A Measure of Blood by Kathleen George Page B

Frankfurt business-class lounge is humming with people, and there are used plates and glasses on most surfaces. It’s like a well-appointed bus station with upscale clients, each with a laptop. Arthur wanders around to look at the available foods—good German breads and spreads. Good coffee. Jan pulls out her computer. When she gets a connection, she quickly logs in to her email.
    Soon, Arthur is walking back toward their seats with plates of sandwiches and sweet rolls for both of them. He settles, looking for a place to put down their plates among the leavings of other travelers.
    First she types in a message to Marina. You probably know by now we’re going to try to get Matthew. I just got this idea to put Matt in the play. He’s going to be disoriented and grieving. It might help him to have something to look forward to. I need to be with him as much as possible, and what do I do about the fact of needing to be in rehearsals every night? So if I let him come to rehearsals and work with me … don’t you think that might be good? I have this idea to actualize the changeling child. You’ll have a scene with him then—a moment—a falling in love kind of moment. Or a being in love. What do you think? I have to do some other emails. More later. Jan
    People are franticly typing on laptops or talking on phones, gulping food. Anxiety everywhere …
    Arthur hands her a plate of food. Brown bread with some kind of fish salad on it.
    She imagines Matt traveling with them, holding on to them, trying the food, liking it.

3.
    Monday
    NADAL IS AWAKENED BY THE PHONE. He rolls over, confused, ignoring the phone and then it stops. Suddenly he remembers yesterday and he comes fully awake. His heart pounds unmercifully.
    He’s worried the ringing phone has bothered the others. His roommates—there are three of them—are Korean. He’s money in the bank for them—his room is not a room, just a space meant to be storage or something. The bed barely fits. His choice though because he likes to be alone. He’s not on the lease. He’s their spending money.
    They sleep in one bedroom while he has this other (very tiny) room to himself.
    The phone begins ringing again. This time he answers. It’s his mother.
    â€œDal?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI thought you weren’t there. I thought you didn’t make it.”
    â€œI was sleeping .”
    â€œI’m so sorry. It’s just that I’ve been up.”
    â€œDoing what?”
    â€œWorrying about you. Watching TV.”
    Does she know? It’s as if she knows.
    â€œWatching the news. There was a terrible murder in Pittsburgh. A nice woman in a good neighborhood. Just like that. Home on a Sunday and somebody comes in and kills her. It gives me the shivers. Are you still there?”
    â€œI’m here.” He waits.
    â€œJust a woman with a young son. Same name as ours. It was very upsetting to hear about.”
    â€œWell, Mom, I have to go to work. Good thing you got me up. I don’t want to lose my job.”
    â€œNo, no. Don’t lose your job.”
    When classes begin later this week, he will have only one and that one meets once a week. His mother thinks he’s in graduate school, which is what he told her because she worships the whole university-intellect-learning thing. But he has only one class—to test him for provisional admission to the graduate program in computer science. He told his mother another lie—that he has an assistantship, when it’s just a plain old job in the computer lab, answering desperate people’s questions about what is wrong with their computers.
    He knows a good bit, but not as much as some of the other computer consultants do. He has one very good answer for many inquiries. “Have you shut it down and restarted?”
    He tiptoes to the bathroom and turns on the shower. He wishes his mother hadn’t jarred him to consciousness.