My Book of Life By Angel

by Martine Leavitt

Another policeman was standing between me and her—

  he had a nice police tie pin,

  and he said, I’ll take you home.

  My hips felt out of joint again

  like I was having a big baby get born out of me.

  The officer said, my name is Dave.

  I said, are you arresting me?

  He pointed at Melli and said, she should be in bed.

  He said, come on, let’s go.

  I said, you don’t know where I live,

  but he did.

  Call was there when we got back,

  surprised to see me so early in the eve­ning

  and scared to see me with police,

  but Dave said, I’d like a word.

  The ­whole time they talked

  so quiet and respectful

  I held Melli’s hand and thought of Widow

  I mean Paula

  and I thought—

  I thought,

  but I did Restitution.

  Call and the policeman talked about how this is just business

  and all the do-­gooders in the world

  are the real cause of all the trouble.

  Call talked about his business intentions

  and then Dave shook Call’s hand,

  said he understood the way the world is,

  and Call shook back and said,

  first time for free.

  Call said to me, this is Dave

  and you do what­ever he tells you.

  I said to Dave, in the bedroom where Melli ­can’t see.

  In the bedroom I said,

  will Widow be okay, officer?

  He said, call me Daddy—­Daddy Dave.

  I thought, Widow, Paula,

  would be happy when she got back to the midtrack

  if I could tell her I said this thing,

  this one thing.

  So I said,

  if you ­were my real daddy

  I would say someone is getting the girls,

  they are not missing, they are dead.

  I said, everyone knows someone gone,

  someone who has kids

  but ­doesn’t call them anymore,

  someone who loves her sister

  but ­doesn’t visit anymore,

  someone who had money under a mattress

  and it’s still there . . .

  Daddy Dave snorted, said,

  keeping track of you all is like herding chickens—

  you leave, your boyfriends take you out.

  What do you expect?

  He said,

  show me a body—

  you got one under the bed?

  and then he smiled and said,

  I’m not ­here for work.

  He said, ­we’re going to play the word game,

  and he was fancy with words

  but not as good as Milton’s 630,

  not as good as

  dismissive

  unprincipled.

  He threw the words around, beat them all bruisey

  and made me eat them,

  made me say things, made me speak un-­angel,

  put words in my ears, stuffed them in far,

  and made them come out of my mouth.

  All those black and blue words made me sick,

  my stomach full of mouldy brown words.

  He beat the words up, twisted them.

  But he didn’t know about my book of life

  and how later I would brush the words off,

  break them into letters like bread

  and put them in a poem.

  When he was finished Daddy Dave said,

  don’t worry, I might be assigned

  to head up the task force

  for the investigation of the missing women.

  The last one got caught

  with pornography on his work computer.

  He said, see you.

  Right after he left, I got out my book of life

  and wrote it all down

  about Widow, about Paula,

  about how the story kept turning out not how I meant,

  not how I meant at all—

  I closed my book.

  I went out to the broken-bone couch to find Melli

  but she was gone.

  And so was Call.

  Submitting to what seemed remediless . . .

  Call brought her back,

  boneless and broken,

  her eyes speaking the same language as her mouth.

  He handed her the cards, said, play,

  but she held them in her hand and didn’t play.

  I said, what did you do? what have you done?

  Call said, she’s been to the baby dentist.

  He said, if you’re going to give me trouble, Angel,

  you tell me now,

  tell me straight.

  You want to walk out that door, you go.

  I’ve got Melli now, and she’s fresh, you know?

  So go if you want . . .

  I knew I ­wouldn’t make it to the end of the block.

  I knew he would be so mad that I would really leave him,

  I knew if I made it to the end of the block

  he would hurt Jeremy—­kill Jeremy—

  I knew it while I stared at Melli,

  while I ­couldn’t believe what he had done.

  I ­couldn’t leave Melli anyway.

  I said, evil Call, where would I go?

  who would want me?

  He nodded, looked at me with hurt in his eyes

  because he knew I stayed for Melli.

  He said, don’t call me that,

  don’t call me evil.

  He said, you should be afraid of me.

  I said, okay, evil Call.

  You want fear,

  okay, I can do that.

  I can do it excellent,

  stand straight under it,

  salute it,

  artistify it.

