Part 4 (2/2)

Mom frowns and covers her mouth with one hand. ”My G.o.d...”

”Don't worry honey. I bleached 'em clean.” Dad looks at Ralphie. ”Careful boy--there's no spare bits in there. A real one-of-a-kind set.”

Chapter 23: Better Lessons.

Stefan found the monkey hiding under a dumpster in the alley behind the Caleta Hotel. He was a scrawny Barbary Macaque with matted, clumpy hair. Lost and hungry. Stefan, himself a little lost and hungry in a different sense, lured him with a biscuit. He smiled as the monkey's fingers, long and pink and trembling, s.n.a.t.c.hed the treat from his hand. Crumbs tumbled from his busy mouth.

”You're quick with those fingers. Far away from the Ape's Den or the tunnels, too.” Stefan hoisted the monkey on his shoulder. ”We'll call you Yanko for G.o.d is gracious to poor Stefan. We can have a good business, you and I.”

Yanko learned the quiet art of the pickpocket, and took to thievery like it was oxygen. The pair worked the crowds of tourists: Europeans and Americans rapt by Gibraltar's stark beauty and the mobs of Yanko's cousins, delightful in their comfort with humans and comic antics. Stefan's purse grew, swelled with wallets, jewelry, and watches liberated by Yanko's hungry fingers, and the two pirates lived with impunity in a hostel room, anonymous and safe. Who could name the thieves from an island of grinning monkeys?

Stefan often whispered stories from his beloved Romania at night, drifting off with words still tumbling from his lips. ”Perhaps, some day we will go, you and I,” he would say. He mentioned his wife and daughter, holding his finger and thumb together to indicate the gold locket his precious Sofia wore. ”A heart with a picture of sweet Florica tucked inside. My little flower,” Stefan said, his voice rattling with time and memory.

”I was too young to be a papa. Too young and too hungry.”

Stefan fell asleep with the image of Sofia in his eyes. He woke alone in the dark of early morning and searched for his friend. Yanko returned after dawn, still lean despite his fill of biscuits and fruit and nuts for weeks. His tiny fingers clutched a heavy gold chain and fat broach bright with diamonds.

”You've fallen in love with the thrill, little one.” Stefan smiled. ”Have you been hopping ledges of the Caleta again, creeping through sleepers' open windows to have at their luggage?”

Yanko chattered, his eyes glittering and black, pink fingers pressed against the treasure until his knuckles turned white.

On the second morning Yanko crouched in the center of an array of gems and heirlooms laid out in rows on Stefan's dresser. His pink hands rested on his knees.

”All from one night's haul?” Stefan's smile wavered. ”Success has made you greedy, my friend. We must take caution. You'll be caught...maybe worse.” He patted the monkey's hairy head. ”But with this,” Stefan's hand swept over the cache, ”we can live like kings, little one.”

Stefan brushed the treasures into a wooden box and stashed it under the bed.

Yanko waited at the windowsill on the third morning. A thin, gold chain trailed from his paw. The monkey pulled his closed paw to his chest as Stefan approached.

”What is it?”

Pink fingers unfolded. In the middle of Yanko's palm lay a tiny heart of gold.

”A locket?” Stefan's heart pinched against his ribcage.

Yanko held his prize forward.

”It's like...it's like my Sofia's,” Stefan said, picking up the locket with one hand and touching the opposite to his throat. ”I can see against the skin of her neck.” Stefan fumbled with the clasp and pried it open.

”I thought...perhaps...” Stefan raised his eyes from the empty locket. The window stood open, and Yanko was gone.

The next day, before he left the hostel for the docks, Stefan opened the wooden box and took just enough for pa.s.sage to the mainland and rail fare to Romania. He dragged the box to the Caleta and left it just inside the lobby.

”Sir,” the concierge called. ”You've left something.”

Stefan paused at the door. ”I know. And I'm going home to find it.”

Chapter 24: Communion.

Two shapes move behind the beam of a single flashlight: a man and a boy. The man sets the light on a counter and begins to search the cabinets. He moves slowly, opening each door and peering inside. The boy's head tilts to the boarded windows. His eyes flash back and forth in the yellow light.

”I can still hear them.”

The man nods. He finds a box of wafers and a gla.s.s jug with a few swallows of wine remaining.

”Do they...know...” The boy's voice shakes and fades.

”We're okay for now.” The man pulls a pistol from his waist band and lays it next to the flashlight. ”We need some rest.”

Both eat in silence, chewing the stale wafers slowly, savoring each bite even though it tastes like glue. They share the wine from the bottle, not bothering with the gold chalices under the counter. After their meal, the boy's eyes grow heavy.

”Go ahead. Try to get some sleep,” the man whispers.

The man leans against the counter and guides the boy's head to his lap. Outside, distant moans echo. The boy s.h.i.+fts a few times and settles. His eyes lost to memories, the man strokes the boy's hair. The flashlight magnifies the shadow of a cross on the opposite wall.

”Some of the others...back where we were...said G.o.d was dead,” the boy says. He is almost asleep, exhausted.

Gla.s.s breaks somewhere down the street.

”Nonsense,” the man whispers. ”If G.o.d were dead, we wouldn't be here together.” The man's voice wavers, but does not break.

They sit in silence for a few, long minutes. The noises outside grow faint. The man thinks of the grey things shambling in the street. He closes his eyes and sees their black mouths, smells the reek of rot and decay, the stench of urine and blood. He imagines their relentless, blind stares. They will not rest.

When he is sure the boy is asleep, he reaches back onto the counter and collects the pistol. He snaps open the chamber and counts two cartridges.

”If G.o.d were dead, little one, there wouldn't be a bullet left for both of us.”

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