After flicking on the overhead sixty-watt bulb, Dawit closed the shed door and dropped Teacake on top of a cracked plastic outdoor table they had replaced years before. Immediately, Teacake jumped down to the floor to sniff at a half-dozen withering dead lizards scattered across the concrete. He began to sniff at one of the petrified carcasses.
“Don’t do that. It’s poisonous,” Dawit warned from habit, shooing the cat away from the lizard with his foot.
In the past week, Dawit had made a new work space in the shed. He’d arranged the table, a wooden folding chair, and a radio he kept tuned to a music station that played jazz after midnight. The shed resembled a laboratory at this point, making Dawit wonder if he wasn’t some sort of mad scientist. Was Mahmoud right in his assessment? Was he a madman by now?
Dawit peeked under the lid of a hole-poked shoe box he’d left on top of the chair. Inside, resting on a bed of dry grass, was a large gray lizard Dawit had named Satchmo. Satchmo scurried around in the box, a noise that prompted Teacake to prop himself up on his hind legs to try to see inside.
“Evening, Satchmo,” Dawit said, smiling. Still alive. But he’d known the lizard would be fine. The morning before, when he’d found Satchmo’s belly contracting with rapid breaths, those shiny black eyes wide open, Dawit had trembled with disbelief. Then, he’d felt an overwhelming sense of power as he understood what it meant. He had done it. Satchmo would always be fine.
Dawit lifted the box and cracked the door of the shed open so he could toss the lizard to freedom. “Go, Satchmo,” Dawit said, flinging the contents of the box out into the dark. “Have a good life, my friend.”
Teacake tried to race out to chase the lizard, but Dawit closed the door before the cat could escape. “Sorry, compadre,” he apologized. “You’ll leave a bit later. I promise.”
Dawit reached behind the ladder in the corner to find the paper bag hiding his cache of hypodermic needles, housecleaning chemicals, and pesticides. He’d killed at least ten lizards so far in his quest to find an injection that was quickly lethal, yet not so instantaneous that his subject would be dead before Dawit could complete the most critical portion of his task. Satchmo, with a bellyful of ammonia, had been the first to live.
Ammonia would not do for Teacake, Dawit had decided. He had no way of determining how much of the chemical would be necessary to induce a quick death, so he’d chosen another compound that killed the lizards quickly—rubbing alcohol, with its deadly isopropanol. He’d considered turpentine and rat poison, which he believed would act more quickly, but those agents might be more painful to Teacake’s system. Not that the alcohol would be painless, he surmised; but it would impair Teacake’s central nervous system and lead to a coma, so the animal’s pain might be brief. He hoped so, at least; the less noise Teacake made, the better—his wails might awaken Jessica and Kira, which would be disastrous.
Dawit laid both needles he had prepared on the weathered patio table. One contained the full dose of the isopropyl alcohol, the other a small sample of Dawit’s blood, which he had drawn earlier that day. The blood, inside the hypodermic’s plastic casing, was still noticeably warm to his touch. Dawit rested his index finger against it, savoring the heat, still fascinated by its mysterious properties.
Next, Dawit turned on the radio and heard the deliciously lazy tenor saxophone of John Coltrane. He sat in the chair, listening to the piece to identify it. It took him two seconds. “A Love Supreme,” of course. And wasn’t it fitting?
He wished he could relax and enjoy the music rather than face the task ahead. Dawit gazed across the shed at Teacake, who was still sitting in front of the closed door, looking back at Dawit expectantly. Seeing that Dawit had noticed him, Teacake cried to be let out. His voice sounded like a child’s.
A single tear ran down Dawit’s cheek. What insanity was this? He would torture and possibly murder a beloved family pet, and for what? On the belief, perhaps mistaken, that he had recalled the Life incantation he first heard pass from Khaldun’s lips?
And what next? Would he do the same to his wife and child?
From habit, under his breath, Dawit began to recite the simple Hebrew phrases he had dragged from the recesses of his memory: “The Blood is the vessel for Life. The Blood flows without end, as a river through the Valley of Death.”
