The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey - By Walter Mosley Page 0,10

as a picture, and stuffy as a double-starched shirt collar.

“My Niecie?” Ptolemy asked.

“My mama,” Hilly said, nodding.

“Is she in trouble?”

“She need to see you,” the boy said as he put the nonperishable food in the doorless cabinet. “You got cans on these shelves older than me.”

“What fo’?”

“Why you got them cans?”

“Why Niecie wanna see me?”

“She di’n’t say, Papa Grey,” Hilly whined. “She jes’ told me to help you shop and then to bring you ovah. She said to tell you that your Niecie needed to see you.”

“Niecie.”

The number 87b bus moved slowly in afternoon traffic. Ptolemy sat on a turquoise-colored plastic seat facing across the small aisle, while Hilly hovered above him, holding on to the shiny chrome pole.

A middle-aged Chinese woman and a dark Spanish man sat across the way. Both of them smiled at Ptolemy. People were always smiling at him now that he was so old. Even people who looked old to him smiled because, he knew, he looked even older to them.

He could feel the city move by at his back, could imagine the old Timor Cinema and Thrifty’s Drugstore. He thought about jitterbuggers in the juke joints and a small white wooden church that stood on the white side of town.

Sometimes when he’d go by there, on an errand for his mother or a mission for Coydog, he’d stop and gape at the beautiful building with the stained-glass windows of Jesus, John the Baptist, Job, Jonah, and Mary Magdalene. Magdalene was a beautiful name.

One day when he was no more than seven he was standing out in front of that church with a note in his hand. He couldn’t remember on the number 87b bus who that note was for or from but he could feel the dirt under his bare feet and the hot sun on his forehead.

“What you want there, boy?” a man asked in a commanding voice.

Ptolemy was gazing down on the dark Spanish man’s brown leather shoes in the bus but when he looked up he saw that white man standing in front of the white people’s church.

“Lookin’,” he said in a small piping voice.

“Is that note for me?” the man asked.

Li’l Pea thought the word no, but all he did was shake his head.

The white man wore a white suit with a black shirt that sported a small square of stiff white cloth where his Adam’s apple would have shown. He wore a wide-brimmed Panama straw hat and glasses with gold wire frames.

“Speak up, boy,” he said.

“No, suh. This note is from my uncle Coy to his brother Lupo work for the Littletons down on Poinsettia Street,” Ptolemy said, remembering as he did the origins of the note.

“Then why you standin’ in front’a my church?”

The sun was above and behind the church spire so whenever the man in the preacher’s uniform moved his head, bright sabers of light lanced into Ptolemy’s eyes.

“It’s so pretty,” the man, Ptolemy, remembered saying.

The minister paused a moment, his stern visage softened a bit.

“You like this church?” he asked.

“Yes, suh.”

“Did you evah look inside?”

“No, suh. I jes’ seen the whitewashed walls an’ the windahs and the pretty grass lawn.”

The minister squinted as people did sometimes when they were trying to make out words that didn’t make sense to them. Li’l Pea often wondered how narrowing your eyes could make your hearing better.

“You know that you can never, or none of your people can ever, go into this church,” the man said.

“Yes, suh, I know.”

“Is that why you lookin’ at it so hard?”

“No. It’s jes’ when I walk by it, it look so pretty like Letta across the way from Uncle Coy’s windah. You have to look when somethin’s pretty.”

The white man turned his back on the boy and looked at his church. He maintained that position for a few moments, allowing Li’l Pea to admire the building a while longer.

When the white man turned around, his face was completely changed, as if he were a different man inside. He held out a hand to the boy. The child didn’t know what to do, but he was drawn to the gesture. He grabbed the minister’s manicured fingers with his dirty hand and gave them a good shaking.

“Thank you, boy,” the minister said. “You’ve shown me my own life in a new light. It’s like, it’s like I thought it was day but really there was much more to be seen.”

The white man walked away after that.

Ptolemy had often wondered, in the eighty-four years that had passed