Barely two hours sleep tonight, and he found himself again thinking that dead might be better. No more insomnia then. No more long waits for dawn in this hateful chair. No more days when he seemed to be looking at the world through the Gardol Invisible Shield they used to prattle about on the toothpaste commercials. Back when TV had been almost brandnew, that had been, in the days when he had yet to find the first strands of gray in his hair and he was always asleep five minutes after he and Carol had finished making love. And people keep talking about how good I look. Thats the weirdest part of it. Except it wasnt. Considering some of the things hed seen just lately, a few people saying he looked like a new man was far, far down on his list of oddities. Ralphs eyes returned to May Lochers house. The place had been locked up, according to Leydecker, but Ralph had seen the two little bald doctors come out the front door, he had seen them, goddammit But had he? Had he really? Ralph cast his mind back to the previous morning. Sitting down in this same chair with a cup of tea and thinking Let the play begin. And then he had seen those two little bald bastards come out, damn it, he had seen them come out of May Lochers house! Except maybe that was wrong, because he hadnt really been looking at Mrs Lochers house; he had been pointed more in the direction of the Red Apple. Hed thought the flicker of movement in the corner of his eye was probably Rosalie, and had turned his head to check. That was when hed seen the little bald doctors on the stoop of May Lochers house. He was no longer entirely sure he had seen the front door open; maybe he had just assumed that part, and why not? They sure as hell hadnt come up Mrs Lochers walk. You cant be sure of that, Ralph. Except he could. At three in the morning, Harris Avenue was as still as the mountains of the moon  the slightest movement anywhere within the range of his vision registered. Had Doc 1 and Doc 2 come out the front door? The longer Ralph thought about it, the more he doubted it. Then what happened, Ralph? Did they maybe step out from behind the Gardol Invisible Shield? Or  hows this?  maybe they walked through the door, like those ghosts that used to haunt Cosmo Topper in that old TV show! And the craziest thing of all was that felt just about right. What? That they walked through the fucking DOOR? Oh, Ralph, you need help. You need to talk to someone about whats happening to you. Yes. That was the one thing of which he was sure he needed to spill all this to someone before it drove him crazy. But who? Carolyn would have been best, but she was dead. Leydecker? The problem there was that Ralph had already lied to him about the 911 call. Why? Because the truth would have sounded insane. It would have sounded, in fact, as if he had caught Ed Deepneaus paranoia like a cold. And wasnt that really the most likely explanation, when you looked at the situation dead on? But thats not it, he whispered. They were real. The auras, too. Its a long walk back to Eden, sweetheart . . . and watch out for those greengold whiteman tracks while youre on the way. Tell someone. Lay it all out. Yes. And he ought to do it before John Leydecker listened to that 911 tape and showed up asking for an explanation. Wanting to know, basically, why Ralph had lied, and what Ralph actually knew about the death of May Locher. Tell someone. Lay it all out. But Carolyn was dead, Leydecker was still too new, Helen was lying low at the WomanCare shelter somewhere out in the willywags, and Lois Chasse might gossip to her girlfriends. Who did that leave? The answer became clear once he put it to himself that way, but Ralph still felt a surprising reluctance to talk to McGovern about the things which had been happening to him. He remembered the day he had found Bill sitting on a bench by the softball field, crying over his old friend and mentor, Bob Polhurst. Ralph had tried to tell Bill about the auras, and it had been as if McGovern couldnt hear him; he had been too busy running through his wellthumbed script on the subject of how shitty it was to grow old. Ralph thought of the satiric raised eyebrow. The unfailing cynicism. The long face, always so gloomy. The literary allusions, which usually made Ralph smile but often left him feeling a tad inferior, as well. And then there was McGoverns attitude toward Lois condescending, even a touch cruel. Yet this was a long way from being fair, and Ralph knew it. Bill McGovern was capable of kindness, and  perhaps far more important in this case  understanding. He and Ralph had known each other for over twenty years; for the last ten of those years they had lived in the same building. He had been one of Carolyns pallbearers, and if Ralph couldnt talk to Bill about what had been happening to him, who could he talk to? The answer seemed to be no one. CHAPTER TEN 1 The misty rings around the streetlamps were gone by the time daylight began to brighten the sky in the east, and by nine oclock the day was clear and warm  the beginning of Indian summers final brief passage, perhaps. Ralph went downstairs as soon as Good Morning America was over, determined to tell McGovern what had been happening to him (or as much as he dared, anyway) before he could lose his nerve. Standing outside the door of the downstairs apartment, however, he could hear the shower running and the mercifully distant sound of William D. McGovern singing I Left My Heart in San Francisco. Ralph went out to the porch, stuck his hands in his back pockets, and read the day like a catalogue. There was nothing, he reflected, really nothing in the world like October sunshine; he could almost feel his nightmiseries draining away. They would undoubtedly be back, but for now he felt all right  tired and muzzyheaded, yes, but still pretty much all right. The day was more than pretty; it was downright gorgeous, and Ralph doubted if there would be another as good before next May. He decided he would be a fool not to take advantage of it. A walk up to the Harris Avenue Extension and back again would take half an hour, fortyfive minutes if there happened to be someone up there worth batting a little breeze with, and by then Bill would be showered, shaved, combed, and dressed. Also ready to lend a sympathetic ear, if Ralph was lucky. He walked as far as the picnic area outside the County Airport fence without quite admitting to himself that he was hoping to come across Old Dor. If he did, perhaps the two of them could talk a little poetry  Stephen Dobyns, for instance  or maybe even a bit of philosophy. They might start that part of their conversation with Dorrance explaining what longtime business was, and why he believed Ralph shouldnt mess in with it. Except Dorrance wasnt at the picnic area; no one was there but Don Veazie, who wanted to explain to Ralph why Bill Clinton was doing such a horrible job as President, and why it would have been better for the good old US of A if the American people had elected that fiscal genius Ross Perot. Ralph (who had voted for Clinton and actually thought the man was doing a pretty good job) listened long enough to be polite, then said he had an appointment to have his hair cut. It was the only thing he could think of on short notice. Something else, too! Don blared after him. That uppity wife of his! Womans a lesbian! I can always tell! You know how? I look at their shoes! Shoes is like a secret code with em! They always wear those ones with the square toes and See you, Don! Ralph called back, and beat a hasty retreat. He had gone about a quarter of a mile back down the hill when the day exploded silently all around him. 2 He was opposite May Lochers house when it happened. