From the Teeth of Angels Read online

  I rode into Vienna and then out again, still along the water. There were people sunbathing and throwing Frisbees. I remembered the time with the Easterlings up on their Happy Hill and the red Viszla that liked to catch the Frisbee. I thought of Minnie. I thought of Him poisoning the dog. What had she done to deserve that? What had I done? Was it just hatred? Did Death just hate, and that was the final answer? He just hated and there was no other reason for what He did to all of us?

  I was way out of town by the time I began to tire and knew I’d have to stop soon or I’d have no energy left to get home. There were few people that far out, and I started looking for a place to rest. The path next to the water there is rough. Huge trees and wildly overgrown shrubs are everywhere. No one lives there. People venture out that far only to take long Sunday walks or fish.

  Suddenly I saw a big group of sunflowers planted in the middle of nowhere, and for some reason the sight heartened me. The only way they could have been there was that someone had purposely planted them for no good reason other than beauty. It made me like that person very much, and it seemed a perfect place to lie down a while and maybe take a little nap. I fell fast asleep.

  I awoke when I felt something warm on my face. It was a hot day anyway and I’d really worked up a sweat on the bike. I’d also fallen very deeply asleep, so the heat on my cheek must have been great. When I came to, the first thing I saw was an enormous penis. It was resting on my cheek and besides being terribly hot, it was also very heavy. I’ve known my share of dicks, but this one was shocking in its size and weight. Imagine coming up through the fog of sleep to see a thing like that an inch from your eye. You try to jump up, but are held down by an iron hand that you cannot move, no matter how strong you are. Imagine these things. And the shock and fear explode, because a second after sleep clears you know who it is up there, looming over you, the sun over His shoulder. You can see enough of His face to see He’s smiling.

  “I don’t think you heard me the other night. I said, ‘Death has a cock that is already erect.’ I’m here, honey. We’re out in this sexy glade and your big chance is now. Don’t you want some?”

  I pulled away. He let me pull away, I guess. I stood up but He stayed squatting near the ground, smiling, His thing still sticking out the front of His jeans. “You looked like Sleeping Beauty, Arlen. I thought I’d do a little twist on the tale and let it kiss you awake.”

  I didn’t hurry. I was proud of myself for that. I only picked up my bicycle and started to push it away, never once looking back. I wouldn’t give Him the satisfaction. He yelled at me, but I wouldn’t turn around. He yelled, “I stole all those lines. Everything I ever said to you was someone else’s. Did you really think you deserve anything original? Did you?”

  I got on the bike and slowly pushed off. I almost fell once, but I wouldn’t hurry. I refused to hurry away from Him. Somehow, somewhere that mattered very much.

  Nothing more happened after that, and we did not see Leland. A few days before Wyatt was to fly back to America, I convinced him to go with me to the children’s hospital. What else was there to do until the end? I believed that Wyatt’s leukemia would now set in in earnest, while my fate would come from something outside—an accident or a sickness too. But besides the confusion and fear that ran wild through all the halls of my heart and mind, much more quickly than I would ever have thought possible, hate had also been born. Hate such as I had never experienced before.

  What right did Death have to strip us bare of everything that mattered, and then kill us? Whether it was the failure of our bodies to the point of absolute weakness and humiliation, or the total loss of anything that mattered or had the simplest value. To reduce most of us to concentration camp victims standing naked, with our heads newly shaven, in front of leering soldiers before being sent off to our deaths. It was not only wrong, it was unnecessary.

  So Death turned out to be like the Greek gods—resentful, playful, hideous. I had never liked the Greek myths for that reason alone. If those gods had such awesome powers, why did they need to come to earth and sleep with unsuspecting women or torment a decent man who was utterly helpless against them and their might. Why bother?

