T<\/span>he aging diesel sedan rested next to the curb like a tired draft horse that had served its master well for many years but now needed to lie down and take it easy. Brodsky scrubbed the scratched and dented fenders with warm soap and water until the surface, scratches and all, gleamed. Brodsky too looked like an aging warhorse, far older than his thirty-eight or thirty-nine years, with lines around his tired eyes and strands of gray in his thick dark hair.<\/p>\n

Brodsky\u2019s dog Anton, a mixed breed with curly brown hair, half-slept on the sidewalk, soaking up the morning sun and keeping one eye open to watch his own master wash the car.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Anton, taking a rest?\u201d the man said to the dog. \u201cIt\u2019s only been a month, and here we are washing the car and breathing the fresh morning air as if nothing has happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anton opened his eye wider and yawned.<\/p>\n

For all intents and purposes, Brodsky was homeless. He lived out of his car in a rundown neighborhood with pockets of incipient gentrification. Aging, decrepit apartments vied with small but sleek condos for housing space. Starbucks caf\u00e9s, specialty food stores, and overpriced fashion boutiques coexisted with automobile repair shops, check-cashing outlets, cut-rate liquor stores, and cavelike bars. One didn\u2019t find homeless people sleeping in doorways and begging for change on street corners, but the invisible poor such as Brodsky camped in their vehicles, took refuge in the spacious park not too many blocks away, or just kept on moving.<\/p>\n

The neighborhood was not too far from the ocean. At night Brodsky imagined that he could hear the steady lapping of the waves, but maybe it was just the traffic on nearby streets. When he was still living with his wife Elena, they hoped that the salt air would help her respiratory problem, but the main result of the salt was that it caused the old sedan to rust.<\/p>\n

Brodsky rinsed the car and dried it off. A call came in over the two-way radio. He leaned in and picked up the speaker.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Russky, got a job for you. Ready to go?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReady, Central. What you have?\u201d<\/p>\n

Brodsky was a cab driver. The company he worked for was housed in an office on the other side of the city, and some of his fares came through the dispatcher.<\/p>\n

\u201cLady wants to go shopping. Downtown.\u201d<\/p>\n

The dispatcher gave him the destination, and Brodsky turned to the napping dog.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, old boy. Are you ready for another day?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sleepily, Anton opened his other eye, yawned again, and pushed himself up from the ground.<\/p>\n

\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n

When the cabbie arrived at the address, he found that there were two women instead of one. Heavily made up and dressed nicely for a day of shopping, they looked so similar that Brodsky thought they might be twins.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you know how to get to Macy\u2019s?\u201d said the first woman.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes. I know,\u201d said Brodsky and switched on the meter.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that? A dog?\u201d said the twin, screwing up her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cDog not bother,\u201d said the cabbie. \u201cHe just sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the rear view mirror he saw the two women looking at each other.<\/p>\n

He drove through back streets, over pot holes, up and down hills.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you sure you know where you\u2019re going?\u201d said one of the twins.<\/p>\n

The fare was mounting up.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes. No problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

The first woman glanced at Brodsky, then whispered to her twin, \u201cThese Russians. If you don\u2019t keep an eye on them, they\u2019ll steal you blind.\u201d<\/p>\n

Blind? Did they think he was deaf too?<\/p>\n

The woman continued, \u201cI don\u2019t know where he\u2019s taking us. It\u2019s so dirty down here. Do you see those warehouses? Maybe he\u2019s going to kidnap us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anton murmured in his sleep.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh. You\u2019re insulting him,\u201d the twin said, laughing nervously.<\/p>\n

They stopped at a red light.<\/p>\n

At least one of them paid attention to other people\u2019s feelings, thought Brodsky. But it didn\u2019t matter; he didn\u2019t care. Last month it might have been different, but now it was too late.<\/p>\n

The light turned green. Pretty soon he arrived at the store and dropped them off. He shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n