Khaldun, no doubt, had believed Dawit remained unconscious when he performed the Life ritual on the last of his brethren in the underground temple. Dawit was not supposed to have heard those words. None of his other brethren had, he imagined, so perhaps that was why none had attempted to bring anyone into their Life fellowship. He alone had heard.
The instant Satchmo’s ammonia-filled belly stopped its faint movement, Dawit had injected him with the blood from his veins and recited those simple words. By morning, when Dawit returned, Satchmo was awake.
Again, Dawit glanced at his watch. He had already been away from Jessica for nearly twenty minutes. He must begin his work, or else the Ritual might find him still here by morning.
Dawit played with the plunger of the clear syringe until the liquid inside crept to the tip of the needle in a bead. He held it steady in his right hand and kneeled beside Teacake, stroking the cat’s head. “I wish there were another way,” Dawit said to Jessica’s cat.
And what was the harm of it, really? Why hadn’t he done the same with Princess, when he watched his dog writhe on the veterinarian’s exam table and take her last, shallow breaths? He should have had his blood waiting for Princess. Or dear Adele.
By now, Dawit’s vision was blurred by tears. In a quick motion, with one arm, he lifted Teacake beneath the front legs to expose the soft fur of his underbelly. Estimating where the cat’s stomach rested, he jabbed the needle deeply into it, pushing the plunger in with all his might.
Teacake howled, and Dawit felt the cat’s claws slash furiously against his face, near his eyes, before Teacake thrust himself away from Dawit with his strong hind legs. Teacake nearly stumbled over himself in his terrified effort to run from Dawit, scrambling behind a cardboard Christmas tree box in a corner of the shed. He made low, threatening sounds that resembled growling.
Cursing, Dawit touched his face. Bleeding. He was lucky the animal hadn’t scratched his eyes out. Would one injection be enough to work quickly? He didn’t know. He wanted to inject Teacake once more, to be certain, but he didn’t relish the thought of another encounter with those sharp claws. Teacake was a much heartier opponent than any of the lizards had been.
From his sanctuary, Teacake’s growls turned to frightened cries. Perhaps he was already in pain, or simply confused. Dawit prayed he would not be too loud, or he would have to chase Teacake and knock the beast unconscious. This was already difficult.
Mahmoud was wrong; there was no sport in killing for him. And killing a loved one, even a pet, was more daunting than he had imagined. Why hadn’t he simply asked for a tranquilizer from the vet so Teacake would not suffer? It would have required an explanation, but he should have gone to the trouble for Teacake’s sake. He would need more merciful methods in the future, he decided. Much more merciful.
Thankfully, after a few more minutes, Teacake was silent. Then, Dawit heard the animal make retching noises. The first dose of poison was doing its work.
“What are you doing?” Jessica asked Dawit, trailing after him as he walked out of the house carrying two UM duffel bags to the minivan. She’d been watching morning cartoons with Kira in the living room when she noticed him pass through with the bags. He detected accusation in her voice.
“We’re taking a trip,” he announced, smiling.
“Who is?”
“You and me, babe. It’s all set up.” He hoisted the bags into the van’s cargo bin, grunting. “Bea’s taking Kira for the weekend. Then, you and I are camping out in the Everglades for two days away from civilization. I found a guy who rents a cabin out there. It’s great. You have to ride an airboat to get there.”
Behind Jessica, Kira giggled. “D
id you know about this?” Jessica asked, turning to look at her.
Kira nodded, smiling. “I’m sleeping at Grandma’s.”
It took all of Dawit’s energy to maintain his jovial exterior, since his spirits had been crushed all morning. He’d been so methodical—holding a mirror up to Teacake’s nose to gauge exactly when his breathing stopped, checking for the cat’s pulse, injecting the blood exactly as he had with Satchmo. He’d said the incantation slowly, not stumbling over his words.
Yet, at dawn, when he’d stolen back outside to check on the cat’s progress in the shed, he lifted the towel he’d spread over Teacake and found him lying motionless, his glazed-over eyes open, his joints already stiff with oncoming rigor mortis. Still dead.
Only five hours had passed. Perhaps it was still too early.