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring down Harris Avenue with wide, unbelieving eyes. His right hand was pressed against the base of his throat and his mouth hung open. He looked like a man having a heart attack, and while his heart seemed all right  for the time being, anyway  he certainly felt as if he were having some kind of an attack. Nothing he had seen this fall had prepared him for this. Ralph didnt think anything could have prepared him for this. That other world  the secret world of auras  had come into view again, and this time there was more of it than Ralph had ever dreamed . . . so much that he wondered fleetingly if it was possible for a person to die of perceptual overload. Upper Harris Avenue was a fiercely glowing wonderland filled with overlapping spheres and cones and crescents of color. The trees, which were still a week or more away from the climax of their fall transformation, none the less burned like torches in Ralphs eyes and mind. The sky had gone past color; it was a vast blue sonic boom. The telephone lines on Derrys west side were still above ground, and Ralph stared fixedly at them, vaguely aware that he had stopped breathing and should probably start again soon if he didnt want to pass out. Jagged yellow spirals were running briskly up and down the black wires, reminding Ralph of how barberpoles had looked when he was a kid. Every now and then this bumblebee pattern was broken by a spiky red vertical stroke or a green flash that seemed to spread both ways at once, obliterating the yellow rings for a moment before fading out. Youre watching people talk, he thought numbly. Do you know that, Ralph? Aunt Sadie in Dallas is chatting with her favorite nephew, who lives in Derry; a farmer in Haven is jawing with the dealer he buys his tractor parts from; a minister is trying to help a troubled parishioner. Those are voices, and I think the bright strokes and flashes are coming from people in the grip of some strong emotion  love or hate, happiness or jealousy. And Ralph sensed that all he was seeing and all he was feeling was not all; that there was a whole world still waiting just beyond the current reach of his senses. Enough, perhaps, to make even what he was seeing now seem faint and faded. And if there was more, how could he possibly bear it without going mad? Not even putting his eyes out would help; he understood somehow that his sense of seeing these things came mostly from his lifelong acceptance of sight as his primary sense. But there was, in fact, a lot more than seeing going on here. In order to prove this to himself he closed his eyes . . . and went right on seeing Harris Avenue. It was as if his eyelids had turned to glass. The only difference was that all the usual colors had reversed themselves, creating a world that looked like the negative of a color photograph. The trees were no longer orange and yellow but the bright, unnatural green of lime Gatorade. The surface of Harris Avenue, repaved with fresh asphalt in June, had become a great white way, and the sky was an amazing red lake. He opened his eyes again, almost positive that the auras would be gone, but they werent; the world still boomed and rolled with color and movement and deep, resonating sound. When do I start seeing them? Ralph wondered as he began to walk slowly down the hill again. When do the little bald doctors start coming out of the woodwork? There were no doctors in evidence, however, bald or otherwise; no angels in the architecture; no devils peering up from the sewer gratings. There was only Look out, Roberts, watch where youre going, cant you? The words, harsh and a little alarmed, seemed to have actual physical texture; it was like running a hand over oak panelling in some ancient abbey or ancestral hall. Ralph stopped short and saw Mrs Perrine from down the street. She had stepped off the sidewalk into the gutter to keep from being bowled over like a tenpin, and now she stood ankledeep in fallen leaves, holding her net shopping bag in one hand and glaring at Ralph from beneath her thick saltandpepper eyebrows. The aura which surrounded her was the firm, nononsense gray of a West Point uniform. Are you drunk, Roberts? she asked in a clipped voice, and suddenly the riot of color and sensation fell out of the world and it was just Harris Avenue again, drowsing its way through a lovely weekday morning in midautumn. Drunk? Me? Not at all. Sober as a judge, honest. He held out his hand to her. Mrs Perrine, over eighty but not giving in to it so much as a single inch, looked at it as if she believed Ralph might have a joybuzzer hidden in his palm. Wouldnt put it past you, Roberts, her cool gray eyes said. Wouldnt put it past you at all. She stepped back onto the sidewalk without Ralphs aid. Im sorry, Mrs Perrine. I wasnt watching where I was going. No, you certainly werent. Lollygagging along with your mouth hanging open is what you were doing. You looked like the village idiot. Sorry, he repeated, and then had to bite his tongue to stifle a bray of laughter. Hmmp. Mrs Perrine looked him slowly up and down, like a Marine drillsergeant inspecting a raw recruit. Theres a rip under the arm of that shirt, Roberts. Ralph raised his left arm and looked. There was indeed a large rip in his favorite plaid shirt. He could look through it and see the bandage with its dried spot of blood; also an unsightly tangle of oldman armpit hair. He lowered his arm hurriedly, feeling a blush rising in his cheeks. Hmmp, Mrs Perrine said again, expressing everything she needed to express on the subject of Ralph Roberts without recourse to a single vowel. Drop it off at the house, if you like. Any other mending you might have, as well. I can still run a needle, you know. Oh yes, Ill bet you can, Mrs Perrine. Mrs Perrine now gave him a look which said, Youre a driedup old asskisser, Ralph Roberts, but I suppose you cant help it. Not in the afternoon, she said. I help make dinner at the homeless shelter in the afternoons, and help serve it out at five. Its Gods work. Yes, Im sure it Therell be no homeless in heaven, Roberts. You can count on that. No ripped shirts, either, Im