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“That was pretty horrible tasting coffee, all right.”
“I didn’t think it would have as much effect as it did. It probably wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been close to the edge of exhaustion to begin with. Even so, you held out for a long time before it knocked you down. I was just hoping it would take the edge off your reflexes, even things out a little.”
He thought this over. “Well, Ta
“Wrong.”
“Huh?”
“The Chief never wore a hat in his life. Bed-Stuy is a part of Brooklyn. And you ain’t Bowman cat, Bowman cat. You’re the Glorious Retriever of Modonoland, and do I call you Knanda or Ndoro or both?”
Chapter 15
After a few moments of respectful silence he said, “I am rather glad to have that out of the way, Ta
I said, “The Shadow do.”
“Pardon me?”
“An old joke.”
“Quite. I was saying that the role was not an easy one for me. Bowman was a crude, rough type. There was a raw primitive quality about him that was not without appeal, however. I doubt I’d have thought to pose as him if you hadn’t virtually put the suggestion into my head by greeting me with his name.
“You recognized the agency recognition signal.”
“Ah, yes. It was one of the items the man disclosed to me. Not the only one.” He smiled a private smile, a sly smile, not the easy grin he had used during the masquerade. “I must say I enjoyed playing the part. And it did take you in for rather a long time.”
“Not really.”
“Oh?”
I told him I’d known for a long time. That there was too much happening in his colloquialisms, too many outdated phrases mixed in with newer expressions. “And too many Britishisms. Not just the odd items Bowman might have picked up through exposure to you, not just bits he might have affected, but turns of phrase that would only be possible to someone whose education was British rather than American.”
“And I had fancied myself equipped with a keen ear for just that.”
“Oh, you’re good at it. You sound right most of the time. But it’s one thing to know how to use the regionalisms of another area and another to keep your own regionalisms out of your talk.”
“Quite.”
“And there were other things, too. The absolute fascination with Plum.”
“A fascinating girl. And Bowman did like women, you know.”
“But he wouldn’t be struck by the idea of a mixed-blood girl. Plum ’s color really got to you. It’s a nice enough color, but it’s not as rare as you made it seem. Not in America, certainly. Some of the stanchest black nationalists are as light-ski
“I never considered that.”
“It didn’t surprise Plum. She’s used to being considered exotic and unusual. But in America -”
He nodded. “And of course I was completely at sea when we discussed your chief and his ma
“Yes.”
“That I was not Bowman? Or that I was Knanda Ndoro?”
“Both, really. The clincher was your story about how the Retriever died.”
“I thought it was a touching speech.”
“Oh, it was.”
“But Bowman wouldn’t have been capable of such bathos? Perhaps not.”
“Probably not,” I agreed. “But I didn’t know anything much about Bowman. No, the thing was that you couldn’t be capable of that much respect for anyone but yourself. Everything about you was one big ego trip. I got the message intuitively, but thinking about it just reinforced it. You had to be Knanda Ndoro; the only real hero in your eyes is you yourself.”
“That’s interesting,” he said. “That’s very interesting.” He frowned for a few moments, thinking it over. Then he grunted with a
“No.”
“A flat no?”
“A flat no.”
The grin came suddenly, rich and easy. In his Bowman voice he said, “Well, Ta
“That’s an example.” He looked puzzled. “Trying it on. Bowman wouldn’t have said that.”
He filed this bit of information away. I could almost see it being shuttled off to the proper mental pigeonhole. We talked some more about Americanisms and Britishisms and a few Africanisms, and about his eulogy for his own self.
“Every tragic hero has a single abiding flaw,” he mused. “I fear mine is a lack of humility. I don’t think I ever saw any point in humility. From boyhood it never occurred to me that I had anything to be humble about. My own basic superiority was always patently obvious to me, and I assumed it must be equally obvious to others, or that it would be, had they the sense to see it.”
“What happened to Bowman?”
“Bowman? He died of the fever I invented for myself. I buried him. Not by clawing the dirt away with my hands, I’m afraid, and without benefit of Stevensonian epitaphs, but otherwise it was much as I said it.”
“I see.”
He started to say something, paused, then changed direction. “If you’ve known for so long that I am who I am, why go along with the deception?”
“I didn’t want to die of a fever.”
“Pardon?”
“I think you would have killed us if you knew we knew.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Why did you kill Bowman?”
“I told you-”
“Don’t bother.”
“Hmmm,” he said. Suddenly he laughed, a rich warm vibrant laugh that in context I found quite chilling. “Bowman wanted my wealth. Mine! And he wanted it. He had a suitcase full of ideas, Bowman did. He would take me back to America. My bearer bonds and certificates of deposit and my gems, these would finance a black revolution in America. We would split off a dozen southern states, he told me, and we would establish a black government there.”
“He wasn’t the first man with that dream.”
“Perhaps not. That made it no more attractive to me. If you’re as sound a man as you seem, Ta
“And you had to act first here, too. With me.”
“An unpleasant subject, that.”
“As unpleasant for me as it is for you.”
“Of course I wouldn’t have killed you,” he said.
“Of course not.”
“I just would have discommoded you temporarily while I made my escape.”
“I’m sure of it.”
He laughed suddenly, like a seal barking. “Oh, Ta