  Call picked up the cards,

  said, I’ll show you a game, Melli.

  I’ll show you a trick.

  He said, pick a card and look at it,

  but don’t show me—

  now put it on your forehead

  and I’ll read your mind.

  She didn’t want to play,

  sitting on the broken-bone couch,

  but she did what he said,

  and he guessed the card.

  He said, want to know the trick?

  Want to know how I did that?

  She didn’t nod, her ­whole body was silent—

  He put a finger on her skull

  and said, there’s no trick.

  I can read your mind for real.

  I’ll know if you ever think a thought

  about leaving me.

  He said, I’ve got a late meeting with gentry,

  and he went out and locked us in.

  When he was gone,

  I got out my book

  and I went slow and quiet to the couch

  and I said, slow and quiet, Melli, I have magic, too.

  My book hides secrets, in code: a b c d

  abracadabra—sleight of word,

  letters up my sleeve.

  Call never checks sleeves, Melli.

  I’ll find a noun behind your ear,

  and make the meaning disappear—

  but nothing made her smile.

  I said, I’m sorry, Melli.

  I said, there has to be the possibility of sad endings

  or there ­couldn’t be such a thing as
happy endings.

  Endings are happy because they could have been sad.

  Maybe ours will be sad.

  When I said that

  Melli leaned forward,

  hunched up, curled in,

  made herself small

  until her shoulder blades flattened and disappeared

  into the round of her back

  and her wing places vanished into herself—

  I knew why the baby dentist wanted to do it.

  It was an angel he wanted.

  If she was dead and cold, he ­wouldn’t want her.

  But inside her, maybe an angel

  who warmed her up, lit her up, made her hum—

  it was her he wanted.

  He wanted to suck out her light till he glowed in the dark.

  I put my finger to her cheek and tasted her tear,

  thinking to swallow light,

  a little star to pour on your cereal in the morning . . .

  But no—­just a tear.

  She was just a little girl.

  And then I ­couldn’t stand it, Melli’s silence,

  and I shouted, speak!

  say something!

  But she just cried more

  and I ­couldn’t believe I did that,

  and I promised and promised I’d never do it again,

  said, sorry, sorry . . .

  I hugged her and said, it’s okay,

  you don’t have to talk—­I don’t care.

  I said to Melli, don’t you know how cute you are?

  You are a spirity supermodel, a beauty queen boo,

  a cutie patootie cream ­cheese pattycake babycake you—

  you are specialer than special . . .

  I said, I’m writing a story about you

  and in it the baby dentist dies a gruesome gory death

  upside down in a dentist’s chair

  poked all over with needles and drills.

  She didn’t smile

  but she let me tuck her into bed.

  Next day I made food for Melli,

  biscuits and milk and scrambled egg whites,

  but she ­wouldn’t eat, only drank the milk,

  and she held the cards

  but she ­wouldn’t play.

  Call and Asia left to collect more names

  the ­whole time thinking up plans,

  all dumb.

  And Melli ­wouldn’t play,

  so I played cards while Melli watched.

  I heard the key in the door,

  but it ­wasn’t Call, it was Daddy Dave,

  and he said, Call knows I’m ­here.

  In the bedroom I said,

  how is Widow?

  He said, she died.

  She died of a bleed in the drunk tank.

  I said, just a moment.

  I went into the kitchen

  and got Call’s knife out of the drawer

  and I took off my shoe and I held the knife

  over my toe,

  held it with my hand pushing down

  and my toe pushing up,

  my hand wanting to make it up for Widow

  for Paula Paula Paula

  who forgot her name that’s how bad it was.

  But there was no Restitution big enough

  for her being dead,

  and my toe pushing up

  and my hand pushing down

  I heard Widow’s voice saying,

  don’t you let them do that to you—

  and then Melli came in and put her hollow ­bone hand

  on mine

  and took the knife away.

  That Melli.

  I said, Melli, you won’t go back to the baby dentist

  because—because I’m going to get a plan.

  Saying it was belief enough

  because right then I got one.

  A plan.

  I whispered to Melli,

  holding the knife,

  I think I know a way

  to make Daddy Dave take you home—

  I know a way

  so Call will think it was Daddy Dave’s idea

  and Jeremy won’t get hurt.

