The Angel & the Brown-eyed Boy

by Sandy Nathan

  Eliana looked into the room. It hadn’t been used for some time; she could feel its emptiness. Was she supposed to sleep here by herself? In her world, everyone in a family slept together. She wanted to sleep with Henry and Lena and Shaq. The dog jumped up on her, letting her know that he would sleep with her. That was something. Feeling sad, she pulled away.

  “Don’t you like your room, sweetie?” Lena’s voice was soft. Wetness came from the girl’s eyes again. She wiped it away. Lena looked at her, eyes filled with understanding.

  “Henry, she’s homesick. This isn’t anything like Russia at all.” Lena put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and said, “That’s all right, now. Why don’t you freshen up and we’ll eat.”

  She led her to another room, a small room with shiny squares on the floor and walls. It was very clean, but she had a bad feeling about it.

  “See, there’s a towel and washcloth for you.” The woman reached over and turned a shiny thing. Something hideous spouted from it. “Lots of warm water.”

  The girl stood, eyes wide, rigid with terror. Look what they had in their house! It came out of that thing, making a terrible noise. She backed out of the room in horror. They had that in their house! Didn’t they know what it could do? She looked around for a way to get out.

  “What’s the matter? Olga, it’s OK. You don’t have to wash your hands if you don’t want to.” Lena turned off the water and closed the bathroom door. “They have running water in Russia, don’t they?” she said to Henry.

  “I think they got everything we got. They should be able to manage indoor plumbing.”

  The girl began to relax when they closed the bathroom door. They kept it locked up. Maybe they were showing it to her so that she would be careful.

  “Let’s have dinner,” Henry said. “Look at those ribs. Mm-mmm. Lena makes the best ribs in the world. She cooked these up for you, Olga. Like her family made back on the farm.”

  She sat in their eating place and Lena brought plates heaping with—

  She jumped up, staring at the plates. Dead flesh soaked in horrible wetness. And green leaves that would have been good, but they were soggy and smelled bad and had more wetness on them. The plate also had a pile of something else that might have been good but they had made it wet.

  Jumping away from the table and retreating into the living room, Eliana stood shaking. This was worse than the fluid in the shiny room.

  Henry picked up a piece of the dead flesh, ripped off a big chunk, and chewed noisily. “Mmm. These ribs sure are good,” he said.

  Lena picked up a piece of flesh, tearing into it with abandon, watching the girl. “These are good ribs, if I do say so. Olga, why don’t you try some? They don’t have anything like this where you come from. I got grits and gravy, I got corn bread, and I got greens with olive oil and garlic. Give it a try, honey.”

  Lena could see having Olga stay with them was going to be different from having her daughters home. Who would have thought— no indoor plumbing or barbecue in Russia?

  But how to clean that girl’s face? She had planned to run a bath for her after dinner, but if Olga reacted like she did to water coming out of the tap, what would she do if she saw a full bathtub? The way she acted with food made Lena wonder if the girl had an eating disorder. A lot of ballerinas were anorexic.

  “Henry, are you sure she’s from Russia?”

  “I’m not sure about anything about her.” He had barbecue sauce all over his face. He waved a rib. “I just know that she walked up to the gate today and I let her in. Madame No Mercy said she was from Russia, that she expected her. I heard she danced better than anyone at the Hermitage had ever seen. Other than that, I don’t know squat about her or where she’s from.”

  “Hen, when I was at work today, someone showed me a video from the ‘net. It showed a plane flying along, and then it was just gone. It disappeared with 244 people on it. The government said that the video was trick photography, that nothing happened. But the news showed people at the airport who were supposed to pick up their friends and families on that plane. They were demonstrating at JFK. Today. Two hundred and forty-four people went missing.

  “And then, quick as that, the cops took the demonstrators away, saying they were protesting food shortages. At the airport? And now the government is saying that the plane was delayed in Russia where it started.”

  Lena and Henry looked at their guest, who was curled up on the sofa holding Shaq.

  “She’s not from Russia.”

  “No.”

