“I’m going to make some food,” Mitch said. “I think you should eat, Nina.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Make her something anyway,” Sonia said. She went into the kitchen with Mitch, saying she’d left a note for Lynell and she’d also called D.G., who was coming over in a little while.
“Lynell knows about Emmett already, Sonia,” Nina said in a loud voice.
Sonia looked out the kitchen door. “She knows?”
“She was here when Emmett got out,” Nina said in the same loud voice. “That’s how it happened, Sonia. She came up here, Mitch opened the door, and Emmett got out. They didn’t catch him. Neither of them could catch him, Sonia.”
“Nina, Nina,” Mitch said. “You make it sound like we let him go on purpose. I told you we chased him all the way out to the street. I told you we looked everywhere for him.”
“Oh, I know, I know. You looked everywhere for him. They looked everywhere for him, Sonia. Mitch was just going to look for him again when I came home. Right, Mitch?”
“Come on, Nina,” he said, coming into the room. “Hang on there; you’re going over the edge.”
“Oh, I am not,” she said, but she sat down suddenly with Emmett in her lap. “Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t be such a turd, Mitch.” She had the childishly satisfying thought that right now she could say anything she wanted to Mitch, and he wouldn’t dare answer back. She stroked Emmett’s fur, trying to get it to lie down nicely. It was stiff and greasy, not like his fur at all.
Mitch and Sonia sat down at the table and ate scrambled eggs. “Nina,” Sonia said, “we made the eggs with cheese. They’re really good. Come on over and eat some.”
“I’m not hungry, and I don’t see how you can eat. I think it’s pretty coldhearted of both of you.” But secretly she thought that she was the coldhearted one. She hadn’t shed a tear. A couple times she had thought she was going to cry, but then she didn’t. Was something wrong with her? Years ago, in his heyday, Emmett would often come limping home from fights with other cats, and over those little scratches she had cried buckets. Now—nothing.
While Sonia and Mitch were still eating, Lynell and D.G. came in on each other’s heels. Lynell looked at the cat, shaking her head and pushing her hair behind her ears with a nervous gesture. “Boy, tough luck, Nina,” D.G. said in a sorrowful voice. “Anyway, he was old. I mean, that doesn’t make it any better, but you know what I mean. I guess he didn’t have that many years left anyhow.” D.G. sat down at the table to eat the eggs Nina didn’t want.
“Tell Nina she has to get rid—she has to bury him, or something,” Mitch said.
Who was he talking to? Lynell? No. He’d hardly looked at her. One glance when she came in, then he acted like she wasn’t even there. Did he think Nina didn’t notice? She wasn’t blind and deaf just because Emmett was dead. Guilty—that was it. Mitch felt guilty and so did Lynell. Because they had been stupid and careless and thoughtless and rotten! Neither of them had liked Emmett. Mitch had pretended, but she knew better. What about all those jokes he and Lynell were always making about Emmett? Saying wouldn’t he make a lovely cat scarf. And how he was a walking argument for euthanasia. Her stomach churned.
“Nina, Mitch is right,” Sonia said. “I know how you feel, hon. I know how I’d feel if Heidi died, but you’ve got to do something about him. Can’t just keep him that way. You know.”
“Okay, okay.” They were all talking to her as if she were two years old. Why had they even come? She’d never seen Lynell look so uncomfortable. How hard had she looked for Emmett? Nina could imagine her, standing on one leg, saying offhandedly, “Oh, that fat pig’ll come home when he gets hungry.”
“Who wants ice cream?” Mitch said.
“What kind?” D.G. asked.
“Chocolate chip. Or did we buy mocha chip this time, Nina?”
“Go home!” she said. What was this, a party? They all looked at her, then away.
“Well, maybe we ought to go,” D.G. said, but he filled a bowl with ice cream.
Finally they left. As soon as they were gone Nina went to the door with Emmett. “Where’re you going?” Mitch said. “What’re you going to do?”
“Find some place for him. Bury him,” she said flatly. “He’s dead; he’s got to be buried.”
“Nina, why don’t you let me take care—”
“I don’t want Emmett in a garbage can!”
“Okay, don’t get upset. I’ll come with you.”
Outside, Nina walked toward a street where the college was pulling down old houses, and nothing but empty lots remained. An empty lot didn’t seem too bad a place to bury Emmett. He’d probably had lots of good times in empty lots.
