¦
¦
1
2
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And I was there, in the lamp-lit parking lot, at midnight.
4
An obese family — the Benoits, mother and children —
5
was also there, waiting. The Benoit family had come 6
down to the Harbor from Montreal at the turn of the 7
century. I don’t remember ever having spoken to Raoul, 8
the father, or any of his clan, but I knew them because 9
they were part of my community. Trudy, the mother, 10
looked at me nervously, a black man at midnight and the 11
train not in yet.
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“Hello, Mrs. Benoit,” I hailed. “You meeting Raoul?”
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I said it to put her at ease. It worked too. She smiled 14
and nodded. She didn’t remember my name. Maybe she 15
couldn’t distinguish between black men. But it didn’t 16
matter what white people saw when they looked at me.
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Why would I care?
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The train came in and a few people got off. Most of 19
them got into cars. Three taxis rolled up from the colored 20
company that Clarance dispatched for. The few travelers 21
who did not have cars climbed into the cabs. Raoul 22
Benoit, a thin and dapper man wearing a silver-gray suit, 23
tried to get his arms around his wife and failed. He kissed 24
his children and herded them, like so many beach balls, 25
toward a blue station wagon.
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“Hey, Charles,” a man said. Behind me Clarance had 27 S
driven up in a cab. In the back there were three passen-28 R
gers, and another, a woman, sat beside my childhood
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The Man in My Basement
friend. All of the passengers were white. The riders looked 1
uncomfortable. One man in the backseat checked his 2
watch.
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“You drivin’ now?” I asked.
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“Athalia needs braces, so I’m drivin’ three nights a week.
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How you doin’?”
