ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Bob Gottlieb
none better, ever
SACRIFICE
1
When you hunt predators, the best camouflage is weakness.
The E train screeched into Forty-second Street. I got to my feet, pulling slightly on the leather handle of the dog's harness. She nosed her way forward, wary. Citizens parted to let me pass. A black teenager wearing an oversized blue jacket with gold raglan sleeves braced one side of the doors with his arm, making sure they wouldn't close as I passed between them. 'You okay, man. Step through.'
My dark glasses had polarized lenses. The kid's face was gentle. Sad. Someone in his family was blind. I mumbled thanks, stepped off the subway car onto the platform.
I pushed forward on the harness handle, like shifting into gear. The dog headed for the stairs, waited for a clear path, then took me up along the rail.
On the sidewalk, I turned my face toward the sun, feeling the warmth. 'Good girl, Sheba,' I told the dog. She didn't react, a professional doing her work. I shifted the handle and she went forward, keeping me in the middle of the sidewalk. Away from doors that might open suddenly, maintaining a safe distance from the curb. I closed my eyes, counting steps.
Sheba halted me at the corner of Forty-fourth and Eighth. She didn't watch the traffic signals any more than the other pedestrians did. It's the same rule for everyone here— cross at your own risk.
I made my way carefully along the sidewalk, counting steps, guided by the dog. Found my spot. Tugged slightly backward on the handle— Sheba sat down. I unwrapped the blanket from around my shoulders, knelt, and spread it on the ground. When I stood up, Sheba lay down on the blanket, made herself comfortable. I opened my coat. Inside was a cardboard sign, held around my neck with a loop of string. White cardboard, hand-lettered in black Magic Marker.
PLEASE HELP
I held a metal cup in my hands. Added a few random coins to sweeten the pot.
Waiting.
2
Humans passed around me, a stream breaking over a rock. They didn't look at my face. If they had, they would have seen a couple of rough patches where the blind man had missed with the electric razor. I was wearing high-top running shoes, loosely laced, denim pants, a gray sweatshirt. All under a khaki raincoat that came past my knees. A well-used black fedora on my head.
The local skells were used to me by now. I made it to the same spot every day. Patiently collected coins from passing citizens, face held straight ahead.
I was a piece of scenery, as anonymous as a taxicab.
My eyes swept the street behind the dark lenses.
Sheba settled into her task. An old wolf-shepherd, mostly gray, soft eyes watchful under white eyebrows. She had a warrior's heart and an undertaker's patience.
Hooker's heels sounded on the sidewalk. A bottle blonde, wearing a cheap red dress, short-tight, black fishnet stockings, a hole the size of a half-dollar on the front of one thigh, pale skin poking through the mesh, low- rent makeup smeared her face. Getting ready to work the lunchtime crowd.
'Your dog's so pretty.'
'Thank you.'
'Can I pet her?'
'No, she's working.'
'Me too… I guess you can't tell.'
I drew a sharp breath through my nose, inhaling her cheap perfume as greedily as a cokehead. She laughed, bitter and brittle. 'Yeah, I guess maybe you can. I seen you before. Standing here.'
'I'm here every day.'
'I know. I seen you smoke sometimes…when someone lights one for you. You want one now?'
'I don't have any.
'I have some…' Fumbling in her red vinyl shoulder bag. 'You want one now?'
'Please.'
She stuck two cigarettes in her mouth, fired them with a cheap butane lighter. Handed one to me.
'It tastes good,' I told her, grateful tone in my voice.
'It's menthol.'
