Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [66]
RUBY MURPHY
20.
The Sadness of Humans
Attila pulls the bathroom door shut gently, as if trying to soften the harshness of his refusal to talk to me. I stare down at Stinky as he inhales his food, oblivious to the sadness of humans. Lulu, who picked at her food and then walked away disdainfully, jumps up onto the bed next to me and bumps her head against my arm. I absentmindedly pet her and look around at the horrible brown hotel room with its soiled curtains and furniture, all of it evenly synthetic and appearing to have sprung from the thigh of some malevolent Zeus. As I let my fingers make little ridges in the soft fur of the cat’s head, I suddenly realize I have to get out of here. Immediately. Though I feel like my being near Attila will keep him safe, I know that’s not true. My presence isn’t doing either one of us any good. I feel like he’s shut the door on me in more ways than one and I need to go home and clear my head.
I shove clothing into my overnight bag and pack all the cat products into a shopping bag. I take the Yellow Pages from the nightstand and thumb through until I find a local car service. I call and order a car.
I’m ushering Stinky into his carrying case when my paramour emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel that was probably once white but is now a depressing gray.
“What are you doing?” Attila asks, looking at me with violently bright eyes.
“Going home.”
“Just like that? Why?”
“I’m not doing you any good here and I really want to go home.” I stand up and carry Stinky’s case to the door.
“Ruby!” Attila shouts behind me as if I were fifty feet away.
“Attila.” I turn around. “I have to go home. I need rest. I’m sorry.” I add, softening, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“We will?”
“Unless you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” he says.
He picks up Lulu’s carrying case and the bag of cat products and brings these out, like he’s suddenly resigned to my desertion and trying to hurry the process along.
I see the car service pull up in front of the motel office. I shout, trying to get the driver’s attention. When this fails to work, Attila, clad only in his towel, sprints out into the parking lot, over to where the cabbie is parked. It’s thirty degrees out and parts of the parking lot are frozen over but Attila doesn’t seem fazed at all and I suddenly feel I’ve made a mistake. How could I lose patience with someone who’d sprint into a frozen parking lot in a towel just to save me from walking a few extra steps?
I’m dumbstruck. By Attila, by the fact that I’m so moved by the gesture.
As the cabbie turns around and pulls up in front of the room, Attila returns and stands in front of the open door, jumping up and down to warm himself.
I load cats and bags into the backseat. The cabbie frowns. “You bring animals?” he asks in an accent of indeterminate provenance.
“Cats. Nice cats. I’ll tip you well.”
He growls. I notice great tufts of white hair sprouting from his ears.
Attila has stopped jumping up and down and is just hugging himself for warmth. His eyes have turned a cold dark blue.
“ ’Bye,” I say ineffectually “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he responds.
I turn and get into the car. I give the driver my destination. He grunts and pulls ahead. I look back at Attila, who is still standing in the doorway, hugging himself.
IT TAKES A Herculean effort to haul both cats’ cases and my bags up the stairs to my apartment. Ramirez has his door open.
“Ramirez,” I nod, looking in at him. He’s sitting at his kitchen table, staring down into an empty soup bowl. He has a yellow plastic flyswatter sitting by his right hand.
“Flying cockroaches?” I ask as I set the cats’ cases down and pull my keys from my pocket.
“No,” my neighbor says humorlessly “just flies. I hate flies.”
I can see he’s not in the mood for conversation and I mentally chastise him for leaving his front door open when he’s in a foul humor. I’m also slightly miffed that he doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about where I’ve been or why I took the cats there.
“Have a good night,” I say,