Уолтер Мосли - Odyssey

“Just tell her I’d like to talk to her too.”

He could lie down without dizziness or masturbation. Sleep, however, hovered somewhere in the darkness of the room. He was awake and afloat on a stream of unbidden thoughts. He remembered times with his family, and at school with other children who had faces but few names; he thought of teachers who scolded him for mistakes and ignored his every success. Or maybe, Sovereign thought, his school chums did have names that he hadn’t bothered to learn, and the teachers were just doing their jobs. These thoughts led to his grandfather and the ragged hole left by his sudden death. Sovereign was angry most of the time — angry at everyone except Drum-Eddie.

Three weeks before Eddie left the house and didn’t return, four weeks before the FBI came looking for him, Eddie found Sovereign at the Clairemont branch of the San Diego library. Nineteen-year-old Sovereign was studying a guidebook for the SAT exam and scowling.

“Don’t look like no good book to me,” Eddie had said.

The conversation came back as whole cloth, like many a forgotten and submerged experience had since James first visited Offeran.

“Need to,” Sovereign said. He had been paring down his sentences lately. He had read that people talked too much and should concentrate only exactly on what they intended to say.

Drum-Eddie was handsome and easygoing. He turned the chair across from his brother and sat astride it backward.

“How come you didn’t take the test before you graduated, like everybody else?” Eddie asked.

“Thought I was gonna join the marines. Thought I would go to school on the G.I. Bill and then I wouldn’t have to go to Daddy for the money.”

“But he got the money all saved up. All Daddy do is save money.”

“I wanted to do it on my own.”

“So how come you didn’t sign up on your eighteenth birthday?”

They hadn’t talked much in the previous six months. Eddie spent a lot of time out of the house with new friends and interests. He rarely came to the boxing gym anymore.

“I got flat feet and a heart murmur,” Sovereign James said. “The recruiter told me that if we were still at war they’d’a taken me in a second. But now they cuttin’ back.”

“But that was a year ago, JJ. Why it take you so long to apply to college?”

“I’ve been thinking. What do you want, Eddie?”

“I got somethin’ to tell you, bro.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna go on vacation. I might even retire.”

“Retire?” Sovereign didn’t add that Eddie was only seventeen, because this was an obvious fact and there was no need to state it.

“So you might not see me for a while, man,” Drum said, ignoring the implied critique. “Remember that I will always be your brother.”

In the morning Sovereign was still thinking about Eddie, about how he looked up to him even though he was younger.

He lay back in the bed awake with eyes closed. He couldn’t see but he wasn’t blind either. This reality seemed like some important philosophical premise but he couldn’t unravel it.

Eyes still shut he climbed from the bed and made it into the kitchen without running into anything. He approached the far west window of the living room and then opened his eyes upon south Manhattan. It was bright but early. Cars wended down the West Village streets and people walked with purpose. Across the street and a few floors down a woman was running full-out in her living room, on a fancy treadmill. In another room, but still the same apartment, a man was serving breakfast to two small children at a round table just large enough for a family of four.

Sovereign opened the window, imagining that he could see the sibilant sounds curling in on the currents of air that rolled in over his shins, ankles, and feet.

He was naked, brawnier than he had been before the episode; that was how he had come to think of his blindness — an episode. Looking down at his uncircumcised penis he smiled. Then he gazed at a plump man walking up Washington Street in a stride made circular by the girth of his thighs. He carried a brown briefcase and wore an unprofessional baby-blue suit. The woman was still running on her treadmill while the father and the children talked and talked, ate and talked.

With the breeze on his knees and people filling his eyes, Sovereign felt love welling up in his chest. The bumblebee had been replaced with hummingbird-like passion. He didn’t know anything about the people he saw or the origins of the sounds the city made, but that didn’t matter. The police could come and arrest him; they probably would. Some judge might well send him to prison. He didn’t want to go — but even the prospect of incarceration couldn’t dim the beauty of the world he beheld...

“Like God,” he whispered, “beholding creation and not able to tell the difference between what He made and who He was.”

The phone rang and Sovereign started but didn’t know it. He turned and looked at the phone and it rang again. He walked from the window a little reluctantly, feeling that he was in some ways a deity abandoning his subject.

“Hello?”

“Mr. James.”

“Miss Loam.”

“I’m so sorry...”

They talked on the phone for more than an hour. She had been released late the night before and interviewed briefly by Stanford Miles, a colleague of Lena Altuna’s.

“Mr. Miles told me that you paid my bail and wanted me to call but he said that that wasn’t a good idea. He said that if we were talking the court might say that we planned to hurt Lemuel. So I went ovah to my friends Monique and Simba’s house and stayed with them last night. I didn’t know if I should call you but I had to at least tell you I was sorry.”

“The only reason to be sorry is if you’ve done something wrong.”

“Of course I did sumpin’ wrong,” she said, almost in anger. “You got arrested and me too. Lem is in the hospital and they don’t even know if he evah gonna wake up. All of that is wrong.”

“Why did you bring him to my house?” Sovereign asked.

A siren blared outside and Sovereign went to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fire engine. He looked around but was distracted by a huge ocean liner making its way up the Hudson River. It was the size of a downtown skyscraper laid on its side.

“Mr. James?”

“Yes, Miss Loam?”

“Three days ago was the anniversary of my auntie G’s death. I went home and Lemuel was upstairs with my mama and them. He had brought her white roses and a bottle of whiskey. When I got there he cracked open the liquor and said we should make a toast to her.

“I didn’t want to but I could see that Mama was so sad, and I didn’t want her to get in one a’ her moods.

“After we drank a little bit too much I went down with Lem to this place we used to go. It’s kinda like a bar but it’s downstairs and don’t have no license. He started talkin’ to me about you.”

“Me? What did he know about me?”

“Mama told him that I was workin’ for this rich blind man down in the Village. I was gettin’ drunk an’ he was talkin’ real nice. He said he was sorry for what happened and then we went to his apartment. He told me he had a job and that he was grateful that I didn’t turn him ovah to the cops.

“But later on he was mad about me bein’ wit’ you all the time. I told him that we called each other mister and miss and that you was old and that it was just a job. But he was still mad that we was together like him and me used to be and... I don’t know...”

“So how did you end up here?” Sovereign James asked.

“He told me that if I brought him up to your place and kissed him up there and let him take one thing, like a watch or sumpin’, he would forget about it and believe me. He said that I could come live wit’ him and he’d work and pay the rent. And I thought it would be okay, because you’d be at Dr. Offeran’s and I could buy you another watch and quit workin’ for you.”