When Watched by Leopoldine Core Page B

to the bed in his boxers and undershirt. Henry had pale, bony legs and the paunch of a genetically thin man who has overeaten for decades. “Let’s getunder the covers,” he said to Susan but she said nothing, her mouth angrily pursed. He walked to the other side of the bed and peeled the tan blanket back, then climbed in despite Susan, who remained sternly in position, blinking at the ceiling.
    When she finally did take off her clothes and get under the sheets, the same angry, fearful energy kept her eyes bugged. “I can’t sleep,” she said.
    Henry muttered something, then slid right back out of consciousness.
    â€œI keep thinking about the guy at the front desk,” Susan said loudly. “Didn’t he have kind of a
strange
reaction when we said we were in an accident? He looked like he thought it was funny.”
    â€œHe
was
odd,” Henry said, rousing with interest. “He looked a little like the guy that killed the dancer.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œRemember the woman in the East Village who had the terrible roommate who killed her?”
    â€œNo,” Susan said, as icily as she could manage.
    â€œWas it the eighties?” He squinted. “She was a dancer, I remember that. And the guy cut her up and put her in a stew and fed it to the homeless in the park.”
    â€œGod
damn
it, Henry.”
    â€œI remember reading about it in the
Voice
. It was this bald guy that did it.”
    Unable to move her neck, Susan went on staring, with great urgency, at the ceiling. “That’s such a terrible thing to do to the homeless,” she said.
    Henry laughed. “It was a terrible thing to do to that little dancer!”
    Susan’s mouth squirmed as she animated the crime in her mind, eyes shining. “How did they find out?”
    â€œI think there was a finger in the soup.”
    She groaned.
    â€œAnd later on they found other parts of her in the apartment,” Henry continued. “
Feet
perhaps,” he said and Susan could hear the strange look of glee on his face. “And I think the homeless were blamed,” he said. “As if they were somehow complicit by eating the soup.”
    Now engrossed in visualizing the stew, red-brown and bobbing with human meat, Susan had stopped blinking altogether. Henry still experienced her as a void. It actually relaxed him. “There are people who can be served anything,” he said. “Because they’ll
eat
anything.”
    Susan was quiet a second. “I would never come back from that,” she said, a frost of revulsion in her eyes. “From eating someone I mean.”
    â€œMaybe you have,” he said and yawned.
    â€œOh for God’s
sake
.”
    â€œWell there’s really no way of knowing,” he said casually, sleepiness dulling his features once more. “And it’s good that we don’t know all the things we’ve consumed. It’s the
knowing
that drives people nuts.”
    They were quiet for a while. Henry had his eyes closed. Susan stared brightly at the ceiling, her eyes drilling through it. “Henry,” she said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep.” But he was already gone.
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    In the morning their necks hurt even more. Susan could barely sit up. After much complaining, they went downstairs and ate the complimentary scrambled eggs.
    â€œUgh. This was made in the microwave,” Susan said, chewing. “I can tell.”
    They each drank two cups of the weak, tawny coffee, then put their coats on and walked out into the parking lot.
    The roads had been plowed. The van looked
okay
, they agreed, brushing snow away, except for a deep scratch on one side. Susan ran her finger over it. “I’m driving,” she said with a hostile glance and Henry said nothing. It was his way of agreeing.
    They packed their things and drank more of the pale coffee, then bid farewell to