The Wish Belly Part X
Cosmic Kitten by Nicolas Raymond
Serialized Fiction by Shane Kimberlin
Melinda jumped up on her seat in a gargoyle fashion.
“Did that...did your cat just talk?”
“Hello,” said the cat, “I am the cat.”
She was quiet a moment.
“This is a surprise?” I said, “Talking tree mask things aren't but a cat is?”
“Hey man,” she said, “you get used to one thing, you don't get used to all things.”
“Can I have milk?” said the cat, “I very much like the milk.”
She got off her chair and went to get milk.
“She seems agitated.”
“What's wrong with you?” I asked.
“You talk of tree mask man and I am problem? She seems cool, you just aren't being,” the cat whispered.
“Being what?” I asked
“Cool,” he said.
“Here ya go,” said Melinda with a saucer of milk, “You know, milk isn't that good for cats.”
“Nonsense,” said the cat, “it builds bones up.”
She sat back down and stared at the cat while sipping her coffee. Her eyes, I noted, could bulge out of her skull and not look completely ghastly.
“Okay,” she said, “here's the deal. Before I get you a ticket, I need to know how you both got here. I have to know.”
“A ticket?”
“We'll get to that. Your turn. Start from the beginning.”
I told her the story. From the first time the cat was kidnapped in Grant's Eye, to the phone call, to the rednecks and the gas station and the cherry tree and falling and nearly dying and meeting Hoshi and going down below to the strange hallway to finding Hallway Blues to where we were just then. I told it, breathless, forgetting things and having to rewind. I have never been that good at telling stories. Some parts went on too long, other parts I skimmed. When I finished she looked at me.
“I'm sorry about your wife.”
“Thanks.”
“It's going to be okay.”
“Yeah”
“What's her name?”
“Who?”
“Your wife,” she said, “You just keep saying, 'her' and 'she' and 'my wife.' What's her name?”
“Annie. Her name is Annie”
She nodded.
A bell rang from her phone.
“Three hours before I need to open. Oh, I almost forgot.”
She walked to the back of the bar and grabbed the bag of rice with my phone. She took it out and handed it to me.
“Fingers crossed,” she said.
I turned it on.
“Do you have stuff to do?” I asked.
“Ho ho, we have stuff to do.”
“Excuse me?”
“Before I can help you, you need to help me. Part of the ticket price, I'm afraid.”
“What ticket? You keep mentioning a ticket.”
She smiled.
“You're gonna need a ticket for the boatman.”
“The boatman?”
“You want to go across water, right? You hire a boatman. More coffee?”
“I'm good, thanks.”
“Only one cup? You're no fun.”
“Not the first person to tell me that. Who's the boatman?”
“His name is Jacob.”
“What's he like?”
“Never met him. He runs the boat for people wanting to cross the sea.”
“Can I ask you something personal?” I say.
“Oh man, what?”
“How did you get involved in this stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“This. You know. What'd you call it? 'The world outside the world.'”
“Honestly, dude, lots more people than you know are involved in this stuff. It takes a village, ha. We don't talk about it because we can't. Just like you and Mr. Fluffy here.”
“Not my name,” said the cat.
“Yeah,” I said, “I think I understand.”
“But I like the name Mr. Fluffy,” Melinda said, “It fits you.”
“We can agree to not agree,” said the cat.
“You get any messages?” she said.
I looked at my phone. It was on. Working. Full service. Nothing.
“No,” I said.
“I'm sorry,” she said, “but we can get you to the next step.”
“Why can't you just bring me there now?” My chest was heating up. Hot. I was irritated the way a child is irritated when they're confused. Control leaves us all eventually, and the glimpses of its future grand exit create both fear than anger. Why couldn't I just find her?
“Because,” she said, “he's not like a cabbie. There are times he comes in. There's no point in going there now. So, you can either sit here and stress out or you can help me. And anyway, you have to help me before I give you the ticket. It's how it works. That's the ticket price”
“That's the payment?”
“Yeah. And everybody who wants to ride the boat has to do something different. One guy had to make me these tables and chairs. Old woodcutter guy. Weirdo but nice. Another lady had to help me hang that sign out there. So now it's your turn and, boy, am I glad you showed up, because I did not want to have to call my ex for help.”
“Okay,” I said, “then what is it?”
“Are you strong?”
“I don't know. Like, what kind of strong?”
“You know, strong. Like, man strong. Move things strong. Huddah. Cavemen. Strong strong.”
“That's a little stereotypical.”
“Oh my gosh,” she said, “are you joking? So you're saying you're not strong?”
“I'm just joking,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, “so are you strong?”
“I guess so,” I said, exhausted, “Sure, I'm strong.” A declaration like an action movie guy. My tongue felt too close to my cheek.
“Cool,” she smiled, “Wanna help a girl move a dishwasher?”
The Wish Belly series by Shane Kimberlin: