Charles Baxter - The Feast of Love

“You wanna give me a hug?” the Bat asked. “A hug for the father-in-law?”

“Well, not quite yet,” I said, softening. “Maybe later. Soon. In a little while.”

“Okay,” the Bat said, scratching himself higher, on his chest. His face was getting dazed again, maybe from the beer. “If you’ll excuse me, I gotta go for a pee.”

“Be my guest,” I said. The Bat disappeared into the bathroom and I reached under the hideabed for Oscar’s knife box, and I took a knife out and hid it under a magazine. I reached over to the bowl where the potato chips were, and I grabbed some and ate them.

The door to the bathroom opened an inch or two. “Hi,” he said, from behind the door. Here things get a little hazy, a little unclear.

After another minute or so, the Bat walked out, with his pants off, and his underwear off, and his shoes and socks removed. His dick swung back and forth like an inspection tool, as he made his way in slow motion toward me. I remember looking at the window quickly. Maybe someone would see this. He stood there for a moment, naked from the waist down, as if he couldn’t decide on his next move. Then he said, “How ’bout that hug now?”

“Mac,” I said, trying to hold my breathing steady, “you left your underwear and your pants off.” I couldn’t run; he was closer to the door than I was.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he said, clearing his throat. “Maybe I oughtta put ’em back on.”

“That’s a good idea.” I stood up. My knees were shaking. My face had gone ice cold. “Why don’t you do that? Just turn around and go back in there.”

“I forgot,” he said. “Thought I was home. Thought it was Missy and Mac, quiet evening at home.”

“No,” I said. “It isn’t that.” I was measuring the distance to the door. He started to walk toward me, his dick swinging again a little.

“I’d like that hug now,” he said. “Then I’ll put the pants back on.”

I couldn’t think. I didn’t have a single good idea to help me out.

“The shades aren’t down,” I said, feeling my tongue rattling. “People will see.” The Bat turned around to lower the shades, and when he did, I reached for the knife under the magazine and held it behind me. I took a deep breath. I’d never been so scared in my life, but I was also not scared, which is harder to explain. But I am going to explain it, because I’ve thought about it ever since. I mean, I knew he could kill me, or rape me and kill me, but I also knew that I could probably kill him, if I wanted to, and that maybe at any moment any of us could do any of that to anybody. He hadn’t decided what he would do, not yet. But the more amazing thing is, I felt Oscar’s spirit pass through me right at that same exact instant, and I almost cried out, Oscar! ’cause there he was, my boy and my man and my husband, he had just walked inside of me out of nowhere, out of death, and I could think like Oscar and move like Oscar and be strong like him, strong and fearless. Maybe all I was doing was thinking of Oscar. That’s probably it. Thinking of being fearless. Which I wasn’t, scared to death as I was, but I was also this other person, right at that moment, like that person was on one side and the scared person was on the other. I was going to give room to the fearless side. Oh Oscar, I thought, be in me.

The Bat walked over to me, calm as a cucumber, but drunk all the same. Concentrating on his every move, calculating the odds. “Shades’re down now.”

“Get away,” I said. “Don’t come any nearer to me.”

“You sure are pretty,” he said, getting closer. “Prettiest little thing. Always were. I can be pretty, too. I can be a kindly man.”

“Put your clothes on, Mac,” I said. “Besides, I’m pregnant.”

“I get so confused,” he said. “Help me. There isn’t anybody I can talk to. I get so tired. Help me out, little one.” His arms reached out as he got next to me. “I’m not askin’ for much. Please. I’m askin’ please. From politeness. Just a little hug. And a kiss? The tiniest bit of love.”

Then the air unfroze itself.

The Bat put his arms around me and he pressed himself against me, and my hand came down once, stabbing him through his shirt into the upper arm with Oscar’s knife.

He looked hard at his arm for a second, then howled in surprise and dropped to his knees. Some blood appeared on my blouse, as the knife sort of worried its way out of his arm, and with its blade shiny with blood fell to the floor, spattering the linoleum. I got to the doorway and grabbed my jacket and ran outside. I turned the lights off as I went. I thought: I’ll get the neighbors. No no no: he’ll be here in a minute, he’ll accuse me of something. Assaulting him. I should’ve gotten the neighbors, but I wasn’t thinking so clearly. I just wanted to get out of that building. I raced down to the Matador and started it. I had a few minutes on him, but no particular place to go.

If you’re in your right mind, you drive straight to the police, but I wasn’t in my right mind, and besides, the roads were terrible. I was thinking: I did the wrong thing, and now they’ll arrest me, Chloé, for what I did. I saw myself, arrested, ruined, panhandling on the street. I thought of Rhonda, my sister, too far away; my friends, too unhelpful and stoned; and then I thought of Bradley, my boss and my friend, and his girlfriend, Margaret, because maybe I was still thinking of Oscar, I could still feel him, and I was thinking of our wedding day, and the party that Bradley had thrown for us, the feast of love he’d laid out on his table. I thought of that, too.

THE ROADS HADN’T been plowed yet, and this thick snow lay over everything, and the Matador had rear-wheel drive, plus it was old and rusty, and the first thing I knew I was going down my street sideways, and then I wasn’t going anywhere at all, just spinning and spinning at an intersection. I thought of the Bat and his four-wheel truck gaining on me, and that was when a face appeared on my driver’s side window, and I screamed.

But it was only a passing pedestrian walking his dog, and, like, offering to push me. It’s amazing he stayed when I screamed like that. But he did, and he pushed my car, and I was off again.

I made my way around the city trying to get to Bradley’s street, over by Allmendinger Park, and at one point the engine died and I had to start it again, and at another point I found myself on a dark street with the snow falling and I had to stop the car because I was crying and shaking and shivering. But then I faced up to things and got strong, and I made another New Year’s resolution two months early that I wouldn’t give in to cheesy panic or anything, even though it made sense to panic, and was the easy, logical thing to do, lame though it was.

The street lights passed over me, and I felt myself getting faint and helpless, and I had the sudden recognition that I didn’t know where I was, but then I passed the football stadium where Oscar had once given me a Slurpee, and I made a right turn, and another left, and another right, and I started skidding down Bradley’s street, and suddenly I felt my baby kick, although it was way too early, it couldn’t have been the baby kicking, so I guess it was my heart thumping, which is how I knew Oscar was leaving me, because I was having this little tiny heart attack, just like the one Oscar’d had, except very small, so it was time for Oscar to go. And then he was gone, out of me entirely, having helped me in my time of trouble. He re-died.

I parked in front of Bradley’s house, which was, like, totally dark. I opened the Matador door with its formerly satisfying squeak. I ran up to his door, and when I did, the snow got into my running shoes, and I rang the bell, rang it and rang it and rang it, and Bradley the dog started barking inside, but there was no Bradley the human there, or Margaret either, and I thought, oh please, someone save me now before the Bat gets here.