“What did Krishna do?”“What do you mean?” She was looking at him guardedly now, but his madness seemed to have past.“I mean,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand, “what did Krishna do when you went out for coffee with him?”“Oh,” she said. She was quiet while they drove a narrow road over a steep hill. “He made me laugh.”“He doesn’t seem that funny,” Alan said.“We went out to this coffee shop in Little Italy, and he sat me down at a tiny green metal table, even though it was still cold as hell, and he brought out tiny cups of espresso and a little wax-paper bag of biscotti. Then he watched the people and made little remarks about them. ‘She’s a little old to be breeding,’ or ‘Oh, is that how they’re wearing their eyebrow in the old country?’ or ‘Looks like he beats his wife with his slipper for not fixing his Kraft Dinner right.’ And when he said it, Iknewit wasn’t just a mean little remark, Iknewit was true. Somehow, he could look at these people and know what they were self-conscious about, what their fears were, what their little secrets were. And he made me laugh, even though it didn’t take long before I guessed that that meant that he might know my secret.”“So we drank our coffee,” she said, and then stopped when the body thudded in the trunk again when they caught some air at the top of a hill. “We drank it and he reached across the table and tickled my open palm with his fingertips and he said, ‘Why did you come out with me?’“And I mumbled and blushed and said something like, ‘You look like a nice guy, it’s just coffee, shit, don’t make a big deal out of it,’ and he looked like I’d just canceled Christmas and said, ‘Oh, well, too bad. I was hoping it was a big deal, that it was because you thought I’d be a good guy to really hang out with alot, if you know what I mean.’ He tickled my palm again. I was a blushing virgin, literally though I’d had a couple boys maybe possibly flirt with me in school, I’d never returned the signals, never could.“I told him I didn’t think I could be romantically involved with him, and he flattened out his palm so that my hand was pinned to the table under it and he said, ‘If it’s your deformity, don’t let that bother you. I thought I could fix that for you.’ I almost pretended I didn’t know what he meant, but I couldn’t really, I knew he knew I knew. I said, ‘How?’ as in,How did you knowandHow can you fix it? but it just came out in a little squeak, and he grinned like Christmas was back on and said, ‘Does it really matter?’“I told him it didn’t, and then we went back to his place in Kensington Market and he kissed me in the living room, then he took me upstairs to the bathroom and took off my shirt and he—”“He cut you,” Alan said.“He fixed me,” she said.Alan reached out and petted her wings through her jacket. “Were you broken?”“OfcourseI was,” she snapped, pulling back. “I couldn’ttalkto people. I couldn’tdoanything. I wasn’t a person,” she said.“Right,” Alan said. “I’m following you.”She looked glumly at the road unraveling before them, grey and hissing with rain. “Is it much farther?” she said.“An hour or so, if I remember right,” he said.“I know how stupid that sounds,” she said. “I couldn’t figure out if he was some kind of pervert who liked to cut or if he was some kind of pervert who liked girls like me or if I was lucky or in trouble. But he cut them, and he gave me a towel to bite on the first time, but I never needed it after that. He’d do it quick, and he kept the knife sharp, and I was able to be a person again—to wear cute clothes and go where I wanted. It was like my life had started over again.”The hills loomed over the horizon now, low and rolling up toward the mountains. One of them was his. He sucked in a breath and the car wavered on the slick road. He pumped the brakes and coasted them to a stop on the shoulder.“Is that it?” she said.“That’s it,” he said. He pointed. His father was green and craggy and smaller than he remembered. The body rolled in the trunk. “I feel—” he said. “We’re taking him home, at least. And my father will know what to do.”“No boy has ever taken me home to meet his folks,” she said.Alan remembered the little fist in the dirt. “You can wait in the car if you want,” he said.
“What did Krishna do?”
“What do you mean?” She was looking at him guardedly now, but his madness seemed to have past.
“I mean,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand, “what did Krishna do when you went out for coffee with him?”
“Oh,” she said. She was quiet while they drove a narrow road over a steep hill. “He made me laugh.”
“He doesn’t seem that funny,” Alan said.
“We went out to this coffee shop in Little Italy, and he sat me down at a tiny green metal table, even though it was still cold as hell, and he brought out tiny cups of espresso and a little wax-paper bag of biscotti. Then he watched the people and made little remarks about them. ‘She’s a little old to be breeding,’ or ‘Oh, is that how they’re wearing their eyebrow in the old country?’ or ‘Looks like he beats his wife with his slipper for not fixing his Kraft Dinner right.’ And when he said it, Iknewit wasn’t just a mean little remark, Iknewit was true. Somehow, he could look at these people and know what they were self-conscious about, what their fears were, what their little secrets were. And he made me laugh, even though it didn’t take long before I guessed that that meant that he might know my secret.”
“So we drank our coffee,” she said, and then stopped when the body thudded in the trunk again when they caught some air at the top of a hill. “We drank it and he reached across the table and tickled my open palm with his fingertips and he said, ‘Why did you come out with me?’
“And I mumbled and blushed and said something like, ‘You look like a nice guy, it’s just coffee, shit, don’t make a big deal out of it,’ and he looked like I’d just canceled Christmas and said, ‘Oh, well, too bad. I was hoping it was a big deal, that it was because you thought I’d be a good guy to really hang out with alot, if you know what I mean.’ He tickled my palm again. I was a blushing virgin, literally though I’d had a couple boys maybe possibly flirt with me in school, I’d never returned the signals, never could.
“I told him I didn’t think I could be romantically involved with him, and he flattened out his palm so that my hand was pinned to the table under it and he said, ‘If it’s your deformity, don’t let that bother you. I thought I could fix that for you.’ I almost pretended I didn’t know what he meant, but I couldn’t really, I knew he knew I knew. I said, ‘How?’ as in,How did you knowandHow can you fix it? but it just came out in a little squeak, and he grinned like Christmas was back on and said, ‘Does it really matter?’
“I told him it didn’t, and then we went back to his place in Kensington Market and he kissed me in the living room, then he took me upstairs to the bathroom and took off my shirt and he—”
“He cut you,” Alan said.
“He fixed me,” she said.
Alan reached out and petted her wings through her jacket. “Were you broken?”
“OfcourseI was,” she snapped, pulling back. “I couldn’ttalkto people. I couldn’tdoanything. I wasn’t a person,” she said.
“Right,” Alan said. “I’m following you.”
She looked glumly at the road unraveling before them, grey and hissing with rain. “Is it much farther?” she said.
“An hour or so, if I remember right,” he said.
“I know how stupid that sounds,” she said. “I couldn’t figure out if he was some kind of pervert who liked to cut or if he was some kind of pervert who liked girls like me or if I was lucky or in trouble. But he cut them, and he gave me a towel to bite on the first time, but I never needed it after that. He’d do it quick, and he kept the knife sharp, and I was able to be a person again—to wear cute clothes and go where I wanted. It was like my life had started over again.”
The hills loomed over the horizon now, low and rolling up toward the mountains. One of them was his. He sucked in a breath and the car wavered on the slick road. He pumped the brakes and coasted them to a stop on the shoulder.
“Is that it?” she said.
“That’s it,” he said. He pointed. His father was green and craggy and smaller than he remembered. The body rolled in the trunk. “I feel—” he said. “We’re taking him home, at least. And my father will know what to do.”
“No boy has ever taken me home to meet his folks,” she said.
Alan remembered the little fist in the dirt. “You can wait in the car if you want,” he said.