My Book of Life By Angel (9 page)

S
he smiled a hard smile,

a smile with teeth like stones,

and she said,

don't you let this hurt you, baby,

she said,

you owe me a toe.

I said, you are smart, Paula,

no angels ­here, no tricky corners—

But she smiled her blood at me,

said, don't you let them do that to you,

and I had to step back fast

so the car ­wouldn't run over my feet.

I turned

and Melli

still there, still there—

too scared to run.

Another policeman was standing between me and her—

he had a nice police tie pin,

and he said, I'll take you home.

M
y 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.

C
all 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.

I
n 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
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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.

H
e 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.

W
hen 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
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.

C
all 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.

C
all 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.

W
hen 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.

W
hen 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
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But no—­just a tear.

She was just a little girl.

A
nd 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
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.

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
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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.

N
ext 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
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He left without his wallet ha ha

and his watch

and his tie pin,

which I hid all of them under the mattress.