Rontel by Sam Pink Read Free Book Online Page B

crib.
    A big cat walked past my legs then jumped up on a few things and was next to me, perched on the crib.
    The cat stared at me, making a really low purring sound.
    From halfway inside a closet, Doug said, “Aw now that shithead wants your attention too. Man, Jesus. It’s all about you I guess, ha.”
    By the crib I noticed a terrarium with newspaper ripped up in it.
    “What is this,” I said. “What’s in the glass thing.”
    “Tarantula,” my neighbor said. “He’s cool too. Roy.”
    I looked at the baby, then the cat, then the glass cage where the tarantula hid.
    I thought—These are the days when the tarantula stays hidden.
    My neighbor put his head into the doorway to his bedroom and said, “All right man, be right back. Fuck. I gotta get to the grandparents’place, sheez. They wanna see him. They haven’t seen him. My wife’s Jewish. They’re all connected man. Her dad’s fucking rich. He has a plane or some shit.”
    “Oh, a plane,” I said, looking at the baby—who’d begun pumping his legs up and down, lying in place on his back.
    Hey, you’re a baby.
    You little baby you.
    Who’s a little baby, is it you.
    “Yeah, a fuckin’ plane,” Doug said. “All right, be back. He likes that purple duck by you there.”
    And he left, slamming the door and running down the stairs.
    I stood there looking at the baby, then the cat, then petting the cat, then looking at the tarantula cage.
    Where am I.
    Felt like I just wanted to sleep on the floor and hope nothing bad happened.
    I imagined myself getting down onto the floor and saying to myself, “Hope nothing bad happens,” then the cat lifts the tarantula out of the cage and feeds it to the baby—lifting the tarantula from its cage, the cat walks over to the crib on his hind legs, blesses the baby with the spider then feeds the spider to the baby, whole, putting his paws over the baby’s mouth to make sure the spider is eaten.
    This is a cute baby—I thought.
    I’ll give you that.
    There’s someone in this room who’s a cute baby, and it’s not me.
    Is it you.
    Look at me, tell me, is it you.
    I think it is.
    I kept smiling at him and he kept smiling at me, pumping his legs up and down, his arms out to the sides in flying motions, lying on his back staring at me.
    His hands were in complete fists except the smallest fingers, which he kept extended, and which were very small.
    I picked up the stuffed purple duck by the crib and waved it over the baby.
    He smiled.
    Started laughing and squealing.
    He didn’t have any teeth.
    Just gums.
    Look at you—I thought.
    You don’t have any teeth.
    Ridiculous!
    The cat kept trying to get my attention too.
    “And you,” I said. “You’re a shithead.”
    I felt pretty happy.
    Had the urge to pick up the cat and get in the crib for my neighbor to find us all angelically asleep together when he returned—but then I was worried I wouldn’t be able to sleep and I’d get caught peeking when my neighbor looked in on us.
    I petted the cat’s head.
    He was purring a lot and twisting his head against my palm.
    “You silly bitch,” I said.
    Then focused on waving the purple duck again.
    The baby liked it.
    He just stared and smiled at it for a long time.
    Then his face became serious, and he kept pumping his legs up and down, staring at the purple duck.
    The diapers made a sound as he pumped his legs and I created a drumbeat in my head to the rhythm.
    I felt at peace with the universe.
    No, I didn’t feel that.
    I pinched the baby’s toe.
    He kept laughing.
    “Your toe feels weird,” I said. “Ew, no offense.”
    Then I couldn’t stop laughing.
    Uh, is there a little baby anywhere here, I’m looking for a little baby.
    Is there a little baby anywhere around here, did you see one.
    I’m looking for a little baby.
    You little baby.
    “Pardon me I’m looking for a cute little baby,” I said. “Has anyone seen one. Any one.”
    The cat looked like he was getting ready to jump into the