Socrates jerked his head back because he felt something strange at his mouth. But when he looked it was just the forgotten beer glass in his hand grazing his lower lip. Again he wondered where he'd been.
?It's like I done killed ten thousand Henrys,? Lydell Samuels said. ?You asked Little Willie what he'd do? Well I could tell ya: the same thing. That's what he'd do. No matter what you showed him or how hard he tried he'd'a been on the same killin' floor. 'Cause even though Willie don't want you to kill'im he still want that girl and that wallet.?
Socrates remembered the conversation clearly then. The domino game where they had argued over right and wrong. He could see that Lydell had turned it over in his mind again and again over and over until it was like a worn page in a condemned man's bible.
?You got to let it go, man,? Socrates said.
?Willie don't even want to do right except that he's scared,? Lydell said as if he hadn't heard. ?Here I want it but I cain't help it but to do wrong.?
?He's dead, Lydell. He only died one time. It was wrong. All of it. Your wife, you, and him too. But it's over an' you got to let it go. I don't mean forget it. I don't mean you got to smile like they baptized your sin away.?
Lydell looked up at Socrates with fever glazing his eyes. He was jittery like Willie had been on the weekend but he wasn't afraid.
?I try to do right, man,? Lydell said. ?I try but they don't let me.?
?Who??
?I try to do right. I try to do like you told Willie.?
?I said that to Willie 'cause he ain't been on that floor yet. He just dreamin' 'bout another man's wallet and another man's wife.? Socrates felt, again, like he was back in prison, trapped in his own mistakes. ?You'n me been there. You'n me got to take all we've seen and make somethin' new about it. It's not what would you do for men like us. It's what
you do that we have to worry about. For us it ain't no game. We got to see past bein' guilty. We already been there.?
?Like you mean we still got some place to go?? Lydell asked.
?This is life, Lydell. Life. What's done is done. You still responsible, you cain't never make it up, but you got to try.?
Lydell smiled again. This time the smile lingered. There was a question in his face and then a certainty. He nodded and grinned and ordered another drink.
Two weeks passed before Detective Biggers, the black cop assigned to keep tabs on Socrates, dropped by for one of his irregular visits. Socrates knew the policeman's knock and took his time getting to the door. Sometimes when Detective Biggers came by Socrates didn't even answer. Sometimes he'd just sit on his foldout bed reading the newspaper until he heard the gate to his yard open and close again.
But that day Socrates wanted company. He pulled the door open and said, ?Afternoon, Albert.?
The burly cop always paused a moment in silent protest when Socrates used his first name. But he couldn't complain when he didn't have a warrant or a pressing reason to be at Socrates' door.
?You know a man named Samuels?? Biggers asked.
Just that quickly Socrates wanted to be alone again. He didn't want to answer any questions?or ask any.
?Do you??
?What you want, man? I ain't had dinner yet.?
?Geraldine Samuels said that you and her husband had been friendly lately. She said that you and he were regulars over at Bebe's bar. She said that Lydell had been saying how you were so smart and wise and that you were helping him to figure out how he could live with what he had done.? Albert Biggers seemed to know that his questions would hurt Socrates, that the hurt would linger and blossom over time. ?He was like you, you know, a murderer.?
?Did you say Geraldine?? Socrates asked.
?His wife,? Biggers said, nodding. ?Didn't you know he was married??