  “Do you think she’s dangerous?”

  “No. I think she’s here to do something, and she needs help. Our help.”

  Lena nodded. “I think so, too. Do you feel her? She’s so sweet. Like if honey was a person. Something comes off her.”

  “I told you about that little dance she did when I let her in the gate? I’ve never felt so honored in my life. No way. She touched my soul, I swear. Better than fifteen sanctified preachers. I’ve got to take care of her.”

  Lena nodded. “Well, I need to feed her and get her cleaned up, and get some decent clothes on her. That child is going to catch her death.”

  The girl remained wrapped around Shaq on the sofa. Henry walked toward them. Shaq growled.

  “Did he growl at you?” Lena said.

  “He sure did.”

  “That dog’s never growled at us in his life.”

  “I think he’s got a job to do, Lena. He’s going to see she’s OK.” He put his hand out to the dog. “It’s me, Shaq. The guy who pays your bills. Lighten up.” Shaq wagged his tail.

  “Well, wherever she’s from, I think we had better start listening to what she wants, instead of what we think she wants. That’s what Billy says.”

  “The guy you took the dog training class from? The Dog Master?”

  “Yes. What he said works. You know that. Shaq never pees in the apartment anymore.”

  “What do you think a girl who’s not from Russia and who’s afraid of water and barbecued ribs might want?”

  “I’m just going to open my cupboards. Must be something in them she’ll like. Olga, you and Shaq come over here. I want to show you my pantry.” Lena opened every cabinet in the kitchen. “Just pick what looks good. I’ll give you a dish.”

  The girl slowly uncoiled herself from Shaq and ventured toward the kitchen.

  “Here’s a bowl. Take what you want.”

  They watched her eat in disbelief. She gobbled down a bowl of grits—just grits, not cooked, just little specks of hard white stuff. She stuffed them in with her hands. When she was full, she let out a belch and leaned back from the table, looking slightly drunk. If her face had been dirty before, it was a disaster now, covered with grits. She looked like she was going to fall asleep at the table.

  “Henry, pick her up and put her in bed.”

  Shaq followed along anxiously.

  Lena went in to check on her in a few minutes. “Out cold. I put a jar of cold cream and washrags there. And baby oil. Maybe her people clean themselves with oil. One thing, I’m not letting her out of my house looking like that.”

  With Olga in bed, Lena sat close to Henry on the sofa. “Henry,” she whispered, “did you have a chance to talk to... our friend?” She knew better than to mention Jeremy’s name anywhere indoors. Or outdoors, unless there was a lot of space and background noise.

  “Yes, I did, Lena.” Henry frowned. He glanced quickly at the screen and at the light fixture, then whispered in Lena’s ear. “He’s working all night decoding messages. Something’s up. He thinks they’re on to the party. We need to be ready. We could have to take that trip soon.”

  She nodded and whispered back. “I had a feeling something was happening. I packed our bags. They’re hidden in the closet.”

  They tiptoed off to bed and clung to each other as they slept.

  Lena and Henry awakened in the middle of the night. The upstairs neighbors were banging on the ceiling. They looked around, startled. A soun
d ripped through the apartment, like a freight train was in the next bedroom and about to break down the wall. Henry got up and checked the girl.

  “It’s her. Snoring.”

  Lena got up and stood next to him in the doorway.

  “I’d never have believed an angel like that could make that much noise.”

  “Maybe she’s not an angel.”

  6

  Lena was ready for Olga when the girl came out of her room the next morning. “Well, look at you!” she exclaimed. “You look like the princess you are!”

  Her face was clean—if somewhat shiny with cold cream—and she was wearing one of Natie’s plaid wool kilts, high socks, and a long sweater of Leona’s over a shirt. Still, she wasn’t dressed exactly as Lena wanted to see her: she wore her ballet slippers with their satin laces crisscrossed over her socks. And that baggy old coat covered everything.

  Maybe in a couple of days, they’d be able to get her to let go of the ratty thing. It was a golly blanket, Lena thought. Both of her girls had had them and wouldn’t have let go to save their lives. She knew better than to yank away a child’s special toy. Or coat.

