a new one on me,” she said. “But I don’t doubt it. I know for a fact that my Aunt Rosa has heard the voices of dead people on her radio.”
The night quietly absorbed this statement.
Russell looked around for a minute, assessing his surroundings. “Your house is just great, guys, just great. And right over there is old Nellie Widow’s.”
“You know, I told you all her property went to the city, and now it’s getting annexed to Fox Lake Park,” Carmela said, gesturing into the darkness. “So there’ll be one big park from the lake all the way up the ridge and out past here. Permanent green belt. Perfect for kids.”
Manny stretched and yawned. “I’m getting tired.”
“Oh, hey,” Russell hastened to ask, “have you seen Carl or Ellie recently?”
Carmela, now also yawning, said, “I haven’t talked to Ellie for a couple of weeks. But they’re still living out at Stillwater. Carl’s working some job in the city, sales rep or something.”
“Yeah, remember last time they were out here?” Manny asked his wife. “Remember Carl freaking out about that rock pile out there by the road? He was about to go out there and tear it apart. I don’t know what his problem was.”
Carmela’s cat came puttering across the porch and laid itself down at her feet. From where Russell sat he could clearly see the animal was pregnant.
“She’s pregnant,” he stated.
“Yep,” she said softly while stroking her pet.
“Oh,” he said, looking at Manny, who averted his eyes. “I just didn’t know, that’s all.”
A breeze came off the lake, rustling the windsock a bit. Carmela patted her cat’s head, then got up and gave Russell a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Good night, Russ.”
The two men sat awhile, staring out at the black water.
“Seen Guy Bogel or Gary Pierce around?” Russell ventured to ask.
Manny face expressed disdain. “No, and I don’t want to. Last time I saw those guys was when they came around here with a couple of AK-47s they were trying to get me to buy. What the hell do I want with one assault rifle, let alone two? Who knows where they got them, but I don’t like that business. Those guys are bad news.”
Russell accepted this and finished his beer. Manny got up and cracked his knuckles.
“I’m hitting the hay, Russ. You got the back room there, and anything you want. Just slam the door hard when you come in, so it locks. Don’t worry about slamming it—I’ll worry if I don’t hear it slam. OK?”
They hugged. Manny smiled, squeezed his shoulder, and said, “See you tomorrow.”
In the back room, as he was preparing to turn in, he remembered the envelope Nestor had given him. He opened it and read:
The graceful curve of subatomic particles, unresolved musical sentences, subtle intonations eliciting resonant memories of the warning: Do not eat shellfish when the glow of the dinoflagellates can be seen from shore. She sat at the picnic table and looked out across the pond. Scum bobbed on the waves, and she tried to remember her name. At a loss, she drank her soda and turned to the conversation at table. Forty people were talking at once. She could grasp words, but they had no context. She thought two cousins may have been discussing whether an individual’s name was Paco or Pablo. More voices joined in. Above the noise she heard the voice of Aunt Flora, who said, “Once I roped a wild horse and named him Paco.” Aunt Flora’s voice faded again into the confusion. An Eskimo Pie melted on a paper plate. Her amorphous mind continued to assimilate as she sipped soda and tried to conceal her swelling delight.
He folded the page, replaced it in the envelope, and tossed it on the nightstand. When undressing, he discovered two stickers on the back of his shirt. In thinking over the day, wondering who might have stuck them there and when, it seemed that everyone he’d been with had handled him in some way. It was Nestor’s work, he decided, looking closely at the stickers. One was a severely crosshatched and demented rendering of the Big Boy mascot of the diner chain. The other depicted a stick figure pedestrian, like the one on signs at crosswalks, only this figure was hunched over, its feet in waves, and on its back was a lumpy bag labeled, CATS. He got out his journal, peeled off the Big Boy sticker and put it on the front cover. The other sticker ended up on the back. He set everything aside, turned off the light and shut out the world.
5
Carl Paulette awoke slowly, only gradually becoming aware that he was not where he’d been dreaming he was. That place was peaceful, full of light. Now he regained his senses in Mira’s apartment. Mira was about the worst housekeeper he’d ever known. Her apartment had an innate dinginess, here in an old building on Chicago’s North Side, and she sure hadn’t done anything to brighten it up. Dreary light oozed through yellowed shades, falling on walls of an indiscriminate color. Piles of stuff squatted in every room—piles of clothes, newspapers, books, magazines, mail. Every inch of the place was marked with the detritus of daily life. It was a rat-hole, compared to the house he shared with Ellie. But this rat-hole was his retreat. He kind of hated it mostly, but sometimes it was just what he needed.
He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. The digital display read 7:28 a.m. That was one thing he was consistently good at—every time he set an alarm he’d get up exactly two minutes before it went off. Always. He’d set Mira’s alarm for seven-thirty, knowing that if he slept as long as he really needed, he’d wake up this afternoon. He couldn’t afford to sleep in today. He had to get back to Ellie as soon as he could. She had expected him home last night, and he hadn’t called. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Certainly not. In the past year it had happened too often. Big problem this time was that it had happened last only a couple of weeks ago. This was not a good trend.
The shrill beeping of the alarm sent his blood pressure soaring. He silenced it by giving it a good slap. The ruckus caused Mira to stir. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with her first thing in the morning. He had enough to deal with trying to concoct some sort of story for Ellie. God, he hated this. So why did it keep happening? This time it was Mira’s fault for sure. Usually they’d get together in the afternoon, whenever Carl could sneak out of work. They’d do their thing and hang out until Mira went to work at the bar. Last night she decided she’d call in sick, and although he tried to weasel out of it, he was stuck with her all night.
She stretched and yawned, then blinked her eyes. He practically ran to the bathroom. He faced himself in the mirror and shook his head in disapproval. What he needed was a good shower to wipe off any trace of Mira that Ellie might pick up. Once he had come home and Ellie had surreptitiously sniffed him all night. She didn’t say anything, but it was then that he decided he’d better not test the ability of her nose to detect another woman. His shower filled the small bathroom with steam. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out his razor. He wiped the mirror with a towel and looked at himself again. How could this have gotten to the point where he kept toiletries here? He slathered aftershave all over his body, then returned to the bedroom to dress. Mira sat up in bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He zipped his trousers and muttered, “I told you. My sister. I have to make sure she takes her medication.”
With a heavy sigh, she flopped back on her pillow. “Why doesn’t she live with your parents? Or at least have a nurse, or be in a home or something?”
Of course, this ‘sister’ didn’t exist. All this convoluted subterfuge was pure crap designed to explain why he always needed to be seventy miles away in Stillwater. The ‘crazy sister’ story served the purpose of dissuading Mira from calling him at home, or, if she did call, to conceal Ellie’s true identity should she answer. He had it sewn up pretty neatly, but the effort he had to make to keep his stories tight was exacting a toll on his nerves.
He shook his head as he buttoned