It was nearly dark; the rim of the sky was greenish. Nina wandered around holding Emmett in her arms. She hadn’t brought anything to dig with. “Nina,” Mitch said, “let’s go back, this is crazy. You can’t bury him here. The ground is still frozen. Even if you had a shovel—Look, Nina, I know how you feel.”
She picked up a rock, and holding Emmett in one arm, began scraping at the ground. Mitch sighed and knelt down next to her. “At least put him down.” He picked up a rock and worked with her, loosening the soil. Sweat broke out on Nina’s forehead. Neither of them said anything. There were only the sounds of cars passing and the stones scraping at the earth.
Mitch sat back on his heels. “We’re not going to be able to dig a grave, Nina.”
“I’m not going to just leave him here, Mitch!”
“I didn’t say you should.”
“And I won’t burn him, either. Or put him in the garbage!” She smiled furiously and laid Emmett in the shallow depression they’d made. She began piling stones around him.
“You’ll have to cover him, too,” Mitch said.
Hunkered down, her face closed like a fist, Nina continued making a stone mound around Emmett’s body.
“I really think you have to cover him, too, Nina.”
“I’ll do it.” Her voice was thin as the last finger of sunlight lying across the treetops. She put the first rock on Emmett, felt his body sinking beneath the weight like a pillow. She took a rock Mitch handed her and set it down next to the first one. “More.”
Emmett was covered. Nothing to be seen but a hump of rocks and stone. She wanted to say a prayer for him, but nothing came.
Chapter Twenty-five
On the way home after burying Emmett, Nina said, “I don’t blame you, Mitch, I know you didn’t mean to let him out.” Worn out by emotion, she staggered like a drunk. Mitch took her arm and held it close to him.
In the morning she woke up feeling blank and depressed. The day passed slowly. She went from class to class, catching a handful of words here, a sentence there. In Nicholas Lehman’s classroom, she sat with her notebook open, pen in hand. But she heard almost nothing. Why had she told Mitch she didn’t blame him? Why so quick to say that?
A LIE, she wrote in her notebook. She put little lines around the words so they shone like stars. A LIE. A shining lie. Yes, she blamed him. She blamed him. Who else? Emmett? He wasn’t responsible for his own death. He had only known the moment. And Mitch—had he only known the moment, too? Talking to Lynell, he had left the door open. What had they been saying that was so important? So utterly absorbing that Mitch had forgotten how Emmett always, always, always made his try for freedom?
Was she being unfair? Could it have happened anytime, to anyone? To her, too? What about that time Mitch and she were fighting and Emmett had run out into the hall? Yes, but even with her head throbbing, she’d gone after him. She’d called him in a voice he couldn’t ignore and brought him back inside.
At the end of the class period she moved toward the door. “Miss Bloom.” Nicholas Lehman perched on the edge of his desk, a pencil between his fingers. “Will you be able to do some typing today?”
Why not? What else did she have to do? If she didn’t work, she had to go home. She’d gone home yesterday. Gone home and met Mitc
h on the stairs.… Mitch would be home today, too. She would have to talk to him. Maybe even smile to show she didn’t blame him … to keep the shining lie alive. Smile, smile very hard because otherwise she might say, You killed my cat. You killed Emmett. She had to remember that he had, in a moment of carelessness, only left the door open. Left it open just a second too long. Easy to do! He hadn’t put a rope around Emmett’s neck. He hadn’t fed Emmett poisoned meat or taken a gun and shot him like an old horse. And, what’s more, Mitch had been sincerely sorry, nearly abject. How mean and unfeeling it would be of her to jump on Mitch when he was miserable enough already. First no job, now his fault that Emmett was dead. Why rub it in? Why pound on him? But she kept fantasizing running at him with both fists curled, screaming You killed my cat! Cat killer!
Oh, yes, how satisfying that would be. Did she really have to be so restrained? Why was she worrying about his feelings? The hell with his feelings! She was going to go home and tell him, give it to him straight, and if she made him cry, all the better. Let him cry enough tears for her, too!
“Nina—?” The room had emptied. Nicholas Lehman smiled slightly. “Wool gathering?”
“Pardon me?” Dizzy, she held on to the edge of his desk.
