Read Online Those Bones Are Not My Child by Toni Cade Bambara - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Toni Cade Bambara
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The electronic game palace, the nudie joints, adult bookstores.” Eaton licked his fingers and thumbed through his notes.
“My son is a twelve-year-old boy,” Zala said icily, and the cop looked up from his little book.
“You’d be surprised, ma’am. And not just Black kids, either,” said Eaton.
She turned on her heels and followed Hall, who shone the flashlight over the roof. Though it was still broad daylight, he flashed it along the gutters and around the lumpy tar edges of the dormers.
Kenti bumped down two steps and twisted around to follow the beam. “You think my brother’s hiding on the roof?”
“Does he do that sometimes, hide from you?” asked Hall.
Kenti looked at him, turned to Kofi, then looked over the man’s shoulder at her mother. Kenti tucked in her lip. When the policeman came into the yard, she pulled in her feet. She looked from the gun on his hip to the Robinson yard. She could see Mean Dog between the back of their yellow Bug and the police car’s front lights. Mean Dog hadn’t barked but one time, like he knew cops had pistols with bullets.
“I thought I heard something up there,” the Black cop said, turning around to look straight at Kofi.
“Squirrels,” Kofi said.
There’d been nights, though, when he’d heard something up there heavier than squirrels. He was thinking about saying so, but he saw his mother looking at him, so he didn’t say anything. The Black cop went around the side of the house just as Eaton came up to the hedge and pointed.
“You need to get your landlord to replace those gutters. Rusted clean through in places. You renting or buying?” Eaton asked her.
Kenti watched how her mother came to a full stop by the jade tree and took a long time to turn her head to look over the hedges at the white man.
“I think my boy is lost in the woods,” she said. Then, “My nephew will show you. He’ll be along soon.” That stopped him. But just for good measure, Kenti stretched her legs out. The cop looked at her bare feet, then went back to the car, his head turned toward the corner of Ashby.
“Mrs. Robinson’s looking,” Kenti said, watching out of the side of her eye. “She pretending to hold Mean Dog back by the collar when he ain’t even barking.”
“I can see and I can hear,” Kofi said. The fiberglass was making him itchy all over. He prepared for a jump from the stoop. He wanted to see what the Black cop was looking at around the side of the house.
“She said to stay put.”
“I didn’t hear her say nothing.”
“Said it with her eyes. You got eyes, doncha?” Kenti crossed her legs high again and fanned.
“Forget you.” Kofi sucked his teeth but stayed put.
Staying to the narrow walk, Zala followed Officer Hall around to the back of the house, where he suddenly dropped down in a squat. He shaded his eyes and peered in through the basement window.
“You got a cat, Mrs. Spencer?”
“The neighbors’. We share the basement.”
“Laundry room?”
She shrugged. “The washer and dryer broke down one month after we got here.”
He swiveled around, the soles of his shoes gritty on the brick walk. It didn’t seem dark at all until he swept the light under the dogwood, then directed the beam along the back fencing, then back again to thetree. He did it quickly, as though to catch something sly and elusive. The pool of yellow-green pollen below the dogwood bleached out to pale yellow. The clothesline Sonny had used to pitch a tent suddenly looked bright, almost clean. It was knotted in places. A web a spider had spun, using a knot for an anchor, had ensnared a victim. The husk of a beetle dangled in silvery threads.
“You get on with your next-door neighbors?” Officer Hall straightened up and pulled his uniform free at each armpit.
“We’re fine,” she said, suppressing the scenes that usually started over her gunning the machine late at night.
The flashlight swept across the tub-and-wringer a yard down. An old woman,
“My son is a twelve-year-old boy,” Zala said icily, and the cop looked up from his little book.
“You’d be surprised, ma’am. And not just Black kids, either,” said Eaton.
She turned on her heels and followed Hall, who shone the flashlight over the roof. Though it was still broad daylight, he flashed it along the gutters and around the lumpy tar edges of the dormers.
Kenti bumped down two steps and twisted around to follow the beam. “You think my brother’s hiding on the roof?”
“Does he do that sometimes, hide from you?” asked Hall.
Kenti looked at him, turned to Kofi, then looked over the man’s shoulder at her mother. Kenti tucked in her lip. When the policeman came into the yard, she pulled in her feet. She looked from the gun on his hip to the Robinson yard. She could see Mean Dog between the back of their yellow Bug and the police car’s front lights. Mean Dog hadn’t barked but one time, like he knew cops had pistols with bullets.
“I thought I heard something up there,” the Black cop said, turning around to look straight at Kofi.
“Squirrels,” Kofi said.
There’d been nights, though, when he’d heard something up there heavier than squirrels. He was thinking about saying so, but he saw his mother looking at him, so he didn’t say anything. The Black cop went around the side of the house just as Eaton came up to the hedge and pointed.
“You need to get your landlord to replace those gutters. Rusted clean through in places. You renting or buying?” Eaton asked her.
Kenti watched how her mother came to a full stop by the jade tree and took a long time to turn her head to look over the hedges at the white man.
“I think my boy is lost in the woods,” she said. Then, “My nephew will show you. He’ll be along soon.” That stopped him. But just for good measure, Kenti stretched her legs out. The cop looked at her bare feet, then went back to the car, his head turned toward the corner of Ashby.
“Mrs. Robinson’s looking,” Kenti said, watching out of the side of her eye. “She pretending to hold Mean Dog back by the collar when he ain’t even barking.”
“I can see and I can hear,” Kofi said. The fiberglass was making him itchy all over. He prepared for a jump from the stoop. He wanted to see what the Black cop was looking at around the side of the house.
“She said to stay put.”
“I didn’t hear her say nothing.”
“Said it with her eyes. You got eyes, doncha?” Kenti crossed her legs high again and fanned.
“Forget you.” Kofi sucked his teeth but stayed put.
Staying to the narrow walk, Zala followed Officer Hall around to the back of the house, where he suddenly dropped down in a squat. He shaded his eyes and peered in through the basement window.
“You got a cat, Mrs. Spencer?”
“The neighbors’. We share the basement.”
“Laundry room?”
She shrugged. “The washer and dryer broke down one month after we got here.”
He swiveled around, the soles of his shoes gritty on the brick walk. It didn’t seem dark at all until he swept the light under the dogwood, then directed the beam along the back fencing, then back again to thetree. He did it quickly, as though to catch something sly and elusive. The pool of yellow-green pollen below the dogwood bleached out to pale yellow. The clothesline Sonny had used to pitch a tent suddenly looked bright, almost clean. It was knotted in places. A web a spider had spun, using a knot for an anchor, had ensnared a victim. The husk of a beetle dangled in silvery threads.
“You get on with your next-door neighbors?” Officer Hall straightened up and pulled his uniform free at each armpit.
“We’re fine,” she said, suppressing the scenes that usually started over her gunning the machine late at night.
The flashlight swept across the tub-and-wringer a yard down. An old woman,
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