Nude Men

in the corner of the room and realize the parrot has found Sara’s braids, destroyed them, and tangled himself in her hair. Henrietta bends over him, touches the threads, and says, “What is this?”
    I don’t answer, keep looking at the white ribbon.
    “Jeremy? What do you think he’s covered with?”
    I pick up the white ribbon, and I find the box, and I carefully start pulling the hairs off the parrot and putting them in the box.
    Henrietta covers her eyes with one hand when she understands, then she comes down on the bird, hitting him hard. She slaps his body and the side of his wing. I’m afraid she will hurt him seriously, so I pull her away.
    “He’s an asshole!” she shouts at me.
    The parrot lies on the floor, motionless. He is trembling, his beak is open, and his black tongue moves in and out slightly, as though he’s panting. Some of Sara’s hair got in his mouth. His feathers are erect. I touch him lightly. He shivers. He doesn’t seem hurt, just shocked.
    “You shouldn’t vent your anger on him as though he’s responsible for her death,” I tell Henrietta. “When he saw Sara’s braids, he probably thought he had found her.”
     
    L ater that day, Henrietta tells me, “Someone is responsible for her death. I can’t live with the idea that the woman who killed my daughter is living out there in the same world I’m living in and that I’m just going to keep on living in the same world as hers without knowing her or what kind of person she is. I will feel more complete and satisfied if I know her. I want to meet her.”
    “Don’t get into this,” I tell her. “One thing might lead to another.”
    “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong, I think.”
    “You might start hating her and wanting to harm her.”
    “I knew that’s what you were thinking. And you mean harm her as in even kill her.”
    “It could happen.”
    “I don’t feel it will.”
    “She might not want to meet with you.”
    “If the parents of the girl you ran over say they want to meet you in a public place, could you refuse?”
    I think for a moment. “Most people would refuse, because it wouldn’t be surprising if the parents’ only remaining desire in life is to kill the person who ran over their daughter.”
    Henrietta decides to call Julie Carson anyway, the woman of the yellow car. She sets up her recording equipment. She tells me I can listen on the other phone. A woman answers on the fourth ring. I am startled to recognize her voice so clearly.
    “Is this Julie Carson?” says Henrietta.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m the mother of the girl you killed.”
    (Be direct, why don’t you.)
    “Oh,” says the woman.
    “I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and it would be very helpful to my mourning if I could meet with you. Just to chat and to know you a little bit.”
    (Helpful to my mourning?)
    Long silence. “I don’t know what to say.”
    “Please say yes. It would help my grieving.” (It would help my grieving.)
    “I don’t think I can meet with you,” says the woman. “I wish I could help you in every way possible, but I cannot meet with you in person. I’m sure you understand.”
    “Why? You mean for safety reasons?”
    “Yes.”
    “You think I’d kill you?”
    (Be blunt, why not.)
    “I don’t know.”
    “Your address is in the phone book. If I want to, I can just wait for you outside your budding. So what difference does it make?”
    (That’s it, bring out all the charm.)
    “Is that what you’d do?”
    Henrietta waits a moment before answering. “No. I’m just showing you that it makes no sense for you not to meet me in person.”
    (Such vulnerability is sure to work.)
    “I really would rather not. Also, I’ve been sick since the accident. I can’t go out. Please try to understand.”
    “Perhaps I could come and visit you at home, so you don’t have to go out?”
    (She couldn’t refuse that.)
    “No.”
    “You don’t care very much about remedying the wrong you’ve done.”
    “It was an accident.”
    “I know that very well. But you don’t seem the slightest bit interested in making me feel better. Logically, you should be afraid of making me angry, because then you could be in danger.”
    “Is that the case?”
    “I am feeling sad and angry, but you’re not in danger.”
    “Please understand.”
    “I don’t want to,” says Henrietta.
    “But you do, don’t you?”
    “No. I don’t want to.”
    The woman remains silent.
    “Did you end up taking