Walter Mosley - The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey

“Did I kill?”

The girl nodded. When Ptolemy tried to remember her name he was brought back to the yard in front of his childhood home where birds flocked around him, eating stale breadcrumbs and wailing out their songs.

“You was right about Niecie,” she was saying.

“I was?”

“Yeah.”

The man with the mustache rose and departed the hospital room. Ptolemy gave this movement his full attention until the green door had closed.

“What did you say?” he asked the girl-child.

“I said that you was right about Niecie?”

“What, what did I say?”

There was a piano playing on the radio.

“You said that she’d try and get the law on me. I had to move out yo’ apartment. I had to get a place on my own. Beckford tried to stay there wit’ me but he kept gettin’ mad about the money an’ finally he just had to go.”

“Slow down,” Ptolemy said.

“It’s okay now.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” she said, but he could tell that there was more to the story.

He held out his hand and the girl who reminded him of birds singing took it into hers just like he thought she would. He sighed and maybe she asked a question. The music became a sky and the words the man on the television was saying turned into the ground under his feet. One was blue and the other brown, but he was not sure which was which. Everything glittered and now and again, when he looked around, things were different. Another room. A new taste. The girl always returned. And the door that was shut against his forgotten life was itself forgotten and there were feelings but they were far away.

A coyote that talked like a man whispered in his ear, and then licked his face, and then . . .