sure. But while were here, we have to get along and make do. Its our job. And I, for one, am doing spectacularly well at it, Mrs Perrines face proclaimed. Bring your mending in the morning or in the evening, Roberts. Dont stand on ceremony, but dont you show up on my doorstep after eightthirty. I go to bed at nine. Thats very kind of you, Mrs Perrine, Ralph said, and had to bite his tongue again. He was aware that very soon this trick would cease to work; soon it was going to be a case of laugh or die. Not at all. Christian duty. Also, Carolyn was a friend of mine. Thank you, Ralph said. Terrible about May Locher, wasnt it? No, Mrs Perrine said. Gods mercy. And she glided upon her way before Ralph could say another word. Her spine was so excruciatingly straight that it hurt him to look at it. He walked on a dozen steps, then could hold it no longer. He leaned a forearm against a telephone pole, pressed his mouth to his arm, and laughed as quietly as he could  laughed until tears poured down his cheeks. When the fit (and that was what it really felt like; a kind of hysterical seizure) had passed, Ralph raised his head and looked around with attentive, curious, slightly teary eyes. He saw nothing that anyone else couldnt see as well, and that was a relief. But it will come back, Ralph. You know it will. All of it. Yes, he supposed he did know it, but that was for later. Right now he had some talking to do. 3 When Ralph finally arrived back from his amazing journey up the street, McGovern was sitting in his chair on the porch and idling through the morning paper. As Ralph turned up the walk, he came to a sudden decision. He would tell Bill a lot, but not everything. One of the things he would definitely leave out was how much the two guys hed seen coming out of Mrs Lochers house had looked like the aliens in the tabloids for sale at the Red Apple. McGovern looked up as he climbed the steps. Hello, Ralph. Hi, Bill. Can I talk to you about something? Of course. He closed the paper and folded it carefully. They finally took my old friend Bob Polhurst to the hospital yesterday. Oh? I thought you expected that to happen sooner. I did. Everybody did. He fooled us. In fact, he seemed to be getting better  of the pneumonia, at least  and then he relapsed. He had a breathing arrest yesterday around noon, and his niece thought he was going to die before the ambulance got there. He didnt, though, and now he seems to have stabilized again. McGovern looked up the street and sighed. May Locher pops off in the middle of the night and Bob just keeps chugging along. What a world, huh? I guess so. What did you want to talk about? Have you finally decided to pop the question to Lois? Want a little fatherly advice on how to handle it? I need advice, all right, but not about my lovelife. Spill it, McGovern said tersely. Ralph did, gratified and more than a little relieved by McGoverns silent attentiveness. He began by sketching in things Bill already knew about  the incident between Ed and the truckdriver in the summer of 92, and how similar Eds rantings on that occasion had been to the things he had said on the day he had beaten Helen for signing the petition. As Ralph spoke, he began to feel more strongly than ever that there were connections between all the odd things which had been happening to him, connections he could almost see. He told McGovern about the auras, although not about the silent cataclysm he had experienced less than half an hour before  that was also further than he was willing to go, at least for the time being. McGovern knew about Charlie Pickerings attack on Ralph, of course, and that Ralph had averted a much more serious injury by using the spray Helen and her friend had given him, but now Ralph told him something he had held back on Sunday night, when hed told McGovern about the attack over a scratch dinner how the spraycan had magically appeared in his jacket pocket. Except, he said, he suspected that the magician had been Old Dor. Holy shit! McGovern exclaimed. Youve been living dangerously, Ralph! I guess so. How much of this have you told Johnny Leydecker? Very little, Ralph started to say, then realized that even that would be an exaggeration. Almost none of it. And theres something else I havent told him. Something a lot more . . . well, a lot more substantive, I guess. To do with what happened up there. He pointed toward May Lochers house, where a couple of blue and white vans had just pulled up. MAINE STATE POLICE was written on the sides. Ralph assumed they were the forensics people Leydecker had mentioned. May? McGovern leaned a little further forward in his chair. You know something about what happened to May? I think I do. Speaking carefully, moving from word to word like a man using steppingstones to cross a treacherous brook, Ralph told McGovern about waking up, going into the living room, and seeing two men come out of Mrs Lochers house. He recounted his successful rummage for the binoculars, and told McGovern about the scissors he had seen one of the men carrying. He did not mention his nightmare of Carolyn or the glowing tracks, and he most certainly did not mention his belated impression that the two men might have come right through the door; that would have finished off any remaining tatters of credibility he might still possess. He ended with his anonymous call to 911 and then sat in his chair, looking at McGovern anxiously. McGovern shook his head as if to clear it. Auras, oracles, mysterious housebreakers with scissors . . . you have been living dangerously. What do you think, Bill? McGovern sat quietly for several moments. He had rolled his newspaper up while Ralph was talking, and now he began to tap it absently against his leg. Ralph felt an urge to phrase his question even more bluntly  Do you think Im crazy, Bill?  and quashed it. Did he really believe that was the sort of question to which people gave honest answers . . . at least without a healthy shot of sodium pentothal first? That Bill might say Oh yes, I think youre just as crazy as a bedbug, Ralphiebaby, so why dont we call Juniper Hill right away and see if they have a bed for you? Not very likely . . . and since any answer Bill gave would mean nothing, it was better to forgo the question. I dont exactly know what I think, Bill said at last. Not yet, at least. What did they look like? Their faces were hard to make out, even with the binoculars, Ralph said. His voice was as steady as it had been yesterday, when he had denied making the 911 call. You probably dont have any idea of how old they were, either? No. Could either of them have been our old pal from up the street? Ed Deepneau? Ralph looked at McGovern in surprise. No, neither one was Ed. What about Pickering? No. Not Ed, not Charlie Pickering. I would have known either of them. What are you driving at? That my mind just sort of buckled and put the two guys whove caused me the most stress