  “Well, you look just like one of those girls at the Hermitage, except you’ve got a pretty smile on your face and your nose isn’t pointed at the ceiling. Come over here and let me work on your hair.”

  She was glad that the girl got up early, because she had some work to do. Lena couldn’t let a child with matted, dirty hair stay in her home. An array of hairstyling implements, including the electric clippers she used on Henry, lay on the table. She’d cut Henry’s hair as long as they’d been together; she could handle a little girl’s.

  “Sit down, honey. There’s a bowl of cereal for you.” Corn flakes, just plain flakes. No milk. “There are some raisins in that bowl. You can eat them or leave them alone.” She was trying to figure some way of getting protein into the girl. No wonder she was so little.

  “You eat. I’m going to work on your hair.” She bent over and whispered in the girl’s ear, “Sweetheart, how did you get so dirty? Did it happen on your way here?”

  The child looked up and Lena saw her eyes in the daylight. They were light gray, not too unusual a color, but they had silver streaks in them that made them glisten.

  “Yes, come long way,” the girl said. “Very dirty.” Her face contracted in disgust.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Well, you can be clean here. Let me work on your hair.” She tried to pick the mats out, but couldn’t. “Do you mind if I use these?” She held up the clippers. “They make a noise.” Lena plugged them in and turned them on. “See?” The girl was unconcerned.

  Lena plied the clippers, clucking with dismay. “Well, I’m sorry, Olga. I had to take a lot off. But you’ve got a couple of inches left. I’ll see what I can do to style it.”

  She bent over and whispered conspiratorially, “When Henry comes out, he’s going to shout, ‘Woman, I need to get out of here. Where is my breakfast?’ It’s right there.” A plate with another plate turned upside down on it sat across the table.

  “French toast. I have to make it every morning. Imagine a grown man wanting that kid food every day.” She looked up, ran her fingers through Olga’s soft hair. “It’s been thirty-five years, honey. And we’re still in love.”

  And then she put her mind to what she was doing. She peered at the girl’s hair. When it was matted, it had looked light brown. But, with the mats cut off, Lena could see it was a pale brown with silver strands through it. Olga didn’t have gray hair; she had silvery hair, like her eyes. The combination was perfect, and striking. “I’m going to have to use scissors to give you some shape.”

  Lena was surprised when Olga showed no fear at the blades flashing over her head, yet had been scared stiff of a bathroom.

  She poured a little hair oil into her hands and ran it through the child’s hair. With the oil, it curled into ringlets. A few more twists, a bit of gel. “There, honey, look at yourself. A pixie with curls. Suits you fine.” She held up a mirror. Olga looked into it, eyes widening as though she’d never seen her own face.

  She touched her image and then her face. “Me! Me!” she squealed.

  “You like it?”

  She nodded, and the little corkscrews bounced when she moved her head.

  Henry burst from their room, “Woman—”

  “It’s on the table, Hen, where it always is. Your lunch is on the counter. Along with Olga’s.” She’d packed the rest of the dry cereal and some crackers. She looked at the girl. “That’s not your name, is it? Olga? That’s a terrible name for you. You should be... Alana, or Cassandra.”

  “Or Rosebud,” Henry added.

  The girl looked at herself in the mirror in wonder. “Eliana,” she said. “Eliana.”

  “That’s your name? Why, that’s a pretty name! That’s a perfect name for you.”

  “Eliana, do you want to take Shaq out with me?” Henry said. “We’ve gotta go, or we’ll be late.”

  “Gotta go,” she said. “Shaq gotta go.”

  They laughed.

  “Hen, you take her and Shaq down; I have to check her room. I’ll come and get him right away.”

  Lena checked it top to bottom. Other than smelling of baby oil and something very nice that she couldn’t place, the room was clean. She grabbed her coat and purse and headed out the door. Henry was on the sidewalk with a puzzled look on his face. He handed her Shaq’s leash and bent over to whisper to her.

