Belly of the Beast (3 page)

Tex kept talking as the second Valium took full effect. The plane climbed through clouds, and everything familiar faded away. Niki stared blankly out the little window. She jotted a few notes in her notebook about not being able to sleep. Tex talked about annoying passengers on other flights, and the sun snuck above the horizon. The flight attendant drifted by, then buckled herself in for landing.

As the plane descended, sunlight lit a colored web of crazed Plexiglas by Niki’s head. She remembered a spider web high on the old cottonwood by the rusted camp trailer where she had lived with her mother. She remembered her mother pacing below, puffs of red dirt rising at her feet. “Get down here,” she had demanded. “We have to move.” To Niki, that didn’t seem reason for her mother to drown the kittens. She had climbed the tree to rescue the one that had gotten away. “I’m not going,” Niki yelled back. The kitten crawled out a small branch. “You’re fourteen, you have to go.” “No,” Niki yelled again. A car turned from the highway onto the rutted road that led to the trailer. Niki watched her mother grab her backpack and sprint for a grove of trees. Niki reached for the kitten, realizing too late that she had gone too far. A loud crack filled the morning air.

Niki’s eyes flew open.

“It’s the landing gear,” said Tex. “I hope it locked. There was a plane landing at Houston when . . .”

Niki felt herself falling.

The jolt of landing plastered Niki’s anxiety against her frontal lobe. Frantically she fumbled with another pill.

“You’d better go easy on those,” said Tex, “My third
wife . . .”

Niki turned back to the window. A least they were on the ground. She put the last two pills back in her pocket.

“Welcome to Stapleton International Airport,” said the reaper. “Please stay seated until . . .”

The plane rolled forever. When it finally stopped, Niki was the first to stand.

“I understand why flying scares you,” said Tex. “I see you’ve got another flight?” Niki’s ticket stuck from her breast pocket in front of Tex’s face. “San Francisco? Me too. We’ll never make it. Better tuck in that little ticket or you’ll lose it.”

 “I don’t always lose stuff.” Niki tucked in the ticket. “And what do you mean we’ll never make it?”

“We’re fifteen minutes late. Didn’t you hear the attendant? Customer Service will book you for a later flight—if they’re not all full—or canceled.”

Snowflakes fluttered into the plane as the reaper popped open the door.

“Sorry about the weather,” she said with a smile. “Have a nice day.”

Niki stepped outside and drew a deep breath. She followed other passengers to a door but stopped short of it.

“You can’t stay here,” said a baggage handler. He opened the door for Niki, then watched until it shut behind her.

Niki brushed snow from her jacket.
What now
? she thought.

“You can’t stay here,” said an airline agent. She pointed. “The main terminal is that way.”

“Where do I get my backpack?”

“Main terminal. Follow the signs to
Baggage
.”

Niki’s pack was not on the carousel of baggage from Flight 6042.

“Your ticket says San Francisco,” said a baggage worker. “That’s where you pick up your pack, but I don’t see a claim check.”

“I must have it somewhere.”

The worker tapped his watch. “You’ve already missed your flight. There’s a customer service counter on the B concourse.”

“The next flight is full,” said an overweight woman at the service counter, “but look how lucky you are. There’s space on flight 721 at 11:20. You can have a lovely breakfast here, a nice lunch on the plane, and dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf.”

Though she hadn’t eaten, Niki was not hungry. She found her gate, sat down, and fell asleep.

“United Flight 721 now boarding for San Francisco,” blared the PA.

Tex tapped Niki’s shoulder. “Our plane’s boarding.”

Niki took a moment to realize where she was. “I don’t even remember sitting down.”

“Now boarding rows thirty and higher.”

Niki looked at her ticket: 36 D.

“That’s you,” said Tex. “Time to board.”

Niki pulled out her Valium

“Those will make you sleepy,” said Tex.

“I’m fine.” Niki took another pill and stepped in line. Tex went to the gate counter.

The plane was spacious, but Niki knew Valium was the real comfort. She wondered if she could get more in San Francisco, perhaps at the hospital. Maybe a stronger dose. As a nurse’s aide, she knew her way around hospitals.
Why haven’t I tried these before? How many do I have left?

