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“Are you hungry?” Charlie asked. “Do you want something to eat?”
More jumping, frisking, and drooling. Audrey sat back in her chair with Charlie’s coffee in hand and watched this very strange bonding.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” Charlie said. He got up and led Wiggly Charlie over to the big stainless-steel refrigerator.
“I’m making him some shoes,” said Audrey. “The toenails on the tile and carpet drive me nuts.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because my annoyance at toenail noise seemed kind of trivial compared to the fact that I’d trapped you in that,” she said. Then to Wiggly Charlie, “No offense.”
Charlie scanned the shelves. “Do you want a cheese stick?” He held up an individually wrapped mozzarella cheese stick.
Wiggly Charlie jumped, reached up. Charlie gave him the cheese stick. He immediately clamped down on it, working it with noisy, wet smacks of his jaws, the cheese stick sort of becoming very distressed, but more of it hanging out either side of his mouth than in it.
Charlie crouched down. “Look at me. Look at me.”
Wiggly Charlie stopped chomping and looked at him.
“Do your tongue like this? See, like this.”
Wiggly Charlie did his tongue the way Charlie was doing it, rolling it. Charlie remembered having to learn to eat with teeth that were made only to tear, not to chew. In the hospital, he’d had to consciously get used to having molars again, not to swallow chunks of food.
“Good,” said Charlie. “Now do this with your tongue while you’re chewing.”
Wiggly Charlie did, and the cheese stick slowly disappeared into his mouth.
“Good! Next time we’ll take the wrapper off.” Charlie said. “You want another cheese stick?” He grabbed another cheese stick from the shelf.
“Want a cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie, very wet, very scratchy, but very distinct.
Charlie looked at Audrey. “He talks.” His voice broke.
She nodded, smiling into the coffee cup.
“Want a cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie.
Charlie, who was alive in another man’s body, who had lost the mother of his child and the love of his life, who had found and sold human souls, been present at hundreds of deaths, who had died and been resurrected, twice, closed the refrigerator and slid down the door as he unwrapped the mozzarella, then began to weep. Wiggly Charlie, whatever the hell he was, was alive, and Charlie wept for the joy of it—that spark of life.
“I know, we can call him W.C. for short,” said Audrey, acting as if she didn’t notice that the man she loved, evidently, was sitting on the floor, sobbing—giving him that measure of pretend privacy.
“A cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie, bouncing on his ducky feet.
Charlie gave him the mozzarella stick, then looked up at Audrey, tears in his eyes. “Let’s go see my daughter.”
“I’ll get my keys,” Audrey said.
“Need a cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie.
It took them ten minutes to get to North Beach from the Buddhist Center in the Mission District and twenty minutes to find parking.
“I’ll get you a permit and you’ll be able to park in the alley where I used to park my van,” said Charlie.
“That will be great when I visit,” said Audrey.
“Wait, what? Wait.”
They were at the front entrance, next to the storefront. Charlie had buzzed and they were waiting, since Charlie no longer had a key.