in the last few months on May Lochers front stoop? Of course not, McGovern replied, but the steady taptaptap of the newspaper against his leg paused and his eyes flickered. Ralph felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Yes; that was in fact exactly what McGovern had been driving at, and it wasnt really so surprising, was it? Maybe not, but it didnt change that sinking feeling. And Johnny said all the doors were locked. Yes. From the inside. Uhhuh, but McGovern got up from his chair so suddenly that for one crazy moment Ralph had the idea that he was going to run away, perhaps screaming Watch out for Roberts! Hes gone crazy! as he went. But instead of bolting down the steps, he turned toward the door leading back into the house. In some ways Ralph found this even more alarming. What are you going to do? Call Larry Perrault, McGovern said. Mays younger brother. He still lives out in Cardville. Shell be buried in Cardville, I imagine. McGovern gave Ralph a strange, speculative look. What did you think I was going to do? I dont know, Ralph said uneasily. For a second there I thought you were going to run away like the Gingerbread Man. Nope. McGovern reached out and patted him on the shoulder, but to Ralph the gesture felt cold and comfortless. Perfunctory. What does Mrs Lochers brother have to do with any of this? Johnny said they sent Mays body down to Augusta for a more comprehensive autopsy, right? Well, I think the word he actually used was postmortem McGovern waved this away. Same difference, believe me. If anything odd does crop up  anything suggesting that she was murdered  Larry would have to be informed. Hes her only close living relative. Yes, but wont he wonder what your interest is? Oh, I dont think we have to worry about that, McGovern said, speaking in a soothing tone Ralph didnt care for at all. Ill say the police have sealed off the house and that the old Harris Avenue rumor mill is turning briskly. He knows May and I were school chums, and that I visited her regularly over the last couple of years. Larry and I arent crazy about each other, but we get along reasonably well. Hell tell me what I want to know if for no other reason than that were both Cardville survivors. Get it? I guess so, but I hope so, McGovern said, and suddenly he looked like a very old and very ugly reptile  a gila monster, or perhaps a basilisk lizard. He pointed a finger at Ralph. Im not a stupid man, and I do know how to respect a confidence. Your face just now said you werent sure about that, and I resent it. I resent the hell out of it. Im sorry, Ralph said. He was stunned by McGoverns outburst. McGovern looked at him a moment longer with his leathery lips pulled back against his toolarge dentures, then nodded. Yeah, okay, apology accepted. Youve been sleeping like shit, I have to factor that into the equation, and as for me, I cant seem to get Bob Polhurst off my mind. He heaved one of his weightiest pooroldBill sighs. Listen  if youd prefer me not to try calling Mays brother No, no, Ralph said, thinking that what hed like to do was roll the clock back ten minutes or so and cancel this entire conversation. And then a sentiment he was sure Bill McGovern would appreciate floated into his mind, fully constructed and ready for use. Im sorry if I impugned your discretion. McGovern smiled, reluctantly at first and then with his whole face. Now I know what keeps you awake  thinking up crap like that. Sit still, Ralph, and think good thoughts about a hippopotamus, as my mother used to say. Ill be right back. Probably wont even catch him in, you know; funeral arrangements and all that. Want to look at the paper while you wait? Sure. Thanks. McGovern handed him the paper, which still retained the tube shape into which it had been rolled, then went inside. Ralph glanced at the front page. The headline read PROCHOICE, PROLIFE ADVOCATES READY FOR ACTIVISTS ARRIVAL. The story was flanked by two news photographs. One showed half a dozen young women making signs which said things like OUR BODIES, OUR CHOICE and ITS A BRANDNEW DAY IN DERRY! The other showed picketers marching in front of WomanCare. They carried no signs and needed none; the hooded black robes they wore and the scythes they carried said it all. Ralph heaved a sigh of his own, dropped the paper onto the seat of the rocking chair beside him, and watched Tuesday morning unfold along Harris Avenue. It occurred to him that McGovern might well be on the phone with John Leydecker rather than Larry Perrault, and that the two of them might at this very moment be having a little studentteacher conference about that nutty old insomniac Ralph Roberts. Just thought youd like to know who really made that 911 call, Johnny. Thanks, Prof. We were pretty sure, anyway, but its good to get confirmation. I imagine hes harmless. I actually sort of like him. Ralph pushed away his speculations about who Bill might or might not be calling. It was easier just to sit here and not think at all, not even good thoughts about a hippopotamus. Easier to watch the Budweiser truck lumber into the Red Apple parking lot, pausing to give courtesy to the Magazines Incorporated van which had dropped off this weeks ration of tabloids, magazines, and paperbacks and was now leaving. Easier to watch old Harriet Bennigan, who made Mrs Perrine look like a spring chicken, bent over her walker in her bright red fall coat, out for her morning lurch. Easier to watch the young girl, who was wearing jeans, an oversized white teeshirt, and a mans hat about four sizes too big for her, jumping rope in the weedy vacant lot between Franks Bakery and Vicky Moons Tanning Saloon (Body Wraps Our Specialty). Easier to watch the girls small hands penduluming up and down. Easier to listen as she chanted her endless, shuttling rhyme. Threesixnine, the goose drank wine . . . Some distant part of Ralphs mind realized, with great astonishment, that he was on the verge of going to sleep as he sat here on the porch steps. At the same time this was happening, the auras were creeping into the world again, filling it with fabulous colors and motions. It was wonderful, but . . . . . . but something was wrong with it. Something. What? The girl jumping rope in the vacant lot. She was wrong. Her denimclad legs pumped up and down like the bobbin of a sewing machine. Her shadow jumped next to her on the jumbled pavement of an ancient alley overgrown with weeds and sunflowers. The rope whirled up and down . . . all around . . . up and down and all around . . . Not an oversized teeshirt, though, hed been wrong about that. The figure was wearing a smock. A white smock, like the kind worn by actors in the old TV docoperas. Threesixnine, hon, the goose drank wine, The monkey chewed tobacco on the streetcar line . . . A cloud blocked the sun and a grim green light sailed across the day, driving it underwater. Ralphs skin first chilled, then broke out in goosebumps. The