Brodsky found a parking space near the small neighborhood park where he often ate lunch. He switched off the on-duty sign, picked up a brown bag and a cold thermos, and climbed out of the venerable taxi. Anton followed. He trudged two short blocks with the dog at his heels and sat down on a vacant green bench. Anton nestled next to him under the bench.<\/p>\n

The park wasn\u2019t crowded. A few toddlers were being pushed on swings by their mothers or their nannies. One young man was shooting hoops. A couple of older people walked slowly on the paths. An old man and a young man were playing chess.<\/p>\n

Just then a shapely young woman in tight black bicycle shorts and a red, green, and yellow Italian racing top zipped by on a sleek road bike.<\/p>\n

The paper bag contained pieces of herring, onions, and crackers, the same lunch that Elena used to prepare for him. He gave some of the herring to Anton, who wolfed it down in a couple of quick bites. The dog liked whatever Brodsky liked; he was unusual in that respect. Elena also used to make him borscht, cold shredded beet soup mixed with cabbage, onion, and a little sour cream. He missed the pinkish red nectar. It reminded him of Russia. And his wife.<\/p>\n

Either the thought of the borscht or the laughter of the toddlers on the swings reminded him of a conversation, not long ago, with his wife and son. They had just finished dinner and were sitting around the kitchen table in their cramped apartment when Sasha, almost ten years old, asked for a bike as a birthday present. It wasn\u2019t an unreasonable request. Sasha was an active boy, and most of his friends had bikes. They rode around the neighborhood and even down to the beach. The trouble was that bikes were expensive, at least the kind that Sasha wanted, with multiple gears, a light frame, and special tires.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou not Lance Strongarm,\u201d Brodsky had told him.<\/p>\n

\u201cArmstrong,\u201d Elena corrected him. \u201cLance Armstrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, Papa,\u201d Sasha replied, \u201cbut all the other kids have bikes like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brodsky found that hard to believe, but there was no use arguing about it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe never get him anything,\u201d Elena pointed out, coughing into her napkin. She used to work in a Russian-language bookstore, but when she got sick they laid her off. \u201cHe wears clothes from the thrift shop, studies second-hand books, and sleeps in a room no bigger than a closet.\u201d<\/p>\n

She spoke in Russian, but Sasha picked up the gist.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, Mama. I don\u2019t mind. I just want a nice bike.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elena patted his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe we go back to Russia,\u201d Brodsky threatened. He banged the table, and Anton, hearing the noise, barked.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh, it\u2019s all right,\u201d said Sasha, petting the dog.<\/p>\n

\u201cRussia!\u201d insisted Brodsky. \u201cYou think children ride fancy bikes in Russia?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThings are different now,\u201d murmured Elena.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we go back,\u201d repeated Brodsky.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d suggested Sasha, \u201cI can get a paper route. Deliver papers with my bike.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re too young for a paper route,\u201d said Elena. \u201cYou need to go to school and do your homework.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sasha sighed. Anton yawned. No one said anything for a long minute. Elena coughed and drank the last bit of water in her glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have an idea,\u201d said Brodsky, snapping his fingers. \u201cI give chess lessons.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould be good idea,\u201d said Elena in English, \u201cbut Americans don\u2019t care \u2019bout chess. Is just football and beisbol in America.\u201d<\/p>\n

Why was she always so negative, Brodsky wondered. Whatever he suggested, she found something wrong with it.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen I give lessons to the Russians. Plenty of Russians in America.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but they play chess better than you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brodsky threw up his hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d said Sasha, getting up from the table. \u201cI have homework to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t hurt your eyes, sweetheart,\u201d said his mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anton followed him into his room.<\/p>\n

Recalling the conversation now, Brodsky reached down and stroked Anton\u2019s furry head. The dog half-growled, half-squealed contentedly.<\/p>\n

\u201cLife is good. Hah, Anton?\u201d<\/p>\n

He ate some more of the herring and sighed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you know, old friend? What you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n

