Elga shrugged. “Only until I find her.”
“What did she do now?”
“Bah, what didn’t she do? First she kills her fat
“Why?”
“Who knows? But she has betrayed me, and that comes with a cost.” She dramatically crossed her throat with her finger.
“No need for the theatrics, Elga, I know what you mean.” The priest shook his head. “But that does not sound like Zoya.”
The old woman threw up her hands “She has always been a messy one. And I am tired of cleaning up after her. She makes me act like some ugly maid scrubbing the floor, working on my hands and knees with my fat ass up in the air, ripe for a kick. It is stupid. I am too old for this.”
“You are the same age you have been for a century,” he said.
“No, I am much older, you just do not see. It happens too slowly.”
He chose to ignore this; he knew he did not understand the laws that governed Elga and her sisters. He had tried to once, but that was a long time ago. “Any idea where she is?”
“No. We left town fast, before Max could sniff her out.” Elga dug her finger into her nostril and then flicked the snot on the ground. “Listen, I’m going to need you to send some of your village idiots with that truck to my place to pack my work up. It’s safe there, should be no trouble, I put a curse on the door.”
“No trouble? Really, Elga? I hear the word ‘curse,’ and I tend to think there might be trouble.”
Elga was quiet. The priest scratched his head. “The farmer down the way has two boys who can help move your stuff. He has a better truck than mine. Whose car did you come in?”
“I don’t know.” She set the keys on the table. “You can have it if you want. I wouldn’t drive it, though.”
The priest looked at her suspiciously, then he went out the door. A minute later he came back inside. “It’s a police car, Elga. You want to tell me where the policemen are who came with that car?”
“You got me.” She shrugged.
The priest went over to the icebox and slid a bottle of vodka out of its small freezer compartment. He poured himself a shot and then splashed another shot into the empty soup bowl. The rat went at it. The priest sat back down. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, Elga?”
“Maybe put the car in the shed. Then get those farm boys to clear out my place. I can store things here for the time being. And I need your help getting a new girl.”
“A new girl? Why?”
“I told you, Zoya’s dead.”
The priest closed his eyes, letting the comment pass. “Where will we find this new girl?”
“That hospital in town. Get me a job there tomorrow.”
“What if they’re not hiring?”
Elga nodded. “One of their workers is sick, they’re going to need help to cover for her. I can be that help.”
“You’re confusing me, Elga. The worker is sick? How do you know this? Are you talking about an event that has happened or will happen?”
Elga looked at him like he was an idiot. He knew time and tense did not concern her, they would be chopped and thrown in the stew with all the rest.
Max the rat was done with the vodka. He tottered around drunk for a few steps before slipping off the edge of the table. The priest deftly caught him in the palm of his hand before the rat hit the floor and placed him back on the table. “Seriously, Elga, you can’t barge in here with so much nonsense. When will it stop?”
She dismissively shook off the priest’s question. “There is no stop.”
XIX
Vidot the flea arrived at his doorstep, near dead with exhaustion and hunger. He had briefly caught a ride on the back on a stray cat that had carried him less than a dozen blocks before it turned its tongue against him. He had barely escaped unharmed and had hopped the rest of the way, dodging deep oily puddles and fat automobile wheels. But now, finally, he was home. He crawled under the main entrance door to the building and through the large lobby before beginning the laborious job of jumping, one by one, up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. Finally reaching the top, he used the last of his remaining strength to crawl under his door and into his hallway. He was home. He knew no real remedy for his condition could be found here, he would work on that tomorrow. For now, he simply needed the solace of feeling safe from the nightmarish world of unexpected predators and oversized poodles that lay outside. For Vidot at this moment, no sight could be more reassuringly welcome than that of his beautiful wife. He longed to smell her hair, to fill his lungs with her perfume, find calm in her radiant presence.
The radio was on but the front room and the kitchen were both empty. In two hops he had leapt into the living room, where he paused to have a look around. He half expected to find Adele sitting in her favorite red chair, reading one of the flowery romance novels he loved to tease her about. But the living room was empty too. It was then Vidot heard the sound of her voice.
It did not take much of a detective to realize what was going on. Hopping toward the bedroom, he was devilishly pleased. He had often wondered, on those occasions when he was stuck working at the station late into the night, if his wife ever longed for him and, fantasizing about his touch, brought herself to pleasure. He had always secretly wanted to see her in such a state. Yes, he thought mischievously, this was his golden opportunity. So, almost giddily, he hopped to the doorway to spy on his sweet Adele.
She was there, but she was not alone. There was a man with her, wrapped up in her clawing arms, making love to her with a fierce and feverish devotion. Reeling from the sight, Vidot was not immobile for long, as the hurt and betrayal filled him with a wave of furious electric adrenaline. Without reflection or hesitation, a mighty leap sent him onto her naked lover’s back, where Vidot began attacking the stranger with all the fury he could muster.
It was not very much. The man did not stop in his exertions and an enthralled and ecstatic Adele kept her lover entirely focused. They were both utterly engrossed in their passionate wet kissing, biting, nibbling, licking, grabbing, and thrusting; with every rough touch this interloper elicited deep guttural moans from his wife. Vidot had never heard Adele like this; it was as if she were a completely different creature, a feral animal bathed in sweat, wholly possessed by feverish lust and hunger. Boiling with rage, Vidot scrambled up deep into the thickness of the stranger’s dark hair and, like a crazed Gaul in the heat of battle, vengefully sank his teeth deep into the man’s skull.
Almost immediately he felt he was losing his senses. The flooding, intoxicating rush of the man’s blood overwhelmed and disoriented him with its rich savory nourishment. Vidot’s mind went soft and woozy and he found it hard to focus, his consciousness wholly immersed in the warm, pulsing waves of pure sustenance. Forgetting himself and his terrible circumstances, he sucked greedily, instinctively focused on absorbing all the blood he could. As his belly swelled his senses reeled and his head felt dizzy. His legs weakened and he scurried to reset his footing, trying to stay upright. As the man and Adele simultaneously reached the peak of their ecstatic convulsions below him, the oblivious Vidot keeled over and passed out cold.
He awoke in absolute darkness. Was this death? Had he been pitched into the cold blackness of purgatory? He almost hoped so. He got back on his legs and tried to shake his tiny head clear. So many odd and terrible events had unfolded so quickly that he felt he was prepared for the worst. He began to make his way and though he was unable to see a thing he quickly realized that he was still in the dense, dark forest of hair atop the man’s skull. He could make out a few muffled voices and then he heard a door slam. The surface he was riding on seemed to bob both forward and downward in a gradual sinking manner, indicating to Vidot that they were descending the stairs. It was then he realized he was being carried away from his home, away from his Adele, away from every ideal he had ever possessed of love, harmony, and domestic happiness, trapped beneath the