girls pumping shadow disappeared. She looked up at Ralph and he saw she wasnt a little girl at all. The creature looking at him was a man about four feet tall. Ralph had first taken the hatshadowed face for that of a child because it was utterly smooth, unmarked by so much as a single line. And yet despite that, it conveyed a clear feeling to Ralph  a sense of evil, of malignity beyond the comprehension of a sane mind. Thats it, Ralph thought numbly, staring at the skipping creature. Thats exactly it. Whatever the thing over there is, its insane. Totally gone. The creature might have read Ralphs thought, for at that moment its lips skinned back in a grin that was both coy and nasty, as if the two of them shared some unpleasant secret. And he was sure  yes, quite sure, almost positive  that it was somehow chanting through its grin, doing it without moving its lips in the slightest [The line BROKE! The monkey got CHOKED! And they all died together in a little rowBOAT!] It was neither of the two little bald doctors Ralph had seen coming out of Mrs Lochers, he was almost positive of that. Related to them, maybe, but not the same. It was The creature threw its jumprope away. The rope turned first yellow and then red, seeming to give off sparks as it flew through the air. The small figure  Doc 3  stared at Ralph, grinning, and Ralph suddenly realized something else, something which filled him with horror. He finally recognized the hat the creature was wearing. It was Bill McGoverns missing Panama. 4 Again it was as if the creature had read his mind. It dragged the hat from its head, revealing the round, hairless skull beneath, and waved McGoverns Panama in the air as if it were a cowpoke astride a bucking bronco. It continued to grin its unspeakable grin as it waved the hat. Suddenly it pointed at Ralph, as if marking him. Then it clapped the hat back on its head and darted into the narrow, weedchoked opening between the tanning salon and the bakery. The sun sailed free of the cloud which had covered it, and the shifting brightness of the auras began to fade once more. A moment or two after the creature had disappeared it was just Harris Avenue in front of him again  boring old Harris Avenue, the same as always. Ralph pulled a shuddering breath, remembering the madness in that small, grinning face. Remembering the way it had pointed (the monkey got CHOKED) at him, as if (they all died together in a little rowBOAT! ) marking him. Tell me I fell asleep, he whispered hoarsely. Tell me I fell asleep and dreamed that little bugger. The door opened behind him. Oh my, talking to yourself, McGovern said. Must have money in the bank, Ralphie. Yeah, about enough to cover my burial expenses, Ralph said. To himself he sounded like a man who has just suffered a terrible shock and is still trying to cope with the residual fright; he half expected Bill to dart forward, face filling with concern (or maybe just suspicion), to ask what was wrong. McGovern did nothing of the sort. He plumped into the rocking chair, crossed his arms over his narrow chest in a brooding X, and looked out at Harris Avenue, the stage upon which he and Ralph and Lois and Dorrance Marstellar and so many other old folks  we goldenagers, in McGovernese  were destined to play out their often boring and sometimes painful last acts. Suppose I told him about his hat? Ralph thought. Suppose I just opened the conversation by saying, Bill, I also know what happened to your Panama. Some badass relation to the guys I saw last night has got it. He wears it when he jumps rope between the bakery and the tanning salon. If Bill had any lingering doubts about his sanity, that little newsflash would certainly set them to rest. Yep. Ralph kept his mouth shut. Sorry I was gone so long, McGovern said. Larry claimed I just caught him going out the door to the funeral parlor, but before I could ask my questions and get away hed rehashed half of Mays life and damned near all of his own. Talked nonstop for fortyfive minutes.


Positive this was an exaggeration  McGovern had surely been gone five minutes, tops  Ralph glanced at his watch and was astounded to see it was elevenfifteen. He looked up the street and saw that Mrs Bennigan had disappeared. So had the Budweiser truck. Had he been asleep? It seemed that he must have been . . . but he could not for the life of him find the break in his conscious perceptions. Oh, come on, dont be dense. You were sleeping when you saw the little bald guy. Dreamed the little bald guy. That made perfect sense. Even the fact that it had been wearing Bills Panama made sense. The same hat had shown up in his nightmare about Carolyn. It had been between Rosalies paws in that one. Except this time he hadnt been dreaming. He was sure of it. Well . . . almost sure. Arent you going to ask me what Mays brother said? McGovern sounded slightly piqued. Sorry, Ralph said. I was woolgathering, I guess. Forgiven, my son . . . provided you listen closely from here on out, that is. The detective in charge of the case, Funderburke Im pretty sure its Utterback. Steve Utterback. McGovern waved his hand airily, his most common response to being corrected on some point. Whatever. Anyway, he called Larry and said the autopsy showed nothing but natural causes. The thing they were most concerned about, in light of your call, was that May had been scared into a heart attack  literally frightened to death  by housebreakers. The doors being locked from the inside and the lack of missing valuables militated against that, of course, but they took your call seriously enough to investigate the possibility. His halfreproachful tone  as if Ralph had wantonly poured glue into the gears of some usually smoothrunning machine  made Ralph feel impatient. Of course they took it seriously. I saw two guys leaving her house and reported it to the authorities. When they got there, they found the lady dead. How could they not take it seriously? Why didnt you give your name when you made the call? I dont know. What difference does it make? And how in Gods name can they be sure she wasnt scared into a heart attack? I dont know if they can be a hundred per cent sure, McGovern said, now sounding a bit testy himself, but I guess it must be close to that if theyre turning Mays body over to her brother for burial. Its probably a bloodtest of some kind. All I know is that this guy Funderburke Utterback told Larry that May probably died in her sleep. McGovern crossed his legs, fiddled with the creases in his blue slacks, then gave Ralph a clear and piercing look. Im going to give you some advice, so listen up. Go to the doctor. Now. Today. