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After breakfast, Dorothy went out as the bag lady to explore the neighborhood and to confirm to herself that she was still invisible. For a few hours she plodded along, pushing her home away from home. She hummed. She cataloged which shops were where as she zigzagged from block to block, covering every street and alley in the area. There are more varied smells in Brooklyn than the Upper West Side. Some worse. Many better. Lots of varied home cooked aromas wafting out of apartments. I especially like the scent of freshly washed clothes drying on lines strung in alleys. Washing clothes may be drudgery, but the washed clothes themselves convey family and caring. And optimism that the future is worth some effort to prepare for. A civilized sniff.
She liked the food and produce shops, especially the ones specializing in foreign food. Those, like her, were invisible to most Americans. And she was invisible to them. So they posed no threat to her. And she loved the exotic food. It’s got feeling. Thousands of years of feeling behind oriental and Indian food. Not like American food. No feeling. No sensitivity.
But she kept her distance from pharmacies. Sick people went there. And medical doctors. Both noticed her and might think she was sick. Worse, she wasn’t invisible to them. I’m not sick. They’re the ones who are sick. And they’re in pain, and that hurts. They did this to me. They terrify me, they hurt me, and that makes me furious.
And bookstores. She loved bookstores. But she had to avoid them because one of her students might come in and see her. Damn the world for doing this to me. I want to browse real books in my hand, not just on my computer. I feel real books. And they feel me. Not like damn people.
She liked looking in the windows of computer and electronics stores. Especially the rare electronic surplus stores. Oh the magic I can perform with electronics, all based on waves. Beautiful, magical waves. But she didn’t go in because, of course, she was a bag lady.
It’s a beautiful morning to wander, she thought. The air was cool and fresh. She stopped and sat a few times to check her email using an anonymizer on whatever wifi network she could access. The students and faculty at the university were trying to reach her. But she didn’t answer. She exchanged a couple of emails with Bodin.
Once she heard a faint buzz like a mechanical bee. She glanced up and saw a toy radio-controlled quadcopter flying high over the street. Maybe looking for me? Doesn’t matter. I’m invisible. Her head and tablet stayed hidden behind her large straw hat. Toward lunchtime she headed back toward her apartment, feeling her stomach gurgle, and constructing a sandwich in her head. I’ll call the deli and pay online. They deliver.
Not much traffic. Not many pedestrians. Walking alone is relaxing.
Midway down the block she reached an alley at the same time as four men in business suits, all coming from different directions. They seemed to coalesce out of nowhere into a wall of three-piece suits. It was like she had fallen into a vat of large accountants. A brief blur of pinstripe fabric and tasteful ties, a brief sense of floating as she was lifted and carried as if by a wave at the beach, and she found herself placed on a soft mattress on the floor of a van parked in the alley.
It’s all over, she thought. How’d they find me? What’d I do wrong? Then a wave of abject relief washed through her. I’m going to die. Thank God.
They placed the trash bags from her home away from home around her, and the van started to drive away.
The entire ten seconds that elapsed was perfect in execution. It was a work of art. It’s such a joy to watch craftsmen at work, she thought.
She looked at her trash bags at her feet and thought, They brought my home. I’m going to die at home.
Deep, hidden tension washed away. The anti-selfness of denial washed away. Slashing shards of fear and anger washed away. Decades of tortured loneliness washed away. Self-hatred washed away. Then she felt a penetrating amazement at such liberating relief at her imminent death.
So this is what breakthrough feels like.
When she tried to thank her captors for being so gentle and professional, she found she couldn’t. She could feel duct tape on her mouth, and she didn’t know how it got there. Her arms and legs were, similarly, surprisingly immobile. Yet the process had been so smooth and effortless. So she just nodded to them. She hoped they could see the thankfulness in her eyes. Thank you for letting me have this last beautiful morning. Then she closed her eyes, silently cried, and watched her math flash through her memory while she savored the release of unstoppable death.
An hour later, still driving far from the city, she thought: Don’t let this drag on much longer, guys, you’re spoiling the mood.
An hour still later. “Looks like we don’t need to tape her mouth,” said the Colonel to one of his men, who gently removed the tape.
Irked, Dorothy sat up on the mattress and said, “Kill me or feed me. I’ve spent enough time thinking about dying so, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d prefer lunch. And I’ll need a rest stop soon.”
“We have sandwiches,” said the Colonel, “And a chemical camping toilet with us. We’ll pull off the highway. We can’t let you out, but we’ll hold up a blanket for a curtain to give you some privacy back there. Chicken, ham, or roasted veggies?”
“No pastrami or corned beef? You were in Brooklyn and you didn’t get pastrami or corned beef? Idiots! On the other hand, you’re unusually polite for kidnappers. Chicken, please.”
“Sorry, no pastrami or corned beef. You’re unusually valuable for a college professor. Fruit juice or soda?” He handed her a sandwich. She took it, though her wrists were taped together.
“Perhaps you can tell me why I’m so valuable? I’ve never been this popular before. Apple juice if you have it.”
“I wish I knew. But I intend to find out. How ‘bout we work together to find out?”
“So you can sell me for the highest possible price?” Dorothy took a big bite from her sandwich.
“Pretty much, yes. I’ll give you this, though, I won’t sell you to anyone who’ll hurt you.”
Dorothy chewed thoughtfully. “To tell you the truth, that’s the best offer I’ve had in two days. I’ll take it. Just watch out for Saudis. They want me dead. Dunno why. They dunno why either. At least, not the grunts.”
She ate. And studied the Colonel, who studied her in return. She said, “I saw you yesterday. Scared the living shit out of me.”
“Sorry.”
“How did you ... ?”
“Your eyes. Not many people have your color.”
“Damn! Shoulda wore sunglasses. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Then all you had to look for was a straw hat the size of Connecticut.”
He nodded. “You haven’t asked where we’re going.”
“I’m a prisoner. Does it matter? A big city where you can take me out to dinner, or shopping? Or a vacation spot for strolls on the beach?”
“I guess you’re right. From your perspective it doesn’t matter. But I’m taking you to a getaway house we rented for the summer on Lake Champlain. It’s comfortable and defensible.”
“Which side of the lake? Vermont or New York?”
“Vermont.”
“Good. I like Vermont. Now, about that rest stop.”