Free The Puppet Maker's Bones by Alisa Tangredi Page B

my kind?”
    “Yes. And their circumstances are the same as yours— you are asking for yourself?” Pavel shook his head. “No, they may not couple. People of your kind, whether homosexual or not, cannot make love because they cannot, for want of a better term, enter another. Become one. There are no exceptions.”
    “Explain this to me. What are we? Please be honest. No euphemisms, no hints, no more wheezy giggling.”
    Mr. Trope’s face grew still at the obvious insult, then his expression changed to one of resignation.
    “Your parents led me to believe you were a likeable young man. Far more grown up than you appear to be today. You are actually quite immature, aren’t you? And it appears you have a vindictive streak in you, don’t you. Maybe you are a bully?”
    Pavel knew he had gone too far. His father was in the other room and would be disappointed. Worse, Pavel would not get any further information if he was rude to this man.
    “I am sorry. That was rude of me,” said Pavel.
    Mr. Trope coughed once and motioned for Pavel to drink more of his tea.
    “Why do I have scars on my back?” asked Pavel.
    “Pavel, I have to explain these things in a kind of order. There is a—”
    “Why do I have scars on my back? Was there something there that was removed when I was born?”
    “As I was saying, there is an order to how we explain these things to our clients. We can’t start anywhere and have things make sense.”
    “I repeat. Why do I have scars on my back?” Pavel raised his voice. “What was removed from my shoulders?”
    “Mr. Trusnik, I am afraid we have to adjourn our meeting for today. We need you to be calm when we give you all the information.”
    Pavel reached across the desk and in one move, grabbed the lapel of Mr. Trope’s jacket and dragged him across the desk, holding him before him. He put his face close to Mr. Trope and in a menacing whisper asked “What am I?”
    The man called McGovern moved from his place in front of the door to get between Pavel and Mr. Trope. He removed Pavel’s hands from Mr. Trope’s lapel and, without any effort, moved Pavel to a spot on the other side of the room.
    McGovern spoke for the first time. “Please remain calm, Pavel. It is crucial that you remain calm.” Pavel backed away from the large man.
    “What do you think of the rug you are standing on?” asked Mr. Trope, who seemed unmoved by being attacked. His lack of reaction made Pavel even more furious. His frustration led to the sudden fear that he was here to be removed from his parents, which led to sudden rage, and Pavel lunged again at Mr. Trope. McGovern barely got to him in time to hold him back. Mr. Trope backed away and answered the question.
    “They were wings,” said Mr. Trope.
    “ What ?”
    “You were born with wings. They were removed at birth by the midwife.”
    “Wings? Like a bird?”
    “Yes.”
    Pavel snorted and pulled his arms away from McGovern’s grasp. “Did they have feathers .”
    “First you insulted me. Now you are mocking me. I asked you if you had heard of a Putto. Or Putti, if we’re to use the plural. They are pictured in the rug you are now standing on.”
    Pavel looked down at the winged children dancing among the unicorns and shook his head. “This is preposterous.”
    “I assure you, everything we have discussed today is true, as preposterous as it sounds, to use your word.”
    “What is a Putto? You aren’t going to tell me that I’m an angel . A mythical creature? Like the unicorn? I may not believe in a God, but if there was one, they would not create something like me. No one could be that cruel. This is more likely some sort of deformity, like a sixth finger, or a tail or a missing arm.”
    “A deformity does not allow you to live for hundreds of years, Pavel,” said Trope.
    Mr. Trope made a slight wave with one hand at McGovern who moved back toward the door and stood at attention.
    “An angel ?” Pavel stood, mouth agape,