Monday, October 18, 2010

The Book of Sarah

We ditched the limo after about three blocks. They would have been looking for it. There was a worn out  woman trudging home after a hard night changing diapers at a dingy nursing home. The Pow Wow Woman picks this stuff up. She is amazing. In my time they would have burned her twice. That is how good she is. Bob was the driver. He called to the bedraggled woman. He said - Excuse me madam, how would you like a free two thousand and ten Cadillac stretch limo? She said without missing a beat - Fully equipped? Bob said - Of course, only the finest. The title was properly signed and prepared for hasty transfers like this. Believe me. We've been here before. After assuring her she wouldn't have to do no 'hootchy stuff' and demonstrating that the trunk was completely free of 'dead folks with caps busted in 'em', we threw her the keys and ran off. The subway entrance was just around the corner. Lucky for us the morning rush hadn't really started yet . We scrambled down the steps and raced through the turnstile. Pow Wow shot a quick hoo-doo at the bitch in the cage, so we had no problem. Handy things, those hoo-doos. I must learn how she does it. We didn't make for the platform, but went straight toward a heavy, metal door in a corner. I had a key, an old key from when they first built this system more than one hundred years ago. Believe me, it still works. I use it a lot. The creaking portal scraped open. We quickly made our way down into the darkness of the subterranean world of the mole people (some call them the earthworms, but they prefer mole). After descending for two or three additional levels, each more crude than the last, we spied their encampment, the usual collection of small, gray, dirty tents and weak, orange sterno fires. None of the moles made a move. They just sat there, staring into the tiny, flickering light and chewing on their usual ration of mushrooms (fungi grow underground). All was qiet until we reached spitting distance. That is when their cheftain spoke. He said - To what do we owe this pleasure? All the while licking his lips in anticipation of a wee, small blood gift. I told him of events up above. He just shook his head and called to an underling - Bring the magic talking box! Someone duck-walked into a tent and came out with a battered television, which they expertly connected to a wire (among a nest of wires) providing us with a weak, flickering cable signal. The news! Get the news! Channel six! Action News! And so we saw  his favorite personality report the latest on a fast-breaking story. Thirteen dead. Dozens injured. Streets cordoned off. Traffic snarled. All due to an unforseen building collapse.......... We knew we were the intended targets and felt bad for the victims. Baylah said that after a few days, when things settled down, we should 'visit' the injured in hospital some night and give them each a drop or two of our secret, red tonic. I nodded. We would do that. The Pow Wow Woman said - But you know, I am kind of glad that Henry (short for Henrietta) and Oscar got it. (the supercilious, co-heads  of our condo board). Those jumped-up pathetic snobs always rubbed me the wrong way. Bob said - How many times could you have encountered  them? We were not there very long. But he forgot that she could see things. She could sense things. And I had to agree. I too was glad that Lord and Lady Douche-bag were no more. Though I did mumble a fast Kaddish prayer  for the dead. We stayed with our below-grade benefactors for what must have been six or seven days. Time loses all meaning without the moon and the stars. Each of us found a snug, little corner to call our own. Sarah and I found the same corner. After what seemed to have been maybe two days, we consumated our relationship deep within a sheltering cocoon of worn, frayed blankets. The mole people are quite civilized when it comes to questions of privacy and matters of the heart. My own brethren-of-the-night pretended not to notice. The Old Woman noticed. She picked up on it right away. God knows what she will do. I will have to deal with her later. The Pow Wow Woman just giggled and rolled her eyes. I gave Sarah a somewhat larger than usual blood gift. No, she was not a vampire. Not yet. While up above, Little Annie continued to kill those unlucky souls on her naughty list. She struck them off one by one. Santa Claus should be so reliable.

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