Read The Meeting Point for Free Online Page B

draw blood. “I was dreaming about a little boy.” She returned to the dream which was not too clear in its imagery. “Now, let’s see … this little boy, now that I think of it … I can’t for anything remember who he looked like … but this little boy, with a big head … I remember that … and big eyes … you know that little boy across the street … Mrs. Gasstein’s … what’s his name …? anyways, that little bastard wanted to make love to
me …
! ha-hah …” (Bernice went back in her mind, to this afternoon, when Wise Guy was in her kitchen: eeny-meeny-miney, moe! catch a dolphin … heh-heh-hehhh! … Well, what a terrible experience that would have been for that little boy …) Mrs. Burrmann then stretched her arms horizontal; and made her body look like a crucifix. The cat curled itself round her ankles. A sadness came over her face. “What a strange thing! I can’t remember the dream.”
    “Leach.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Do you believe in dreams, Leach?”
    “Me, Mrs. Burrmann? Believe in dreams?”
    “Do you, really?”
    “Well, to tell the truth, ma’am, my whole life is one big never-ending dream.”
    Mrs. Burrmann either did not understand the meaning of Bernice’s words; or she was not concerned about them. She took up the cat, Putzi, and held it to her face. Putzi, black and sleek and sneaky, cuddled up like a naughty child in the spoiling hands of a doting parent; closed its eyes, because it was secure; and listened to Beethoven. Bernice saw the cat open its eyes and put its long pink tongue out, and plant a kiss with its tongue like a pink snake, right on Mrs. Burrmann’s mouth.
Jesus Christ! this blasted woman and that cat! That cat will surely give her the tizzick, as good as a cent! I am sure that this woman believe in black magic and witchcraft
. But the cat re-coiled itself into a black ball, in Mrs. Burrmann’s hands. Mrs. Burrmann told it, “Putziputziputzi, darling, mother’s gonna feed thee, eh, Putziputzi, eh? you’re a sweet person … 
(God blind her and that black cat in my kitchen! She must be sleeping with that blasted black cat, or something just as bad!)
 … eh, Putziputzi?” She was talking to Putzi, as if she had forgotten that he was a cat. She then put Putzi down; and the cat, transformed from a person into a cat again, transformed itself into a horse-shoe token of goodluck, and curled itself against Bernice’s fat ankles. “Putzi loves you, too, Bernice,” Mrs. Burrmann said.
(“Blind you, cat! if she wasn’t here, I would throw you right in a tub o’ hot water! Now, get to hell from offa me, cat! I don’t like cats
.) Bernice smiled with the cat; and waited until Mrs. Burrmann had looked off, before she jabbed it with her toe.
    “Putziputzi,” she said, imitating Mrs. Burrmann.
    “I’m going out now.”
    “But wait, missis. And what about the party?”
    “Forget the party, I’m going out.”
    “Forget the party? But you mean to tell me, Mrs. Burrmann, that you had me stretched-out in this kitchen from the time I wake up this morning, till now, past five o’clock, and just like that, you telling me forget the party?”
    “Forget the party,” she said, and she took Putzi from the kitchen counter where he was eating some of the sandwiches, and put him on the floor, and called him after her, “Come Putziputziputzi, darling, come come, Putziputziputzi.…” The cat went to her like a black worm; it looked up into her eyes; aimed with its eyes and tensed its body, and then sprang into Mrs. Burrmann’s arms. “Honey!” She was still speaking to the cat.
    “That
animal
!” Bernice spat into the kitchen sink, as she said it; and then she ran hot water over the substance. She sat down as soon as Mrs. Burrmann went upstairs. The letter from Lonnie was still on her mind, and she wanted to remember what home was like … 
remember, at this present moment, because things resting heavy on my mind. Things real