A Graveyard for Lunatics

?Crum, that?s terrific.?

?No, guesswork, theory, B.S. Only one way to be sure. ?Crumley glared at his watch. ?Tonight. Knock on Arbuthnot?s door. See if he?s home, or someone fetched him out to get his guts read for omens and scare Caesar?s half-cracked legions to pee blood.?

I thought of the graveyard. At last I said: ?No use going unless we take a real detective, to check.?

?Real detective?? Crumley stepped back.

?A seeing-eye dog.?

?Seeing-eye?? Crumley examined my face. ?This dog, would he live at Temple and Figueroa? Third floor up??

?In a midnight graveyard, no matter what you see, you need a nose. He?s got it.?

?Henry? The greatest blind man in the world??

?Always was,? I said.

53

I had stood in front of Crumley?s door and it had opened.

I had stood on Constance Rattigan?s shore and she had stepped from the sea.

Now I edged along the carpetless floor of the old tenement where once I had lived with future dreams on my ceiling, nothing in my pockets, and empty paper waiting in my Smith-Corona portable.

I stopped in front of Henry?s door and felt my heart beating rapidly, for just below was the room where my dear Fannie had died and this was the first time I had returned since those long sad days of good friends leaving forever.

I knocked on the door.

I heard the scrape of a cane, and the muted clearing of a throat. The floor creaked.

I heard Henry?s dark brow touch the inner door panel.

?I know that knock,? he murmured.

I knocked again.

?I?ll be damned.? The door swung wide.

Henry?s blind eyes looked out on nothing.

?Let me take a deep breath.?

He inhaled. I exhaled.

?Holy Jesus,? Henry?s voice trembled like a candle flame in a soft breeze. ?Spearmint gum. You! ?

?Me, Henry,? I said gently.

His hands groped out. I seized both.

?Lord, son, you are welcome!? He cried.

And he grabbed and gave me a hug, then realized what he had done and pulled back. ?Sorry??

?No, Henry. Do it again.?

And he gave me a second long hug.

?Where you been, boy, oh, where you been, it?s been so long, and Henry?s here in this damn big place they going to tear down soon.?

He turned and wandered back to a chair and ordered his hands to find and examine two glasses. ?This as clean as I think it is??

I looked and nodded, then remembered and said, ?Yep.?

?Don?t want to give you no germs, son. Let?s see. Oh, yeah.? He yanked a table drawer open and extracted a large bottle of the finest whiskey. ?You drink this??

?With you, yes.?

?That?s what friendship is all about!? He poured. He handed the glass to the empty air. Somehow my hand was there.

We waved our drinks at each other and tears spilled down his black cheeks.

?I don?t suppose you knew nigger blind men cry, did you??

?I know now, Henry.?

?Let me see.? He leaned forward to feel my cheek. He tasted his finger. ?Salt water. Damn. You?re as easy as I am.?

?Always was.?

?Don?t ever get over it, son. Where you been? Has life hurt you? How come you?re here?? He stopped. ?Oh, ohl Trouble??

?Yes and no.?