byNorway , and the people of that country speak with a similar accent."
"I'mHungary ." A sly smile spread across his face.
"Hungarian? I think not." Indeed, East African most likely.
"Yeah, sure am." The boy giggled loudly. "I'm Hungarian for some ice cream."
Had there been a place open, I would have stopped and bought the boy ice cream, but alas, there was no such place. Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the destination, and as the boy unbuckled his seatbelt, I could see a change in him, as if whatever flame burned inside his soul, which hungered for food and thirsted for knowledge, suddenly choked from lack of air.
"Thanks, mister." The boy mustered a brave smile as he got out of the cab and walked toward the dark house. I watched him pound on the door and wait too long before his mother opened the door, then turned around and walked away. The boy waved before disappearing into the darkness behind the closed door.
****
As the week wore on, my distraction decreased, the job successfully providing ample need for mental focus. What Kern had said about March routinely being an excellent cab-driving month finally proved accurate. Earlier in the month, the girls' basketball and boys' wrestling championships had provided such bounty that the Cab Gods were able to take a short respite from their ever-important duties.
And this weekend was the best event of all, the boy's state basketball championship. Kern said this was always the best tournament because of the large volume of visitors and because, for some reason, there was always a blizzard that weekend.
Every single motel in the entire city was full, and true to Kern's prophesy, it did snow, thus offering further encouragement for these geographically confused visitors to take cabs instead of attempting to navigate a bewildering morass of snow-covered streets.
Overall, I earned about $500 in that one week, while still remembering to take my weekly sustenance, which, of course, proved even easier than usual considering the influx of largely befuddled people.
After five extremely hectic nights, it seemed I had earned my rest when Sunday finally arrived. I had planned on rising well after sunset, relaxing with a good book and some good music. It even seemed like a good time to very carefully inspect Nicole's volume of Seutonius, though it would be prudent to let the tome remain secured within its steel box; Tacitus was back on the shelf, butCandide struck me as most appropriate, for it seemed a good time to wax philosophical.
But alas, those best laid plans were dashed when a loud rapping at the door smashed through my slumber, the digital clock reading threePM . I ignored the rapping, but it continued, growing more insistent until I threw the covers aside and answered the door.
It was Nicole.
"I would have hoped you would call first," I said groggily. "I have your book here for you, but you have awoken me from my slumber." Which, of course, was not a pretty sight. Without another word, I plodded toward the bookcase where seemed to have been the last known resting place of her father's book.
She slammed the door shut. "Forget the damn book," she said sharply. "I didn't come here about the goddamned book."
"Why did you come?"
She stood, arms akimbo. "I'm here 'cuz I wanna know just what the fuck is going on, Al."
"I am afraid my mind does not function optimally before sunset. What in the name of Hades are you talking about?"
Nicole craned her neck, glanced at the ceiling and exhaled loudly through her mouth. "We had the annual membership meeting yesterday. Your absence was slightly conspicuous."
"I had no idea attendance was mandatory."
"It isn't." She paced back and forth, arms wrapped tightly about her chest. "You know a driver named Frank Nelson?"
So much for the virtue of inaction. "Just in passing, as it were."
"Well, he seems to know a lot about you, Al. He asked for the floor, then stood up and told everyone you're some kind of monster, some kind of vampire."
Silence was my reply.
"One of you is either lying or crazy," she said. "Or maybe it's both. Which one is it, Al?"
Chapter 9
Diary of a Mad Cabbie
"What the fuck is going on here, Al?"
"You are partially correct," I answered.
"Which part?" she snapped.
"Your mere presence here should provide the answer. One of usis insane, but neither I nor Frank are failing to tell the truth."
Nicole glanced at the door, seeming ready to abandon this entire escapade, but thought better of it. "Look, I want to believe