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the lights of some cosmic projection TV set.
They disembark on the fortieth floor and make their way along the
curved terrace walkway, the conveyor-belt product display keeping time
with them just below the balcony rail, a bulky platinum watch and then a
silver-lined fog-free shaving mirror happily riding along on dark velvet pil-
lows. Far below, on the atrium s floor, the burnished steel of the Pangloss
Restaurant gleams in the indoor lighting, each of its four sides resembling
a giant silver trailer home seen lengthwise. When they get to Javier s door,
Couch sidles up beside Ursula and sneaks his hand up to the small of her
back. She reaches behind her, removes the hand, and knocks.
No answer. She knocks again.
 Javier?
They wait a moment longer, then Couch tries the knob.  It s open, he
whispers. He gives it a push and lets it swing inward.
 Javier? she calls out.
They step in. A suite, with white carpeting, white furniture, pearl-white
walls. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows takes advantage of the
hotel s odd position at the foot of Conein Avenue, looking straight up the
canyon of office buildings to the volcano s peak. Stark against the sky at
the very top of the avenue, the statue of God stoops rheumatically atop
the volcano s rim. The soot has recently been cleaned from his face, mak-
ing his features the bulging eyes, the broom-bristle eyebrows, the two
oversize front teeth discernible for the first time in years. His translu-
cent, twin-lobed head pulses its usual dull red light, barely visible in the
bright-gray daylight.
Couch lets out a little whistle, looking around.
 Dude. Killer digs, he says, taking off his fitted leather overcoat and
tossing it on the couch. His unflattering purple muscle T-shirt reads, sim-
ply and inexplicably, SHOOBY-DOOBY.
 How does the man afford it? he exclaims.  That s what I want to
know. This place must run him four hundred a day at least.
Ursula has wondered about this herself. He s probably living off the
proceeds from the sale of his condo. But he must be going through the
money pretty fast. She walks into the bedroom, calling out his name.
The bed is made, the room empty.
 Ja-vi-er, she hears Couch calling, knocking on a door.  You in there?
240 Al ex Shakar
A large cardboard box sits on the white dresser, its top open. She walks
over and looks inside, finding a number of items: A laptop computer. A
few boxes of educational software and computer games. A floppy-eared
silver robot dog. A pair of silvery, high-tech-looking, child-sized sneakers.
A bag of jellybeans. An envelope, addressed to her.
 Ursula, Couch calls out.  Um, I . . . I found him.
Something odd about his voice. The way he paused.
A cold sickle of fear cuts through her.
 James? she calls out, moving toward the sound of his voice.
 In here.
The bathroom door is open, and Couch stands just inside, looking
down and to the left.
She edges in, then starts to scream but abruptly stops, unable fully to
process what she s seeing. The sight is too strange. Javier is lying in the
Jacuzzi, immersed in ice cubes. The only parts of him not entirely sub-
merged are his bent knees and his dead, gray-white face. Empty plastic
bags that once contained the ice litter the tile floor around the tub.
 What the hell, Couch murmurs.
Javier s eyes flutter open, then close, and Ursula shrieks.
 Jesus, Couch says.  He s still alive.
 Get him out of there! she screams.
Couch shakes his head, still blinking with disbelief, then bends down
and begins digging through the ice. He pulls Javier s arms up to the sur-
face, first one, then the other, then grabs hold of them and starts to tug his
body out, struggling mightily against the weight of the ice. Ursula moves
in to help, digging away at the cubes, and Couch finally hauls his torso
clear. Javier is dressed in a black suit, a white shirt, a scarlet silk tie, all
soaked through from the melting ice. His head, neatly combed and
slicked, lolls to one side.
 Javier! Javier! she shouts.
Couch slaps his bloodless face repeatedly as Ursula shouts.
His eyes flutter open again. His bluish lips move.
 What s he saying? Couch says.
Ursula bends down to hear but can t make anything out.
 Help me get him out of the tub, she pleads.
Together they heave and drag his limp body all the way out, his heels
falling first against the tiles as they lay him down on the bathroom floor.
Couch s foot knocks an empty pill bottle, which skitters under the sink.
He reaches over and retrieves it.
The Savage Gi r l 241
 Sleeping pills, Couch says, an odd, troubled grin on his face.  I
guess . . . I guess I ll call an ambulance.
She kneels beside Javier and rubs his face, trying to warm it. She loosens [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]