“Wait a minute,” I said. “There was nothing that I could do. Ask my elderly mentor.”
But when I looked, my mentor was gone and there was a white female nurse standing there and she said, shaking her head, “And I never liked the way he looked at me.”
“You killed my brother, nigger,” the skeletal man said.
“He was already dead,” I said.
Outside in the street I could hear chanting, like a riot starting or wanting to start. I could hear the voices of dark faces like my own demanding to be left alone. And then the white man pulled out a gun. I could see that he was handcuffed, but he had no trouble aiming the pistol at me.
“I’m going to kill you, nigger,” he said. “And all your kind out there in that street.”
“He was already dead,” I said. I looked around for someplace to run, for some door or window, but there was nothing, no way out.
I watched his finger slowly squeeze the trigger.
All of this while sister Agnes sucked on my penis and knew that the whole time I was dreaming, and it felt good the whole time I was terrified that I was about to be shot. I wondered what kind of mind had such a dream while having oral-genital relations and this scared me more than anything. Still, I could not shake myself out of the dream. As the pistol fired off the round, so too did my penis. Time stopped, my breathing stopped.
I awoke naked and alone in my too-soft bed with the stiff sheets and impossibly pressed bedspread. I sat up and slowly remembered my encounter with Agnes and wondered how it would play out. I had a fleeting, quickly dismissed thought that Agnes wasn’t so terrible, at least at a certain thing. I walked to the window and looked out at the morning, at the turned leaves still half filling the trees. Then I heard their voices. Again, through the vent I was hearing Ward and Ruby.
“Get in here,” Ward said, “and shut that door.”
“Did you find out something?” Ruby asked.
“I had Mitchell make some calls. I told him get in there and dig deep. He was on the horn all night.”
“And?”
“And he’s rich.”
“So, he’s got a little money,” Ruby said.
“He’s got a lot of money.”
“How much?”
There was a rustling of pages. Then I sneezed.
“What was that?” Ruby asked.
“What was what?” Ward cleared his throat. “Here it is. It seems the boy owns a television network. NET.”
“Nigger Entertainment Television?”
“He just bought it. Paid cash for it. He’s somehow involved with Ted Turner, but none of this is clear. What is clear is that he can buy and sell everyone we know a couple of times over.”
“But he’s so dark,” Ruby said.
“He’s fucking rich is what he is.” Ward paused. “I knew there was something about that boy I liked.”
“He’s so black.”
“We might have to overlook that. You know, he does look quite a bit like Sidney Poitier.”
“He does that,” Ruby said. “But our little girl. She’s so fair.”
“So, be nice to him.”
“I’ll try,” Ruby said.
“And tell Agnes to be nice to him.”
Ruby laughed. “You know I have no control over Agnes.”
“Well, talk to her.”
I was, to say the least, stunned, not only by the highly objectionable nature of their conversation and thinking, but by the unsettling fact I had been set on a course for matrimony. A snake of ice slithered up my too-dark ass and lodged itself at the base of my spine.
“Agnes, get in here.” It was Ruby, and I was still hearing them through the vent. “Sit down.”
“What is it?” Agnes asked.
“We want you to be nice to that boy upstairs,” Ward said.
“Why?”
“Just be nice, that’s all,” Ruby said.
“Something’s up,” Agnes said.
“He’s your sister’s boyfriend,” Ruby said.
“They’re serious?”
“They will be,” Ward said.
“What’s going on?” I could feel Agnes sitting on the edge of whatever leather seat she’d chosen as the solemn and mocking faces of nature stared dead-eyed at her from every wall.
“He’s rich, okay?” Ruby said.
“Really rich,” Ward said.
“Why should Maggie get him then?” she asked.
“Shut up and don’t be that way,” Ruby said.
“They’re not even serious. She just brought him home to mess with because of his dark skin.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ward said. “Be nice.”
There was a knock at my door and before I could cover myself, Violet came in with some clean towels.
“Lord, have mercy on my soul,” she said, threw the towels on the floor, and backed out, slamming the door. Just as quickly the door reopened, and an obviously upset Maggie walked in.
“I have a feeling Violet didn’t like the look of my penis,” I said.
My words seemed to have no meaning for her as she said, “Was Agnes in here last night?”
Having been generally no good at lying in my life and being apparently too stupid to give it one more try, I said, “Yes.”
“What did she want?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What did she say?”
“She introduced herself and I think she said she wanted to upset you and I think she has.”
“That bitch,” Maggie muttered. “That crazy bitch. What else? What else happened?”
I looked out the window.
“You didn’t,” she hissed.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. I believed this to be pretty much true. I hadn’t kissed or inserted anything or even fought her off. I’d done nothing. I could not even say that I had had sex with Agnes, only that she had had sex with me. Perhaps if I had moved a muscle instead of having a muscle merely move, I might have remembered a bit or detail of the encounter. But all I was left with was the general impression that Agnes was pretty good at blow jobs.
Maggie stormed out of the room.
I dressed and walked down the stairs to the kitchen where I found Violet beating eggs in a bowl. I asked her if there was a phone I might use.
“Long distance?” she asked.
“Collect,” I said.
“You can use the phone in Mister’s study. Just the phone. Don’t be touching anything else.”
It seemed that none of the Larkins were around, but I knew they were. I cautiously walked into Mister’s study and parked myself behind his massive desk. It felt like a blind from which I might draw a bead on any of the twenty prey that lined the walls and floor. I placed my first call to Ted.
“So, how is DC?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said. “I’m calling because I needed to hear a friendly voice. I want your opinion on something.”
“Shoot.”
As I looked at the head of the rhinoceros (how could I have missed it before?), it occurred to me that I didn’t know how to approach this subject with Ted, the whole thing about skin color. “I don’t think Maggie’s parents like me,” I said.
“Hell, that dynamic is as old as butter,” Ted said. “Did you know that India eats more butter than any other country? My mama always swore by butter. Never did turn to margarine. Turns out she was right, too. That margarine is bad for you. What’s the weather like up there?”
“It’s cool.”
“Don’t worry about her parents hating your guts. It’s natural. They’re almost required to hate you.”
“Thanks, Ted.”
“Well, I’m off to Montana tomorrow, so I won’t see you when you get back. Just try to relax.”
“Okay. Bye.” I hung up and placed my next call to Professor Everett. I got his number from directory assistance.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Professor Everett, these people are crazy,” I said.