ to ya. Dom wants Easy t’stay wichyou ‘cause
Easy got the grippe, an’ if you don’t believe me then you
feel his head an’ see if I’m lyin’.’
    She looked
suspicious for a minute but then she pushed open the screen door and
came toward me. I moved back a halfstep, out of reflex I guess, but
Mouse grabbed me and made me stand still.
    Miss Dixon
was a small white woman with pale hair that was pulled straight back
against her head. She wore a floor-length flat green dress that had
long sleeves and a neckline at the throat. She was very thin but not
brittle-looking like many old white women; she could’ve been
made from solid bone from the way her hard hand felt against my
forehead.
    ‘Lord, he’s burnin’ up!’
    ‘I tole you,’ Mouse said.
    ‘You a friend to Domaque, son?’ she asked me.
    The porch beams started shaking gently before my eyes, like leaves on
a breeze.
    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said.
    ‘Dom
come over by noon, ma’am,’ Mouse said. He already had a
foot down the stairs.
    ‘You
tell him to bring Mr. Dickens’ book, Raymond,’ she said
to him. Then to me, ‘Come on inside.’
    I turned
to say something to Mouse, but he was going down the stairs with his
back to me. He was whistling and moving fast. I almost called to him
but then a feeling came over me: I wanted Mouse to be far away and I
didn’t care what happened to him or his family; I didn’t
care about weddings or a good time anymore. I just wanted to sleep.
    ‘What’s your full name, son?’
    ‘Ezekiel Rawlins, ma’am.’
    ‘Well come on in ‘fore you burn a hole in my porch.’
    The
entrance to her house had three coat racks, six umbrella stands, and
more mirrors and knickknacks on the wall than I could count. There
was a darkwood chair of a different make against each wall and on
either side of the door. It was a small entrance room and so crowded
with furniture that we two could barely fit in it at the same time.
    She led me
quickly through to the parlour.
    This was a
large room with blue velvet wallpaper from the ivory-carpeted floor
to the cream-colored ceiling. There was a blue sofa, with a matching
chair, and a red love seat with two matching chairs. There was a
yellow couch and a brown one too. Each of them had matching chairs.
The sofas and chairs were so dose together that you couldn’t
sit on them.
    There were
the coffee tables: maple, cherry, pine, and mahogany; all of them
stacked with every different kind of tea setting and little china
sculpture that you can imagine. She had bureaus and cabinets, one
behind the other; some of them had glass doors and you could make out
the piles of plates and stacks of teacups.
    I looked
at that old