Niki found her seat, sat down, and closed her eyes.
I’ll be okay,
she said to herself.

“You’ll be okay,” echoed a voice in Niki’s memory. It was Christina. After Niki’s fall from the cottonwood tree, Christina had loaded her into the ambulance. “I’m going to take care of you,” she had said, and she did. Christina checked on Niki every day at the hospital, took care of the kitten, and tried, unsuccessfully, to find Niki’s mother and the man who had called the ambulance.

When Niki was released, Christina lent her money. “Help someone else when you get the chance,” she said. Niki waited tables to pay her back, then took medical technician courses to get a job like Christina’s. Niki idolized the woman, but had lost touch with her.

I have to tell her about Alex
, thought Niki. She opened her notebook and flipped to a blank page.

“What a coincidence. We’re almost seat mates.”

Niki slammed her book shut.
Great, more crash statistics.

 “Actually, I changed seats. Scared as you were, I thought you might need some comfort. They gave me that window seat.” He pointed past Niki. “If you’d like to switch—”

Niki glanced at the low overhead by the tiny window. “I like the aisle, thank you.” She tucked her knees and let Tex pass.

“They didn’t tell me the middle seat was empty. Won’t this be cozy?”

“I like to spread out,” said Niki as she moved her coat from her lap to the seat.

“Window’s fine.” Tex took off his hat and sat. “You probably think I’m from Texas with my name and all, but I live in Omaha. Fertilizer sales.”

“That explains the boots.”

“Nitrates. Best salesman of the month, April ’86. You seem to have perked up.”

Niki nodded.

Tex arranged his stuff: faux leather briefcase on the floor, Stetson hat and the
Denver Post
on his side of the middle seat, and a Louis L’Amour novel in the seatback pocket.

“You’ve got to keep organized or you’ll lose stuff,” he said.

I don’t lose stuff.
Niki wondered if Rob had sent out an All-Points Bulletin announcing that she had
misplaced
her keys. She never should have told him about the second time when the locksmith had had to redo the locks.

“Hot women keep me crazy.”

“Beg your pardon?”

Tex pulled out a pocket watch. “The first letter of each word. H W K M C. Hat, watch, keys, money, coat. Things I forget. I always say, ‘Hot women keep me crazy,’ to make sure I have everything. Seems my system could help you, little lady.”

“No thanks. I do just fine with my own system.” Niki had no system, but she sorted her stuff as if she did. She packed her return ticket with the twenties in her purse and tucked it into the seatback pocket, straightened her coat on the middle seat, and opened her notebook on her lap.

Tex looked over, then tapped his newspaper. “This sure makes me nervous, but I suppose its good news for you.”

“Pardon?”

Tex underlined the
Post
headline with his finger.
RUSSIA TO SUCCEED SOVIET UNION AS NUCLEAR POWER
.

Niki rolled her eyes toward the fertilizer salesman. “And why ever would you think that would make me feel good?”

“No offense or anything, but I noticed that you are Russian.”

Niki snorted. “I’m no more Russian than you’re Texan.”

Tex reached over and pointed at Niki’s notebook, then whispered, “Sorry, are you on a mission or something?”

“What?”

“I couldn’t help notice the Russian writing,” whispered Tex.

Niki laughed and finally relaxed. “My mother was a language teacher. She made me keep a journal to learn Russian. I never stopped.”

Tex smiled back. “So, is it true what I heard about Russian women being, you know, liberal?”

“I don’t talk politics.”

“Sorry, guess I got carried away, you being so attractive. Say, did you know that plane that crashed in Colorado Springs eight months ago had a woman co-pilot? It was a 737 just like this. They say the pilot crashed it on purpose because he had a fight with his ex-wife, the co-pilot herself. I don’t have a biased bone in my body, but I do not think women should fly airplanes.”

Niki smiled again. “I see why you are so nervous with two women flying this time bomb.”

“Two?”

“I saw them in the airport women’s room dressed proper in their officer’s uniforms but quarreling like ex-lovers. Do you know if they are going to serve lunch soon? I’m starving.”

