Metal Angel by Nancy Springer Read Free Book Online

eat. I’ll go get you something. Soup?”
    â€œI am not sure.”
    â€œSandwich? Applesauce?”
    â€œI mean I am not sure whether—I did not imagine myself to eat as a regular thing.”
    Texas stared. It occurred to him that he had not noticed Volos using the bathroom.
    â€œI don’t suppose you know how to crap.”
    â€œNot yet, no.”
    â€œOr—Cripes, I gave you water with those pills. You know how to pee?”
    â€œI would not mind trying.”
    Texas put his hands to his head for a moment. After he had contained his exploding brain, he said, “You know what your penis is for, besides women? Sooner or later that water we put in you is going to want to come out there. When you feel a pressure or a burning down there, let me know. Don’t wet the bed, you hear?”
    â€œYes, of course I hear you. They did not hurt my ears.”
    â€œI feel like I ought to get you some soup. Stay in bed. Get some rest.”
    â€œHow do I do that?”
    â€œJust lie there!”
    Irritable. Okay, so he was tired, feeling his lack of sleep, and now he had to trek all the way to the goddamn drugstore again and fight the goddamn California crowds and stand in the goddamn lunch-hour line … for a thermometer. Texas did so, mentally grousing. Everything was so freaking far apart in L.A., and the blanket of smog made the streets feel closed in, ovenlike even in modest heat. God, he hated this city in the daytime. To the deli next, for chicken soup. Knowing furiously all the slogging while that Volos would hardly eat any, that it was mostly to make him, Texas, feel better.
    Back in the room, he found Volos not in bed but in the bathroom, mother naked, studying the fixtures. “I am a dunce,” Volos said. “All the eons I watched, and what was the good of it? I did not pay attention as to how to do this water thing. Every century it changed, anyway.”
    â€œMy guess is you paid more attention to other things. Okay, you wanna use this one.” Texas flipped the john lid up, wishing he could get out of the habit of closing it now that he was on his own. Wyoma had trained him too well in—had it really been twenty-three years of marriage? God. He told Volos, “No big deal. Just aim and shoot.”
    â€œPardon?”
    Texas unzipped and demonstrated. “And you really oughta wash your hands afterward.” Though he himself did not generally do so. This time, to set a good example, he did, then went to pull off his tight new boots, which were starting to hurt him after all the walking he had done. Then came back in and said, “Aaaa!”
    â€œI seem to slip.”
    â€œBad aim, all right.”
    â€œI am sorry.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it.” Texas started to kick a wet towel around. The hotel was going to love him. He remarked, “Place looks like I should’ve just stood you in the shower. Not as hard to hit that when you’re inside it.” He was so tired, his own weak joke sent him silly, making him hoot with laughter. Amusement bent him over and wet his cheeks. Volos laughed too. The kid did not know how to do it right at first, but he learned fast. He laughed hard, swayed on his feet and grabbed at a towel rack, which came off the wall in his hand. He nearly fell. Catching him with both arms, Texas stopped laughing within a breath—Christ, the kid’s skin was burning hot again.
    â€œNo wonder you got bad aim!”
    Volos’s chest was heaving. “Laughing—hurts.”
    â€œOnly because they bruised your ribs. Don’t be afraid of laughing, son. Sometimes laughing is the only thing that will keep you going.” Texas helped him to the bed. “Lie down before you fall down.”
    The day grew long. Volos broke the thermometer between his teeth, and Texas did not go for another one; he never did find out how high the kid’s fever was. Twice more he stood him in the shower to