  I told all of this to Wyatt, but his mind was constantly in ten places at once and it was hard to get him to hear what I was trying to say. I told him we should see it like this: Leland will kill us, sure, but until then we go forward for no reason other than to use the last days the way we want to, rather than letting him have even them by beating us into submission with fear. Wyatt said that was bluffing, that Leland would know we were just making busy work to try to keep our minds off the inevitable. Maybe that was true, but my way was better than nothing, and he finally agreed.

  I arranged with the hospital to give us a large room so that Wyatt could put on a kind of small, multilingual Finky Linky Show for whatever kids were well enough to attend. On the morning of the performance, he came into the kitchen looking very wan and tired. When I put some breakfast down for him, he took my arm. Smiling, he said he had a feeling this would be the last Finky show he ever did. I said off the top of my head, “But you never thought you’d do another one anyway, so you’ll be one up on Him, won’t you?” He liked that and said, “I guess that’s true.”

  We stopped at a trick store I know in Vienna. He bought hundreds of dollars’ worth of rubber balls, masks, colored scarves, card tricks, and other things I didn’t understand, but he and the store owner hit it off beautifully once the old man realized he was talking to a real master of the art. He even went into the back of the store and the attic and twenty other strange places to bring out things only Wyatt and he knew how to use. Both of us were loaded down with packages when we got to the car. Once there, he turned to me and said, “Thank you. I forgot how much I loved doing this.” I wanted to cry but knew that would upset him, so I made the only funny face I know and told him it was purely selfish on my part—I wanted to see him perform as much as the kids did.

  No one at the hospital knew who Finky Linky was, but they were glad for the diversion and did everything Wyatt told them. A few of the nurses spoke good English, and between us we translated whatever he said to the others and thus had little problem getting him set up.

  As I so desperately hoped, he was magnificent. The minute the children came into the room he was “on,” dancing from one to the other, pulling rubber creatures from their ears and hair and then giving them to the kids, singing songs in a nonsense language and making the children sing silly with him. He changed costumes and masks, made fire appear in his hand and float up in the air before it turned into multicolored smoke with special shapes and sizes. He pulled razor blades out of his mouth and grew a flower in the middle of his open palm.

  The children were ecstatic and clapped for encore after encore. He never failed them. He juggled balls and used me as his ventriloquist’s dummy at the same time. He did brilliant pantomime and coin tricks… He stopped only when it was obvious that the stimulation was tiring the kids out.

  He finished with a line I had never heard before which he then repeated in three different languages. “He whose face gives no light shall never become a star.” When I asked him about it afterward, he said it was from William Blake and that the only other time he had ever said it to someone was the love of his life. I asked what happened to him and he said only, “He went away. But to this day I’m still hoping he’ll come back.”

  We had a glass of wine with the nurses and doctors who’d attended and then it was time to go. Just as we were on our way out, I suddenly remembered that one of the kids I had always read to when I visited the hospital hadn’t been at the show. When I asked a nurse about the girl, her face fell and she said, “She’s almost gone.” Why should I be startled by that, here in a place where there was so much death every day? But I was. I asked the nurse if it would be possible to see her for a short time. The woman went to check, and Wyatt sat down and took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this, Arlen? It’s no
t going to make things any easier.”

  “I know, but I have to.”

  The nurse returned and told me to follow her. Wyatt got up to come along, but I asked him to wait. He said maybe he could make her smile a bit. I put my arm around him and kissed him on the ear.

  We walked down several corridors and took some turns. I was breathing hard and told myself to stop it. We’d go in and if she was happy to see us, we’d stay a little while and maybe that would make her smile.

  But it was worse than that. Far worse. When the nurse slowly opened the door, the room was almost completely dark except for light from the window, which fell halfway across the bed.

  The little girl, Uschi Soding, was a tiny, almost unrecognizable curl under the stiff white sheets. She had stomach cancer, but I had known her before as a bald and jolly little naughty thing who liked to come up and sit under my arm when I was reading to the children. Once she had reached over and tweaked one of my nipples with her fingers, then laughed uproariously when my mouth dropped open in shock. Today there was almost nothing left of her. If she was still alive it was only in her pulse and the slow opening and closing of her eyes. The nurse whispered that they expected her to go any time.