“I, ah, wondered if you’d be able to type today?”
She stared at him. Would he care that her cat was dead? She realized she was not being entirely lucid. She was definitely not thinking straight, was probably even a little crazy today. She had to be careful. Careful not to say things she’d be sorry for, sorry for later on. Was Mitch still sorry, sorry? Or had he forgotten already? Used up all his sorries yesterday? I’m sorry, Nina … I’m sorry, Nina.… He must have said that six times. At least.
“I’ll type. Yes, I’ll be in to type today.” Her neck quivered; there was a quivering little smile on her face.
“Terrific.” Nicholas Lehman tossed her a key. “Let yourself into the house. I’ll see you there.”
Sparrows squabbled in the trees. The apartment was quiet. Nina put in a sheet of paper, typed words, typed sentences, filled the page. She put in another sheet. Her fingers hung on the keys. “Oh, what for?” she said. “What for?” She put her head down and cried at last. Cried and cried and cried. Stupid to grieve so over a cat, but it was Emmett.…
“Nina. Nina!” She hadn’t heard him come in. He put his hand on her head, knelt down next to her. “What’s the matter? Can I help?” His eyes were on a level with hers. Would he have wanted to put Emmett into the garbage?
“Oh … please …” she said. Didn’t know why she said it. What she meant or wanted. “Oh, please …”
“Your hands are like ice.” He warmed them between his, and she moved toward him, seeking blindly for comfort. That was what she wanted—comfort. Hold me, comfort me.… Please comfort me. He was holding her. Couldn’t he hold her tighter? She burrowed into him, to be close, to be close and comforted. They were falling down on the rug, falling, falling, falling … close, close, close … She heard someone crying, little mewing sounds, oh, oh, oh, it was her.… And all this was mixed with her tears.
Chapter Twenty-six
“God, I hope I land this job,” Mitch said fervently. “Pray for me, Nina.” He had just walked in with the news of a lead on a job driving a delivery truck for Ferry’s, an office supply firm. “The guy seemed to like me, but you never know.… Keep your fingers crossed! Don’t walk under any ladders!” He laughed. “Do you know what I realized today? It’s totally demoralizing to be out of work. I’ve actually been a little crazy. Absolutely a little deranged. Depressed? Hell, yes. Just not myself, not looking at the world with a very healthy attitude. I didn’t realize how bad I’d been until the boss at this place—Ferry’s—until he said ‘Well, come on back Monday and we’ll talk.’ He said, ‘I’ve got one or two more guys to see.’ I said, ‘Okay, fine, but my chances are good?’ He said, ‘Sure. Good as the next one.’ Then he winked. ‘Maybe better,’ he said. I tell you, Nina, those two words and that wink, and I walked out of there on air. Ten feet high! I felt so good. That’s when I realized—I’ve been on the ropes for weeks! I really forgot what it feels like to feel good. Do you know what I mean? Am I making sense?” he asked exuberantly.
“Sure. Sure you are. And … and I’m really happy for you,” Nina added after a moment. Wasn’t that what was expected? The normal, ordinary, confident, I-believe-in-you sort of remark a loving girl friend would make to her boyfriend? She looked at Mitch to see if she had struck the right note. He was smiling, so it must be okay. It seemed to her that for the present, anyway, she had lost some vital connection: a link between hearing and speech that told her—and told her quickly—what was a correct response.
“That’s wonderful, Mitch.” She poured energy into her voice. “I’m not at all surprised. Why shouldn’t they hire you?” She gave his hand a squeeze for good measure.
For the last few days she had cut Nicholas Lehman’s classes. If figuring out how to act after he kissed her had given her trouble before, understanding what was required of her now was close to disastrous. She simply didn’t know how to handle this situation. Once again she was spending her afternoons in the library, studying, or appearing to. Her concentration was ragged. A few sentences read, a few notes taken, and the fidgets overtook her. She would scrape her chair around, shove papers together, and sharpen pencils with her old elementary school plastic sharpener. It was a small, clear pink device made in the shape of a pig. You stuck the pencil in the pig’s snout. Pencil sharpening absorbed her. So did lining up the edges of the tabs in her notebook. But eventually she would remember. Emmett was dead, and she had made love with Professor Lehman.
