“It says here that Carl Chase ran the mile in under five but then collapsed, and his lungs filled with fluid, so they took him to the hospital, where he turned purple because he had a heart attack but, at the last minute and with a lot of medical attention, he survived…and he’s running today. Whatdaya think of that?” Taken by surprise, Harold turned to look at her and nodded vigorously, aware that he was executing no small half-nod, as was his usual wont. “Not only that,” she went on, “at the same time that he collapsed, his wife collapsed in…uh…sympathy and she almost died too. And all their children…” Though Harold knew there were strange phenomena in the world, he also knew it was not very likely that everyone in a family would collapse at once. But then he didn’t feel like contradicting anyone who stared at him with such a penetrating aspect, though with a hint of a smile on her lips. “Ah, the children,” he finally
answered, locating a thoughtful tone in his voice, a hint of smile now on his lips. “Always the children.” Suddenly one of Mo’s stories about a child escaping a raving Cossack in Russia popped into his head and he decided to tell her about it. “I want to—” “I work in the A&P on Broadway and Sixty-Seventh,” she interrupted. “I’m a cashier there.” “Oh…pleased to meet you,” Harold said, lurching forward to shake her hand. From behind the counter the German shepherd stirred and began to snarl. “Mitzi!” the young woman shouted. “No!” This “no” proved only to have the effect of further exciting the dog, for it now broke into loud, sharp barks and assumed an attack posture. “No!” the girl shouted again, her voice escalating. “Arf! Arf! Arf! Arf! Arf!” the dog barked back, seemingly unimpressed by the young woman. She shrugged as if to apologize to Harold for the
impending confrontation and approached the dog. “Mitzi!” she barked back. And then, transfixing the dog with her own fiendish look, she growled—“Arf! Arf! Arf! Arf! Arf! Arf!” And that was that. The dog snarled a weak protest and heeled. The challenge was over. No real contest. To say that Harold had been relieved when the young woman subdued the dog would be vastly understating the case. Harold had always been slightly afraid of dogs. But even more importantly, he’d been grateful, for he’d then been able to make the distinction between the severe look she directed at the dog and the subtly curious one she’d previously focused on him. Harold rushed in to congratulate her. He told her how amazing she was and took her hand, suddenly feeling a heat emanate from it which filled him with such a peculiar sense of wellbeing, he found himself wishing she’d stare at him again with her piercing, potent, unabashed stare.