Small Steps - Louis Sachar [57]
He wore a pair of latex gloves, the kind worn by surgeons. They fit tight, like an extra layer of skin.
He took a quick look around the sitting area, then went into the bedroom, where Armpit’s clothes were strewn across the floor. He picked up a sweat-soaked sock, considered it a moment, then let it drop.
He entered the bathroom. Armpit’s wet towel lay in a heap on the floor, next to the terry-cloth bathrobe the hotel had provided. The cap was off a tube of toothpaste, and some toothpaste had leaked out. A hairbrush lay next to the mirror.
He picked up the hairbrush and removed a couple of strands of hair that were stuck to the bristles. He placed them in a plain white envelope.
A used Band-Aid, crusted with blood, lay on the floor next to the wastebasket. He picked it up, smiled at his fat face in the mirror, then placed the Band-Aid in the envelope as well.
He returned to the sitting area. Aileen was the one who had provided him with the extra key to Armpit’s room. She also had given him two keys to Kaira’s. He now placed one of them between the cushions on the couch.
Before leaving, he took the knife from the fruit and cheese plate.
They found themselves walking through Chinatown, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Racks of fruits and vegetables had been set out in front of small grocery stores, further blocking the already crowded sidewalks. Trucks were double-parked up and down the street. Traffic was at a standstill, and people moved in and out between the cars. Yet when Armpit and Kaira stopped and kissed by the pagoda on Grant Avenue, it seemed to each of them like they were the only two people on the street.
They continued walking. Armpit was amazed by all the people and wondered what their lives were like. He felt like he was in a foreign country. Women grumbled in Chinese as they picked through vegetables and melons that he’d never seen before.
“Look at those,” he said, pointing at green beans that were well over a foot long.
“I don’t like veggies,” said Kaira.
The insides of the stores seemed even more exotic and mysterious than the vegetables displayed on the sidewalk, but he couldn’t get her to go in one with him. She had been grossed out by a string of dead ducks hanging in a window.
“I think it’s cool,” said Armpit.
“That’s because you’re not a duck,” said Kaira.
She agreed to stop at a store selling Chinese souvenirs because he wanted to buy something for Ginny. The silk slippers would have been perfect, but he didn’t know what size to get, and Kaira pointed out that slippers weren’t like T-shirts; they had to be an exact fit.
Going through a rack of clothes, he came across a sweatshirt that was identical to the one he was wearing. The price was nineteen ninety-nine.
“It’s not the same,” said Kaira. “It doesn’t have a hood.”
“That’s one expensive hood,” said Armpit.
“That’s not the only difference,” said Kaira. “Feel the fabric.”
It didn’t feel all that different to Armpit, but he didn’t say so.
He ended up buying Ginny a silk scarf that showed the Golden Gate Bridge stretching across a background of blue sky and green ocean.
31
“God, I can breathe again,” Kaira said. The crowds of people and the strong smells of Chinatown had gotten to her. “I could kill for a cup of coffee.”
He believed her.
They were now in the Italian section of the city, which Kaira said was called North Beach, but he didn’t see any sand or water. The streets were lined with Italian restaurants, cafés, bookstores, and other small shops. One shop sold nothing but old postcards.
“It’s not a beach,” Kaira explained. “It’s just called that.”
“Kind of like Camp Green Lake,” said Armpit.
They went down into a basement coffeehouse. Interspersed between the tables, vertical wooden beams supported the ceiling. The wood seemed especially dark and rich, as if it had been absorbing coffee for the last fifty years.
The girl behind the counter had a teardrop tattoo under her left eye. Kaira ordered a double cappuccino and asked for whipped cream on top.
“The same,” said Armpit. He would have