Fever Dream: A Novel(6)

“What did David do?” I asked.

“The woman pulled out the chair next to me for him to sit down.”

“And you? You didn’t even touch him, poor thing?”

“Then the woman poured more tea, keeping an eye on us while she did, watchful over our meeting. David had trouble climbing into the chair, but I couldn’t bring myself to help him. Then he sat there looking at his hands. ‘He has to yawn soon,’ said the woman, yawning deeply, covering her mouth. She sat down at the table too, with her tea, and she looked at him attentively. I asked her how it had gone. ‘Better than I expected,’ she said. The transmigration had taken part of the poison away, and now, split between two bodies, it would lose the battle.”

“What does that mean?”

“That David would survive. David’s body, and also David in his new body.”

I look at Carla and Carla looks at me. She’s wearing an openly false smile, like a clown’s, which for a moment confuses me and makes me think that this is all a long joke in bad taste. But she says: “So this one is my new David. This monster.”

“Carla, don’t get mad, but I need to see what Nina’s up to.”

She nods and looks back at her hands on the steering wheel. I shift, preparing to get out of the car, but she makes no move to follow me. I hesitate for a moment but now I really am worried about Nina. How can I measure my rescue distance if I don’t know where she is? I get out and walk toward the house. There’s a bit of a breeze, I can feel it on my back and on my legs, sweaty from the seat. Then I see Nina through the window. She’s moving a chair from the living room to the kitchen, dragging it behind her. Everything’s in order, I think, but I keep walking toward the house. Everything in order. I go up the three steps to the deck, open the screen door, go in, and close it behind me. I slide the lock because that’s what I always do, instinctively, and with my forehead against the screen I stand looking at the car, alert to any movement, watching the red bun above the driver’s-seat headrest.

She called you a monster, and I keep thinking about that. It must be very sad to be whatever it is you are now, and on top of that your mother calls you a monster.

You’re confused, and that’s not good for this story. I’m a normal boy.

This isn’t normal, David. There’s only darkness, and you’re talking into my ear. I don’t even know if this is really happening.

It’s happening, Amanda. I’m kneeling at the edge of your bed, in one of the rooms at the emergency clinic. We don’t have much time, and before time runs out we have to find the exact moment.

And Nina? If all of this is really happening, where is Nina? My God, where is Nina?

That doesn’t matter.

It’s the only thing that matters.

It doesn’t matter.

Enough, David, I don’t want to keep going.

If we don’t go on, there’s no reason for me to stay here with you. I’m going to leave, and you’ll be left alone.

No, please.

What happens now, in the yard? You’re in the doorway, you have your forehead against the screen.

Yes.

And then?

Carla’s bun moves a little over the seat, as if she were looking to either side.

What else? What else is happening in that very moment?

I shift the weight of my body from one leg to the other.

Why?

Because it’s a relief; because lately I feel like staying on my feet requires a huge effort. I told my husband about that feeling once, and he said maybe I was depressed. That was before Nina was born. The feeling is still there, but it’s not the most important thing now. I’m just tired, that’s what I tell myself, and sometimes I’m afraid when I think that everyday problems might be a little more terrible for me than for other people.

And what happens then?

Nina comes up to me and hugs my legs.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”

“Shhh.”

She lets go of me and leans against the screen door too. Then the car door opens. One of Carla’s legs emerges, then the other. Nina gives me her hand. Carla stands, picks up of her purse, and adjusts her bikini. I’m afraid she’s going to turn toward us and see us, but she doesn’t; she doesn’t even cross the yard to pick up her sandals. She walks directly to the gate with her purse under her arm. Upright and in a straight line, as if she were wearing a long dress that required a lot of concentration when she walked. Only when your mother reaches the street and disappears behind the privet does Nina let go of me. Where is Nina now, David? I need to know.

Tell me more about the rescue distance.

It changes depending on the situation. For example, in the first hours we spent in the vacation house, I wanted Nina close by at all times. I needed to know how many exits the house had, find the areas of the floor with the most splinters, see if the creaky stairs posed any kind of danger. I showed these things to Nina, who isn’t fearful but is obedient, and on the second day the invisible thread that ties us together unspooled again. It was there, but it was more permissive, it gave us independence, on and off. So, the rescue distance is important?

Very important.

I go into the kitchen and Nina follows me. I sit her on a bench and then I make a little salad with tuna. Nina asks me if the woman is gone, if I’m sure, and when I tell her yes she gets down from the bench and goes running outside through the door leading to the yard, and she runs all the way around the house, shouting and laughing, and then she comes back inside. It takes her less than a minute. I call her in and sit her down in front of her plate, she eats a little and then goes out to take another lap around the house.