There was an equation there, somehow. The two extraordinary events were linked, but for moments at a time the link escaped her. Her mind was clouded. Then—oh, yes!—she understood. Because of Emmett’s death, she had been in need. A needy person. A person who needed comfort. But not Mitch’s comfort.
Leaving Nicholas Lehman’s house that afternoon, she had squinted painfully at the light glaring off the sidewalk. Still early in the afternoon. She hadn’t been in his house very long at all. But long enough.… A girl from one of her classes had jogged by, ponytail flapping. “Hi, Nina!” Why did joggers always look either smugly happy or excruciatingly miserable? Was there no in-between anywhere? Why had she worried so over a kiss? Worried immoderately over what she now saw as a sweet and innocent meeting of mouths? She longed for that moment again, when all she had committed was an error in judgment. All she had done was make a little mistake. A mistake—such a soothing word: clearly something that could be put right. A misstep. A missed step? No. A wrong step. A step off the path. Serious, but not fatal. Whereas what she had done in Nicholas Lehman’s office was more like a plunge over a cliff. Once that step off the cliff had been taken, there was no crying Wait! I’ve changed my mind! I didn’t mean that!
“Don’t let me oversleep Monday morning,” Mitch said. “That’s when I go in to see that guy again.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Eh! I’ll probably be up at the crack of dawn anyway.”
“Probably.”
“You know what, Nina? Something else I realized today. I miss old Emmett. I got used to him, and I really miss him.”
She didn’t answer.
“I noticed it tonight, coming home. Miss the old cat. To my surprise! If I could change that day, Nina …” Hands in his back pockets, he walked restlessly around the room. “I’d do it over from top to bottom. You know that, don’t you? Emmett being killed—it’s like it’s all part of that bad time. Besides everything else, I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with.”
“No … no …”
“Oh, come on, don’t deny it. I know, I know what I’ve been like.”
“No, it wasn’t that … It was all right … and …” Her voice trailed off. With every word she wondered that Mitch didn’t see her agitation, wondered that she didn’t give herself away, give away wha
t had happened on the worn Oriental rug in Nicholas Lehman’s office.
“At least I caught up on my movies,” he said, sitting down in the old chair. “I got so sick of hitting the hiring offices, hearing them say no. No, no, no! No applications, no jobs, no hiring. No, we don’t want you!”
“Movies?” The conversation had taken an odd turn.
“I saw dozens,” Mitch confirmed. “I’d just flake out on job hunting after a while and drop into a movie and sit there all afternoon. I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark four times.… Come here, sit next to me.” He patted the broad seat of the old velvet chair.
“Sounds like you had fun, at least,” Nina said brightly. She brushed at the seat. Cat hairs. “You didn’t tell me that about the movies before.”
“I guess not. I just didn’t want to admit … Here you were, going to school, studying, working, putting in your time, and me—What was I doing? I didn’t tell you a bunch of stuff,” he added. “Can you guess?”
“Guess?”
“You know,” he said. “I have a feeling you know.”
Nina’s heart beat very hard, as if what he was saying was I know. I know all about you and Nicholas Lehman. Then such a complicated mixture of emotions shook her—she began to tremble, as if a giant hand had her by the scruff of the neck—that she found it impossible to continue the conversation. “Let’s not hang around here tonight,” she cried, jumping up. “I want to do something that’s fun. I want to eat out. I want to eat Chinese food. Winter Melon Soup.”
“Winter Melon Soup in spring?”
“Yes, why not? Don’t you want to eat Winter Melon Soup?” She laughed vivaciously and ran to the closet. “Come on, Mitch, come on, let’s get dressed up, let’s go out and eat. Let’s be happy!”
Chapter Twenty-seven
On Monday Nina went to Nicholas Lehman’s class. She had to go back sometime. Today Mitch would find out if he had a job. Today she would find out … what? She opened her notebook, took out her pen, and waited. The lecture was on Hemingway. “What do we know about Ernest Hemingway? A great deal on the surface. He lived his life as if it were a novel.” Nicholas Lehman was wearing a checked sport shirt, a tie loosely knotted under the collar. One leg up on a chair, he jabbed his finger to make a point. “Writing was agony for Hemingway. If he could write two, three hundred words a day—good words, as he said—he was satisfied.”
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