  I took the knife out of her hand

  and she was scared but I said, it’s okay,

  and I made Daddy Dave a sandwich, ham,

  and I took it to the bedroom

  where Melli ­couldn’t see

  and I said to Daddy Dave with a ham sandwich,

  too bad you let Widow die, too bad.

  I watched Daddy Dave bite into his sandwich

  and chew and chew

  as if there ­were bones in that ham

  or rubbery bits of eyeball—

  his ham sandwich rolled around and around

  in his mouth while we chatted

  and I was ever so nice.

  I said, at least she didn’t get killed by Mr. P.

  He said, with his mouth full of ham,

  you ­can’t go saying there’s a killer out there.

  Scares all the law-­abiding folks

  who just want to eat their dinner in peace.

  They don’t know about your world,

  and they don’t want to.

  Now Angel, you ask yourself, dig down deep,

  what kind of life did those women have anyway?

  Ever think of it that way?

  I thought, he deserves my plan.

  I watched him chew

  with my toe still quivering

  and Paula dead in the drunk tank

  and Melli in the kitchen

  and me knowing my plan.

  Then we played the dirty word game

  and I found a way to tip out his wallet—

  he never saw, he was so taken with his little girl, that’s me,

  that’s how we play.

  And after that, and after the part where he cries

  because he feels so bad, I kicked the wallet away

  under the bed,

  and after the part where he looks at me and says it isn’t fair

  and the part where I have to comfort him—

  after that he didn’t have any money to pay.

  Surprise!

  I cried,

  I said, Call is going to kill me if I don’t get some money,

  he’s not going to believe it,

  which was sort of true so I didn’t lie, top ten.

  I cried some more and I said,

  he’s going to think you’re pulling one over on him,

  and I cried more, and Daddy Dave said

  shut up, shut up—

  he said, tell Call I’ll pay you double next time—

  I said, give me your watch to prove it,

  and he did.

  I said, give me your tie pin, too—

  (it says twenty years with a police crest on it)

  and he said no, and I cried,

  not even fake crying ’cause I was so scared of my plan,

  and he said shut up

  and gave it to me, said, tell Call I’ll pay him next time . . .

  He left without his wallet ha ha

  and his watch

  and his tie pin,

  which I hid all of them under the mattress.

  And after that Call,

  sudden and loud,

  saying I have an interview with a reporter tomorrow—

  he heard about our petition

  and wants to write an article on us—

  ­we’re going to be news—

  can you believe it, Angel?

  It could be so good for us
soon,

  just have faith in me,

  and he hugged me and said,

  don’t leave me, Angel, don’t leave,

  and he meant, don’t make me kill you.

  I said, look, Call, look,

  and I gave him the money

  I’d taken out of Daddy Dave’s wallet,

  there was lots extra,

  so I said, this is for two.

  Call said, good business, Angel-­girl,

  and I said, I’m all about customer ser­vice.

  He kissed me and carried me to bed

  and he ground out some tribal—

  but under the mattress,

  there with my book of life

  the watch

  the wallet

  the tie pin

  the plan . . .

  How are we happy, still in fear of harm?

  Today is the day, Call said.

  He practiced reporter questions with Asia.

  Asia said, what if he asks you how would you advertise?

  Call said, the Dutch have display windows—you can get any size, color. It’s much safer for the customer.

  Yes, said Asia, pretending to be the reporter, but isn’t it true that in the Netherlands the number of child prostitutes has tripled since legalization?

  Call said, I don’t see the connection. Isn’t it all just harmless fun? Just think about all those girls competing for your business—the possibilities.

  Call and Asia laughed at that one.

  Asia said, okay, get serious ­here, how will you staff your business?

  Call said, it’s an employment option for the poor.

  Call said, did I do good?

  I said, wow, Call.

  It’s going to be all good from ­here, Angel,

  I promise,

  we’ll start new.

  I said, I know, it’s true.

  I said, if you don’t lock us in, I’ll get groceries

  and cook you something red

  to celebrate.

  He hugged me and left, wearing good clothes

  and carry­ing his names in his almost empty briefcase

  and leaving the door unlocked

  and the rhino guarding the door.

  I had to wake Melli up