Turtleface and Beyond by Arthur Bradford Page A

He seemed friendly enough, but we opted not to take our chances there.
    Instead we made our way down the road, me hopping with my arm draped over Lenore’s shoulder for support. After a short distance we arrived at another house, this one less well kept than the old man’s. Lenore knocked on the door and a hefty woman in a smock answered.
    â€œWe got robbed,” said Lenore.
    â€œOut there?” said the woman.
    â€œWe hit a cat,” I explained, “and the owner stole my vehicle.”
    The woman let us inside, shaking her head. Her house smelled of cat urine and there were felines running everywhere.
    â€œThat was Henry who took your car,” she told me. “Me and him don’t interact much.”
    It was like a zoo in there! Cats pranced about on every surface, the shelves, the countertops, the stove. There were plates of stale food sitting on the floor.
    â€œI don’t suppose it was one of your cats I hit?” I asked her.
    â€œIt wasn’t Henry’s,” said the woman. “He has a dog.”
    â€œSome people with dogs have cats,” Lenore pointed out.
    â€œHenry doesn’t have any cats,” said the woman.
    â€œIt was a black cat,” said Lenore, “with some white spots.”
    â€œThat was Elliot,” said the woman. “He’s deaf.”
    â€œThen I’m afraid he’s dead as well,” I said, “if that was him.”
    â€œI told you it was a male cat,” said Lenore. She had been right!
    The woman let us use her phone and I offered her $25 for the cat. I hoped she wouldn’t take it, but she did. It was all the money I had.
    The police arrived and the woman made us talk to them out front so that they wouldn’t see all her animals. There was likely an ordinance against such hoarding. The police were unimpressed by the entire incident, including our lost limbs, but they gave us a ride back into town.
    *   *   *
    Lenore invited me to her apartment and we ended up having sex on her couch. It wasn’t as enjoyable as I had previously imagined it might be. Perhaps we were both tired. It was a wool couch as well, so the fibers scratched our skin and made things itchy.
    Afterward Lenore said, “I have a husband, so I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now.”
    â€œA husband?” I said. “Where is he?”
    â€œHe’ll be here in a few hours. He works late. He’s a professional bouncer, so you really should leave.”
    â€œWhen did you get married?” I asked her.
    â€œA while ago,” she told me. It was a vague answer but I didn’t feel like pressing the issue.
    I called a taxi and as we were waiting Lenore told me something else. “I was born without my arm,” she said. “I know I told you it was a car accident, but actually I was born this way.”
    â€œYou told me it was a van accident. You said a van rolled over on it, not a car.”
    â€œWell, either way, it’s not how it happened.”
    The taxi arrived and Lenore helped me down the stairs. They’d given me a crutch back at the police station but it was the wrong size and those stairs were pretty tricky.
    *   *   *
    About a week later a police officer showed up at my house with a package for me. It was Lenore’s arm.
    â€œThis isn’t mine,” I told him.
    The officer looked down at his notepad. “It says here you lost a prosthesis.”
    â€œI lost a leg prosthesis,” I said. “This one belongs to my friend.”
    The officer looked down at my leg. I’d gotten a replacement by then. It was an ill-fitted temporary thing.
    â€œWell, I don’t understand this, then,” he said, holding up Lenore’s arm.
    I convinced the officer to leave the arm with me and I made arrangements to bring it over to Lenore myself. When I arrived she was sitting on the wool couch with my leg attached to her arm. She waved it at me