Удушье (Choke)

She leaned over to open the door and never stopped talking. Not for days and days.

If you're ever in the Hard Rock Cafe, she told him, and they announce 'Elvis has left the building,' that means all the servers need to go to the kitchen and find out what dinner special has just sold out.

These are the things people tell you when they won't tell you the truth.

In a Broadway theater, announcing 'Elvis has left the build­ing' means a fire.

In a grocery store, paging Mr. Cash is a call for an armed se­curity guard. Paging 'Freight check to Women's Clothing' means somebody is shoplifting in that department. Other stores page a fake woman named Sheila. 'Sheila to the front' means somebody is shoplifting in the front of the store. Mr. Cash and Sheila and Nurse Flamingo are always bad news.

The Mommy shut off the engine and sat with one hand grip­ping the steering wheel at twelve o'clock, and with her other hand she snapped her fingers for the boy to repeat stuff back to her. The insides of her nose were dark with dried blood. Twisted old tissues smeared with more old blood were on the car floor. Some blood was on the dashboard from when she sneezed. On the inside of the windshield was some more.

'Nothing you learn in school is this important,' she said. 'This stuff you're learning here will save your life.'

She snapped her fingers. 'Mr. Amond Silvestiri?' she said. 'If he's paged, what should you do?'

At some airports, paging him means a terrorist with a bomb. 'Mr. Amond Silvestiri, please meet your party at gate ten on the D concourse' means that's where the SWAT teams will find their man.

Mrs. Pamela Rank-Mensa means a terrorist in the airport with just a gun.

'Mr. Bernard Wellis, please meet your party at gate sixteen on the F concourse' means somebody holding a knife to the throat of a hostage there.

The Mommy set the parking brake and snapped her fingers again. 'Quick like a bunny. What's Miss Terrilynn Mayfield mean?'

'Nerve gas?' the boy said.

The Mommy shook her head.

'Don't tell me,' the boy said. 'A rabid dog?'

The Mommy shook her head.

Outside the car, the tight mosaic of cars was packed around them. Helicopters beat the air above the freeway.

The boy tapped his forehead and said, 'Flamethrower?'

The Mommy said, 'You're not even trying. Do you want a clue?'

'Drug suspect?' he said, then, 'Yeah, maybe a clue.'

And the Mommy said, 'Miss Terrilynn Mayfield . . . now be thinking about cows and horses.'

And the boy screamed, 'Anthrax!' He pounded his forehead with his fists and said, 'Anthrax. Anthrax. Anthrax.' He pounded his head and said, 'How come I forget so fast?'

With her free hand the Mommy messed his hair and said, 'You're doing good. You even remember half of these and you'll outlive most people.'

Everywhere they went, the Mommy found traffic. She lis­tened for radio bulletins about where not to go, and found those tie-ups. She found gridlock. She found jams. She searched for car fires or open drawbridges. She didn't like driving fast, but wanted to look busy. In traffic, she couldn't do anything and it wasn't her fault. They'd be trapped. Hidden and secure.

The Mommy said, 'I'll give you an easy one.' She closed her eyes and smiled, then opened them and said, 'At any store, what's it mean when they ask for quarters on checkstand five?'

They were both wearing the same clothes from the day she had picked him up after school.