?Naw. I'm a sorter. Work all kinda hours.?
?That pay good??
?Good enough.?
?How they hire you with a record like you got??
?I cain't let up on all my secrets now, Mookie.?
?So,? Mookie Kid the first-floor man hesitated, ?you wanna get together??
?Lemme call ya back later this week,? Socrates offered. ?I got a tight schedule but I'll see.?
?You want my number??
?Yeah. Shoot.?
Moorland recited his number and Socrates repeated it pretending he was writing it down.
?I'll call the end'a this week, Mookie. You take care.?
After that Socrates put Mookie Kid out of his mind. He worked the rest of the week managing the produce section at Bounty. The purchasing office sent him two double orders of highly perishable fruits and greens. The head dispatcher was a man named Wexler who would never admit to having made a mistake and so Socrates had to find three other stores that would be willing to share the order. That took most of his week.
On Saturday he painted the walls of his sleeping room white. It took the whole day and he was light-headed at the end because there was no cross ventilation in his house and the fumes were powerful.
He was still light-headed when he walked Iula home at midnight. While they were making love he passed out.
As with many of his dreams Socrates found himself in prison. This time his cell was a cave. He had a cellmate but the man died somehow and the guards had not yet removed the body. The corpse had been covered with a blanket but it was rotting and the odor was almost unbearable.
Socrates went to the bars at the entrance of his cell and looked out into a long dark tunnel that was lit by weak blue electric bulbs. There were no other cells that he could see and no one coming.
A fly buzzed in past his ear and Socrates knew that soon the corpse would be alive with maggots. No sooner had this thought entered his mind than a loud buzzing started behind him. Socrates turned and saw waves of small flies rise out of the blanket. It was like the mist in the morning rising off the pond near his aunt Bellandra's home.
?He's free,? escaped Socrates' lips in Iula's high feather bed.
?What, baby?? she asked.
?Free,? Socrates repeated and then, unaware, he turned away from his girlfriend to burrow deeper into the cell of his imagination.
The haze of flies washed over Socrates on their way toward freedom. He felt them as a cool breeze in early autum. He closed his eyes and there was a surge in his chest. The flies were gone when he opened his eyes again.
?A million eyes came forth,? a voice in the dream said. ?And now he's free to see everywhere.?
Socrates did not remember the dream in the morning. He was still dizzy from the paint fumes and the failure of his passion.
?You okay?? Iula asked. She was already dressed and ready to leave for her diner.
?What time is it?? Socrates asked.
?It's eight fifteen. I wanna get in early 'cause I'ma make a pork roast for the special this afternoon. But you sleep, baby. Come on down later if you want somethin' t'eat.? Iula kissed Socrates on his forehead and patted his hand.
?Sorry 'bout last night,? the big man said.
?You ain't got a thing to be sorry for, Socrates Fortlow.? Iula looked hard at him. He could see small knots of
