Mister had perfectly assimilated into his role as co-parent, and Enzo felt grateful. Rich or poor, in his other life the kentuki was, clearly, someone with a lot of free time. What kind of life did Mister have on the other side? There didn’t seem to be anything that would take him away from his existence with Enzo and Luca. He was there from morning to night. There were a few times when Enzo found him on the charger during the day, but that happened only when the boy had made sure he couldn’t charge during the night. They’d been together for two months now. Every once in a while, when he saw the kentuki holding the screen door open so he could take the garbage out, or when at nighttime it went back and forth from Enzo’s bedroom to the hallway to indicate he’d forgotten to turn off the outside light again, Enzo stood looking at the little creature with a mixture of pity and gratitude. He knew that the animal wasn’t really a pet, and he wondered what kind of a person could have such a need to take care of them, to nurture—a widower, maybe, or a retiree without much to do. But above all, he wondered whether there wasn’t something he could do to repay such attention.
And so, the day before, back home after the tour of Umbertide, he opened a beer and went to sit on his lounge chair in the garden. Mister whirred around him, and Enzo leaned over so he could see the kentuki. He called it over. He waited until the mole was right in front of him, and then he ventured to ask:
“What are you doing here all day with us?”
They were still for a moment, looking each other in the eyes. Enzo took a long sip of his beer.
“Why do you do this, Mister? What do you get in return?”
There were several questions, and none of them could be answered with a yes or a no. Enzo understood how frustrating it was for both parties, but still, what more could he do? This is bullshit, thought Enzo, I’m getting sentimental about a pile of felt and plastic. The kentuki didn’t move, or purr, or blink. Then Enzo had an idea. He left the beer on the ground and got up from his chair. Maybe alarmed by the sudden move, the kentuki looked up and kept him in view. Enzo went into the house and returned a moment later with a pen and paper.
“Mister,” he said then, as he sat back down in front of the kentuki and wrote his phone number. “Call me.” He held the paper in front of the kentuki. “Call me now and tell me what I can do for you.”
He knew he was proposing something a little strange. It crossed a line, as if he were using his son’s toy for his own benefit—something that his ex-wife and the psychologist would definitely not approve of—and at the same time, he couldn’t believe that this genius idea hadn’t occurred to him sooner.
When he thought that enough time had passed for anyone to write the number down, he left the paper beside the beer and went to get his phone. When he came back, the kentuki was still in the same position. Maybe, in his own house, Mister still had a landline and was walking toward it as fast as he could, as excited as Enzo was as he waited for the call. He thought it was lucky the boy wasn’t there, and he wondered if it would be a good idea to tell him later about this phone call they were about to have. The kentuki was still motionless before him. Maybe the old man behind it had his hands full looking for something to write with and couldn’t also manage the device. Enzo waited a while longer still, waiting for the phone to ring out in the silence, unable to keep from smiling. He waited five minutes, fifteen, an hour, but the phone never rang. Finally he got up and went to get another beer. He came outside again and was so enraged to find the kentuki in the exact same position that he went right back in and started to make dinner. At some point he heard Mister struggle with the screen door and then whir across the living room. Enzo turned toward the hallway and saw him move off toward Luca’s room.
“Hey!” He wiped his hands on a towel, starting to go after him. “Pssst. Mister.”
The kentuki didn’t turn back toward him, didn’t stop, and Enzo was left alone in the living room trying to understand what the hell was going on with the mole.
After that, the kentuki completely disappeared from sight. The next day, sick of looking for him, Enzo went out to check the garden and the nursery, clucking his tongue and whistling. Sometimes, when he called the kentuki, Mister would make his purring sound. They’d do it two or three times, and that’s how they would find each other. But this time there was no trace, and somehow that confirmed his suspicion that the matter of the call had disturbed Mister.
He found the kentuki a few hours later, by chance. It was in the little coat room, inside a closet that, apparently, Luca had locked. Mister had used up almost all his battery trying to get out of the dirty-clothes basket—an absolutely impossible feat for a kentuki. He was agonizing with a spent purring noise, such a weak lament that Enzo could hear it only if he held Mister very close to his ear.
