Richard nods. How can he say no? How can he not let this guy drive his car?
Will you watch the store? What does that mean, tell anyone who comes that Anhil has stepped out and he'll be right back, close the door and flip the "Open" sign to "Closed"?
He goes inside and stands waiting. A guy comes in; Richard feels obligated to go behind the counter, as if guarding the place. "It's not my shop," he confesses.
"Does that mean I can't get a donut?"
He can't lose business for Anhil. "What kind would you like?"
"Glazed, and a coffee with milk and sugar."
He puts the donut on a plate and puts the plate down in front of the man and pours him a cup of coffee. It feels strange, like he's pretending. And while the man is eating another guy comes in and sits at the counter.
"Orange juice, some tea, and a toasted bagel."
"No bagels, just donuts."
"Really? There are usually bagels in the back."
He walks into the back and, sure enough, on the counter are a bag of bagels and a toaster. He toasts the bagel, pours the man a glass of juice, finds the tea bags, and serves the man.
"What do I owe you?" the first man asks.
Richard looks around; there are no prices anywhere. Very funny. Very Anhil. "I have no idea. How about three dollars? Is that more or less than what you usually pay?"
"More or less," the guy says, leaving the money, plus a fifty-cent tip.
Richard doesn't know how to open the register and so just puts the money on the side, tip included.
A homeless man comes in, asking for spare change. Richard gives him a donut. He takes a dollar out of his own pocket and puts it next to the register to cover the donut. It is hard work selling donuts, and he's not as good at it as Anhil. Where is Anhil? He checks his watch: seven-fifteen. His plan was to get home before Cecelia arrives.
Another guy comes in — Anhil was right, it's all men in the donut kingdom.
"Hi ya, bud, I'll have the usual."
"And what would that be?"
By the time Anhil comes back, twenty minutes later, Richard is livid.
Anhil bounces in, literally beaming, and Richard can't hold on to the anger. "She drives like whipped cream, Chantilly lace. She holds the road so good you don't even need pavement: that car would be good on rubble, on a dirt road, with a cloud of dust rising up in back announcing that you have been there. You could take her anywhere." Anhil hands the keys back to Richard. "How was it for you to be me, the donut man?"
"There are no prices," Richard says, handing Anhil the four dollars. "Two customers came in, also a homeless man — I gave him a donut."
"Are you crazy? You can't give them donuts. They come back for more, they bring their friends; they're not made to give away."
"I paid for it — it's one of those dollars."
"That doesn't matter. I give them donut holes, spare parts — I put them outside, and they come like scavenger pigeons. It's not that I don't care, but you can't give away the whole donut. You think I don't have the disease too? I didn't come to America to be a poor philosopher."
Something about Anhil is frustrating. He's less perfect today, less understanding. There are limits, things he misses, doesn't understand.
"You are a funny man," Anhil says. "You met me yesterday, and you want me to be like your mother and tell you that you are a good boy. All I can tell you is that you are a grown man with a good heart and a really nice car." Anhil puts together a box of donuts and gives them to Richard. "Thanks for taking care of the store. Come again soon; come tomorrow, and I'll drive your car."
"DO YOU WANT breakfast, or did you eat already?" Cecelia asks when he comes in, box of donuts in hand.
"I'm starving," he says, putting the donuts down, realizing that he left his uneaten bag of cereal at Anhil's. He sits at the table; his place is set, his papers are out.
"Please don't throw the donuts out."
"Whatever you say, but I don't work for fat people."
"What's the problem with fat people?"
"They smell and they have health issues."
"Did you notice the hole out front?" he asks as he is eating breakfast, reading his papers, scanning the ticker on the screen in the kitchen.
"What hole?"
"Look out the window, over there. There's a hole, a big dent, like the kind of place a UFO might have landed, if you believe in that kind of thing."
"The only things I believe in are God and a clean house. Are you going to put your headphones on, or do I have to talk to you all day?"
"I'm not putting them on, but you don't have to talk to me."
Cecelia takes her dust cloth and can of Endust over to the window and looks out. "Not only is there a hole," Cecelia says. "There's a horse in the hole."
He stops eating and goes to the glass.
There is a horse in the center of the hole, eating grass. Again, he thinks of the perfection of the circle, the signs on the telephone poles at the bottom of the hill. "UFO? You Are Not Alone…"
"Don't just stare at it," Cecelia says.
He calls the number the government man gave him last night. "A fellow was out last night to look at a hole, a depression. He put in a monitor and some flags around the perimeter."
"Ummm," the man says.
"The hole is getting deeper, and now there's a horse in it."
"Did he give you a reference number, anything written on the back of the card?"
He turns it over. "Yes, it looks like 9EZPIECES. Is that a joke?
"It's a code," the man says, clicking on his computer keys. "I've got your number in the system. Ummm, yep, there's been movement."
"Yes, and now there's a horse in the hole."
"OK, I'll send another man out."
At this point they ought to send a truck, a car full of men, a load of fill dirt, or something a little more substantial, because the hole is sinking fast.
Richard goes outside, stands with his feet on the edge of the hole — it is definitely deeper than it was two hours ago, the little pink flags are several feet farther down. The horse looks up, nods as if acknowledging him, and goes back to eating grass.
"Are you stuck?" Richard asks the horse. "Can you climb out? Come out, while it's not so deep."
The horse doesn't move. Richard goes into the house, grabs a jelly donut, and goes back to the horse. Richard holds the donut out; the horse sniffs the air in his direction, takes a half step towards the donut, and then won't put his foot down. Richard throws the donut into the hole. The horse snorts.
"He doesn't want to come out," Richard says to Cecelia.
"A horse in a hole is like a salt shaker in a coffee cup," Cecelia says. "It makes no sense."
The horse got into the hole, he must know how to get out of the hole. Richard can't call 911 again — they'll think he's a freak. He goes back to the window. Now there's a coyote standing at the edge of the hole, or at least he thinks it's a coyote. It's standing at the edge of the hole, menacing the horse, and the horse is frightened.
Richard looks around for Cecelia; she's vacuuming in the living room. He picks up his noise-canceling headphones, takes two metal pot lids from the kitchen, and goes back outside, banging the lids together like cymbals, yelling, "Scram. Go away and be gone." The coyote runs.
The horse sighs, flares his lips, blinks at Richard.
"Are you trapped? Can't get yourself out? I'm going to look in the garage and see if there's anything we can use; be right back."
There's a young girl walking down the street, her mouth open. She is in the middle of the street calling out something — he hears only a muffled version. He takes off his headphones.