Light From Uncommon Stars(8)

Of course!

Shizuka remembered the Big Donut from her childhood. She had never actually been inside—her parents had been strict about junk food, after all.

But now she was an adult, and no one was stopping her. She beelined to the Starrgate Donut, skidded to a stop, and raced inside. Once she entered, she rushed for the bathroom door.

But no door was there.

Then she remembered something horrible. This was not Japan. This was El Monte.

Shizuka almost sobbed out loud. In Japan, donut shop bathrooms were clean and available. But here?

Shizuka had seen LA donut shops say no to children. She had seen them turn away white men in business suits. No one used donut shop bathrooms unless they were employees or police …

Also, everyone was staring.

Whether with musicians or not, Shizuka still carried herself like the Queen of Hell. Some customers looked away; others seemed frightened. An old woman crossed herself.

No, no no!

What to do next? Maybe she could find a gas station. Maybe a supermarket. Maybe a tree.

She had signed over her soul to Hell—surely she had been through worse than this?

Hadn’t she?

But just as all hope was lost, a donut lady appeared at the counter.

“Yes?”

Shizuka took off her sunglasses and bowed her head.

“Ma’am, I know it’s not for the public, but may I please use your bathroom?” she said, as politely as she could.

“Come around the back.”

In disbelief, Shizuka looked up and into the eyes of what must be the nicest Los Angeles Donut Lady in existence.

“Shirley, show her.”

“But, Mother—”

“Show her the bathroom,” Donut Lady said pleasantly, but firmly. “Just follow her, miss.”

Shizuka liked this donut lady. She really liked this donut lady.

The girl called Shirley led Shizuka down a passageway that stretched a little further back than Shizuka expected.

And there were noises here that didn’t match the sounds of a kitchen. Instead of motorized fryers, the commercial mixers, and the intermittent click of oven thermostats, the air was alive with soft whirs, hums, pure sine-wave tones, regular chirps. And these sounds came from everywhere—from beneath her and overhead.

Shizuka wasn’t going to mention it; she was the last person with the right to probe into someone else’s business.

“Thank you. I know you wouldn’t normally let someone use—”

Then Shizuka froze as her being was pierced by a gentle, yet supremely powerful, music. No, not quite music, and not only the air. It was deep and resonant and harmonious, like an Aeolian harp coursed with the strings of space itself.

“Beautiful…”

“Ma’am?”

“What is this sound?”

“Oh … it’s probably my brother,” the girl said too quickly. “He’s on his computer playing one of his games.”

The girl was lying, of course—this was no computer game.

But this wasn’t a time to pry, not with a full bladder.

Shizuka was led to a door with a handwritten sign that said FOR EMPLOYEE ONLY. Behind it lay the cleanest bathroom a woman might hope for.

At last, Shizuka peed. She hummed Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” She thanked the ancestors; she thanked the gods. If it hadn’t been spoken for, she’d have given her soul to Jesus right there.

As she finished, Shizuka heard footsteps and a muffled conversation. The beautiful sound faded, then vanished altogether.

It would have been nice to know what that sound was, but she had imposed enough. Shizuka freshened up, returned the key, then got in line. She didn’t feel right just leaving.

And besides, fresh donuts?

She ended up behind a group of boys. One of them ordered the largest donut she had ever seen.

“What is that?”

“I-it’s an Alaska Donut,” the boy nervously replied.

“Alaska Donut?”

“Kindle’s has a Texas Donut, but…” The boy tried not to stare as he explained.

“The Starrgate one is bigger.” Shizuka finished the sentence for him.

“Yeah, that’s what she said,” one of the other youths joked.

“Lucky her,” Shizuka let herself say.

The boys looked away shyly, still too young to respond.

And then, once again Shizuka was in front of Donut Lady.

“May I help you?”

“I would like an Alaska Donut and a small coffee, please.”

Donut Lady’s eyes. They were dark, almost too dark for this world. And yet, somehow, they reminded Shizuka of old Mr. Grossmueller, who had survived Bergen-Belsen and devoted the rest of his life to playing Handel.

Donut Lady placed Shizuka’s coffee and donut on a tray.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Shizuka said, shaking herself to attention. After all, this woman had saved her life.

Donut Lady smiled.

And Shizuka felt herself fall into a field of stars.

Somehow, Shizuka managed to take her tray to a clean table. She needed to clear her head. This was no time for infatuation. It was already February. She had a student to find, a demon to feed, her soul to save.

Then Shizuka bit into the soft, sticky Alaska Donut.

It was second grade, and Mrs. Jennison had brought donuts to class. She said something about an American orbiting the earth and he was called an “astronaut.”