Read Online Inside a Silver Box by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Walter Mosley
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didn’t attack myself,” Lorraine claimed.
“No. No, you didn’t. But you run down the street past poor, sick, uneducated, homeless, and hopeless people with yo’ fine ass and your pockets full’a money. I belonged in prison but that don’t make you innocent. I think that’s what SB was sayin’. It’s easy to find guilt all up and down the streets. But how’s all that no-good shit gonna be there, and here you are so innocent that you don’t have nuthin’ to do with it?”
This thought wasn’t alien to Lorraine. She had studied original sin and the various interpretations of social and socialist revolutions. She had written a term paper on the paradox of capital punishment. And, sitting there with her own killer, she realized that all of this had been in her head, that she’d never had to answer for the crimes of her culture and her class; nor did she truly believe that she should be held responsible.
This feeling of innocence somehow caused her shame. This shame made her angry and the anger brought out the unfamiliar feeling of belligerence.
“I don’t care,” she said. “I’m not like you.”
“No, honey, you not. But here we are on the same road, and you the one brought me here—ain’t no question about that.”
THIRTEEN
T HE TWO SAT for a long time after devouring dozens of berries and many drafts of sweet-tasting water. When the sun began to go down they decided to rest until morning.
The twilight in the uncharted high forest was beautiful but when the sun set and the moon rose over a far mountain, the air turned cold. Lorraine began to shiver. Ronnie put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“Get off me,” Lorraine complained. “I don’t need you.”
“I know you don’t, girl,” the killer said. “Maybe you ain’t cold, but I’m freezin’. I just wanted to get a little warm, that’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Come on, baby, you need me to tell you again how my dick ain’t workin’ right?”
“Do you have to use that language?”
“It’s the only language I got.”
Lorraine turned her back to Ronnie and pressed into his embrace. When they came together, they were enveloped in warmth that was both physical and somehow emotional. Ronnie giggled, maybe for the first time since before adolescence, and Lorraine smiled, forgetting about the philosophies of if and why; about the crimes against her or ideas she believed but did not accept.
Swathed in warmth neither one had known since infancy they fell into a sleep so profound that the world around them seemed to fall away.
As they slept they didn’t notice the chromium skinned antlike insects that swarmed around Lorraine’s eyes, biting her over and over with preordained precision and accuracy.
* * *
I N THE MORNING Ronnie rose first. He went across the stream and into the forest to relieve himself. He was just zipping up the brown pants he’d bought in the thrift shop when Lorraine screamed.
Running back to their bed of grasses and soil, he saw the young woman standing upright, moving from side to side, and holding her face with both hands.
“What’s wrong?” Ronnie shouted, running to her side.
“I’m blind! I’m blind!”
“Let me see,” Ronnie said. “What’s wrong?”
He grabbed her wrists, pulling at them to get a look at her face—but when he tugged, her head moved with her hands.
“I got to look at it if I’m gonna do anything,” he reasoned.
Lorraine fell to her knees and Ronnie descended with her. She continued resisting him and he had to consciously keep himself from forcing her to expose her face.
Finally he let her go and said, “Please, Lorraine, I just wanna help.”
Slowly, hesitantly Lorraine lowered her hands. Her eyelids and the flesh from the middle of her forehead down to the bridge of her nose were red and very swollen, effectively shutting her eyes.
“What is it?” she cried. “I can’t see.”
“It looks like bug bites.”
“Bugs? Why would
“No. No, you didn’t. But you run down the street past poor, sick, uneducated, homeless, and hopeless people with yo’ fine ass and your pockets full’a money. I belonged in prison but that don’t make you innocent. I think that’s what SB was sayin’. It’s easy to find guilt all up and down the streets. But how’s all that no-good shit gonna be there, and here you are so innocent that you don’t have nuthin’ to do with it?”
This thought wasn’t alien to Lorraine. She had studied original sin and the various interpretations of social and socialist revolutions. She had written a term paper on the paradox of capital punishment. And, sitting there with her own killer, she realized that all of this had been in her head, that she’d never had to answer for the crimes of her culture and her class; nor did she truly believe that she should be held responsible.
This feeling of innocence somehow caused her shame. This shame made her angry and the anger brought out the unfamiliar feeling of belligerence.
“I don’t care,” she said. “I’m not like you.”
“No, honey, you not. But here we are on the same road, and you the one brought me here—ain’t no question about that.”
THIRTEEN
T HE TWO SAT for a long time after devouring dozens of berries and many drafts of sweet-tasting water. When the sun began to go down they decided to rest until morning.
The twilight in the uncharted high forest was beautiful but when the sun set and the moon rose over a far mountain, the air turned cold. Lorraine began to shiver. Ronnie put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“Get off me,” Lorraine complained. “I don’t need you.”
“I know you don’t, girl,” the killer said. “Maybe you ain’t cold, but I’m freezin’. I just wanted to get a little warm, that’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Come on, baby, you need me to tell you again how my dick ain’t workin’ right?”
“Do you have to use that language?”
“It’s the only language I got.”
Lorraine turned her back to Ronnie and pressed into his embrace. When they came together, they were enveloped in warmth that was both physical and somehow emotional. Ronnie giggled, maybe for the first time since before adolescence, and Lorraine smiled, forgetting about the philosophies of if and why; about the crimes against her or ideas she believed but did not accept.
Swathed in warmth neither one had known since infancy they fell into a sleep so profound that the world around them seemed to fall away.
As they slept they didn’t notice the chromium skinned antlike insects that swarmed around Lorraine’s eyes, biting her over and over with preordained precision and accuracy.
* * *
I N THE MORNING Ronnie rose first. He went across the stream and into the forest to relieve himself. He was just zipping up the brown pants he’d bought in the thrift shop when Lorraine screamed.
Running back to their bed of grasses and soil, he saw the young woman standing upright, moving from side to side, and holding her face with both hands.
“What’s wrong?” Ronnie shouted, running to her side.
“I’m blind! I’m blind!”
“Let me see,” Ronnie said. “What’s wrong?”
He grabbed her wrists, pulling at them to get a look at her face—but when he tugged, her head moved with her hands.
“I got to look at it if I’m gonna do anything,” he reasoned.
Lorraine fell to her knees and Ronnie descended with her. She continued resisting him and he had to consciously keep himself from forcing her to expose her face.
Finally he let her go and said, “Please, Lorraine, I just wanna help.”
Slowly, hesitantly Lorraine lowered her hands. Her eyelids and the flesh from the middle of her forehead down to the bridge of her nose were red and very swollen, effectively shutting her eyes.
“What is it?” she cried. “I can’t see.”
“It looks like bug bites.”
“Bugs? Why would
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