Later that afternoon a man dressed entirely in black knocked on Brodsky\u2019s window as he was stopped in traffic.<\/p>\n

\u201cTrain station. All right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Brodsky nodded. The man hopped into the back seat. The cabbie noticed that he was carrying a black bag, like an old-fashioned doctor.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you got there? Bomb?\u201d joked Brodsky, but the man didn\u2019t crack a smile.<\/p>\n

\u2018What? This? Tools of the trade.\u201d<\/p>\n

As Brodsky inched forward, the man seemed to close his eyes and go to sleep. After a few blocks, the cab driver turned onto a cross street.<\/p>\n

The passenger opened his eyes and asked the driver for a deck of cards.<\/p>\n

\u201cCarts?\u201d said Brodsky. \u201cNo, I got no carts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot carts. Cards<\/em>. You know, ace, king, queen. Playing cards.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u201d said the cabbie. \u201cPoker carts. Are you gambler?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNah, I never take risks. I\u2019m a magician. I do tricks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brodsky glanced back at the magician. \u201cWait. Maybe I haff carts.\u201d<\/p>\n

He rummaged around in the glove compartment until he found a sticky deck of playing cards. He handed them to the other man, who turned them over several times.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d said the magician.<\/p>\n

\u201cCarts. You said you wanted deck of carts.\u201d<\/p>\n

The magician shook his head. \u201cYeah, but these aren\u2019t the right kind. I use only official Bicycle brand playing cards.\u201d<\/p>\n

At the word bicycle<\/em>, a sudden emotional jolt ran through Brodsky\u2019s body like an electric shock, and the image of a gleaming silver bicycle resting against a red brick wall flashed into his mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? What did you say?\u201d mumbled Brodsky.<\/p>\n

\u201cI said these aren\u2019t the right kind.\u201d<\/p>\n

The cabbie took them back. \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Traffic was fierce outside the train station as taxis and other vehicles jockeyed for position.<\/p>\n

The magician paid his fare and disappeared underground to find his train.<\/p>\n

\u201cBicycle,\u201d the cabbie muttered. \u201cNot right kind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n

The sun was sinking lower in the sky when Brodsky spotted a tall, thin man in a black-and-white skeleton costume lazily waving his hand in the air. Oh, yes. Halloween. And then\u2014what they call it?\u2014Day of Dead.<\/p>\n

Brodsky pulled over and the man hopped in. The cabbie flipped up the meter and took off. The man gazed out the back window with a serene expression on his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere you go?\u201d asked Brodsky.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoing to hell,\u201d said the bone man. \u201cGoing to hell in a handbasket.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me address. I take you there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust keep going. I\u2019ll let you know the way.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was rush hour, and traffic was heavy. They made slow progress.<\/p>\n

Anton raised his head, yawned, and looked beseechingly into Brodsky\u2019s eyes, as if to say that it had been a long day and it was time to head back.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said Brodsky, petting the dog. \u201cWe go home in little while.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few minutes later the man asked Brodsky if he knew where the bridge was.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe big rusty one that goes over the water,\u201d said the bone man.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want this side or cross over?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust drop me on the bridge. I\u2019ll take it from there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brodsky had encountered many bizarre customers who wanted to go to a lot of unusual places over the years, but he began to worry that the bone man want to jump. It was common enough. Either that or blow it up. That was becoming more common, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes I don\u2019t care whether I live or die,\u201d said the man.<\/p>\n

Brodsky sighed, then glanced in the rear view mirror. The bone man pulled something out of some invisible pocket and pointed it at his own head.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait! Wait!\u201d shouted the cabbie, his heart beating fast.<\/p>\n

He steered with one hand and turned halfway around just as the bone man pulled the trigger, spraying his face with a jet of water. The water dripped off his face onto the skeleton suit, and a few drops fell onto the vinyl seat of the taxi.<\/p>\n