Tex didn’t answer.

Niki closed her eyes, smiled to herself, and barely remembered the plane being pushed back from the gate. A dream broke her smile as it wove together pieces of her worst memories—the kitten falling, a child trapped under water, a big man slamming her to the ground.

Two and a half hours later, her nightmare ended sharply. Like spiders attacking, oxygen masks popped out of the ceiling and dangled. Several passengers shrieked. A flight attendant dashed down the aisle.

“This is the captain,” squawked the intercom. “Stay calm. We’re experiencing a malfunction with cabin pressure, so we’re going to descend to ten thousand feet. The oxygen masks are just a precaution, but follow the flight attendants’ instructions.”

“We’re going down,” said Tex as he fumbled with his mask, “and I’m five rows from the exit. I never should have changed seats. I always book seats by the exit.”

Niki pushed her mask aside and pulled out her pill bag. Surprised that she only had one Valium left, she put it back.

 “You have to put that mask on,” said a flight attendant as she removed an uneaten plate of food from Niki’s tray.

Niki shook her head. “I can’t put that on.”

The attendant nodded. “I know,” she whispered. “I can’t stand the thought that someone else might have breathed through it. Just leave it off. We’re going down fast.”

Niki heard Tex suck in air.

“Well, folks,” the captain said shortly, “we’re below ten thousand feet so you can breathe normally, and our little problem put us first in line to land, but the foggy city is true to its name. If SFO doesn’t open up soon, we’ll have to divert to Los Angeles, but we really don’t want to do that because we can’t fly above turbulence. Just hope that SFO opens while you sit back and relax.”

Niki pulled out her last pill. “These are all I’ve eaten since yesterday.”

Tex shrugged. “I told the attendant to leave that plate for you, but it’s gone now.”

Niki swallowed the Valium dry.

“Wine or beer?” asked the flight attendant. “Compliments of United.”

When Flight 721 finally rolled to a stop, Niki didn’t. Walls moved, voices distant, faces in and out of focus. Tex led her to the to the baggage carousels, but kept his distance. His bag arrived, Niki’s didn’t.

“Sounds like you gate checked your pack,” explained a baggage handler. “You should have picked it up when you got off the plane in Denver. Where’s your check stub?”

Niki reached for her purse. It was nowhere. Eyes wide, she vaguely remembered placing her purse in the seatback pocket. “I’ve got to get back to the plane.”

“Your plane is rolling to the maintenance center,” said the agent back at the arrival gate. “It will be a while before we can get someone from cleaning into it. Did you fill out a lost and found slip at Customer Service in the baggage area?”

Niki staggered back to baggage and struggled through the lost items form while the service agent rolled her eyes. “When the plane had trouble, the drinks were free,” Niki offered as a defense. “But I only had one.”

At least the hotel is prepaid,
thought Niki. She remembered the twenty dollars in her pocket, the one Tex had picked up for her. She felt for it, thanked God it was still there, and put it in the envelope with Alex’s picture.

Outside, she walked along a line of yellow taxis. A foghorn echoed in the distance, jetliners whined somewhere above. Cold rain dripped down her neck.

“Taxi, lady?”

“I need to get to my hotel.”

“Sure thing. Which one?”

Niki got out her notebook. “I didn’t lose my notebook.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I’ve got the name here.” She opened her notebook.

The driver glanced at it. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

“Sorry. Wrong page.” Niki flipped to the first page where she had written the addresses in English.

The driver glanced at it. “The Sinbad on Lombard. I thought they tore that place down.”

“I hope not.”

“Long trip?” the cabbie asked as he negotiated the highway up the coast.

Niki nodded. “I had to take some ...”

“Sixteen fifty.”

Niki shook herself awake. “What?”

“Eighteen fifty with a tip,” the cabbie said holding the door open. “That’s your hotel.”

Beige paint peeled from the weathered clapboards of a three-story building that seemed old enough to have survived the Great Fire and looked prime for the next. A rusted fire escape hung ominously down the front.

“Eighteen dollars for the taxi? It’s so expensive.”

