The Descent

'We have  all  the  necessary  permits,'  she  explained  quite  evenly.  She  said  it  directly to the officer. 'Out in our car, permits, understand? Passports. Documents.'

'Please you put on floor,' Mr Li  repeated  very  softly.  He  pointed  at  her  baby.  'That,'

he said, as if it were  a dirty  thing.

Holly Ann despised him. Despised China. Despised the God that allowed such things.

'She,' said Holly Ann. 'This girl goes with me.'

'Not good,' Mr Li softly pleaded.

'She will die otherwise.'

'Yes.'

'Holly Ann?' Wade loomed behind her.

'It's a baby,  Wade. Our  baby.  I  found  her.  On  a  pile  of  garbage.  And  now  they  want to kill her.' Holly Ann felt the infant stirring. The  tiny fingernails pulled at her blouse.

'A baby?'

'No,' Mr Li said.

'I'm taking her home with us.'

Mr Li shook his head emphatically.

'Give them the money,' she instructed him.

Wade blustered  foolishly. 'We're American citizens. You did tell them, didn't you?'

'This isn't for you,' Mr Li said. 'It's a trade.  This for that.'

She could feel  the  infant's  hunger,  miniature  lips  groping  for  a  nipple.  'A  trade?'  she demanded. 'Who are you trading with?'

Mr Li glanced nervously  at the soldiers.

'Who?' she insisted.

Mr Li pointed at the ground. Through it. 'Them.' Holly Ann felt faint. 'What?'

'Our babies. Their  babies. Trade.' The  infant made a tiny sound.

Over  Mr  Li's  shoulder,  Holly  Ann  saw  the  officer  aiming  his  gun.  She  saw  a  puff  of color spit from the barrel.

Holly Ann barely  felt the bullet.  Her  fall  to  earth  was  more  like  floating.  All  the  way down, she held the child in safety.

Above  her, violent shadows thundered. More guns went off. Her name roared out. She  smiled  and  rested  her  head  gently  against  the  bundle  at  her  shoulder.  Little

no-name.  No-luck.  I  belong  to  you.  Before  they  could  reach  her,  Holly  Ann  did  the only  thing  left  to  do.  She  unveiled  the  daughter  China  had  refused.  Time  to  say good-bye.

In her search around the world  for  a  child,  Holly  Ann  had  seen  babies  of  every  race and color. Her search had changed her forever,  she  thought.  Black  eyes  or  blue,  kinky hair or straight, chocolate skin or yellow or brown or white, crooked, blind, or  straight: none of that mattered.

As  she   opened  the   sweater   wrapping   the   baby,   Holly   Ann   fully   expected   to recognize  her  common  humanity  in  this  tiny  being.  Every  infant  was  a  chalice.  That was her conviction. Until now.

Even dying, Holly Ann was able to kick the thing away  from her.

Oh God, she cursed, and closed her eyes.

A  sound  like  giants  walking  wakened  her.  She  looked.  It  was  not  footsteps,  but  the old man carefully planting one shot at a time as he tracked  the foundling.

Finally it was done. And she was glad.

...nature hath adapted the eyes of the Lilliputians to all objects proper for their view...

– JONATHAN SWIFT, Gulliver's Travels

12

ANIMALS

The July Tunnels

In a gut of coiled granite, the mortal fed.

The  meat  was  still  warm  from  life.  It  was  more  than  food,  less  than  sacrament. Flesh  is  a  landmark,  if  you  know  its  flavor.  The  trick  was  setting  your  clock,  so  to speak, then categorically marking the shifts in tone or odor, or changes in  the  skin  and muscle and blood, as you moved through  the  territory.  Memorize  the  particulars,  and you  could  begin  to  orient  yourself  in  a  cartography  based  on  raw  flesh.  In  terms  of taste,  the liver was often most distinct, sometimes the heart.

He  crouched  in  the  pocket  of  darkness  with  this  creature  squeezed  between  his thighs,  the  chest  cavity  opened.  He  rummaged.  Like  a  mariner  finding  north,  he committed  to  memory  the  organs,  their  relative  position  and  size  and  smell.  He sampled different pieces, just a taste.  Palmed  the  skull,  lifted  the  limbs,  ran  his  hands along the limbs.

He'd  never  encountered  a  beast  quite  like  this  one.  Its  uniqueness  did  not  register as  a  new  phylum  or  species.  The  kill  barely  registered  at  the  level  of  language.  And

yet  it  would  permanently  acquaint  him.  He  would  remember  this  creature  in  every detail.

Head held high to listen for intruders, he inserted  his  hands  in  the  animal's  hide  and let his wonder run. He was utterly  respectful.  He  was  a  student,  no  more.  The  animal was his teacher.