Gone Fishin' by Walter Mosley Page A

was a
quiet country path, far enough away from water to be light on insects
but dose enough to have trees and wildlife. I was coming down with
something. My hands were cold and the inside of my head felt like
cotton wadding.
    ‘How
come Domaque make them dolls?’ I asked.
    At first I
thought he was going to ignore me, but after a few steps he said,
‘Dom started makin’ ‘em when we was small. Ya see,
Dom got a crazy mad temper. He ain’t slow or nuthin,’
‘cause you know he can read as good as that white woman
teach’im. But he got nerves. Somebody make fun’a him an’
he start to shake an’ the next thing you know he’s actin’
crazy. When we was little the other kids would mess wit’ us,
‘specially when we all get together after Sunday school. One
time this little boy, Bunny Drinkwater, started to rag po’ ole
Dom till Dom was a tremblin’ leaf. An’ that just made all
the other kids join in laughin’. But they didn’t know
that Dom had carried a butcherin’ knife wit’im that day.
He never said why but I guess he was tired’a bein’ the
fool. Anyway he took out after Bunny but Bunny was quick an’
Dom couldn’t move fast t’save his life so we all was
expectin’ Dom t’throw that knife down an’ cry…
But that’s not what happened.’
    A red fox
ran out into the road ahead of us. It looked up at Mouse and pulled
its head back like it recognised Raymond. Then it turned tail and
slipped off into the brush. Mouse laughed and seemed to get in a
better mood.
    ‘Anyway…
Dom went out after Bunny swinging his knife so wild that I half
expected he was gonna cut his own self; but then Bunny tripped. All
the little boys screamed like girls. Dom swung down t’gut
little Bunny but he missed and just kinda cut him on the arm. Bunny
was so scared by that little cut that he was frozen on the ground an’
Dom raised his hand fo’ the kill…’ Mouse stared off
into the woods remembering something. I was afraid to hear the rest.
‘Shit. One’a the big boys runned out and grabbed Dom fo’
he could finish it. You know I always feel bad when I think’a
that; like I’m missin’ sumpin’.’
    ‘But
what ‘bout the dolls?’
    ‘Yeah.’
Mouse picked up a thick branch from the path and started snicking off
the switches to smooth it into a pole. ‘I tole Dom that he had
t’git hold’a hisself ‘cause the folks ‘round
there didn’t like humpbacks killin’ they babies. That’s
when he got his first doll. He dressed it up like Bunny. He tore at
it and pissed on it; threw it in a sty an’ let the pigs stamp
it.’ Mouse laughed to himself. ‘Yeah, Easy, he had a fine
ole time wit’ his dolls. An’ only me an’ Jo knew
it.’

    After a
while the path grew crooked and rutty. The branches hung so low that
I had to walk stooped over half of the time. Mouse said that the road
had once been the way to town from his stepfather’s farm but
that Reese let it go to seed years before, after Mouse’s
natural mother died.
    ‘The
ole man fell apart after Momma died,’ Mouse said.
    When we
got close enough to see the place Mouse stopped, wiped his mouth, and
stared.
    I was feeling tired so I said, ‘Well, let’s git on wit’
it. That’s it, right?’
    Mouse didn’t say a word.
    ‘Raymond.’ I hoped his real name would shock him into
moving.
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Let’s go.’
    ‘Uh-huh,’ he said, but he didn’t move.
    ‘What we waitin’ fo’?’
    His eyes were colder than all winter long.
    ‘I’m scared, Easy.’
    ‘We cain’t turn back.’
    ‘Why not?’ he asked like a child might.
    ‘What
kinda fool you gonna feel like if you come all the way out here an’
then you don’t even ask? You cain’t tell, you know, he
might reach in his pocket an’ come out wit’ the bread.’
    That
seemed to tickle Mouse. The winter passed and he smiled.
    ‘All
right, Easy. We see what he got t’give.’
    The yard,
if you could call it that, was a mess. There was an old wagon that
had both of