Anansi Boys

PEOPLE KEPT CLAPPING FAT CHARLIE ON THE BACK, AND buying him drinks with umbrellas in them; in addition to which, he had now collected five business cards from people in the music world on the island for the festival.

All around the room, people were smiling at him. He had an arm around Daisy: he could feel her trembling. She put her lips to his ear. “You’re a complete loony, you know that?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

She looked at him. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Come on,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”

He made for the maître d’. “Excuse me…. There was a lady. While I was singing. She came in, refilled her coffee mug from the pot back there, by the bar. Where did she go?”

The maître d’ blinked and shrugged. She said, “I don’t know….”

“Yes, you do,” said Fat Charlie. He felt certain, and smart. Soon enough, he knew, he would feel like himself again, but he had sung a song to an audience, and he had enjoyed it. He had done it to save Daisy’s life, and his own, and he had done both these things. “Let’s talk out there.” It was the song. While he had been singing, everything had become perfectly clear. It was still clear. He headed for the hallway, and Daisy and the maître d’ followed.

“What’s your name?” he asked the maître d’.

“I’m Clarissa.”

“Hello, Clarissa. What’s your last name?”

Daisy said, “Charlie, shouldn’t we call the police?”

“In a minute. Clarissa what?”

“Higgler.”

“And what’s your relationship to Benjamin? The concierge?”

“He’s my brother.”

“And how exactly are you two related to Mrs. Higgler. To Callyanne Higgler?”

“They’re my niece and nephew, Fat Charlie,” said Mrs. Higgler, from the doorway. “Now, I think you better listen to your fiancée, and talk to the police. Don’t you?”

SPIDER WAS SITTING BY THE STREAM ON THE CLIFF TOP, WITH his back to the cliff and a heap of throwing stones in front of him, when a man came loping out of the long grass. The man was naked, save for a pelt of sandy fur around his waist, behind which a tail hung down; he wore a necklace of teeth, sharp and white and pointed. His hair was long and black. He walked casually toward Spider as if he were merely out for an early-morning constitutional, and Spider’s appearance there was a pleasant surprise.

Spider picked up a rock the size of a grapefruit, hefted it in his hand.

“Heya, Anansi’s child,” said the stranger. “I was just passing, and I noticed you, and wondered if there was anything I could do to help.” His nose looked crooked and bruised.

Spider shook his head. He missed his tongue.

“Seeing you there, I find myself thinking, poor Anansi’s child, he must be so hungry.” The stranger smiled too widely. “Here. I’ve got food enough to share with you.” He had a sack over his shoulder, and now he opened the sack and reached his right hand into it, producing a freshly killed black-tailed lamb. He held it by the neck. Its head lolled. “Your father and I ate together on many an occasion. Is there any reason that you and I cannot do likewise? You can make the fire and I will clean the lamb and make a spit to turn it. Can you not taste it already?”

Spider was so hungry he was light-headed. Had he still been in possession of his tongue, perhaps he would have said yes, confident of his ability to talk himself out of trouble; but he had no tongue. He picked up a second rock in his left hand.

“So let us feast and be friends; and let there be no more misunderstandings,” said the stranger.

And the vulture and the raven will clean my bones,

thought Spider.

The stranger took another step toward Spider, who decided that this was his cue to throw the first rock. He had a good eye and an excellent arm, and the rock struck where he had intended it to strike, on the stranger’s right arm; he dropped the lamb. The next rock hit the stranger on the side of the head—Spider had been aiming for a spot just between the too-widely-set eyes, but the man had moved.

The stranger ran then, a bounding run, with his tail straight out behind him. Sometimes he looked like a man when he ran, and sometimes he looked like a beast.

When he was gone, Spider walked to the place he had been, to retrieve the black-tailed lamb. It was moving, when he reached it, and for a heartbeat he imagined that it was still alive, but then he saw that the flesh was creeping with maggots. It stank, and the stench of the corpse helped Spider forget how hungry he was, for a little while.

He carried it at arm’s length to the cliff edge and threw it down into the sea. Then he washed his hands in the stream.

He did not know how long he had been in this place. Time was stretched and squashed here. The sun was lowering on the horizon.

After the sun has set, and before the moon has risen, thought Spider. That is when the beast will be back.