Moondogs - Alexander Yates [78]
MORNING. NIGHT. REPEAT. Ignacio and Littleboy do not come in and they do not answer when Howard calls out to them. Roaches, attracted by Howard’s gauze and uneaten dinners, crawl in through holes in the mortar. They flutter lightly over his fingers and run straight up the walls and he is wowed by their abilities. His cheeks become stubbly, and then velvety. His eye hurts more and more. He starts giving it little breaks by popping the lens into his mouth, but it always feels like a hot dime under his lid when he puts it back. Finally he gives up and deposits the lens in his water dish. He pushes the dish into the far corner of the room, peels off his filthy button-down and covers it. The woman believes him when he says she forgot his water, and brings him a new dish with his next meal.
Essentially blind now, Howard has time to think. He feels as though when he could almost see he was busy almost seeing, but now he’s not busy with anything. He tries to account for the days that have passed and becomes certain that his son is in Manila by now. Benny’s already so oversensitive—he’ll be furious that Howard wasn’t there to meet him. Then, when he finds out what really happened, he’ll feel rotten about being furious. Howard will tell Benny not to sweat it, but Benny will still sweat it. He’ll want to ask about Howard’s missing ear, but it’ll take years to work up the comfort and nerve. What happened when you were kidnapped? he’ll finally say, and the word kidnapped will be foreign and harmless to him. Like a sparrow in the living room. Howard will laugh, and then he’ll get serious, and somber, and put on a faraway look. Benny will admire him, and say he can’t imagine what he went through. And he’ll be right.
Howard stops saying: “The police are coming.” He starts saying: “Where the fuck are the police?” Boy, have they ever dropped the fucking ball. Someone, somewhere, is going to be fired when Howard gets out of this. He’s going to bankroll a study and discover what office or branch failed to file what, or call whom, and then find those people, and fucking ruin every one of them. You incompetent assholes. You sons of bitches.
It’s not till the blurry shape of Ignacio comes into the room that Howard realizes he was saying these last things aloud. Yelling them.
“I’m sorry,” Howard says, moving his hands up over his face.
Ignacio ignores him. His posture is somehow thoughtful. He calls Littleboy and tells him to go stand outside, below the sealed window. Then he tells Howard to repeat what he was just saying.
“You incompetent assholes?”
“Yeah, that. But say it how you said it. Yell it.”
Howard yells: “You incompetent assholes!”
A moment later Littleboy comes back inside and Ignacio asks him if he heard it.
“I heard everything,” Littleboy says. “Even the talking.”
“I’m sorry,” Howard says. “I won’t yell any more.”
“The hell you won’t,” Ignacio says. He disappears and returns carrying a boxy black blur. He sets it on the floor in front of Howard, who guesses from its shape that it’s the television. Ignacio sits atop the set, panting, while Littleboy fiddles with the cords.
“I don’t want you to turn this off,” he says. “And it’s my only set, so I don’t want you to break it.”
“I’ll buy you a new TV,” Howard sobs. “I’ll buy you a plasma.”
“Hush,” Ignacio says. “Now, I’m going to turn this on. I’m serious about you breaking it. Whatever you do to this TV, I do to you. The screen is your face. The cords are your cock. Leave them alone.”
With that Ignacio flips on the set and leaves, closing the door behind him. It’s still tuned to the same international twenty-four-hour news network. The lady announcers are back, talking about a car bomb at an Iraqi market. Their voices are so loud that Howard could shout himself hoarse and still not be heard by anyone outside. The Nikkei and the Hang Seng are up. Moscow has a favorable jobs report. In Venezuela, protesters