Read Online Those Bones Are Not My Child by Toni Cade Bambara - Free Book Online Page A

bucked and let out a wail, Kofi thought she was going to call the parents some names, but she went on fanning. He roamed around the house in his mind, wondering where Sonny had stashed his cigar box. It was a better box than the one Kofi had.
    Mama once threatened to throw his out, calling his stuff junk. He kept his baby teeth in it, some seashells, and a few magic things, along with the foil packs of Aqua Pura that Mr. Lewis at the Boys’ Club had given him. Dad stepped in and made a big speech about privacy. On account of he once had a cigar box for his things. The box he gave Sonny was a Primo. Kenti spoiled hers the same day, trying to make it papier-mâché the newspaper strips sopping wet, more water than flour. The skinny doll she stuck in it anyway was mushy and blurred.
    “Where you think Sonny at?” She was talking behind her fan and interrupted his thoughts of the crawl space. He’d been so sure Sonny’s box was buried up there in the loose-fill insulation.
    “You keep scratching, you going to get sores,” Kenti said. “Mama told you to put on long sleeves and smear Vaseline on your face before you climbed up there. You a hard head, Mr. Kofi.”
    “Would you shut up?”
    “A hard head will get you a soft behind every time,” she said.
    “I wish you’d be quiet. It’s too hot to talk.”
    Zala went over it all again to fill in the time. “He left to come pick up the machine before I had a chance to talk to him. But he’ll be here any minute. At least he’ll know how to get to the camping area.” She turned toward Ashby and felt the whole street turn with her. Mowers idled. Hedge clippers paused. Hoses splattered the driveways. A woman near the corner got up from her porch glider and leaned against her screen door, bowing it out. Two stoops up from the Griers’, the elderly husband, seated, held his wife by the elbow while she stood up craning her neck. Then she sat down, leaning against him.
    “So long as we don’t get a call, ma’am, we can wait,” the white cop, Officer Eaton, said.
    Zala settled back on her heels and examined the curtains in the Griers’ living-room window. They hadn’t moved. But Mr. Grier had come down the basement steps while Kofi had been playing at being a coal miner down there, then a switchman, swinging the lantern behind the stony dirt mound back of the furnace. Mr. Grier seemed annoyed to be asked again if he’d seen Sonny.
    “Mighty hot,” said Officer Eaton.
    “A scorcher,” said Officer Hall.
    “Think your boy might have gone to the pool? That’s where I’d be. It’s some hot,” repeated Eaton.
    “Can I get you two some ice water?”
    “No thanks, Mrs. Spencer. Let’s just see what your nephew comes up with.”
    Zala looked at the knob on the Griers’ door. She hoped Mrs. Grier would let bygones be bygones and come out. She needed support. It was uncomfortable having to deal with police. Especially out in the street.It was too hot indoors. And too, they’d torn the place up going through Sonny’s things looking for phone numbers.
    “Must be some kind of record, this heat wave.”
    “Hmm.”
    Looking down toward Taliaferro, Zala wondered if everyone was keeping a distance because of the police or because they weren’t sympathetic. By nightfall, she thought, a sour taste in her teeth, some made-up story would be circulating. A version of it would eventually reach her in the barbershop a mile and a half away.
    “Well—” pushing himself up onto the curb—“I guess we could check along the strip,” said Eaton, talking across her to his partner. “But let’s see what the nephew comes up with. Now, how recent are these snapshots?” He walked toward his partner, who was still standing with his foot cocked on the meter.
    “She said they were taken in June.”
    “Sonny’s sixth-grade graduation,” Zala said. “I have a packetful.” She stepped between them. “What strip is that you mentioned?”
    “Over there along Stewart Avenue.