The voice is old sounding. A woman is in the hall. I dont anser because I am not Susan and because I am on the kitchen floor on my nees finishing up with the baby—who is a girl by the way. I can not tell you how yucky it all is. Its like the baby exploded. The only clean part of her is her hair. Everything else is going to have to go in the wash or the garbage. I reach into the gym bag for diaper number 4.
Susan is Susan Goyette I gess—this is her house.
Knees not nees.
The lady in the hall says ahem. Shes polite.
I saw the lites on and the broken window and I wondered she says a bit louder.
I wonder what the babys name is? Her hair is soft. Her skin is warmer than it was.
Is everything all rite? asks the lady. Answer me. And what on earth is that smell?
She shows up in the kitchen doorway. I am not surprised by her parka or boots or white hair or rinkles. Im surprised by the rifle tho. She points it at me pretty steddy. A tuff lady.
What are you doing? She starts to say and then stops when she sees the baby and the mess. Its easy to see what I am doing. There are little close and diapers all over the floor.
I say hi and tell her my name and that I am sorry for breaking in. It was an emergency I say—the baby needed help.
So you are not a robber.
Well I did take a can of pasta I say. She smiles and lowers the gun and tells me her name is Katy. With a Y she says witch she doesnt have to because how else am I going to spell it?
Hi Katy I say.
All this time the baby is sleeping and stinking and I am fumbling with diapers and wipes and close. Katy asks do I want any help and I say yes so fast she hasnt finished asking me yet. Yes yes please I say. In about 5 minits she has the baby clean and in a blanket and the dirty close in a washing machine in the basement. She is like a hurricane of busy.
I go to the bathroom and clean up.
What is her name? Katy asks me while the close are washing. We are sitting in the living room.
Who? I ask.
The baby—the little girl with the hair. What is her name?
I dont know I say.
Who is she?
I dont know.
Katy frowns and puffs on her cigaret. She smokes all the time. When she finishes 1 she lites an other 1.
Whats going on Bunny? she asks.
She is smart and tuff and old and full of energy. Can I trust her? Can she help me?
I find myself telling her my story. Not Grampa the wolf but most of the other stuff. The baby close go in the dryer and Im still talking. Katy has her head tilted so the smoke doesnt go into her eyes. When I am done she nods a bit and says good.
Good? I say. Whats good?
You are she says. You are doing the rite thing.
Even tho I dont know whats going on?
Knowing whats going on is over rated she says. You know whats important.
She pats my arm. For all that she is old and smoking like a bonfire she reminds me of Nancy in grade 3. I feel better because of her. The bell dings and the dryer is done.