  That should have torn me apart except that by then I was watching her hands and what they were so slowly doing. I don’t think Uschi knew we were there, and even if she did, she was so tired that she couldn’t have done anything. Instead, her eyes and all of her concentration were on the small figure she held in one hand, just barely propped on her chest. It was a little shiny silver windmill, the kind you buy in a souvenir store in Amsterdam. The light from the window flooded over her hand and only after a while did I realize what she was doing with the last strength she had in her body. Slowly, she moved one finger across the windmill so that it would block the light. Then she took the finger away. Over and back, over and back. Light and dark, light and dark. I whipped my head toward Wyatt to see if he saw, but he had turned away and was looking at the floor. The nurse touched my shoulder and signaled that we should go. I was scared. I had to stay and watch her do this more to make sure it was for real, but the next thing I knew, the woman had taken my arm and steered me back into the hall.

  We left all the things we’d bought at the magic store there for the kids and walked out of the building wrapped in our separate silences. I wanted to talk about what I’d just seen but needed to think some more before saying anything.

  As we started toward the car, Wyatt spoke but didn’t look at me.

  “Do you know Claire Stansfield, Harry Radcliffe’s girlfriend?”

  “Sure. I used to buy things in her store.”

  “You know she moved to South Africa recently. Harry told me the last time they spoke, he was all ready to plead with her to return. He’d do anything, just please come back because he couldn’t live without her. Anything. Well, as soon as she said, ‘Hello, Harry,’ he knew it was finished. There was no chance. She’d always been happy and peppy when she knew he was on the phone, and her hellos were always packed full of love. This time, though, he said it was the deadest, most regretful word he ever heard her say.

  “The girl in there, Arlen. I know what’s happening to me and I’ve known it a long time, but just seeing that little… it was like Radcliffe hearing the ‘hello.’ The other kids were great. You can see they’re suffering, but they’re still kids and have life in them. Not that one. God, I wish I hadn’t seen her. It reminded me of when I was last in the hospital. And where I’ll end up.”

  “But wait, Wyatt, I have to tell you something.”

  “Emmy!”

  I turned before he said her name because the look on his face went from bitter regret to instant, big-eyed amazement. When I saw her, I understood why. In the time we’d been together since Leland’s last visit, one of the things Wyatt told me about was this woman Emmy Marhoun and what Leland had done to her. She was dead without knowing it. I remembered her from the day in the café and my being jealous that my man had been involved, however long ago, with this great beauty.

  “Wyatt, hello! I’m so glad to see you. I have to tell someone. The greatest thing has happened!” She was all dolled up and looked as if she was going to a party. Wyatt introduced us, and I think she might have remembered who I was but I wasn’t sure from her expression. Anyway, she was too excited to be interested. “Do you have time for coffee? There must be a place around here.”

  Wyatt looked at me and I nodded. I wanted to ask her questions, now that I understood what had happened to her. Maybe there were things she could tell us. I prayed there were things she could tell us.

  There was a small espresso bar down the street from the hospital. Inside, we saw the usual midday workers and low-lifes hanging around with their glasses of wine or something stronger, talking quietly and then not talking at all for a moment when they saw us. Emmy paid no attention and pointed gaily to a table. We sat down and she started talking immediately.

  “This is so wonderful. You’re the first people I’ve seen and I’ve got to tell you. The man I was in love with, I mean really in love with, is back in my life. Isn’t that incredible? I haven’t seen him since we broke up, but today, two hours ago, I was walking down Obere Donaustrasse and who comes strolling up in the other direction but him. I mean, is that absolutely incredible? In Vienna? And he wasn’t fazed at all about it. Came up, gave me a big kiss, and said, ‘How’re you doing?’ As if we’d seen each other yesterday.” She giggled and then, oddly, patted her nose a few times. “It’s been I don’t know how long since we saw each other and, believe me, that was a truly awful time. I cried for six months afterward. But there he was today and, best of all, he was glad to see me! Asked if I wanted to have dinner with him tonight.”

