Babayaga

as they sat silently together. For twenty minutes, nothing happened except for the occasional car passing by.
    Finally, a little gray Citroën deux chevaux came rattling fast around the corner and pulled to a hard stop in front of them, its beat-up bumper almost kissing the Chevrolet chrome. The doors opened and Zoya watched three large black men draw their sizable bodies out from inside the tiny vehicle’s. Moments later, Oliver was making introductions: “Zoya, may I introduce Red, Flats, and Kelly. Gentlemen, this is Zoya.”
    “Bonne nuit, mademoiselle,” said the one named Red, tipping his hat. She smiled politely. She had guessed they were American even before they started speaking English. She was not especially skilled with that tonque, but she had known her share of sailors and could follow them well enough. “Okay, Oliver, how about you tell us a bit more about this job?”
    “And this had better be good, friend, not some wild fairy-tale goose chase,” said Kelly. “We had plans to connect with Basie’s crew backstage at the Olympia tonight.”
    “No, it’s no fairy tale,” said Oliver, pulling out his wallet and taking all the cash out of it. “First of all, as promised, here’s the down payment on the fee. It’s all I have on me at the moment, but there’s plenty more where that came from. Now, did you bring the jumper cables? I’m going to need them to get this damn Chevy moving.”
    “Yep, though I’m not sure our little car’s gonna be able to get that big ol’ Chevy going,” said Red.
    “Well, let’s give it a try. And the shovels?”
    “We got ’em,” said Red. “We had to, um, borrow them from the building manager.”
    “Fine, excellent. If all goes to plan you’ll be able to return them by morning. Now, let’s see, where to next?” Oliver said, taking a folded-up document out of his wallet and laying it out gingerly across the hood of the car.
    Kelly looked down over his shoulder. “What you got there, Oliver?”
    “Looks like some crazy-assed treasure map,” Flats said.
    Oliver flashed a grin. “An astute observation, Flats. It actually is a treasure map of sorts. It shows where, back during the war, you see, a man I know hid—”
    “—crazy-assed treasure map,” said Red.
    Kelly shook his head. “And we could be hanging with Basie.”
    V

    The chef looked down at the little girl. Noelle held the egg up. “Fry it on both sides, please, and keep the yolk soft, then place it on a piece of dry white toast.”
    The chef looked around impatiently. “You should not be here. The house manager will be very upset. And you cannot bring me some random ingredient in off the street and expect me to simply cook it up. If we start here, where will it stop, will you bring in a cow? Will you walk in a pig? If I do this for you, there will soon be a line of people from here to Les Halles asking me to boil their cabbages and bake their bread.”
    But the little girl did not move, she just kept holding the egg up to his face.
    Noelle had found the egg that morning, still warm, and tucked in the yellow folds of her hotel bedcovers. Sitting across the room from her, atop the couch in a pose that was both haughty and aloof, the chicken pretended not to notice that the girl had found it.
    The little girl had risen late, feeling rested though slightly nervous that Elga had still not returned. She hoped the old woman turned up soon, before any employees came knocking at the door with questions about the hotel bill. But Noelle did not let herself worry too much, the chicken was there with her, after all, and it had already proved itself very useful in keeping her out of trouble. Noelle picked up the big black phone and called room service, ordering a crème brûlée, some sherbet, a half dozen beignets, and a slice of chocolate cake for breakfast. She ordered a bowl of raw rice for the chicken—that was what Elga had been feeding it and the bird seemed to like it. Then Noelle nestled into the high pillows and studied the egg.
    She was still mulling it over as the breakfast cart was rolled in. Sitting on the end of the bed, she carefully tucked the white napkin into her nightgown and gobbled down all the deliciousness, while keeping one eye focused on the egg. She pondered the very real possibility that it was magical and might grant her a series of wishes, like the magnificent genies from the storybooks. She ticked off her possible wishes. First, she thought, she wanted to become