Lima—Erfurt
EMILIA WOKE HER KENTUKI and found the camera view sideways. On Eva’s kitchen floor, she could see four bare feet that came and went. Four bare feet? Emilia frowned and looked around for her phone. Though she wasn’t about to call her son over that kind of nonsense, the situation was nevertheless alarming, and it was good to know the phone was handy. She recognized Eva’s feet and she understood that the others—heftier, hairier—belonged to a man. She tried to move the kentuki, but someone had laid her down on the dog bed. She squeaked. It wasn’t something she did often, so it worked. Eva walked over to her and put her on the floor, righting the camera. That clarified many things, and also confirmed Emilia’s fears: Eva was naked. The man who was with her was also naked, and now he was making something on the stove, brandishing a frying pan. Eva blew a kiss at the camera and walked toward the bathroom. For a moment, Emilia hesitated. Normally, she would follow; Eva never closed the door and Emilia would wait for her outside, the kentuki’s back discreetly against the hallway wall. But now there was a man in the house. Wasn’t it dangerous to leave that stranger alone in the kitchen? Would Eva expect her bunny to watch over what was happening while she was in the bathroom? She stayed in the hallway threshold, looking toward the kitchen. The man opened the fridge, took out three eggs, broke them into the pan and left the shells on the counter. The garbage can was just inches away, though maybe the man didn’t know that. He shook the pan with a slight inclination of his head, as if following some kind of technique, and he belched. It was a dry, soft sound that most likely Eva didn’t hear from the bathroom. Then he opened the fridge again and made a noise. Emilia thought he must be speaking German, but it was impossible to know because the translator didn’t seem to work with him. Then the man turned toward the living room. His dark, hairy penis hung down between his legs—and where else would it hang? She gave a start in her wicker chair and then laughed to herself. She’d almost forgotten what one looked like by now. She needed to go to the bathroom, too, urgently, but she didn’t want to leave Eva alone with that man; she couldn’t go now. Nor could she move the kentuki: she couldn’t tell whether the man was looking toward the living room or at her, and although she wanted to hide, she knew any movement might give her away. She risked it anyway. She sat back down in her seat and moved the kentuki a few inches. She realized her mistake when the man’s eyes followed her. He walked toward her, and Emilia turned the kentuki and withdrew as fast as possible down the hallway toward the bathroom. She heard steps behind her. She tried to speed up, pressed her finger so hard on the button it hurt, but she couldn’t go any faster. The man’s steps sounded very close, and Emilia stopped breathing. She almost made it to the bathroom door, but before she could glimpse Eva, she was lifted from the floor. She squeaked. She saw a skylight in the hallway ceiling that she’d never known was there, and then his face, enormous on the screen, a couple days’ worth of beard and his eyes too blue, too big, before her. There was something crazy about them, and they were looking right at her. Now it was just one eye, as if a giant had picked up her house and had found a hole in her computer screen through which to peer in at her. He’d found her. He said something that sounded like a curse word and that the tra
nslator didn’t clarify. Emilia let go of the mouse and drew her nightshirt closed with both hands. Then she heard a sound that made her despair even more: the shower. Eva had turned the shower on. Her little girl who lived alone and apparently without any adults nearby had brought a man home and left him alone while she showered. In her house, Emilia stood up again. She was furious, and she couldn’t leave the computer. The kentuki swung in the air—they were returning to the living room.
The man set the kentuki on the table and leaned over to look at it. When he straightened, his member took up Emilia’s entire screen. It didn’t look at all like her husband’ s—his had been so much softer and paler. The man talked to her in German while his manhood stared at her. Maybe all male genitals spoke only German, and that’s why she and her Osvaldo had never understood each other well. She let herself smile, a little proud of how modern she suddenly felt, controlling her kentuki while she gracefully rose above the memories of her greatest communication failure, attentive to that large sex of a German male that now she could look at without feeling shame. It was a story worth telling on Tuesday to the girls after swimming; she even thought about taking a picture. Then she turned around on her keeper’s table and saw something she couldn’t laugh at. The man was digging around in Eva’s purse. He took out her wallet and opened it, looked at the documents and cards, counted the money and took out several bills. Emilia squeaked—how frustrating that that was all she could do. He moved to pick her up, but she got away. She tried to spin in circles, squeaking like a true chicken as he tried to catch her. She managed only a few seconds of agility, until finally he was able to pick her up again and carry her into the kitchen. The camera’s movement made her dizzy. When it stopped, she realized that the German was about to put her under the faucet. For a moment she saw the eggshells from very close up, the slime of the egg white spreading over the clean counter. The faucet spat out a great stream of water. If she got wet, she thought, something inside her could break, malfunction. She squeaked again. She heard the hollow sound of the water hitting her head. She squeaked once more. Could that brutish hunk of meat really do away with her? She shook her body as hard as she could and managed to slip from his hands and fall into the sink, where he caught her again.
“Are there any eggs for me?”
Eva’s voice interrupted, soft and fresh, as the man’s hand again imprisoned Emilia’s kentuki. He seemed to be explaining himself, and Eva listened distractedly as she dried her wet hair with a towel. Then she reassured him there was no need to clean the kentuki, she got it dirty herself sometimes, the only important thing was to keep the eyes spotless.
“Because that’s where the camera is,” said Eva, taking her bunny from him.
Emilia repeated to herself what Eva had just said. When she said “the camera,” the girl was referring to her, to Emilia, for the first time. And that meant taking for granted that there was someone inside the bunny, someone Eva loved and took care of. This happy revelation was even more intense for her than the German’s private parts. What a day, thought Emilia. Eva put her back down on the floor and walked away. She was still naked from the waist down, and Emilia felt that she loved that little girl more than ever. They were important to each other; what they experienced together was real. She followed Eva to the living room, followed her naked little ass, small and perfect, which filled her with the kind of tenderness she’d felt so many times for her son, when he was still a boy. Eva flopped onto the sofa and Emilia softly tapped against her toes. She managed to get the girl to pick her up and set her beside her, looking toward the kitchen. The man came over with the food served on a plate. He asked a question—maybe whether he should bring salt and pepper, because he headed back to the kitchen, still talking. Emilia couldn’t understand him, she only intuited his words from Eva’s response: “Yes,” said the girl, “of course there’s someone there, inside the bunny.” And the man in the kitchen stopped smiling and looked Emilia in the eyes.
