II

The mustiness of the subway station reminded Naublus he was still on Earth. Sometime he forgot. Sometimes he would walk down the grey streets of Baltimore, and the gleaming sunset would transport him to the Sun, where it was nice and warm and comfortable and everyone shared food -- hummus, fried green tomatoes, chappati with cumin-sauteed potatoes, the finest Bordeaux red wines. In a most fleeting instant, he'd be on that brilliant ball, filled with nothing but light and warmth. And then -- plop! -- his cheek would scrape the wrinkly Baltimore sidewalk. "Reality, man," Naublus urged himself, "you've got to stay in reality."

All subway commuters saw of him was two pitifully beige, brown-splotched shoe soles sticking straight up like spring shrubs, forming a sort of trapezoid. At times, on their own account, the soles would liberate themselves from Naublus' shoes and glide towards the commuters, eventually hanging themselves on top of the subway doors. As the bankers, fast food workers, and random jays rushed into the airconditioned car, the soles slapped them on their foreheads. Of course, they would feel the sting much later on, when they were about to fall peacefully to sleep. Naublus had no idea this happened.

With a sad crack of his muscles, Naublus stood up, greeted the whoosh of the passing subway cars. Oh, the fresh air! Oh, morning, yes, come to Naublus, breathe in new strength to march the streets of Baltimore! Welcome back, Naublus, to life!

But what to eat? Naublus scrounged the spare platform for any bit of crystallized milk, sugar, ketchup, cheesesteak grease. No luck, only dust. He walked up the steps and down he plunged into Washington Heights, into Baltimore, into the United States of America. The first rays of sunlight shot through the clouds like needles piercing a scraggly old T-shirt. Naublus frowned. The sun did not radiate food. No, he was sure it didn't. He tried reaching for the light with his hands, wafting it into his mouth. It didn't fill him up, so onward, Naublus! Food is out there somewhere!

Out of the grey, a man resembling bamboo bumped into Naublus, breaking his slow, deliberate, yet dazed stride.

"What the hell's yer problem?" Grandma Pearl's grandson squealed.

Ding-dong. The doorbell of hunger resonated in Naublus's mouth. He pounced on the man, reaching -- yes! -- and clawing at the Chinese take-out box in his hands. With but a little struggle (the man immediately backed away), the Mongolian beef was all Naublus'. All Naublus', could you believe it?

Lady Liberty flew in, this time on a hot pink hovercraft and wielding a socker-bopper. She affectionately punched his head, softly.

"Ya did it, Naublus!" she smiled widely, her teeth, all with teeny mouths, smiling too. "I told you you'd be alright."

Heavy breathing and panting -- with tongue smacks mingled in -- were Naublus' response. He looked up, a blob of sauce suspended in the hair between his eyebrows.

I

"Oh, brilliant smokey wonder!"

He opened his eyes wide, mouth gaping, trying to absorb every single mass of gas around him. Walking forth, he slipped on a snail shell and fell and rushed uncontrollably down the yellow grass hill. He lost all sense of place, gained all sense of smell. Nothing else, just smell. He stopped, sat up, wrung his neck in stress.

Suddenly, all around him, succulent foods appeared -- Hanoi-style barbecue pork, crêpes au beurre, steaming pozole. Sizzling skillets swung around, spreading the dizzying smells. Naublus couldn't hold back. He sobbed, shaking and twitching and gasping for air. He sobbed.

In came Lady Liberty, soft-footed and graceful. "What's wrong, Naublus?"

Sobs in response.

"Give freedom time to catch up. It'll be OK. You've just hit a rut, that's all. You'll get back on your feet."

"You think so?" Naublus whimpered.

"I know so!" Lady Liberty said giddily. "I know so."

Naublus tried to muster up some hunger, but his sadness took it all away. As if sucked away by a vacuum, the Hanoi-style barbecue pork, crêpes au beurre, and steaming pozole flew back into the horizon. A chigger clawed his nostrils. He slapped it, but to no avail. He kept on slapping it, contorting his fingers into new formations to try to get the damn thing. It kept clawing. Naublus went crazy and his slaps woke him up.