Anansi Boys: A Novel by Neil Gaiman

Author:Neil Gaiman [Gaiman, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780060515188
Amazon: 0060515198
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2005-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

SPIDER HAD SLEPT PEACEFULLY IN HIS OWN ENORMOUS BED, in his place in Fat Charlie’s spare room. He had begun to wonder, in a vague sort of way, whether Fat Charlie had gone for good, and had resolved to investigate the matter the next time that he could in any way be bothered to do so, unless something more interesting distracted him or he forgot.

He had slept late, and was now on his way to meet Rosie for lunch. He would pick her up at her flat, and they would go somewhere good. It was a beautiful day in early autumn, and Spider’s happiness was infectious. This was because Spider was, give or take a little, a god. When you’re a god, your emotions are contagious—other people can catch them. When people stood near Spider on a day that he was this happy, their worlds would seem a little brighter. If he hummed a song, other people around him would start humming, in key, like something from a musical. Of course, if he yawned, a hundred people nearby would yawn, and when he was miserable it spread like a damp river-mist, making the world even gloomier for everyone caught up in it. It wasn’t anything he did; it was something that he was.

Right now, the only thing casting a damper on his happiness was that he had resolved to tell Rosie the truth.

Spider was not terribly good at telling the truth. He regarded truth as fundamentally malleable, more or less a matter of opinion, and Spider was able to muster some pretty impressive opinions when he had to.

Being an imposter was not the problem. He liked being an imposter. He was good at it. It fitted in with his plans, which were fairly simple and could until now have been summarized more or less as: (a) go somewhere; (b) enjoy yourself; and (c) leave before you get bored. And it was now, he knew deep down, definitely time to leave. The world was his lobster, his bib was round his neck, and he had a pot of melted butter and an array of grotesque but effective lobster-eating implements and devices at the ready.

Only…

Only he didn’t want to go.

He was having second thoughts about all this, something Spider found fairly disconcerting. Normally he didn’t even have first thoughts about things. Life without thinking had been perfectly pleasant—instinct, impulse, and an obscene amount of luck had served him quite well up to now. But even miracles can only take you so far. Spider walked down the street, and people smiled at him.

He had agreed with Rosie that he would meet her at her flat, so he was pleasantly surprised to see her standing at the end of the road, waiting for him. He felt a pang of something that was still not entirely guilt, and waved.

“Rosie? Hey!”

She came toward him along the pavement, and he began to grin. They would sort things out. Everything would work out for the best. Everything would be fine.

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