Greg, Amandine and Shirra were left with the comatose Vivian for a while. The adults each for them trying to figure out what this all meant and the little one feeling that something was amiss but she was close to daddy and that was good.
"Quite a pair, that Opal and that Ilse," Greg said.
"Hmm." Shirra grumbled, trying to improve the situation with the wound on Vivian's head.
"Lovers," Greg went on, eyeing Shirra.
"Yeah," Shirra agreed, "I nearly got overdosed on pheromones."
"Pheromones?"
Shirra stopped and looked at him intently. Then she frowned ever so slightly and said dryly, "yes, pheromones."
"Ah," Greg nodded sagely with large eyes.
Ilse quickly entered the room and closed the door behind her. She held a plastic bag she put on the floor and started to take items from it. "Opal is a saint, isn't he?" she asked, assuming no confirmation from Greg let alone from Shirra. "He did say he'd take of us and see! Also, we can use materials in here if we clean them."
True to his word, the doctor got them some drugs; aspirin and anti-inflammation ointment plus some bandaging. Shirra had been allowed to use a trimmer to clear the wound of fur.
They had dragged Vivian into the hospital via the side door, they left with her in much the same way, through the same door, to the car. Other than the occasional moan, Vivian was incapacitated. She was alive, that was about it.
Ilse brought them to a road with a large apartment block. Across the street was a smaller building with apartments. This was in bad shape and Greg noticed how, when Ilse got out, she scouted around with eagle eyes.
Then, quite in contrast to her body's anxiousness, she smiled at them. "This is your new home! Come in folks," she said happily, opening the door. Greg was sure she was convinced that they would be ecstatic. Inside the building it was damp and dark. Ilse went up two flights of stairs beckoning them on. Amandine found it all very interesting and enjoyed being carried. Ilse carried the backpack while Vivian walked lurched like a zombie after them, supported by Shirra.
Before a dark red painted door in a narrow corridor with a filthy, stained, green carpet Ilse stuck the key in the lock. The door carried a cheap plastic number nine on it which had once looked like gold and now was mostly white. The wipes that must've had taken the gold off were an artifact of suggested cleaning to some extent, a hopeful sign.
Ilse was trying to open the door, muttering that it ought to be the right key and finally kicked the door. Since it didn't budge she ended up throwing her weight to it. It flew open and gave onto a small room with a few wooden chairs at a little table and a dark brown painted wooden floor. The floor had many stains and scratches that again hinted of cleaning attempts. Ilse walked in, turned around to face them and sought something in her wallet. Radiating joy and grandness she proffered two bills.
"Here is one hundred dollars from the US government. The rent is a mere twenty five dollars a week and the landlord lives in the same building."
Ilse put the backpack on the floor and waited, still grinning. Greg didn't know what to say, finally he offered, "Thank you."
Ilse beamed still, her wide smile supported with slightly uneven teeth. "So, that'll be all from me. I'll see you next week Friday, early in the morning, be home. Good luck with finding a job hunting and again, welcome to the United States of America."
She waved, handed Greg the key, waved and said "Bye!" and then walked out, past them, pulling the door closed behind her. Greg stood mute, looking at the key in his hand. Shirra helped Vivian sag onto a wooden chair at the grey-white Formica table on metal legs. The chair wobbled and she supported her head with two hands.
Before really getting his bearings, a rap on the door made Greg put Amandine down on the floor. Shirra, who was also similarly dumbstruck, came forward to hold her the little one close. With difficulty, Greg pulled the door open, meeting a fat and well-dressed man.
"I see you made it eh? Welcome, welcome, this is the most beautiful place on earth. Finest rooms anywhere! I' am your landlord, Vincent."
Then the man shook his hand, and Greg inspected it after the sticky sensation this incurred. The guy pushed past him and it sounded as if Mister Vincent's breath stuck in his throat. Greg felt how he was grabbed pulled and swirled dragged in front of the fat man who did so with apparent ease despite the soggy appearance.
