Free Children of Bast by Frederick Fuller Page A

saying, Gaylord, is if it’s right in front of you, why sweat? That’s all I’m going to say.” He licked his lips and made his eyes slits.”
    “I said all this to Adele too.” He didn’t answer.
    ~ ~ ~ ~
    “Gaylord, have you ever eaten a mouse?” Adele asked. “You’re right, we are made to hunt and kill, but when have you ever had to? Didn’t your maama tell that because we’re not wild anymore we don’t have to hunt? I don’t know how to hunt. My maama was taken from me just after she taught me how to clean myself; she never got to hunting. I don’t know if she knew how. But so what? Back to my original question, have you ever tasted a mouse?”
    “No.”
    “It’s disgusting. When I first hit the street, a sweet old mollie used to bring them to me, still wiggling and squealing. To practice killing, she told me. I was to kill them and eat them. I balked, so she killed them and opened them so I could eat. I puked each time, and all she did was laugh, and kill and bring me more mice.”
    “What’d they taste like?”
    “Old metal. Go over there to that rainspout and take a lick. That’s what they taste like. And the guts are bloody and oozing, and the heads, which this old mollie said was the best part, were like eating rocks. I never understood her love for them.
    “She ate bugs, too. Just sniffing a roach, her favorite, was enough to put me away. That’s when I met Chubby. He said there was a better way if I wanted to move uptown, where I learned the art of the scrounge.”
    “Okay, but that just fills your belly. It doesn’t make you an amait.”
    “Please don’t get philosophical on me. I’ve heard all that khara a thousand times from amai who swear that hunting wild and eating wild is the only way to go. Well, it isn’t, trust me.”
    That night over a basket of fish bones and rice, I told her my plan. “I’m gonna try it. I’m sorry, but I need to find me, what I am, who I am. Besides, this isn’t filling me.” I pushed the basket toward her. “No to the fish bones, and I hate rice.”
    “So, go find something else.”
    “Can you hook me up with some amai, what do you call them?”
    “Alley amai. That’s because they live in alleys, like we do. We’re alleys. But the amai you want are completely wild, never been house amai, born in the street. They hunt rats and mice under the buildings, and they live on them. You’ll be filthy all the time and . . .”
    “I get filthy and slimy digging in dumpsters.”
    Ignoring me, she went on, “You’ll stink of mouse blood. If you go, don’t come looking for me.” She got up and walked a short distance before turning toward me. “Gaylord, you got a good life here, a safe life. You got friends, half decent places to sleep, and eventually, you’ll probably get me. But, if you go to the wild ones, you’ll cross a line that will be very hard to re-cross.”
    “I’ve got to try.” I started washing my face.
    “No matter how you scrub, mouse stink never goes away. Think about it.”
    ~ ~ ~ ~
    That’s when she urged me to talk to you, Chubby.
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “Because you’d have intimidated me with horror stories.”
    “Maybe, maybe not. I sort of admire your need to find yourself. I don’t think it was necessary, but I do admire your courage, because it did take guts to strike out without a brain in your head.” He smiled.
    “Thanks a lot.”
    “Don’t mention it.”
    ~ ~ ~ ~
    “I appreciate your concern, Adele, and I respect your experience and Chubby’s, but I have to find answers myself. Maybe I’ll quit before I begin. Maybe I’m too soft. I don’t know. All I am sure of is my stupidity, which you remind me of all the time by cutting me down. I want to cure that if possible, so you’ll be proud of me. Besides, I stink of rotten meat, fish, rancid butter, coffee—you name it. So what’s the difference?”
    “I can be proud of you here, Gaylord. I think you have the stuff to be a great alley amait