Free Whatever Lola Wants by George Szanto Page B

“What? What?!” She turned to Alan. “What’s going on?”
    Alan, white, crying, “The bees—”
    Johnnie screamed again, “Aaiieeeeee!” His hand in his pocket? Beth pulled it out. Her wasps! Four, five— She pulled his pants off, his underpants. She counted quickly. Three bites visible, thigh, penis, scrotum—
    Did he need a birthday present so much, was it worth all this? But they always gave him good presents. A tenth-birthday present would be special.
    His mother said, “You’ll be fine, Johnnie.”
    He said, “I’m a little scared, just a bit.”
    It’d be good for him to go into the lab again, she knew this. “It’s a great present,” she said. He didn’t respond. She said, “There’s no risk.” And asked, “Even if there were, isn’t it worth some risk to get a great present?” She smiled, she knew he could be brave.
    The wasps were long gone, she’d told him so. They passed through doorways. The corridor. The elevator. She pressed the down button. The doors opened. He stood still. Get what on with what thing? He’d asked her that later. Only once. She’d given him a silent stare, turned, and went away. Now she took his hand and stepped inside. He had to follow. The doors closed.
    She felt his reluctance. She could understand it. But she had to rid him of those fears. From long past. She patted his short black hair. His ears stuck out too much. He was a good-looking boy. Except for the big ears. Could she find a cure for floppy ears? Sam should have given her a chance. Half a chance. She could’ve found a cure for anything.
    She would let Johnnie’s hair grow, make the ears less rabbity. Much more handsome.
    The doors opened. Subdued light, a kind of brown-orange. She walked toward dark double doors, pulled one open, stepped inside.
    He’d not been here since the wasps. Before the wasps he’d been afraid of bugs of all sorts but he’d taught himself to be brave. After the wasps the fear returned, doubled, tripled. Bigger than ever, little creeping oozy biting things in his nose and under his fingernails, scratchy things in his underpants. Could he be brave now? He felt the chill beyond the doorway.
    â€œCome on,” she said.
    Dark, and little cages. Humid like thin cold steam. The floor looked slimy.
    She stopped by a package a couple of feet high, maybe three feet wide, covered in brown paper. She turned on a lamp.
    He heard a tiny click. “Aren’t you cold?”
    â€œNo,” she laughed brightly, “never in my lab.”
    He pointed to the package. “Is that it?”
    She smiled. “Open it.” He reached— She slowed his wrist. “But gently.” If he liked it, played with it, she’d reward herself from the refrigerator, her secret stock.
    He heard more clicks. He undid the tape and the paper fell away. He drew in his breath and pulled back. The biggest bug he’d ever seen. A stuffed bug.
    She stroked its thorax, ribbed shiny brown, a loving touch. “Allomyrina dichotomous. See its wing cover, how it’s divided into two parts? That’s dichotomous. Like the first leaves out of a bursting bean seed.” She ran her fingertips along the shell. “It’s a coleoptera, from Taiwan. Feel it, Johnnie, it’s soft.” She reached for his hand. He drew it away. “It’s cloth and plastic, fur, it’s soft. Here.” She pulled him toward it, the insect of her one-time successes.
    His shoe slid along the floor. He had to touch this monster. Yes, it was soft. The body, even the wings. But the legs were hard, hairy.
    â€œHere, look at the front legs.”
    Not legs but fingers, like pincers. Antennae like the horns of a buck deer. Hairy too, and damp. He pulled back. More little clicks. His throat had gone tight.
    â€œI had it made for you. It’s stuffed just like Marmalade Bear.