While she waited for her paycheck, she talked to Coca in the office, glancing at the lists, and saw it was Rolex’s turn to go the next week.
* * *
Marie slept in Amélie’s fragrant bed — a bed carved by Amie’s father from a special wood only from the islands — its narrow hold like a boat transporting her back. She was in Maman’s kitchen, watching her make one of her special dishes, chicken with rice. They were hungry, so looking forward to eating, but no matter what spices Maman used, the dish grew saltier and saltier until it was finally inedible. Maman tasted it, tried to give Marie a spoonful, but it was impossible. Tears were in Maman’s eyes as she watched their bodies grow thinner by the minute, and she begged her daughter to fix it. Marie woke at dawn, exhausted.
At work, they led Rolex to the shower room to clean the dirt off her; Marie heard snarling and the men’s threats. She walked in and spoke for the first time in two weeks. “Let me wash this one.”
“So the Dog Girl talks.”
The men were glad to take a break. Rolex, backed in the corner, crouched, teeth bared, eyes hating, and at first didn’t recognize her. Jorge threw Marie the dog’s chain in a challenge and went off to smoke a cigarette. “Don’t get your hand chewed off.”
She squatted down. “Doudou,” she whispered. “It’s okay now. I take care of you now.” She picked up the chain and led Rolex under the showerhead and shampooed the filth off her. No one could have guessed the luster of her clean coat. The men stood around watching, thoughtful and sullen as they smoked their cigarettes.
“I’m going to take her on a walk to dry off,” she said.
One of the new boys said it wasn’t allowed, but no one else seemed to care.
“Give it a break,” Marie said, scornful, because any show of softness would end them. She walked out of the shower with dripping Rolex, collected her purse while Coca watched under thick eyelashes. She walked down the street alone. After a few blocks she turned and saw no one behind her.
They ran.
She ran faster than she thought she was able, buildings and cars melting past. The faster she ran, the more Rolex stretched out, took longer strides, as if the new space allowed the dog to grow, heading straight ahead as if she knew this was her fate all along and had simply been waiting for Marie in her slow human way to figure it out. Marie ran faster, air a hot piston through her lungs, her bag banging hard against her side. They came to a park, and she veered off into the grass, the softness relieving the terrible pounding in her feet. She slowed, and Rolex slowed, as if they were a single body. They trotted, a slow jog, then walked, blowing out breaths like professional runners, shaking out legs, and when they came to a fountain, she let the dog drink deeply from the water.
They spent the whole day in the park, resting under a tree with large, spreading branches. The neighborhood they had invaded had bungalow houses set back on grassy lawns, palm trees that made pools of thick shade. Marie watched blond, blue-eyed mothers wheeling their babies through the park. Some of the babies were being pushed by dark women, some from Mexico or Central America, others from the islands. The sight of these women calmed her and made her feel safe. She was sick of the world of men. She fell asleep under the tree, holding Rolex’s leash, dreaming she was back home.
When she woke, the dog was sitting, watching a young black woman pushing a pram with a yellow-haired baby. Marie called out, “What time is it, sister?” and the woman answered, “Five in the afternoon. Time to quit loafing.”
Marie laughed at the tease, and the woman laughed back. She had skinny, bowed legs, with a big space between her front teeth. She struck a match against the pavement and lit a cigarette. “They don’t let me smoke in the house. Is he friendly?” she said, pointing at Rolex.
“She needs to be, doesn’t she?” Marie said.
“Be careful. The police don’t like our faces around here unless we working.”
“I hear you. Any chance your people would want this dog?”
The woman looked at Rolex as she shook her head. “No chance. The woman don’t like any dirt in her house.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It is.”
“You get good job here?”
The woman nodded. “Many Haitians nan Florid. But we’re all still dreaming of the promised land, nuh? Got to get going.”
She walked on. Marie took out her lunch, ate half and fed the rest to Rolex. The dog gulped without chewing, looking for more. No more here, Marie thought. It was too sad to want to give more than you had. Sitting under that tree, she was as happy as she’d been since leaving home, but she knew that she would have to move on again. If the island was about standing still, America was about moving, even if you were past dead tired.
She walked through the park to the edge of a long street of houses that looked like mansions to her, like the palaces of kings in the Bible. Grander than the pink house on the hill even. Marie could tie Rolex to a streetlamp, but she worried that this would make the dog helpless, and perhaps only the police would rescue her, take her back to the shelter from where she started.
No, Marie thought as she untied her, Rolex is wise enough to recognize kindness when she runs across it. Marie had not seen much of it herself since she’d come here, the only god she saw worshipped so far was money, but this freedom was the only gift she could afford to give.
Sometimes it felt as if they were both dumb animals, lost and alone in the world. She felt the flame of good in the world was riding lower; lately she felt it guttering, about to blow out.
Maybe Rolex would walk up to that big white house with burning lights in the window, and she’d curl up on the porch by the door, and the pretty yellow-haired family that lived in it would come home and find her curled asleep, and they would see that she was precious, and they would take pity, which was the most that anyone could hope for.
Maybe after weeks and months of comfort, Rolex would be restored to herself, to the way she was before Marie ever saw her. She will only remember her shower, Marie’s hands rubbing shampoo into her fur, only remember their run, the sharp, clean air as they fled. She will recall as her true beginning the day in the park, their nap as her resurrection, and Marie her weak angel, who brought her to the life that was surely waiting for her, the life that should be promised to all.
Marie took off the ribbon that held her hair and wrapped it around Rolex’s neck and tied a bow so that anyone looking could see that she had been loved.
Rolex strained ahead, sniffing the night air as Marie unclipped the chain from her collar, and then she was gone.
Chapter 4
The less you have, the more the pain in losing what remains.
Marie stood alone in the park for an hour, hoping Rolex would return and hoping she would not. At last Marie started walking, one foot in front of the other, and found herself at Coca’s house. When Coca saw her — a ghost at the door — she dropped the plate she was drying, confirming that Marie’s hold on this life was weak.
“Kisa ki rive ou? What happened to you? Why did you come here?”
“Where else?”
“You took the dog. They’ll make trouble now.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“If they see you here, I’ll be fired.”
Marie gathered her few shirts, a toothbrush.