So he was a clown as well as a skeleton. Maybe he was in the circus.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou scare me,\u201d said Brodsky.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, this,\u201d said the man, looking at the water pistol.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know how you fill. My son\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you don\u2019t, man. No you don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have kitts?\u201d Brodsky persisted.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKItts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKids? Oh, could be. Hard to say. Hard to keep track.\u201d<\/p>\n

He wiped some water off of his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sure you want to go bridge?\u201d asked the taxi driver.<\/p>\n

\u201cBridge? No, never mind. You can let me off here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere?\u201d said Brodsky.<\/p>\n

The block consisted of corner grocery stores and all-night laundromats. A woman in high heels and a short dress was leaning in a doorway.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, here,\u201d said the man.<\/p>\n

Brodsky pulled over and let him out. The bone man fished a bill out of the same secret pocket and handed it to the cabbie. Brodsky examined it, turned it over, looked at it again. It was a five dollar bill, but play money.<\/p>\n

\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n

Darkness had descended. Brodsky was parked on a side street, listening to romantic but melancholy Russian music on the radio. Little ghosts and goblins in white sheets or store-bought costumes were being shepherded up and down the block by their proud parents.<\/p>\n

The simple but beautiful image of the gleaming bicycle resting against the brick wall entered the cabbie\u2019s consciousness. Leafy, low-hanging branches swayed in the gentle breeze, almost tickling the bike\u2019s handlebars. Brodsky saw himself entering the frame, glancing around nervously, then walking away. A minute later he reentered the picture, hopped on the bike, and rode off, his knees almost striking his chest as if he were Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians.<\/p>\n

Brodsky switched off the radio. The dog raised his curly head and looked at him beseechingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cSoon, Anton. Go home soon,\u201d said Brodsky, though he knew they had no place to go home to.<\/p>\n

He and Elana had started bickering about insignificant things, and then one day as she was preparing dinner she suddenly turned to him and said, \u201cIt\u2019s your fault, you know. If you hadn\u2019t stolen that bicycle \u2026\u201d He started to answer and then just gave up. The next day he drove off in his old taxi and never came back.<\/p>\n

After making sure that the window was open a crack, Brodsky stepped out of the car.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou be good dog,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

The cabbie rounded the corner and found a hole-in-the-wall bar with a flashing neon sign in the window.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019ll it be, pal?\u201d said the bartender, who was wiping down the smooth surface of the bar.<\/p>\n

\u201cStolichnaya. Over ice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got it.\u201d<\/p>\n

A soccer match was playing on the television set above the bar. Tiny men in colorful uniforms ran up and down a brilliant green field. Brodsky felt tired just watching them.<\/p>\n

The bartender brought him his drink.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t like this Halloween. It scare me,\u201d said the taxi driver.<\/p>\n

\u201cRelax, pal. Watch the game.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo relax,\u201d insisted Brodsky.<\/p>\n

The bartender gave him a quizzical look, then strolled to the other end of the bar, where two young women in bright red lipstick had requested refills.<\/p>\n

Brodsky finished his drink, left some money on the bar, and headed out into the night.<\/p>\n

Anton was waiting for him in the cab.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood boy, Anton. Good boy.\u201d The dog licked his hand as he ruffled the animal\u2019s fur.<\/p>\n

Brodsky sat down in the driver\u2019s seat and gripped the steering wheel without turning on the ignition. He turned to the dog.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou remember Sasha? Play with you? Throw ball, scratch tummy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Anton looked up at his master, trying to grasp the meaning of the words.<\/p>\n

\u201cKilled last month. Riding his bike. Do you understand, Anton? Run over. He was only ten.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brodsky scratched Anton between the ears. The dog panted happily.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow is possible, Anton? How is possible?\u201d<\/p>\n

The dog continued to look into his master\u2019s face, trying to understand what he was saying.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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