"Four of you, eh? That'll be ten extra, boy! I collect every Friday. I know you got our good tax dollars, so pay up."
Greg produced the money and from his pocket the man gave filthy money bills for in change. Then the owner smiled widely and patted him on the back. Greg had to adjust his weight to keep from being bowled over. "Grand, my man, grand. I have some rules! We'll be best friends if you keep your mouth shut after six in the evening and during the day as well. No music, if you get a TV set you pay extra for the power drain of those damned things. Clear on that? Good. Further, if you clog the toilet I kick you out and will dredge every last piece of money off of your stinking corpse."
Vincent sniffed and made a face to the cats. He winked, producing a thumb between his fingers suggesting intercourse, then winkeding some more and noddeding with a deranged smile raising his brows several times to Greg just to make sure Greg understood he, Vincent, understood perfectly why Greg would have these 'dogs'. When he Vincent found Greg not responsive, he glared at him and spoke with a spray of spittle in his mounting anger.
"I don't like having those doggies under my roof, buster. Those rotten dogs you have here are not showering more than once per week… and I will know, you hear?"
Greg nodded with a diligent smile, humoring the man. Vincent went from frothing to suave in the span of one second and gave him another chummy pat on the back.
"I never saw anyone with this many pets. You are mental, buddy. Take my advice, get a normal dog -I allow normal dogs, you know- and dish this lot. About the shower, it's down the hall and if you forget to get your hairs out the drain or theirs for that matter, out you go. For you I have ten others, capiche? Fine. I love new people, welcome to the You and eS of Aa."
The landlord turned his back, stomped out and drew the door closed.
Greg looked at Shirra in silence, and shrugged.
Shirra was appalled by their lodgings, he saw it in her stance and the frown appended with vibrating whiskers. Vivian was, for lack of a description, out of order. Greg walked to the next room. It was a tiny bedroom where an unmade bed stood, a stack of sheets sat on it with a little cardboard American flag atop it. He picked it up, on the back he read 'Dear refugee, welcome to the USA.'
"Welcome" Greg read aloud, without emotion.
He turned around to see Shirra stand there, forlorn. He grinned; it was laughable, wasn't it? Shirra smiled back. She shrugged and went to inspect the two cupboards in the kitchenette, which was part of the living room. With mounting fear, given the old state of all he saw here, Greg walked to the toilet, and found that against all odds, this was clean. Water dripped from the overhead basin into the toilet of which the glaze was cracked. He heard Shirra close a cupboard door behind him.
"I found Here's a bucket and cleaning materials. I think I will get some scrubbing going. Greg, can you buy some groceries? I guess potatoes and fresh vegetables would be fine; just see what you can get. We're low on money so mind the price please, Greg."
"I'm used to living cheap, Shirra. We'll see how far we get. I saw a grocery store down the road. I'll be back in half an hour."
The store was much further than he'd thought, and in the end he was gone for a whole hour. When he reentered, Vivian had been put to bed, and the apartment smelled much cleaner. The window was open, letting New York air in as well as a lot more light. He placed his paper bag with the potatoes and a cabbage on the table.
"I have the weird feeling fast-food is cheaper than this fresh stuff. I saw a burger for less than a dollar! This lot is already two and a half bucks. Oh, I also bought bread, but it's awful. And, I hope you all like peanut butter."
"Bucks?" Shirra asked, while she placed it all in the cupboard.
Greg shrugged. "A dollar is also called a buck. Don't ask me why."
Shirra sat down. Amandine was playing with her wooden puzzle toy that the bear Blackie had made her, on a rug that Greg didn't recognize. Shirra beckoned him to sit down as well. At the table, she placed her hands on his;
"You should have gotten some seasoning, anything. I can't do anything with this."
"I bought pepper and salt. Is that any good?"
Shirra smiled sadly. "With that money we won't last long will we? Do we have to do it this way?"
Greg missed the last part and explained, "I'll get a job, I'm sure I can do something. If at all possible, we'll live here in peace for a while. What say you?"