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars, go directly to Litchfield. This is getting heavy. The ones I saw coming out of Mrs Lochers didnt see me, but this one did, Ralph thought. It saw me and it pointed at me. For all I know, it might actually have been looking for me. Now there was a nice paranoid thought. Ralph? Did you hear what I said? Yes. I take it you dont believe I actually saw anyone coming out of Mrs Lochers house. You take it right. I saw the look on your face just now when I told you Id been gone fortyfive minutes, and I also saw the way you looked at your watch. You didnt believe so much time had passed, did you? And the reason you didnt believe it is because you dozed off without even being aware of it. Had yourself a little pocket nap. Thats probably what happened to you the other night, Ralph. Only the other night you dreamed up those two guys, and the dream was so real you called 911 when you woke up. Doesnt that make sense? Threesixnine, Ralph thought. The goose drank wine. What about the binoculars? he asked. Theyre still sitting on the table beside my chair in the living room. Dont they prove I was awake? I dont see how. Maybe you were sleepwalking, have you thought of that? You say you saw these intruders, but you cant really describe them. Those orange hiintensity lights All the doors locked from the inside Just the same I And these auras you talked about. The insomnia is causing them  Im almost sure of it. Still, it could be more serious than that. Ralph got up, walked down the porch steps, and stood at the head of the walk with his back to McGovern. There was a throbbing at his temples and his heart was beating hard. Too hard. He didnt just point. I was right the first time, the little sonofabitch marked me. And he was no dream. Neither were the ones I saw coming out of Mrs Lochers. Im sure of it. Of course you are, Ralph, another voice replied. Crazy people are always sure of the crazy things they see and hear. Thats what makes them crazy, not the hallucinations themselves. If you really saw what you saw, what happened to Mrs Bennigan? What happened to the Budweiser truck? How did you lose the fortyfive minutes McGovern spent on the phone with Larry Perrault? Youre experiencing very serious symptoms, McGovern said from behind him, and Ralph thought he heard something terrible in the mans voice. Satisfaction? Could it possibly be satisfaction? One of them had a pair of scissors, Ralph said without turning around. I saw them. Oh, come on, Ralph! Think! Use that brain of yours and think! On Sunday afternoon, less than twentyfour hours before youre due to have acupuncture treatment, a lunatic nearly sticks a knife into you. Is it any wonder that your mind serves up a nightmare featuring a sharp object that night? Hongs pins and Pickerings hunting knife become scissors, thats all. Dont you see that this hypothesis covers all the bases while what you claim to have seen covers none of them? And I was sleepwalking when I got the binoculars? Thats what you think? Its possible. Even likely. Same thing with the spraycan in my jacket pocket, right? Old Dor didnt have a thing to do with it. I dont care about the spraycan or Old Dor! McGovern cried. I care about you! Youve been suffering from insomnia since April or May, youve been depressed and disturbed ever since Carolyn died I have not been depressed! Ralph shouted. Across the street, the mailman paused and looked in their direction before going on down the block toward the park. Have it your own way, McGovern said. You havent been depressed. You also havent been sleeping, youre seeing auras, guys creeping out of locked houses in the middle of the night . . . And then, in a deceptively light voice, McGovern said the thing Ralph had been dreading all along You want to watch out, old son. Youre starting to sound too much like Ed Deepneau for comfort. Ralph turned around. Dull hot blood pounded behind his face. Why are you being this way? Why are you taking after me this way? Im not taking after you, Ralph, Im trying to help you. To be your friend. Thats not how it feels. Well, sometimes the truth hurts a little, McGovern said calmly. You need to at least consider the idea that your mind and body are trying to tell you something. Let me ask you a question  is this the only disturbing dream youve had lately? Ralph thought fleetingly of Carol, buried up to her neck in the sand and screaming about whiteman tracks. Thought of the bugs which had flooded out of her head. I havent had any bad dreams lately, he said stiffly. I suppose you dont believe that because it doesnt fit into the little scenario youve created. Ralph Let me ask you something. Do you really believe that my seeing those two men and May Locher turning up dead was just a coincidence? Maybe not. Maybe your physical and emotional upset created conditions favorable to a brief but perfectly genuine psychic event. Ralph was silenced. I believe such things do happen from time to time, McGovern said, standing up. Probably sounds funny, coming from a rational old bird like me, but I do. Im not outandout saying that is what happened here, but it could have been. What I am sure of is that the two men you think you saw did not in fact exist in the real world. Ralph stood looking up at McGovern with his hands jammed deep into his pockets and clenched into fists so hard and tight they felt like rocks. He could feel the muscles in his arms thrumming. McGovern came down the porch steps and took him by the arm, gently, just above the elbow. I only think Ralph pulled his arm away so sharply that McGovern grunted with surprise and stumbled a little on his feet. I know what you think. Youre not hearing what I Oh, Ive heard plenty. More than enough. Believe me. And excuse me  I think Im going for another walk. I need to clear my head. He could feel dull hot blood pounding away in his cheeks and brow. He tried to throw his brain into some forward gear that would allow it to leave this senseless, impotent rage behind and couldnt do it. He felt a lot as he had when he had awakened from the dream of Carolyn; his thoughts roared with terror and confusion, and as he started his legs moving the sense he got was not one of walking but of falling, as he had fallen out of bed yesterday morning. Still, he kept going. Sometimes that was all you could do. Ralph, you need to see a doctor! McGovern called after him, and Ralph could no longer tell himself that he didnt hear a weird, shrewish pleasure in McGoverns voice. The concern which overlaid it was probably genuine enough but it was like sweet icing on a sour cake. Not a pharmacist, not a hypnotist, not an acupuncturist! You need to see your own family doctor! Yeah, the guy who buried my wife below the hightide line! he thought in a kind of mental scream. The guy who stuck her in sand up to her neck and then told her she didnt have to worry about drowning as long as she kept taking her Valium and Tylenol3! Aloud he said, I need to take a walk! Thats what I need and thats all I need. His heartbeat was now slamming into his temples like the short, hard blows of a sledgehammer, and it occurred to him that this was how strokes must happen; if he didnt control himself soon, he was