She seemed frozen in the middle of an attack: eyes wide amp; glassy, filthy-looking claws extended, mouth agape, the rubbery-looking grey lips pulled back amp; exposing a row of yellow fangs. Even though it was obvious she was dead, I still couldn't hold back a shudder; in the glare of that lantern she looked just the way I'd seen her last night in the beam of my flashlight, her face pressed to the screen.
I saw a small round hole in her side – a puncture wound, from the look of it – bordered by pinkish grey flaps of skin. Nearby, at the foot of one of the shelves, we saw the gleam of Deborah's long thin bread knife amp; began to figure out what had happened…
Later, after she'd had a bit of sleep, Deborah was able to stammer out the rest, though it was clear she still found it painful to speak. Apparently she'd come down to the cellar, after I'd gone out, to see how much milk was left amp; to bring up some things for tomorrow. She'd already been down there several times before, during the course of the morning, but she hadn't noticed anything wrong; the animal must have remained hidden. This time, though, there was no one else in the house upstairs; maybe that's what made the difference. She says she heard a sound just above eye level amp; was suddenly looking at the cat, crouched on one of the shelves No sooner did she see it than it sprang for her throat.
This is when God, or luck, or something, seems to have saved Deborah's life: for all this time she'd had the bread knife by her side, hanging from a loop of her apron; she had carried it downstairs, she said, to cut off a slab of bacon for tonight's meal. Somehow, when she was attacked, she had the presence of mind to grab for the knife. She managed to wrench the animal off her neck amp; with the other hand was able to impale it on the sharp end of the blade.
Judging from the nature amp; position of the wound, I'd say she had even more luck than she amp; Sarr realize, because the tip of the knife must have caught the animal precisely in its old wound, reopening it – to the extent that, when the blade was withdrawn, the flesh bulged out just the way it had before. Naturally I couldn't mention this to Sarr.
It seemed somehow poetically appropriate, when you stop to think of it: that murderous creature finally dispatched – amp; efficiently, too – by the smallest amp; weakest among us. Maybe there is a God after all.
Deborah was weak from shock throughout the afternoon amp; lay upstairs on the bed. When we finally persuaded her to take the cloth away, we were relieved to find that the gashes in her neck were relatively small, the claw marks already clotting. (Thank God that thing didn't get the chance to sink its teeth in.) Sarr was so glad to have her alive that he couldn't do enough for her. He said he heard 'heavenly choruses.' Kept kneeling at odd moments in the corner of their bedroom, thanking the Lord for delivering Deborah safely amp; for ridding him of his curse. For the rest of the afternoon he amp; I took turns bringing things up to her from the kitchen – towels soaked in cold water, etc. At one point, while he was downstairs, she reached out amp; took my hand as I was standing by the bed. 'Thank you,' she said in a hoarse whisper, giving my hand a squeeze. 'Thank you for staying.'
That jolted me. In all the commotion I'd completely forgotten about catching the bus home. I glanced down at my watch; it was already half past one. I'd missed my chance to leave today.
'Well,' I said, as if I'd actually planned it this way, 'I couldn't leave you at a moment like this. I'll think about leaving tomorrow.'
She was still gripping my hand. 'Please,' she whispered, looking up at me, her eyes wide amp; somehow even more beautiful in that pale, bruised face. 'Please stay.'
I hadn't thought of staying; I hadn't even considered it. But it occurred to me now that with Bwada gone – gone for good, this time – the reason for my leaving had been eliminated.
'Well,' I said, still doubtful, 'maybe I can stay a while longer. At least till you're well again.'
She smiled amp; squeezed my hand tighter. 'Good,' she whispered. We stared at one another for a moment or two more, amp; then, hearing Sarr's footsteps on the stairs, we dropped our hands.
He fixed dinner for us tonight – little more than soup, actually, because he thought that it was best for Deborah. She stayed upstairs, resting. Her voice sounded so bad – breath so rasping, words so slurred – that he told her not to strain herself any more by talking.
