#24 China Cat (Thank God)

threw the E-string in too, even though the blood was dry, she knew it could be tested for his. She used the sheet to move him, dragging him across the floor, then pulled him down the hall, and hauled him through the kitchen up to the cellar door. There she took a rest. Thank God for sheet. He was heavy. She went back to the bedroom. The only dirty things there, were the mattress and the crumpled-up sheet, so she grabbed the sheet, and went back to the kitchen.

China unlocked the door, and lugged his body down the steps, his head making a thunking-sound on each one. It was a good thing they were cement, and didn’t make much noise. She dragged him outside over by the tulips; she decided to bury him there. Nobody would miss him; even at church. They didn’t like him anyway. Afterwhile, she would say he left her. She put her hands on her hips, and surveyed the lot. The lot was small, the building fringed with spring flowers, and there was a patch of ragged grass in the middle. The tulips needed tending to. She went to the unlocked shed, as usual, the broken door flapped around, she rooted around, got a spade, and some clippers. Actually, all the flower bulbs needed to be separated, so she would do that later. Tonight, she would do the tulips. She looked down at the crumpled sheet in her hands, then she draped it across his body. She stared at the blood. It was embarrassing to be dead.

She cut down all the tulips, dug up the bulbs, then put them aside. She dug all night until she got about four feet down. China looked around. It was getting light; morning was almost here. She went back to the shed, and got a rusty old saw. He wouldn’t fit in unless she sawed off his head. It was the easiest, and already messy. She expected him to bleed but he didn’t. When she was done, she propelled him into the hole using her feet. She lovingly placed his head in the hollow of his chest, and broke one of his legs. She covered him all up with the sheet, then stood still at the side of the hole to say a prayer. She threw the saw in on him, it made a ‘thwang’ noise, and then started throwing in shovels full of dirt from the pile. Then she remembered something, went back in the house, and came out with the guitar. She held it up by its neck triumphantly, then threw it in the hole. It clattered on top o him, then there was peace. She worked the rest of the night to cover him up, packing down tightly the dirt around him.

The morning found her separating the tulip bulbs; she ended up with at least three times as much. Hilda, watched from the window in 302, thought she was such a nice girl, taking care of the flowers, and so pretty too. She wondered what unit the girl was from; obviously, from one of the units that faced the flowers. Hilda watched, from the slightly parted curtain, as the girl stood to replace the dirt, which was now in a fluffy pile, then stooped on her knees, bent over it. She rose even earlier than Hilda, and just to take care of the tulips. She was so sweet. China replanted the tulips over Thomas, and thought she would do the rest later. In the meantime, she had the bloody mattress to deal with. She returned the tools to the broken shed, then went back to her apartment. She called in sick, and fell asleep on the couch.

When she woke, it was late afternoon, so she started making supper. There were leftover beans, potatoes too, so she fried up the potatoes, and ate the beans cold. He wouldn’t eat leftovers; she didn’t miss him. He was only more work, and more money. The way he turned out anyway. She savoured the silence. Nobody would miss him. The people at the church, and in the building, would just believe her. Eventually, they would forget about him. She was never going to remarry anyway. It was the queen-sized, bloody mattress that was a problem. It was going to be awkward, and heavy to move. She would do it tonight, after dark.