What the hell is his name?

It didn’t work.

“Excuse me,” she said, getting to her feet. Her words sounded like a disjointed murmur.

She took refuge in the bathroom, closing the door behind her and locking it shut. She’d found it without having to ask for directions; that must mean she knew the place.

She calmed her breathing and looked at her reflection in the mirror: all she saw was a scared old lady.

It’s just a moment of confusion, she told herself.

But it was a lie. She knew exactly what was happening to her.

-21-

-21-

At that time of year the valley looked like a termite mound battered by torrential rains: everything churned with frantic activity, and there was an orderly back and forth of movement across the slopes. But unlike insects—burrowing deep into their nests during winter—these creatures were not hampered by the cold. From his vantage point, they resembled colorful dots scurrying over the snow.

They looked like him, but they were different, too. He often wondered what use they were. Termites were equipped with powerful jaws they used to process organic waste, clearing the way for new shoots; if not for their hard work, the forest would suffocate and die.

But these creatures devoured their own kind; they fed on the vital energy of their weaker peers. They had a parasitic relationship with other members of their own herd, something that fell outside the laws of nature, and left an unpleasant taste in the mouth—like grass that is meant for sunny flatlands but ends up growing in the shade.

He studied them. He listened to how they associated certain sounds to particular objects and he imitated them. He learned through experience. He entered their homes.

The woman moved from room to room, attending to her chores. She hadn’t noticed his presence. He followed her, ducking behind a corner every time she turned around, breathing in her scent, observing her body.

When he lost interest in her, he climbed up the stairs to the floor above. There was a baby playing in his cot. Their eyes met, and the child smiled. He looked healthy and well fed; he smelled of milk.

He walked past the baby, finding himself drawn to the bedcovers: they were thick, soft, and warm, like the fleece of a sheep. He pulled them toward himself, and in doing so woke up the cat that had been curled up on the bed. It hissed and bolted from the room.

The child shrieked in delight. The mother called its name from the stairs. When she walked into the room, she picked up her son and sat on the bed, cooing at the baby in soft, tender tones. He heard a rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of enthusiastic suckling. The mother had a mellifluous voice, like birdsong in spring.