No, Dawit told himself, he had to face facts. He had killed the fucking cat, another family catastrophe he would have to deal with when he returned from the weekend with Jessica. That is, if Jessica would return with him at all after he found the courage to reveal what he intended. Teacake’s death, realistically, was the least of his worries at the moment. The future of his family was very much at stake.
He had not mentioned the trip in the house, nor used any of the household telephones to plan or discuss it, because he hoped to keep their destination a secret from Mahmoud. Mahmoud’s ears were everywhere. Dawit would need privacy for his days away with Jessica. He hoped Mahmoud did not suspect what he was up to.
If only Teacake had lived! That could have served as evidence enough in his own mind, and in Jessica’s, that he could be trusted to carry out the Life ritual on human beings. What now? What was the purpose of revealing everything to Jessica if he could not ask her to join him with Kira?
But he must. Mahmoud would surely return. Clearly, he had threatened to harm Jessica and Kira, and Dawit did not doubt his sincerity. Mahmoud had been softhearted when Dawit first met him, often hesitating with his spear when he should have struck, but the years had changed Mahmoud. The years had changed them all.
He would have to explain why their departure must be sudden, and not to France, after all. The Searchers would find them without much trouble in France. He must take them to Africa, somewhere they could easily vanish for years.
Could he expect Jessica to agree to such a thing?
“I like your nerve, planning a trip without even asking me,” Jessica said, startling Dawit from his thoughts as he arranged the duffel bags. “What if I had big plans for this weekend?”
“You don’t have any plans and you know it.”
“Isn’t the Everglades a swamp? We’re camping in a swamp?”
“Swamps are very romantic and secluded. There aren’t many people there. Only alligators,” Dawit said, and Kira squealed in mock fright.
Jessica nodded. “Uh-huh. Well, do you know that quote by Jerry Seinfeld? ‘Sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.’”
“Who’s Jerry Seinfeld?” Dawit asked.
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”
Kira tugged on Dawit’s belt loop. “Is it time to go, Daddy?”
“Stand back, Pumpkin,” Dawit said, and he slammed the rear hatch closed on the van before turning to Jessica to hold her shoulders. “You’re not mad, are you?”
She shook her head. “I guess most people would kill to have a husband who’d plan a surprise weekend trip. I’m slightly speechless, that’s all.”
“Good,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Then, go upstairs and get dressed. I think I packed most of what you need, but you can see what I overlooked. Hurry, though. We have to drive way out west, about sixty miles. The guy’s meeting us at the Big Cypress National Preserve with his airboat at noon. If we miss him, we’ll never get to the island.”
“What about—”
“I’ve packed plenty of food. Plus, it’s an island, so there’s fishing, and he said he has poles at the cabin.”
“What about Teacake, Daddy?” Kira asked suddenly.
Dawit’s stomach sank, but his smile remained frozen on his face as he massaged Kira’s scalp. “We’ll leave the kitty-door unlatched for him. I’ve left two days’ worth of food and water. Let’s just trust the raccoons won’t get to it first.”
“I’m going to find him and say bye-bye,” Kira said, turning to sprint back into the house.
Jessica wrapped her arms around Dawit’s middle and snuggled her face against his bare chest. She kissed his nipple. “A secluded island, David? You’re amazing. And what a great public relations tactic, letting Kira stay with Mom for the weekend. Mom, of course, won’t say anything, but she’s very upset about this idea that we could move.”
“That we will move.”
“That’s what I meant,” Jessica said.
Dawit patted Jessica’s firm backside. “Go on in and get dressed, mi vida. I need to put a few more things in the van, then we can get out of here.”
“’Kay,” Jessica said, looking up at him with a girlish smile. “This is going to be great. You shall be adequately rewarded for your creativity and spontaneity. Did you pack the massage oil?”
Her eagerness made Dawit sad. He shook his head slowly.
“Then you didn’t think of everything, did you?” she asked, squeezing his cheek, and she jogged back into the house with a giddy step that reminded Dawit of Kira’s. His wife, in so many ways, was still so much like a child. She possessed the sort of abandon he’d forgotten many natural lifetimes ago, and he loved that about her. He wished he could lose himself inside of it.