apt to fall down with what his father had called a badtemper apoplexy. He could hear McGovern coming down the walk after him. Dont touch me, Bill, Ralph thought. Dont even put your hand on my shoulder, because Im probably going to turn around and slug you if you do. Im trying to help you, dont you see that? McGovern shouted. The mailman on the other side of the street had stopped again to watch them, and outside the Red Apple, Karl, the guy who worked mornings, and Sue, the young woman who worked afternoons, were gawking frankly across the street at them. Karl, he saw, had a bag of hamburger buns in one hand. It was really sort of amazing, the things you saw at a time like this . . . although not as amazing as some of the things he had already seen that morning. The things you thought you saw, Ralph, a traitor voice whispered softly from deep inside his head. Walk, Ralph muttered desperately. Just a damn walk. A mindmovie had begun to play in his head. It was an unpleasant one, the sort of film he rarely went to see even if he had seen everything else that was playing at the cinema center. The soundtrack to this mental horror flick seemed to be Pop Goes the Weasel, of all things. Let me tell you something, Ralph  at our age, mental illness is common! At our age its common as hell, so GO SEE YOUR DOCTOR! Mrs Bennigan was now standing on her stoop, her walker abandoned at the foot of the front steps. She was still wearing her bright red fall coat, and her mouth appeared to be hanging open as she stared down the street at them. Do you hear me, Ralph? I hope you do! I just hope you do! Ralph walked faster, hunching his shoulders as if against a cold wind. Suppose he just keeps on yelling, louder and louder? Suppose he follows me right up the street? If he does that, people will think hes the one whos gone crazy, he told himself, but this idea had no power to soothe him. In his mind he continued to hear a piano playing a childrens tune  no, not really playing; picking it out in nurseryschool plinks and plonks All around the mulberry bush The monkey chased the weasel, The monkey thought twas all in fun, Pop! Goes the weasel! And now Ralph began to see the old people of Harris Avenue, the ones who bought their insurance from companies that advertised on cable TV, the ones with the gallstones and the skin tumors, the ones whose memories were diminishing even as their prostates enlarged, the ones who were living on Social Security and peering at the world through thickening cataracts instead of rosecolored glasses. These were the people who now read all the mail which came addressed to Occupant and scanned the supermarket advertising circulars for specials on canned goods and generic frozen dinners. He saw them dressed in grotesque short pants and fluffy short skirts, saw them wearing beanies and teeshirts which showcased such characters as Beavis and ButtHead and Rude Dog. He saw them, in short, as the worlds oldest preschoolers. They were marching around a double row of chairs as a small bald man in a white smock played Pop Goes the Weasel on the piano. Another baldy filched the chairs one by one, and when the music stopped and everyone sat down, one person  this time it had been May Locher, next time it would probably be McGoverns old department head  was left standing. That person would have to leave the room, of course. And Ralph heard McGovern laughing. Laughing because hed found a seat again. Maybe May Locher was dead, Bob Polhurst dying, Ralph Roberts losing his marbles, but he was still all right, William D. McGovern, Esq was still fine, still dandy, still vertical and taking nourishment, still able to find a chair when the music stopped. Ralph walked faster still, shoulders hunched even higher, anticipating another fusillade of advice and admonition. He thought it unlikely that McGovern would actually follow him up the street, but not entirely out of the question. If McGovern was angry enough he might do just that  remonstrating, telling Ralph to stop fooling around and go to the doctor, reminding him that the piano could stop anytime, any old time at all, and if he didnt find a chair while the finding was good, he might be out of luck forever. No more shouts came, however. He thought of looking back to see where McGovern was, then thought better of it. If he saw Ralph looking back, it might set him off all over again. Best to just keep going. So Ralph lengthened his stride, heading back in the direction of the airport again without even thinking about it, walking with his head down, trying not to hear the relentless piano, trying not to see the old children marching around the chairs, trying not to see the terrified eyes above their makebelieve smiles. It came to him as he walked that his hopes had been denied. He had been pushed into the tunnel after all, and the dark was all around him. PART 2 THE SECRET CITY Old men ought to be explorers. T.S. Eliot Four Quartets CHAPTER ELEVEN 1 The Derry of the Old Crocks was not the only secret city existing quietly within the place Ralph Roberts had always thought of as home; as a boy growing up in Mary Mead, where the various Old Cape housing developments stood today, Ralph had discovered there was, in addition to the Derry that belonged to the grownups, one that belonged strictly to the children. There were the abandoned hobo jungles near the railroad depot on Neibolt Street, where one could sometimes find tomato soup cans halffull of mulligatawny stew and bottles with a swallow or two of beer left in them; there was the alley behind the Aladdin Theater, where Bull Durham cigarettes were smoked and Black Cat firecrackers sometimes set off; there was the big old elm which overhung the river, where scores of boys and girls had learned to dive; there were the hundred (or perhaps it was closer to two hundred) tangled trails winding through the Barrens, an overgrown valley which slashed through the center of town like a badly healed scar. These secret streets and highways in hiding were all below the adult plane of vision and were consequently overlooked by them . . . although there had been exceptions. One of them had been a cop named Aloysius Nell  Mr Nell to generations of Derry children  and it was only now, as he walked up toward the picnic area near the place where Harris Avenue became the Harris Avenue Extension, that it occurred to Ralph that Chris Nell was probably old Mr Nells son . . . except that couldnt be quite right, because the cop Ralph had first seen in the company of John Leydecker wasnt old enough to be old Mr Nells son. Grandson, more like it. Ralph had become aware of a second secret city  one that belonged to the old folks  around the time he retired, but he hadnt fully realized that he himself was a citizen of it until after Carols death. What he had discovered then was a submerged geography eerily similar to the one he had known as a child, a place largely ignored by the