  “Emmy, do you know who I am?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you recognize me? Do you know who I am?” I leaned forward and glared at her. She had to know.

  “Well, yes, it’d be hard not to. You’re Arlen Ford. Why?”

  “Do you remember when we met?”

  “No. Have we met before? I think I’d remember meeting you.”

  Wyatt and I looked at each other and then at her.

  “What’s the name of your boyfriend?”

  “Leland. Leland Zivic.”

  “What does he do for a living?”

  “He teaches literature at Grinnell College.” She frowned, her eyes going back and forth between us. “Why do you want to know?”

  Wyatt looked at me. “Why would he use the same name with her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it means something to him.”

  “What do you mean, the same name? What are you two talking about? Do you know Leland?”

  A phone rang somewhere in the background but I barely noticed it. My head was buzzing with questions and possibilities. But before I had a chance to say anything, a waiter came to our table and asked if there was a “Frau Marhoo” here. Someone was on the telephone for her. Emmy stood up quickly and, with an uneasy look, went to get it.

  “Who would know she’s here?”

  “Guess, Arlen. You’ve got one guess.”

  We watched as she picked up the receiver, spoke a few sentences, and then put it down. She waved both of her hands at us in a gesture that clearly meant she had to leave immediately. She was out the door before either of us could do anything.

  “What’s going on?”

  “He’s playing games. He wanted us to see her and now she’s served her purpose. Poor thing. Why doesn’t he—”

  “Hello, kids. Anybody seen the lovely Emmy?”

  He must have come from the bathroom behind us. He was wearing a blue baseball cap that said “Japan Professional Baseball—Hanshin Tigers,” and a black-and-white shirt that was designed to look like a crossword puzzle. Both of them were mine.

  He pulled out a chair and sat down. “We had this dinner date, but she didn’t show up. I just called and she said she was here. Missed connections, I guess. I loved t
he show, Wyatt. I was the kid on the left with the colostomy bag.”

  “Why did you make her meet us?”

  “I didn’t make her; I steered her. Because it’s her time and I thought you three might like to get together for a last drink.”

  “Isn’t she already dead?” I tried to say it with venom but it only came out scared.

  “She is, but today’s the day she finds out. Big difference. We’ll have dinner, I’ll take her home to bed just like old times, and guess what’ll happen when she hits orgasm – kaboom. Is that how you’d have liked it, Arlen? Our first big time in the sack, but instead of catching AIDS and getting to go out slowly and dramatically like Camille, your last great performance, you’d go right home? It’s not too late. We can still work something out.”

  He said it in a relaxed, joking voice. I wanted to reach over and slap His face but that was stupid. Slap Death in the face? He held all the cards and we were only two of them.

  “Why are you here? Is it our time too?”

  “Nope! Plenty of time to enjoy yourselves yet. I came to show you something I think you’d both like to see. At least I think you would, so I’m going to show you anyway. It’s original. I get so bored doing this the old ho-hum ways that I keep trying to challenge myself to come up with new ideas. Some are good. Not all of them, but some.

  “Now, Arlen, I know you. You’re wondering why you got it your way and Wyatt his. So I’m going to show you. I’m going to show both of you.”

  “Show us what?”

  “The true yous.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Come on, don’t be impatient. Wyatt got to put his show on his way. Now it’s my turn.” He sounded irked, as if we weren’t an appreciative enough audience for Him. How human. But I kept forgetting that it was fun for Him to play human, to have the kick of being irked. Before continuing, He hailed the waiter and, ordering a beer, asked if we wanted anything. Wyatt said, “Ten more years?” and Leland laughed so hard all His teeth showed.