A Collaboration
Meanwhile, the little girl is silent, sucking her thumb. She must be five or six, or whatever it is a child of this size might be. Goombeldt knows very little about small children.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
No reply.
“Are you okay, little girl?”
He crouches next to her, his face level with hers. This position should make him less of a threat. From this angle, the strangeness of her face is increased. It’s not immediately clear what exactly creates this impression. Unexpectedly, Goombeldt is reminded of Zungvilda’s face as he sometimes observes it from this angle, a certain expression she gets when they make love—engaged, passionate, angry, lost. This observation makes no sense, it’s completely out of place, even frightening. For a moment, Goombeldt is disoriented.
“He-elp!” the little girl says, in a low, hoarse voice—not a match for her appearance. It’s so odd that Goombeldt instinctively steps back.
“What happened?”
“He-elp!” That same voice.
“You must tell me what happened,” Goombeldt finds himself saying. “I need to know so I can decide how best to help you.”
“Help!” A smirk arrives on her face, not really the face of someone needing help—rather, someone playing a nasty joke. Or is it just the light and his foul mood that make him see it that way? Absurdly, he is scared.