Stories: All-New Tales - By Neil Gaiman & Al Sarrantonio Page 0,127

I’m part of a curse.”

I slowly uncrossed my arms and then didn’t know what to do with them. “What do you mean, you’re cursed?” My voice sounded both skeptical and desperate at the same time. How useless your hands and voice are at moments like that. They’re all just in the way; none of them knows what to do or how to behave in a crisis that’s suddenly dropped on you in the form of one word—like “cursed,” or “dead,” or “cancer.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m part of a curse. But I guess in some ways I am because of the role I play in this.

“Lamiya said that after I returned to America I’d get pregnant, which I have. But my child will be cursed to live exactly the same life as its father whether it wants to or not. Only some unimportant details will be different.” She stopped and said nothing else but continued staring straight at me. I think she was letting her words sink in.

“She didn’t say who the father would be?”

“No, she wouldn’t. She said whoever made me pregnant, they’d be the one carrying the curse.”

“So that could be me too, Ava.”

“Yes it could, you’re right. We’ll find out with a DNA test, but I wanted to talk to you first before I did it. You’re obviously a big part of this.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said cynically and meanly, although I didn’t want to. I never wanted to be mean to her, but why was she telling me this now? Why not before?

More silence.

“I love you Ava, but this is nuts, absolutely nuts. It sounds like one of the Arabian Nights—the silent child, a djelloum, a curse…How can you know it’s true?”

“Because of the things that have happened since I saw her. Things Lamiya said would happen. Every single one of them has taken place: the pregnancy, my affair with Eamon, and most of all you.”

“What do you mean, me?”

At that moment the washing machine that had been chugging along in the background chose to ping and stop. Ava went silent and didn’t look like she was going to answer my question anytime soon. I made a face and walked across the room to get the laundry. Opening the door to the machine, I bent down to pull the wet wash out.

“Ava?”

“What?”

“Your washing machine is full of letters.” I pulled out a large white wet K and laid it across my palm. After looking at it, I held it up for her to see. About ten inches long, it appeared to be made of wet cloth. I looked in the machine again and saw that instead of clothes, it was full of a droopy pile of wet capital block letters.

Ava did not seem surprised. In fact, she nodded when I held up the K.

“I put them in there.”

“You put them—where’s our laundry?”

“In the bathroom.”

“But why? Why did you do that? What are they? What are they for?”

“Take out four more. Don’t look at which ones—just reach in and take out four. I’ll tell you why when you’re done.”

I wanted to say something but didn’t. Reaching into the washing machine, I plunged my hand into the large, soft, wet heap of cloth letters like I was choosing numbers for bingo. When I had four, Ava told me to lay them out together on the floor so that they spelled something. The letters were K, V, Q, R, and O.

“They can’t spell anything because there’s only one vowel.”

She was far enough away so she couldn’t see what they were. “Tell me which ones you chose.”

“K, V, Q, R, and O.”

She slapped both hands down on her lap. “Those were the same letters Eamon chose.”

“What? Eamon did this too? You also had him take wet letters out of the washing machine?” I realized my voice was way up there, close to shouting.

“Yes, it was a test for both of you. I knew what the answer was going to be, but I had to do it anyway.” The tone of her voice said this was no big deal—why was I making such a fuss?

A test using wet letters from the washing machine? Eamon had done it too? The silent child. A Yit. A curse. For the first time in all the years I had known her, I looked at Ava now like she might be the enemy.

“DO YOU THINK AVA’S CRAZY?”

“Of course she’s crazy. Why do you think I left her?”

“You left her? She said it was just the