“You ain’t in Kansas, lady.”

 “I’m from Colorado. I left my purse on the plane. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Look I’ve already been stiffed twice this month. I’m not a one-man charity.”

“I have twenty dollars. I was going to buy breakfast, then I fell asleep and—”

“All I need is sixteen-fifty. Forget the tip.”

Niki pulled the twenty-dollar bill from the envelope, and Alex’s picture came with it. She gasped as it fluttered to the gutter.

The cabbie grabbed it and wiped off the muddy water. “Your boy?”

Niki fought back tears. “It’s the only photo I have left. The rest were in my—”

“Purse?”

“Backpack. I lost it too.” Niki took back the photo. “He’s got—” she began but could not finish.

“Cancer? I saw the address for that children’s oncology hospital in your book.”

Niki nodded. “Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He needs a bone marrow transplant. They tested his father and me, but we weren’t good enough matches. Then they tested his aunt and her—”

The cabbie cleared his throat and closed Niki’s hand back on the twenty. “I just realized you’re my ten thousandth customer. You ride free. Merry Christmas.”

The Sinbad was as old inside as out. The lobby carpet had been worn by a century of travelers searching for adventure, opportunity, a night out of the rain, or just a half hour of comfort.

The desk clerk eyed Niki as she stepped the counter. “Day rate or hourly?”

“I have a reservation, Niki Michaels, it’s prepaid.”

“Sorry, no Michaels.”

“But Rob said—”

“Rob Wright from Colorado?”

Niki nodded.

“We’ve got a problem with his credit card. I’ll need some other form of payment, like cash.”

“I just lost my purse.”

A guttural sound slipped from the man’s throat. “Right.”

“I’m supposed to check back with the airline in a while to see if they found it. My pack is lost too. Look, I need some sleep.”

The clerk checked his watch. “The manager should be back in an hour, check back about four-thirty.”

“Is there a phone I can use?”

“There’s a pay phone on the floor—but you can’t go up until you check in.” The clerk pointed to a chair by a dusty plastic palm. “You can wait for the manager there if you want.”

Niki noted a toothless man on the other side of the palm squeeze the last smoke from a cigarette stub. “I think I’ll clear my head outside,” she said.

“Suit yourself.”

Back on Lombard Street, a light breeze carried rain, fog, and the smell of fish from the bay. There was no comfort in any of it. Niki wished she were home, but even though the drugs fogged her mind, she knew she could not give up. She’d go to the hospital and convince them to try harder. They’d find a donor, and Alex’s leukemia would be cured. She pictured him skiing down the street, suddenly shook her head, and realized how screwed up she was.

“I have to clear my head,” Niki said out loud. She started walking.

After cautiously circling the hotel for half an hour, Niki turned up a steep cross street. Tidy houses lined the way, their ornate bay windows looking hopefully toward a blank seascape; at her feet a rag doll flopped along with the gutter water.

As the alcohol and Valium wore off, Niki realized she’d be that rag doll if she weren’t careful.
I have to get organized. I’ll check with the airline and get my stuff, then call Rob, find out how Alex is, and apologize. Maybe Rob can send me more money. I’ll pay him back, and the two-hundred dollars too. I’ve got to find the hospital. Maybe the airline found my purse.

At the crest of a hill, a glass phone booth sat next to a signpost. Niki stepped inside before remembering she had no change. She stepped back to the rain and banged the post in frustration. A street sign rattled above, dripping water on Niki’s head.

Niki glared at it. Broadway and Divisadero—Divisadero sounded familiar. Niki opened her notebook.
1600 Divisadero. UCSF Children’s Hospital, Oncology.

Niki descended the steep sidewalk along Divisadero. After three blocks she saw a white H on a blue sign. Rain soaked through her jacket and wet her cotton blouse, but it didn’t matter. She was getting close. She was going to save Alex.

Five blocks more and the first five stories of the UCSF Children’s Hospital appeared like a hazy picture of some beach resort. Round balconies and lacy ironwork poked into the fog. Everything was white, dreamlike, a temple of hope.

