A Killing Gift

before, when she'd been full of anxiety in the hospital, on Friday morning she had no question about who or where she was. Steam from an infusion boiling in an electric teakettle on a table nearby filled the air with the familiar aroma of eucalyptus and other chest-opening flora and fauna. In the dining room incense was burning on the altar that was permanently decorated with Buddhas and other gods in varying sizes that sat on plastic lotus blossoms and were surrounded by the usual colorful symbolic adornments in red and gold. The smells were conflicting and strong, but the qi was still very good. April stretched, and before the sleep was gone from her eyes, Skinny padded in with a cup of hot water.

'Ni xingle ma?' Are you awake? Then in English, 'Mike called last night. Want to know you okay.'

April sat up. She wanted to ask if he was mad, but she put up her hand at the sight of the dreaded cup.

'Drink. Don't say anything.' Skinny muttered a little Chinese murabo jumbo to speed the healing process.

April inhaled and exhaled a few times, drank the hot water, and did not say a thing.

'Better?'

April wasn't going to say.

Skinny frowned pointedly at the gun and cell phone on the pillow. She wasn't going to elaborate about Mike. She went away for a few minutes, then returned with the nuclear weapon, a large cup of something in which April hoped lovely golden ginger juice would be the primary ingredient. Shinny shoved it into her face. Just off the boil, the liquid fumed disgusting vapor up her nose. She flinched. Eeww. This pungent brew was greenish brown and smelled as if it had snake bladder or snake liver or deer penis in it- maybe all of the above. It looked like pond scum.

'He, he.' Skinny flicked her middle fingers at April, ousting the bad qi. Drink!

April gestured to her dangerous mother to back off.

'He,' Skinny intoned ominously.

Okay, okay. But back off She'd drink it without having her nose pinched. April took the cup, closed her eyes, and swallowed quickly. Whoooo. Old memories of many past tortures competed for first place. Scalding the roof of her mouth and throat. Rising gorge trying to expel the boiling liquid. If it came out as vomit, she'd burn her tongue and lips. She clamped her jaw shut to keep it down, then waited with tears squeezing out of her closed eyes for the heat to hit her stomach.

'Hai hao ma?' the Dragon demanded.

Tears course down April's cheeks. Shit. Scalded again.

'Hai hao ma?' Skinny's voice rose with her anxiety.

No, she wasn't okay. April held her breath to contain the agony.

'Ni?' Skinny screamed.

Oh, for God's sake. Hao. April opened her eyes. The room with its canopy of strings was still there. Her panicked mother was only just refraining from punching her back into consciousness. The weeny Dragon looked small and terrified. Typical Skinny, she always forced the medicine down when it was too hot, then got scared because it was too hot.

But April always took it almost boiling because she, like her mother, believed that merely warm wouldn't work. Her throat burned like hell as she crawled out of bed and padded into the bathroom. Then exactly the right heat hit her stomach with a jolt and she felt sick again. The downstairs bathroom was a putrid avocado color that must have been popular back in the 1950s. The floor and wall tiles matched the tub and toilet, and everything was pretty badly cracked and chipped with age. In fifty more years, however, the Woos would never spend a single unnecessary dollar to update.

April assessed herself in the tiny medicine cabinet mirror. Shit. The bruises on her neck were still a deep and ugly purple, not even beginning to yellow around the edges. Through her tangled hair, she could feel the lump on her head, still huge and tender. Scabs were beginning to form on her throbbing knees. They protested when she bent them to sit on the toilet. Oh, yeah, she was just fine.

'Ni, talk to me,' Skinny screamed through the door.

April ignored her and took a long hot shower. She was heavily into heat.

'Hao?' the Dragon said anxiously when she emerged.

April made a face and shook her head. First time in her life she had no interest in saying a word. She was ready to listen, but not to talk. She lifted a shoulder. Sorry.

By then it was one o'clock and she was wondering where the world went. No word from Mike yet today. No word from Iriarte. She was a little annoyed. She pointed to the telephone, and Skinny made as if she didn't understand that April wanted some clarification on her calls. It took her a while to figure out that her cell phone hadn't rung all morning because her mother had turned it off. She checked her messages.

Eleven p.m. Thursday. 'Querida, I talked to your mother. She says you're sleeping. Love you. Hasta manana.'

Eight a.m. today. 'Buenas, corazon. Your mother says you're still sleeping. Te quiero. Hasta mas tarde.'

Eight-fifteen a.m. 'Hey, it's Woody. Your mother says you're very sick. Iriarte is driving me nuts on the Stilys case. He wants some word on your court appearance Monday. If you're still with the living, call me… If you're not with the living give me a call anyway. Ha, ha.' A real card.

Nine forty-five. 'Lieutenant Iriarte. Mike says you're not doing so good. Call in. I'm worried.' Ha, ha. Another card.

There were seven more in that vein, two more from Mike. In the last one he threatened to come over. Nothing useful until she got to Kathy's. Eleven-seventeen a.m.

'It's Kathy. Look, this is going to be a long message. The funeral is set for Monday. The Department doesn't want to do it. This is an outrage. Is something going on? They said the reason was they don't do big funerals out of the city unless it's a line-of-duty death. Too many people off from work. This is terrible. Dad deserves the whole honor thing, the PC, the brass, the bagpipes, soup to nuts. What am I going to do?' She sounded close to tears.

'And something else… the ME's office won't give us the death report. Bill's getting the deep freeze. What's going on? It's pretty crazy what's happening here, and I don't like what I'm hearing. If you still can't talk, for God's sake get in touch somehow. Smoke signals. I don't care. You know the number. The hordes are here. I'll be around all day.'

April took a few minutes to throw on yesterday's clothes and try swallowing a few spoons of her mother's jook (rice gruel) garnished with minced beggar's chicken, ham, and boiled-until-melted vegetables (only deep green ones for throat).

Skinny's face fell when she started gathering up her things. 'You didn't eat anything, ni. Where are you going?'

April didn't answer.

'You can't leave. You're not finished. Are you leaving? Ni! You can't talk yet. Are you coming back?' Skinny had a whole one-sided conversation as she followed April to the door.

April didn't want to say she'd be back later in case she wasn't. She didn't want to say anything. She gave Skinny a little smile. Once again you almost killed me, Ma, the smile said. Xiexie. Thanks.

Eighteen

At two p.m. Birdie Bassett was having lunch at York U and receiving more of a giving lesson from Al Frayme than she had bargained for. He was in the alumni office, and as soon as Birdie had became a widow, he pressured his boss to add her name to the list for the last president's dinner of the year, which was coming up Wednesday.

'Gee, Al. I'm not sure I can go,' Birdie said.

'Look, you need to learn the ropes. The one thing the president doesn't want is negative donors. So don't get