"I'm worried about Viv, she really has lost something. She's so scared of everything we've seen so far. Not even overwhelmed, Greg. It's more fundamental, and I know very well who she used to be. That head injury is costing her ability to think straight. She could not even get out of her clothes. She knew what to do but she just couldn't. You follow me?"
Greg frowned for a second. "No, you're not aren't making any sense. Is she all right or sick or what's the matter?"
"Sick in her head Greg! That piece of grenade in her brain, the damage she sustained. It's affecting her thinking, I fear something is broken."
"Temporary?"
"Can't say. And worse, since that butcher doctor has been at it, I'm sure the symptoms got more pronounced. The only thing she wanted to do was care for Amandine, some sort of deep down motherly impulse I think."
"I see," Greg said carefully. He regarded Amandine, who played with her toy still. The toy the lady bear had made for her… Greg thought back to the wooden house in the deep canyon in that other world. That had been a peaceful time. There Amandine could have thrived.
"Idiot" Greg thought privately. How would Amandine handle her new situation, it was his fault the little humanoid coyote was thrust into this human world. A place that didn't seem to be very accepting of her kind.
Greg pressed his lips together. So, Vivian was mothering over Amandine. He looked at Shirra, she was looked at him intently. It seemed as if Shirra didn't like 'mothering' too much.
". Am I to understand you do not feel such feelings?"
Shirra said nothing and looked outside. Her reaction was clear. Amandine meant something else to her than what she felt for Greg. He knew this was so. He could not force Shirra to love Amandine. In fact he could not force Shirra to 'unlove' him either, due to her former bosses.
Greg sighed. "I'm going to walk around, see if and how and where work is available."
"Good," she nodded, "I'm holding the fort, all two rooms of it."
###
Walking around had not turned up a lot. More accurately, it had yielded nothing but sore feet. The only business he had found was a sort of slaughter house but that was closed for the day. He saw people who looked at him in angry ways. Stares, he recognized from his childhood. He felt he did not belong. His dark skin made him stand out here as well. He walked for hours, until twilight fell, and had covered a few blocks. This city was so big, without a car he was getting absolutely nowhere. In the end he bought a newspaper and milk at the store which he passed on the way to his shoddy living quarters.
Inside he smelled the hot evening meal Shirra had prepared.
"This stove is a disaster, Greg. It uses these electrical hot plates and it's almost impossible to tune the heat. If I want to do anything more, I'll need some time to experiment. Also, there is no oven. I'm not complaining, though, I'm merely informing you."
"Merely," he seconded and sat down. The smell of the food didn't seem so bad to him.
Greg turned to his young charge, "How do you like it here Amandine?" he asked the toddler. She had been sitting quietly, now looked up at the distraction. Her keen eyes stayed with him for a little while.
"Food? Yum Yum?" she asked eventually.
Greg nodded and accepted her little outstretched paw in his hand. He put her on the only remaining chair, which was too low for her to reach over the table. As a solution he put her on his lap. Vivian was still sleeping, as they ate in silence. Amandine grabbed morsels from his plate, chewing with some smacking. Outside a siren wailed, blue and red lights flashed past on the road. Amandine looked up but kept chewing, her ears pointed right toward the window.
"What is that, Greg? Sounded like a siren." Shirra sounded unsure, given the situation he could expect her to be jumpy.
"I don't know this city but, that was a police siren. This must be a super neighborhood."
Shirra studied him for a moment. "Is it, or isn't it?" she asked, for she had missed his intonation. Greg looked at her. She appeared haggard, tired, deadbeat. In fact, he also felt tired and Amandine was sluggish for sleep deprivation.
"We did not get much sleep of late. I say we turn in early."
"Amandine still needs to do her business, preferably on the toilet, and we can't all sleep in that bed."
"Amandine sleeps on that blanket on the floor," he offered, "I didn't know we had that blanket?"
"I found it in the linen closet."