Very soon, Jessica would be forced to grow up in a fashion most people could never imagine. How would it change her?
To keep worries from afflicting him, Dawit concentrated on details. He had his hiking boots. His razors. The flashlight. Bread, fruit, leftover KFC fried chicken, crackers, sodas, flour to fry up any fish he might catch, the cast-iron skillet, a saucepan. The cabin’s owner said he had cooking utensils, but Dawit wanted to bring his own to be sure. He wanted dinner tonight to be special, because it could very well be the last pleasant moment he might share with his wife for a long time.
What else would he need for this trip, miracles aside? Ah, yes. His battery-operated CD player and radio. They must have music.
“David?” Jessica’s voice floated to him from Kira’s bedroom window as he stood in the front yard. He looked up, but could not see her behind the gray screen. “Have you seen the cat?”
“I’ll take a quick look around,” he said, waving up to her.
No, he had not seen that cat in at least an hour. Perhaps that hour had made a difference. Dawit prayed it had, but he knew he was only fooling himself as he trudged to the shed.
Inside, he gazed at the lump beneath the fading beach towel. No change. To be sure, he lifted the towel to examine the cat. Teacake’s eyes were still open, muddy pupils completely dilated— which meant the light was not affecting them. He gently poked at Teacake’s rib cage and shoulder blade. He lifted one paw and watched it flip back to the concrete floor as though it were elastic. Unless it was his imagination, Teacake’s joints seemed slightly more pliant, offering less resistance, but he couldn’t be certain. He was probably seeing only what he wanted to see.
“Better you than my wife or child,” he muttered to the corpse. “But I wish you’d lived, Teacake. You don’t know how much.”
Dawit sighed and once again buried the animal beneath the towel. He lifted his portable CD player and was about to leave when he remembered his most valuable supply: an eight-inch hunting knife with a wide blade. He pushed aside wood scraps, goggles, and dust masks on his tool table until he found the knife, which he’d bought two years before and never removed from its leather sheath. The purchase had been on a whim.
This weekend, he would finally need the knife. The thought, by itself, made Dawit shudder with dread.
“Did you find him, Daddy?” Kira asked Dawit when he walked into the house through the back door. She had her Min
nie Mouse overnight bag slung over her shoulder, and she’d taken an impatient stance with one hand planted on her little hip and her head cocked far to the side. Dawit wished he had time to find his camera, so he could take a photograph of her.
“No sign of Teacake. I’m sure he’ll turn up. He’s probably just out making friends.” Hearing this, Kira looked downhearted, biting her bottom lip.
“Did you look in the cave, too?” Jessica asked, appearing with her African purse and a handful of paperbacks.
“I looked everywhere, Jess. But I’m sure he’s fine. You know, animals can sense changes like an impending trip. Maybe this is Teacake’s way of voicing his displeasure.”
“Well, he never has before …” Jessica murmured.
After a last search of all of the closets and cabinets to make sure Teacake hadn’t locked himself up somewhere, the lights were turned off, the house was closed up, and the three of them piled into the van to begin their weekend adventures. Dawit noticed Kira’s face in his rearview mirror; she was staring out of the backseat window at the yard, obviously hoping to catch a glance of the cat. Guilt-ridden, Dawit looked away and started the engine.
“Don’t worry about Teacake, hon,” Dawit said softly.
Jessica lifted the hunting knife from the dashboard, turning the sheath over in her hands. “Uhm … Yo, Running Deer, what’s this for? Planning to track some game in the wilds?”
“Don’t underestimate my hunting prowess, my love.”
“Well, my grandmother used to fix us squirrel and rabbit, but I think I’ll stick to more conventional stuff, if you don’t mind.”
“You ate bunnies?” Kira asked, making a face.
“A long time ago. Wabbit stew, like Elmer Fudd. But I’m not going to let Daddy force me to eat any rabbits. Squirrels, either. Any chance you might catch a wild filet mignon out there, David?”
My Soul to Keep (African Immortals) Page 22