We had left Bwada's body in the cellar; it's the coolest spot in the house. After dinner I sat with Deborah again while Sarr drove the cat's body into Flemington to have it checked for rabies. (For once he spared us the expected diatribe about veterinarian bills; apparently when it's something as serious as this, his faith in God isn't quite enough to rely on.) He was away for almost two hours, during which time, as Deborah was too overwrought to fall asleep, I did my best to entertain her by reading aloud from one of the books of inspirational verse I'd found downstairs. I could see, from the notes in the margins, that it had belonged to Sarr in college. (Typical that he'd favor humorless old bores like Milton, Vaughan, amp; Herbert.) Most of the poems were dark, somber things, perfect for a Puritan's funeral; the rest were rosily optimistic – Sunday school stuff. Deborah just lay there on the bed listening, watching me rather dreamily ( amp; appreciatively, I hope), smiling but saying nothing, not stirring at all, barely even blinking.
Sarr got back long after dark, looking quite exhausted. He said Bwada's body had begun to stink even before he got into Fleming-ton, amp; now the whole truck smells of her. The vet was surprised at how quickly she'd started to decompose; the dampness, apparently. He took scrapings from her teeth amp; will know by tomorrow if there's any sign of rabies. It'll give the Poroths something extra to pray about tonight.
They were, in fact, doing just that when I left them: Sarr on his knees in his accustomed spot, praying aloud, Deborah watching him silently from the bed but, in her heart, I'm sure, praying along with him.
I can still hear him, more faintly now, as I sit out here. No, he's stopped now; the night is silent again. We had some faraway thunder before, but now that too has stopped. When I think of how nervous I was about staying out here alone last night, I feel a tremendous sense of relief; God knows how many times I've lain here thinking every sound I heard was Bwada. Nice to have that reign of terror over.
Hmm, I'm still a wee bit hungry – that soup we had for dinner didn't really fill me up. I'll probably dream of hamburgers amp; chocolate cake tonight.
I've unpacked all my books New York will just have to wait. Looks like I'll be doing 'the old Thoreau bit' a while longer. ..
Dear Jeremy,
I was so glad to hear from you again. How awful about those two cats. Hope that grey one's gone for good. I never did like her.
I wish the Poroths had a telephone; there are so many things I'd like to tell you, my head's still spinning. I suppose they'll have to wait – but only till next weekend, fortunately, because, taking you up on your invitation, I do hope to come out again and see you. The weekend of the thirtieth, I mean. And I want to bring Rosie. I think the trip would be good for him (and besides, it's his car). He's been ill and is badly in need of a vacation. After not hearing from him all week, I got very worried and last night I got the super to let me into his apartment. The two of us found poor Rosie in a really terrible state, naked on his bed, and I swear we both thought he was dead. And the way he looked -1 just hope I never have to see anything like that again. It really gave me quite a shock. I'm convinced that if I hadn't taken a chance and come in when I did, we would have lost him.
He apologized later – said this had happened to him before, it's just a kind of nervous condition he gets- and I must say he's recovered nicely. You've met him, Jeremy, so you know how easy he is to get along with. I'm sure he won't give the Poroths any trouble at all. He'll sleep anywhere there's room for him, even a living room chair will be all right (he claims he needs only an hour or two a night), and we'll be bringing out extra food with us so that no one will have to go to any added expense.
He's really amazing, in fact, for a man his age. (My guess is he's eighty if he's a day.) He was up and around in less than an hour, after we got some food in him, just as cheerful and energetic as ever and, as you can imagine, very grateful to me. He rested most of the day, but this afternoon he called to say he was sick of being cooped up and wanted to get out; and earlier tonight, though I kept asking him if he really felt up to it, he insisted on taking me to the ballet, just as he'd promised – the Royal Ballet's on tour here now – even though I'd have been perfectly willing to forgo it. I'm glad I went, though; we had great seats, first row dress circle (leave it to Rosie!), and saw, among other things, a beautiful Antony Tudor ballet called Shadowplay, a sort of pagan piece with wood spirits and all, and so continually inventive and lively that I'm sure even you would have liked it.
Afterward we went and had dessert across the street at one of those cafes, the kind I could never afford on my own – they charge $5.95 for a little dish of ice cream – and then he insisted on seeing me home. You can never get a cab around here, so we ended up on the IRT. It was really crowded on a Saturday night, but Rosie somehow manages to turn everything into a game. He had us stand up front where we could watch the tunnel ahead of us