An electric bus whizzed by, sparks flying from the overhead cable, wheels thumping a pothole. A sheet of muddy water hit Niki waist high and ran down her beige chinos. Niki closed her eyes and wept.
What else can go wrong?
Then she remembered going to the hospital was not about her.

Niki stepped to the entrance, but paused again. Rain soaked her jacket, mud streaked her pants, remnants of the wine and Valium pounded through her head. The automatic doors opened, then shut, opened again, then shut.

It looked warm inside, but Niki stayed in the cold.
I need to make a good impression if I am to be heard. I need to clean up. I need to get some change and call the airline. I’ve got to call Rob.

Niki turned and walked back toward the top of Divisadero Street, not so fast now, thinking about finding a donor, wishing she had been a match, wishing Rob or his sister had been a match, wishing—

Those were the days, my friend,
drifted across the sidewalk.

Niki stopped. Her mother used to sing that song in Russian.

“You like our music?” asked a man in a doorway. He drew heavily on a cigarette stub held between his thumb and forefinger. A small Cyrillic sign in the window beside him said
Russian Reading Room.

Nike stood locked in her own thoughts. After she was deserted as a child, Niki convinced herself that her mother was dead. She had to be, otherwise she would have come back. But many years later, Niki received a letter saying her mother was in San Mateo. Then she wished her mother really were dead. At the very least, she never wanted to see her again. The desperate search of a bone marrow donor changed that, but a fruitless search brought Niki back to believing her mother was dead. Niki couldn’t bear the thought of trying to resurrect her again, but Rob’s parting words caught up with her.
He’s my son too
. Niki knew her mother was the most likely donor match for Alex. All the stones had not been turned.

The music stopped.

“You’re Russian?” Niki asked the man in the doorway.

“Maybe yes. Maybe no. For what does it matter?”

“For nothing. I just thought—it’s nothing.”

The man dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk and twisted his foot on it. “What is nothing? You stare like owl five minutes then talk riddles.”

Niki drew in a deep breath. “It seems there is a Russian community here. I just wondered how someone would find someone—if that someone was Russian.”

“Someone might look in phone book.”

“She’s not listed. I don’t know if she’s even alive.”

“She? You narrow search to half. For dead person, I look in cemetery. For live person, I go to Soviet Consulate. They know too much everything.”

“How would someone find this Soviet Consulate?”

The man pointed. “Two blocks. Six story brick. Someone could not miss it. Got a cigarette?”

“Sorry, someone doesn’t smoke. Got change for a twenty? I need to make some phone calls.”

The man shrugged. “Would I ask cigarettes if I had twenty dollars?”

Niki dreaded the thought of finding her mother, but it would be the best thing she could do for Alex. She walked toward the consulate.
It couldn’t hurt to ask someone. Maybe I could call the airline from there too.

Part of the consulate building emerged from the fog, a fortress entrenched in the steep hillside. An iron fence ran along its front on Green Street. The windows were mirrored and covered with bars. By the entry gate, the cold bronze of a sickle and hammer dripped water to a sign.
Russian
was handwritten over
Soviet
on the Soviet Consulate sign. Niki stared.

Russia, America’s symbol of all that was wrong with the world
loomed ominously. Niki reconsidered what she was doing.
He’s my son too,
echoed again.

Niki tried the gate. Locked.
There must be another entrance.
She followed the building around the corner down Baker Street. A hedge separated the sidewalk from the road, but nothing stood between Niki and the concrete wall of the embassy. Niki looked about, then stepped to the only window at eye level and pressed her face to the cold bars. Water dripped down her neck.

A voice cut the air like razor wire. “What are you do?”

Niki spun to face a man dressed in a gray overcoat, eyebrows thick, wrinkles set hard and deep, a bulbous nose red with capillaries, and a wire from his pocket leading to a small ear phone stuck in his left ear.

“
Nechevoh
,” Niki replied instinctively to the heavily accented voice, then quickly corrected herself in English. “Nothing. I’m looking for my mother.”

A steel tooth flashed. “You know Russian, but you are not Russian.”

“I think my mother is Russian. I thought someone here might know where she is.”