wanted. He seemed reasonable and generous and knowl-20
edgeable — not mad. But what he was saying made me 21
want to run.
22
I walked away instead. Up toward the house and the 23
cheap bottles of whiskey in the pantry, where I first heard 24
Bethany’s cries of passion and where my parents mur-25
mured deep secrets that made me feel at ease.
26
S 27
R 28
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“Let’s just say . . .” Anniston Bennet was saying. I had 15
brought my cheap whiskey and two squat glasses that had 16
been on the shelf since before my mother could remem-17
ber. I was sitting on the stairs and he had pulled out his 18
red chair to join me. “. . . that I’m a criminal wishing to 19
pay for my crimes.”
20
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why don’t you just turn your-21
self in to the police if you want to go to jail?”
22
“I don’t recognize any organized form of law enforce-23
ment, or government for that matter, as valid,” he stated 24
simply. He might have been a prime minister or anar-25
chist. He could have even been some advanced form of 26
alien life, looking down on humanity as we might look 27 S
on a mob of ants. “But even if I did, there is no crime that 28 R
I could be tried for in this country. Well, maybe some
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The Man in My Basement
laws having to do with money. But I would never allow 1
the hypocrites on our benches to stand judgment over 2
me.”
