Ruda began her laborious typing once more, but after a moment, she sat back and slid out from beneath the typewriter a slip of paper. It was another advertisement, in another place: Florida. She stared at the two lines, remembering how Tommy Kellerman had told her she was crazy. First she crumpled the paper, then changing her mind she straightened out the creases, and read and reread the two lines, "Red, blue, green, Ruda..." and the message Tommy had hated so much.
Ruda crossed to her dressing table, opened a drawer, and took out the small black tin box now fitted with a new lock. She went to get the key, hidden in the bookcase, and unlocked it. She looked at the stack of newspaper clippings. The last one she had inserted was in Vegas. This had been the longest pause between ads, perhaps because, for the first time in her life, she felt a sense of security.
Ruda locked away her secrets again, carefully hiding the tiny key, and returned to her typewriter. She sat staring at the white sheet of paper in the roller. She couldn't concentrate. She went into the bedroom and as she passed the door she slipped the bolt across, drew the curtains, until the small room was in semidarkness.
She sat in front of the dressing table and slowly drew toward herself the three-sided, freestanding mirror. She got closer and closer until she could see her breath form a tiny gray circle on the glass. She turned her head first to the left, then her right. Finally she stared directly ahead. She breathed deeply through her nose, until she felt the strange, dizzy sensation sweep over her. Her shoulders lifted as her breathing deepened... first came the red, as if a beam of red light were focused on her face. She breathed deeper, concentrated harder, until the red turned into a deep green, then a blue. The colors began flashing and repeating: red, blue, red, red, green... They never fused, each was a clear block of single color. Her body began to shake, her hands gripped the edge of the table. The bottles of cologne vibrated, and the entire dressing table began to sway; she held on tightly for as long as she could, before she regulated her breathing again, bringing herself slowly out of the trance.
Her body felt limp, exhausted. Then she tilted her face forward to kiss the cold glass. Slowly she sat back, and traced with her fingers the faint impression of her lips lingering on the glass. She was consumed by an overpowering longing; the desire to feel warm lips return her kiss was like a pain inside her, a pain that, like her scars, would never heal. She could never give up, never, because on three occasions she was sure she had felt a contact.
She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep. But a nagging pain at the base of her spine made her feel uncomfortable. She turned on her side, but the pain grew worse, it began to feel as though something were being ripped out of her belly. Ruda was frightened as the pain intensified... she gripped her stomach, it felt swollen, and she began to rub her hands over it. As quickly as the pain had begun, it subsided. Ruda lay back.
Then the pain started again. Twisting in agony, she called out for Grimaldi. The rush of pain centered in her belly and as she tried to sit up, she screamed with all the power in her lungs.
Grimaldi was working in the barn. He paused and listened. "Did you hear that? Eh, you toothless old bastard, was that one of the cats?"
Two Seats shrugged. Grimaldi stood for a moment longer, listening intently. Hearing nothing more he resumed his work, but after a while he tossed down the pitchfork and walked back to the trailer. He peered in through the window, then crossed to the door, dragging his feet on the grid to wipe off the mud. He was just about to enter when he heard the bolt on the door drawn back.
"Ruda? You okay? Ruda?"
She opened the door, her face pale, shiny with sweat.
"What you lock the door for?"
Ruda gave a weak smile. "I just didn't feel too good. I think it must be something I ate. I've been sick."
"You running a temperature?"
He reached out to touch her face and she stepped back. "No, I'm fine now, you get on with your work. I'll lie down for a while. Goon."
"I'll check on the cats, I swear I heard screaming. Did you hear anything?"
"Get back to work, you lazy old so and so. I'll bring over some food. It was just something I ate, now off... off you go!"
He smiled, walking back to the barn, calling her a slave driver. He didn't notice that she held on to the door for support.
As soon as Grimaldi was out of sight, Ruda inched back to the table and slumped into the chair by her typewriter. She had felt this same pain before, although she couldn't remember exactly when, but the pain had been the same. She tried to type, forcing herself not to think about what she had just been through because it frightened her. She was terrified of doctors; hospital doctors in white coats made her shake with terror.
She felt her energy returning, and with great determination she forced herself to continue working, jotting down the week's itinerary for the work she had lined up for Grimaldi. Almost immediately she felt better.
With Ruda pushing him, Grimaldi continued taking on more training work. As the money came in, they began to buy more and more animals. Weekends he would train them, and she sat and watched his every move. Gradually she began to work alone when he was away, putting into practice everything she had seen him do.
They bought a new trailer and a truck and then one night, he sat her down.
"I know your injuries, the scars, but I was wondering, with you being here, and me away working until we have enough finances, that maybe this would be a good time..."
"For what?" she had asked, dragging out the typewriter.
"Maybe we should see a specialist. They have all kinds of newfangled equipment now, and maybe we should go see someone about having a baby."
She continued picking up papers, stacking them neatly at the typewriter, carrying her boxes of mail to the table. Over the past few months her little sideline had grown into a lucrative business. Having a semipermanent address helped, and she worked each evening after the animals were settled. Grimaldi sometimes sat and watched her, although he never read any of the letters, he was never that interested.
Tonight, though, he wasn't prepared to sit. He didn't want her working, he felt this was too important.
"Ruda, listen to me. Maybe, just maybe, you can have this done medically, you know, artificial insemination. We could at least try."
"I have enough work cut out for me, without bringing up a kid."
"I want a son, Ruda. I mean, we're breaking our backs to get an act back together, so why not? We'd have a hell of a boy, Ruda. Don't you even want to give it a try?"
She rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter and started to type. He came and stood behind her, massaging her shoulders. He felt her shoulders shaking. She tried to type, and then folded her hands in her lap.
"If it hurts you, then we walk away. I don't want anything to hurt you, but we should just go see somebody."
He kissed the top of her head and left her. Slowly she began to type: "Baby-baby-baby-baby... MY BABY. MY BABY. MY SON..."
She stared at the word until it blurred. She touched the paper, the word baby. Nothing had prepared her for this, for Luis wanting a child. She whispered: "My child, he would be mine. My baby."
It had never occurred to her that there was a way. The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. Would it be possible? Dare she think it could be?
She ran out of the trailer, shouted to old Two Seats asking if he'd seen Grimaldi, and he pointed to the barn. She ran, calling for him, and hurtled into the barn. He was using a pitchfork, heaving the bales of hay. She threw herself at him, backing him onto the bales.
"Luis, Luis... I want a baby! I want a baby... I want I want I want!"