Greg nodded. "You know, I think we'll leave the bedroom door open."
Shirra nodded too, "Indeed. I'll clean up."
Amandine curled up on the blanket in the corner while Shirra was cleaning the other corner the toddler had selected for shitting. That newspaper sure came in handy! Greg sat next to Amandine, stroking her back. The little coyote smiled in contentment. Finally, they each took a side next to Vivian who was breathing heavily and did not seem to react to any stimulus. Despite the strange surroundings, the weird smell and sounds, Greg drifted off before he knew what hit him.
…
They were running to the bunker, chased by gunships that were dropping bombs and nearing with a speed that made it impossible to reach the door. The door was open, beckoning, a black hole in the hell of explosions that rocked him, rocked Amandine in his arms, threw Shirra's dress about like it was possessed. Vivian's wail was no more than an undertone in this mayhem.
The door.
Just as they made it through and only when it slid closed did he hear anything at all, anything else but the constant drumming and vibrations of the explosions. It was madness to use the setup this way, one couldn't expect it to be aligned for long enough but they had no choice! Grit and dirt from the ceiling drifted onto them, testimony to the fact that as yet the bombs hadn't hit the bunker.
Perhaps they had, and just weren't strong enough?
There was no time to dwell on that. The setup had to be prepared and they had to make an escape. Bombs falling, on the bunker, the structure that was protecting them and those below…
Families, little ones, old ones, incapable of defending themselves. Who could defend against a ceiling that dropped on them? And if it held… If! Then they would be captured and probably tortured one at a time by those horse-people. Why had he stepped forward? Why had he even suggested to the inhabitants of Campone that he, Greg, could … help them.
All those lives, lost, because he was quitting on them; leaving them to fend for themselves.
He could hear the screams.
"AAAAH"
Loud screams of pain and injustice. Screams!
"AAAAH"
The weird thing was, it even sounded like Amandine.
The whining noise grew louder.
His head was pounding, while bits and pieces of info tried connecting. Groggily Greg sat up, holding his head. "Ooooh," he moaned and started to make his way around the bed. He hit his head against the side of the wardrobe and continued cursing to the open door, massaging his head. Shirra had the decency to wake up too, yawning widely. In this state, Greg wasn't sure how he would have reacted had she not woken.
Another scream erupted from the other room.
"AAAAH" – whine, whine.
This Amandine' cry was accompanied by a rhythmic 'thump', 'thump' from below, like someone hitting the ceiling in an attempt to state their point of view. No doubt the sign of an unforgiving person downstairs. Greg ambled into the main room when another sound distracted him. 'Bang'; someone banged on their door and called "hey!", a man, by the sound of it.
"Shut that God damn dog up or I swear I'll put it down for you, right NOW!"
Amandine had crawled off her little nest, and lie groping for any support on the floor. Her actions scratched the damaged floor even more.
"Shut the fuck up!" he heard muffled from below.
"You shut up!" the person in the hall screamed loudly, so supposedly the other source of profanities.
Greg decided to get the door, stumbled almost and cursing opened the door.
"What!" he yelled, "Do you want?"
A blond man stood in the doorframe, and for some reason Greg noticed a toddler with equally blond hair hiding at his leg. The door across from them was ajar, light streaming into the dimly lit corridor like an ominous beacon. Greg saw a flash of an ugly woman glowering at him, through the slit. Her hair was wrapped in a sort of thin towel and she was hidden from view by a red and blue flower print robe.
The blonde guy snarled at him, "Who the fuck are you?"
Greg's senses were sharpened by the ungainly vision he had just witnessed through the door-slit and it was clear as day the guy in front of him was better not ruffled any further. Diplomacy would not help much either. So, setting aside his exhaustion, his throbbing head, the whining of Amandine that tugged at his mind, Greg made an effort.
"I'm sorry, sir. She had a nightmare, you know how little kids are?"