Antigua
MARVIN CLOSED THE OFFICE DOOR, turned on his tablet, and propped it on top of his books. He no longer made sure to always have his notebook open and pen in hand just in case his father came in and he had to switch quickly from screen to books. The whole time he’d been serving his sentence of three hours a day in that room, not once had his father or the housekeeper bothered to check on him. At dinner, his father would ask how things were going, whether he was getting good grades. His report card would come in three weeks and it would be terrible, but that didn’t matter: Marvin was no longer a boy with a dragon; he was a dragon with a boy inside him. His grades were a minor concern.
His keeper was true to her word and set him on his charger at the foot of the stairs. Marvin watched her walk away and waited a bit before moving. Then he rolled down from the charger and guided his dragon the length of the gallery, finally peeking out onto the sidewalk. There was no one in the street. Not a single snowflake. He rolled a few meters away from the shop, keeping close to the wall. The town looked smaller than he’d imagined. He’d thought the curb might be a problem, but there was almost no difference in height between the sidewalk and the street. The dragon made it down on the first try, barely teetering. He saw no buildings higher than two or three stories, and though the constructions seemed of better quality and were much more modern than those in Antigua, they looked square and simple. When he turned left to be sure no cars were coming before he crossed the street, he discovered the sea. The sea? It was too extraordinary a thing to be the sea, or at least the sea as he knew it. This was a green and luminous mirror, framed by snowy white mountains. Marvin stayed there awhile, just looking. The faint golden lights of the town edged the shore and climbed a little way up the foot of the mountains.
A truck turned very near the kentuki, and Marvin snapped out of it. He crossed to the other side of the street and went down toward the port. What Marvin wanted, what he would have asked for if someone offered to grant him a wish, was to reach the snow. But a kentuki couldn’t climb in the snow, and though the mountains looked close, he knew they were miles away. He took a boardwalk to his right. The beach started a few meters away. Marvin regretted that he couldn’t pick anything up with the kentuki—there were shells and lots of different-colored pebbles. He would have liked to bring a souvenir to Lis, to find some way of thanking her for his freedom. On the sidewalk across the street, the door of a bar opened and two men came out singing, holding each other up. Marvin didn’t move until he was sure they were far enough away. He went half a block farther, and then someone picked him up. It was a quick, unexpected movement. Marvin moved the dragon’s wheels, tried to turn one way and then the other. A masculine voice spoke to him, but the tablet didn’t translate. He remembered the tag Lis had stuck on him—was someone reading it now? Everything was upside down, and then suddenly the screen went dark. It seemed the person had put him into a bag and was walking. He waited. Even if he was set free later or managed to escape, now he wouldn’t know how to get back; he’d be completely disoriented.
He tried to calm down. He told himself there wasn’t much he could do. He heard voices calling him to dinner, and for the first time since he’d started with the kentuki, he thought about taking his tablet with him. It was very risky. Maybe he could take it to his room, hidden inside one of his notebooks, and try to return to the dragon after dinner, once all the lights in the house were out. But his father used the study before he went to bed. He always wanted to see Marvin’s tablet there, closed along with his books. The desk was the only place Marvin was allowed to use it.
“Welcome to heaven,” he heard.
Someone was speaking to him in English. The light came back, blinding the camera, and then an image appeared that was very different from the street. The dragon was back on its wheels. The room he found himself in was large and had a wooden floor. It looked like a dance hall, or a gymnasium—big enough, Marvin figured, to fit all three of his father’s cars. When he turned, he found himself facing another kentuki. It
was a mole, and for a moment he didn’t understand anything that was happening. For a second he even thought maybe the mirror he’d seen his dragon in had been a trick Lis played on him, and that this mole was his true reflection. Then the mole kentuki squealed and rolled away. Then another kentuki, this one a rabbit, came up next to him and gave him a light tap, then sat looking at him. Two legs came and went among the kentukis. Finally they bent down and Marvin recognized the boy with the ring, the one who’d written the slogan “Free the kentuki!” on the appliance-shop window. His hair was loose and he looked very different in a T-shirt, without his coat.
“Can we speak in English?” the boy asked.
Marvin understood, of course he did, but still, how was he supposed to answer?
Then, from the other world, his father yelled his name and warned him this was the second time he’d been called to dinner.
“If I have to come up there . . . !” he shouted.
But he was already climbing the stairs, the wood creaking under his steps. Marvin didn’t even have time to turn off the kentuki or the tablet. He closed his books and stacked his things in the orderly manner his father expected to find them in.
They ate in the dining room with the radio on. The table was too big for just the two of them, so the housekeeper placed a folded tablecloth at one end and set a place on either side. She said it was more intimate, and that it was important for one diner at a table to be able to pass the bread to another. Even though at that table, every night, the only sound was the radio, and never in Marvin’s life had he seen his father pass the bread to anyone.
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