And he didn't say anything about it. I could have -- stopped --
it. Prevented it. I could have saved her life, but he wouldn't talk."
He drove.
"For real, he could see the future?" she said softly. Her voice had more
emotion than he'd ever heard in it and she rolled down the window and
lit another cigarette, pluming smoke into the roar of the wind.
"Yeah," Alan said. "*A* future or *the* future, I never figured it
out. A little of both, I suppose."
"He stopped talking, huh?"
"Yeah," Alan said.
"I know what that's like," Mimi said. "I hadn't spoken more than three
words in the six months before I met Krishna. I worked at a direct-mail
house, proofreading the mailing labels. No one wanted to say anything to
me, and I just wanted to disappear. It was soothing, in a way, reading
all those names. I'd dropped out of school after Christmas break, just
didn't bother going back again, never paid my tuition. I threw away my
houseplants and flushed my fish down the toilet so that there wouldn't
be any living thing that depended on me."
She worked her hand between his thigh and the seat.
"Krishna sat next to me on the subway. I was leaning forward because my
wings were long -- the longest they've ever been -- and wearing a big
parka over them. He leaned forward to match me and tapped me on the
shoulder.
"I turned to look at him and he said, 'I get off at the next stop.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318