  “I don’t think she ever saw anything go before.” Lena’s eyes opened wide. “When Shaq lifted his leg, she about had a fit—the water thing, I think. When he took a shit, she squatted down and stared at him. She said, ‘Look. Look.’ Freaked out, you know. Like she couldn’t believe something was coming out of him.”

  How were these people built? Lena could imagine how blocked up a diet like the girl’s would make a person. They had to get rid of all that food. Didn’t they?

  “Well, I’ll try to talk to her about it tonight. I gotta put Shaq back in the house and get to work.”

  He walked off with the girl and her dragging coat, heading for the Hermitage Academy. Shaq sniffed around and did some more dirty before wandering to the end of his lead. Lena was damned if she was going to pick up her dog’s poo like these crazy people wanted these days. They were just anti-dog.

  “You’re going to pick that up, aren’t you?” The old lady across the street leaned out her window. “It’s against the law to leave it there. I’ll call Animal Control. They’ll take that little bastard away.”

  “Good morning, Elvira. It’s nice to see you this lovely morning.”

  “There were three, I counted. You pick them all up, or I’m gonna make that call.”

  Lena fished around in her purse, looking for some tissue so she could pick up all three of Shaq’s little turds. She’d flush them when she put him away inside. She couldn’t find any tissues. Elvira Jefferson continued to howl at her.

  Damn it! She felt like turning her purse upside down. Lena was digging in the corners, holding Shaq’s leash loosely. At that exact moment, Sheela Conroy’s prizewinning Persian cat made her break for freedom. All Lena saw was a fluffy blur bursting out the front door, down the stairs, and up the street.

  The leash flew out of Lena’s hand.

  “Oh, no! Shaq! Come back. Come back!” She pulled out her training whistle and her clicker and tried to put on her strong, commanding energy, like Billy the Dog Master had taught her. “Come back. Shaq, come back!” She stood her ground. He was supposed to come back. He was a graduate of dog training school.

  Mrs. Jefferson hollered at her, “Use your legs, girl! Run after that dog.”

  Sheela Conroy ran out of her apartment building in her bathrobe. It flapped open the way it always did. Her hair was in pink rollers the size of tin cans. “If your dog gets my cat, I’m gonna shoot him!” She ran inside, presumably to get her gun.

  Lena ran and ran. She ran up alleys. Talked to people. She couldn’t find S
haq, no matter where she looked. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed when she saw his collar and leash on the sidewalk. The leash was tangled on a little fence around a tree. “Oh, Shaq!” He was so good at slipping out of his collar. No one could catch him now.

  She was late for work. She called her department head. “Just give me a few more minutes.”

  “Lena,” her boss whispered. “They’ve been watching us. We got a report from the snipes and they are not happy with our performance. They say we have too many absences. You missed last week.” She had; her nephew passed. She had to go to the funeral. “I know you love that dog, but they’re watching. They’re talking about termination and automation.”

  “OK. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She could see Shaq in her mind’s eye, running, with his floppy ears and crazy grin.

  “Oh, thank you, Lena. If you get here in twenty minutes, we should still have jobs.”

  She went to the corner to catch the bus, leaving Shaq’s poo by the tree. She had to get him back. She called Animal Control and begged them to look for her dog. They had to find him.

  But she knew they wouldn’t. She had a bad feeling about this day. She felt like she’d never see any of them again, not Shaq, not Henry, and not Eliana, either. She had a feeling the “party” all of them had planned for so long was going awry. Maybe she’d been afraid for so long that believing a revolution could succeed was beyond her. Lena marched to work, showing the upbeat determination everyone displayed in public. She felt like she was walking toward death, like the feds and their camps were around the corner.

  She was so upset that she forgot that she hadn’t gone back upstairs to lock their door.

  7

  “I’ll be standin’ guard out there all day. You need me, just give me a ring. You can call from inside; there’s a button and a squawk box by the front door, or go to the office,” Henry explained as they walked through the Hermitage’s front door. He took Eliana to the school office and said, “Here she is.”