Felix hissed at her as she unconsciously wound his fur tightly around her finger. “I wonder,” she mused, “if computers can laugh.”
Chapter 38
Kola’s back legs bicycled furiously; high-pitched yelps forced her mouth open; strenuous gasps made her chest heave up and down. In her nightmare, she could not recreate the cold, the hunger, the lost-ness; she could not picture the man who kicked her or the truck that drove away and left her. She couldn’t imagine the grief of her old woman dying. She couldn’t feel the metal rungs denting her snout or her paws pushing against a cage trying to get out. She couldn’t hear the clamor of animals in the kennel howling at the scent of death just beyond the steel door.
Kola couldn’t remember the specific feelings or faces. But they all came together in shadows of giant monsters and terrifying evils swooping in and out of focus. Just as a demon descended, its outline moving to define its shape, just as hundreds of tentacles of fear reached down for her, held her still, her eyelids fluttered, straining to open.
It was dark and quiet. Her breath moaned through her ribs in a soft cry. She swiveled her head enough to see the gentle face emerging from the mound under the blanket. She inched upward until her back was pressed into the boy’s back. She lay motionless for a long time, her head bent in an awkward angle, just looking at him, her eyes melting with all the love and possessiveness and gratitude of her being. Then she rolled on her spine, her belly exposed, her four paws folded over her, in a primal wolverine gesture of subordination.
Chapter 39
The light touched the tips of the buildings in the distance like a copper wand, lifting the veil of darkness hovering over them. At 6:40, more than an hour later than usual, Louise had already done eight blocks—three more to go in one direction and then head back—which would be her morning mile. It was something between a jog and a brisk walk with an energetic dog that helped her work up a sweat, and now that she’d been doing it for a few months, she felt trimmer and firmer, although she worried that her thighs and buttocks were going to become more muscular and make her look even heavier. Only during the last few weeks had she felt the sense of freedom that came with turning the clocks ahead and being outside when it was light. In the winter she didn’t like walking at that hour—she was usually out by 5:30—which seemed like the middle of the night.
People who knew thought she was crazy, that it was unsafe to be on the streets that early. But she knew better. The city might not be fully awake, but there were plenty of bodies out there. If she walked anywhere near Lexington, there were a lot of people, mostly men, who scattered in different directions from the express stop on 86th Street on their way…somewhere. Private sanitation trucks picked up garbage from stores and fast-food places. Oriental grocers cut up melons and fresh fruits and doled out portions into plastic boxes. Two-way radios squawked unintelligibly from identical cars waiting by the curb for a call, the drivers either sleeping or doubled up in the front seat, playing gin. Sidewalk breakfast vendors unhitched their wagons from the cars that brought them and brewed their first urn of coffee. Bundles of the Daily News and the Post and the Times were tossed out of trucks with clever slogans painted on the sides to wait in front of office buildings for cigar-stand owners to bring them in. Janitors hosed their sidewalks while the doormen stretched awake. Dellwood drivers stacked cases of milk outside all-night markets. East Indians unlocked their newspaper kiosks on every other corner.
Regardless, Louise had her big, fierce watchdog with her.
The sound of metal gates rolling up, garbage grinding, things hitting the sidewalk were like a cock-a-doodle-doo to Louise. The only thing that interrupted the music and her gait was Honda stopping every once in a while to bark at some homeless person curled in a doorway.
She felt invigorated and even though she was late—according to her regular schedule; early for everyone else’s—she needed a cup of coffee, an extra jolt of caffeine. She needed it before her shower, with her T-shirt matted to her skin, her hair stuck to her scalp with perspiration, and her armpits sticky with deodorant and sweat. She needed it sitting at a counter, mingling with taxi drivers and construction workers on their way to a job. She was afraid to tie up Honda, not that anyone would dare approach her big killer, but she couldn’t relax with him howling outside, tethered to a hydrant or a pole. She’d drop him off first and go right back out.
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