Interestingly, this answer had the guy completely at a disadvantage. "Kids?" he sought words, "Uhh, yes, but, uhh, that's not a human, and…"
"True," Greg picked her up and she calmed at once, "this is Amandine. , Ccan you say hello to the gentleman, Amandine?" Greg knew that when something, someone, had a name it made all the difference. Names always were fine tools for the mind. Put a name in, it worked wonders. In this case, the blond man was sidetracked even more by his son. From below the waist, Greg heard, "That is a nice name, daddy."
Presto! The little kid even got it!
To his wonder, Amandine put a shaky waving paw up and then quickly buried her snout in his armpit. Next, he kneeled to show the toddlers to each other. The kid looked at his little coyote and smiled. The blonde father got down on his knees too.
A hand was extended. "Hi, I'm Jeff. Sorry for that racket just now."
"Don't worry about it. Since I'm new here, I'm going to have to try to fit in. Maybe you can teach me the ropes? I'm Greg, by the way, Greg de Beers."
"Geoffry Barnes, pleased to meet you."
Greg accepted the hand with his left since he was holding Amandine with his right. At that moment he heard a thundering set of steps and the landlord appeared. He was reaching them with a few strides.
"You!" the man pointed at Greg, "are history my man! You and that ugly set of dogs are out of here tomorrow!"
The blond guy got up and 'tut-tut'-ted to the landlord. "Can it, Vince! Give the man a break will you?"
Greg caught the tide and went along, "I'm sorry Vincent! My little one had a nightmare. It is only understandable seeing as we just escaped a war." He realized it would be best to go along with the local customs, next. "One of my dogs has shards of a grenade wedged in her skull."
Jeff beamed at Vince. "Hear that, Vince? The man escapes a war, tries to find a new place in this world and you are the finest this country has to offer?"
Vince wasn't appeased yet. "Jeff buddy, maybe this is one of those damned commies you're sucking up to." Vince nodded his head to Greg, in case anyone misunderstood. "Just thought you might want to know."
"Commie?" Greg laughed softly, "Those idiots won't last long, Vincent. Don't you worry."
Jeff patted Greg on the shoulder and stood to face Vincent.
"See Vince? This is the right sort. So what if he has some dogs? There are few of them and they're dwindling. Read the papers, man!"
Vincent nodded, clearly unconvinced. However, he slunk off, down the stairs, while mumbling something about "…stupid dogs … kick them to the doghouse in the Bronx."
Jeff and Greg watched Vince disappear in gloom. "He," Jeff pointed a thumb, "dislikes those 'dumb-snout-faced-idiots'. All I'm saying is not all of them are stupid, Greg."
Greg nodded, "Again, sorry for the disturbance and good night to you and your family, JeffGeoffrey. Sleep tight."
Jeff clapped his shoulder, "Everybody calls me Jeff."
"Jeff, sure!" Greg agreed with a nod and stepped back inside. Then he
Greg closed the door and found Shirra right next to it. She'd listened to the whole conversation.
"Do you have any idea," he began under his breath, and noted how she frowned at that, "how… smart it was of you not to show yourself?"
Now she smiled and gave him a hug, whispering, "I'm supposed to be smart, remember?"
Amandine was already nodding off and he placed her back on her blanket. Then Greg yawned and returned the hug he had received from Shirra. It felt good, no matter she smelled of war. Greg closed his eyes and whispered back, "I like you so much, Shirra, so much, that I love you. Deeply."
He kissed her on her lips, quick enough to keep from getting her over‑active and rough tongue in his mouth. They went back to the bed and in a moment they both found their place in the bed again, this time next to each other, since Vivian had moved to one side. Three was too much for the bed, but at least it was warm this way.
"Goodnight, Shirra."
"Goodnight, Greg, until my dreams."
Greg settled in, thinking his life could be worse. While he drifted off, a rhythmic thumping began above them. This was another type of rhythm. "For the love of the prophet…" Shirra whimpered.
"Hur-ray" Greg spelled slowly.
Once the noise had subsided, which luckily didn't take too long, the night finally swallowed them.
