Read Online Six Easy Pieces by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online

each other and takin’ pictures of each other too.”
    “You gonna do that?” I asked, to pull him further out of his shell.
    “Mama didn’t like it. She said it looked wrong to her. I think she’s afraid that I’ll move out or somethin’.”
    “When’s the last time you saw Etheline?” I asked.
    “A week ago today,” he said, as if he were talking about the creation of the world.
    “Where’d you see her?”
    “At the church,” he said, the sadness back in his tone and demeanor. “At the church.”
    “Winter Baptist?”
    “Yes sir. She told me that we should be friends. She had spoken to Reverend Winters and decided to be by herself for a while. She said that, that…”
    “You haven’t seen her since then?”
    “No.”
    “She ever talk to you about Raymond? A little brother with gray eyes and light skin.”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he said. “Have you talked to her?”
    I tried to read his eyes, to see if he was crazy or lying or being sincere. But the pain of his broken heart hid the truth from me.
    “Just on the phone,” I said gently. “To ask her if she heard from my friend.”
    The music had been soft during our talk. But now a powerful soprano was professing some deep emotion—love or hate, I couldn’t tell which.
     
     
    CELIA BOUGHMAN was leaning over the wire chicken coop when I came out of the house. By the time I’d come up to her, she’d grabbed one of the frantic hens by the throat.
    “Mrs. Boughman?”
    “Yes, son?” She held the chicken up and tested it for plumpness.
    “Has your son been at home all the time for the past week?”
    “Yes he has. Haven’t left his room except to go to the toilet. Haven’t even bathed.”
    “Have you been here all that time?”
    “Except Monday. Monday’s my shoppin’ day. I have Willard, the boy down the street, drive me to the store and I buy all I need till the next week.”
    “How about Sunday?” I asked. “Didn’t you go to church?”
    “No. Cedric was so sad, I felt bad leavin’ him to go to the church that he loved. No. I stayed here and made him dinner.”
    With that she took the chicken by its head and spun the body around like a child’s noisemaker. She grabbed the neck and twisted it until the head came off of the body, and then dropped them both on the ground. The body jumped up and started running in circles. It bumped into my leg and then headed off in the opposite direction.
    “Did Cedric talk to you?” Celia asked pleasantly.
    “Yes he did.”
    “Oh that’s good. Maybe he’s gettin’ over his broken heart.”
    The chicken ran into me again. This time she fell over and lay there on the ground, kicking in the air.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Boughman,” I said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
    “You want to stay for dinner, Mr. Rawlins? We’re havin’ fried chicken.”
    “No thanks,” I said. “I just had chicken the other night.”
     
     
    I ENTERED the department store that had become a church at sunset. Two men in dark suits saw me from up near the pulpit. They headed my way.
    “Hold it right there,” one of the men said. If he were standing behind me, I would have worried that there was a rifle aimed at my back.
    The front of the church was half a lot away, so I waited patiently. They were deep brown men with frowns on their faces.
    “Can I help you?” said one of the men. His big belly protruded so far that it created a cavern in the chest area of his suit.
    “Lookin’ for the reverend,” I said.
    “He ain’t here,” the other man said. He had small fleshy bumps all over his face and hands.
    “That’s funny,” I said. “A man over in the office just told me that he was here, gettin’ ready for the Wednesday night meetin’.”
    “Well he ain’t,” Bumpy said.
    “That’s too bad—for him,” I replied.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” the fat man asked.
    “It means that I got a problem in my pocket that he needs to know about. He needs it