hurrytowork, hurrytoplay world which thumped and hustled all around it. The Derry of the Old Crocks overlapped yet a third secret city the Derry of the Damned, a terrible place inhabited mostly by winos, runaways, and lunatics who could not be kept locked up. It was in the picnic area that Lafayette Chapin had introduced Ralph to one of lifes most important considerations . . . once youd become a bona fide Old Crock, that was. This consideration had to do with ones real life. The subject had come up while the two men were just getting to know one another. Ralph had asked Faye what he had done before he started coming out to the picnic area. Well, in my real life I was a carpenter n fancy cabinetmaker, Chapin had replied, exposing his remaining teeth in a wide grin, but all that ended almost ten year ago. As if, Ralph remembered thinking, retirement was something like a vampires kiss, pulling those who survived it into the world of the undead. And when you got right down to cases, was that really so far off the mark? 2 Now, with McGovern safely behind him (at least he hoped so), Ralph stepped through the screen of mixed oak and maple which shielded the picnic area from the Extension. He saw that eight or nine people had drifted in since his earlier walk, most with bag lunches or Coffee Pot sandwiches. The Eberlys and Zells were playing hearts with the greasy deck of Top Hole cards which was kept stashed in a knothole of a nearby oak; Faye and Doc Mulhare, a retired vet, were playing chess; a couple of kibbitzers wandered back and forth between the two games. Games were what the picnic area was about  what most of the places in the Derry of the Old Crocks were about  but Ralph thought the games were really just framework. What people actually came here for was to touch base, to report in, to confirm (if only to themselves) that they were still living some kind of life, real or otherwise. Ralph sat on an empty bench near the Cyclone fence and traced one finger absently over the engraved carvings  names, initials, lots of FUCKS YOUS  as he watched planes land at orderly twominute intervals a Cessna, a Piper, an Apache, a Twin Bonanza, the eleven fortyfive Air Express out of Boston. He kept one ear cocked to the ebb and flow of conversation behind him. May Lochers name was mentioned more than once. She had been known by several of these people, and the general opinion seemed to be Mrs Perrines  that God had finally shown mercy and ended her suffering. Most of the talk today, however, concerned the impending visit of Susan Day. As a rule, politics wasnt much of a conversational draw with the Old Crocks, who preferred a good bowel cancer or stroke any day, but even out here the abortion issue exercised its singular ability to engage, inflame, and divide. She picked a bad town to come to, and the hell of it is, I doubt she knows it, Doc Mulhare said, watching the chessboard with glum concentration as Faye Chapin blitzkrieged his kings remaining defenders. Things have a way of happening here. Remember the fire at the Black Spot, Faye? Faye grunted and captured the docs remaining bishop. What I dont understand is these cootiebugs, Lisa Zell said, picking up the front section of the News from the picnic table and slapping the photograph of the hooded figures marching in front of WomanCare. Its like they want to go back to the days when women gave themselves abortions with coathangers. Thats what they do want, Georgina Eberly said. They figure if a womans scared enough of dying, shell have the baby. It never seems to cross their minds that a woman can be more scared of having a kid than using a coathanger to get rid of it. What does bein afraid have to do with it? one of the kibbitzers  a shovelfaced oldster named Pedersen  asked truculently. Murder is murder whether the babys inside or outside, thats the way I look at it. Even when theyre so small you need a microscope to see em, its still murder. Because theyd be kids if you let em alone. I guess that just about makes you Adolf Eichmann every time you jerk off, Faye said, and moved his queen. Check. Lafayette Chapin! Lisa Zell cried. Playin with yourself aint the same at all, Pedersen said, glowering. Oh no? Wasnt there some guy in the Bible got cursed by God for hammerin the old haddock? the other kibbitzer asked. Youre probably thinking of Onan, said a voice from behind Ralph. He turned, startled, and saw Old Dor standing there. In one hand he held a paperback with a large number 5 on the cover. Where the hell did you come from? Ralph wondered. He could almost have sworn there had been no one standing behind him a minute or so before. Onan, Shmonan, Pedersen said. Those sperms arent the same as a baby No? Faye asked. Then why aint the Catholic Church sellin rubbers at Bingo games? Tell me that. Thats just ignorant, Pedersen said. And if you dont see But it wasnt masturbation Onan was punished for, Dorrance said in his high, penetrating old mans voice. He was punished for refusing to impregnate his brothers widow, so his brothers line could continue. Theres a poem, by Allen Ginsberg, I think Shut up, you old fool! Pedersen yelled, and then glowered at Faye Chapin. And if you dont see that theres a big difference between a man beating his meat and a woman flushing the baby God put in her belly down the toilet, youre as big a fool as he is. This is a disgusting conversation, Lisa Zell said, sounding more fascinated than disgusted. Ralph looked over her shoulder and saw a section of chainlink fencing had been torn loose from its post and bent backward, probably by the kids who took this place over at night. That solved one mystery, anyway. He hadnt noticed Dorrance because the old man hadnt been in the picnic area at all; hed been wandering around the airport grounds. It occurred to Ralph that this was his chance to grab Dorrance and maybe get some answers out of him . . . except that Ralph would likely end up more confused than ever. Old Dor was too much like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland  more smile than substance. Big difference, huh? Faye was asking Pedersen. Yeah! Red patches glowered in Pedersens chapped cheeks. Doc Mulhare shifted uneasily on his seat. Look, lets just forget it and finish the game, Faye, all right? Faye took no notice; his attention was still fixed on Pedersen. Maybe you ought to think again about all the little spermies that died in the palm of your hand every time you sat on the toilet seat thinkin about how nice itd be to have Marilyn Monroe cop your Pedersen reached out and slapped the remaining chesspieces off the board. Doc Mulhare winced backward, mouth trembling, eyes wide and frightened behind pinkrimmed glasses which had been mended in two places with electrical tape. Yeah, good! Faye shouted. Thats a very reasonable fuckin argument, you geek! Pedersen raised his fists in an exaggerated John L. Sullivan pose. Want to do somethin about it? he asked. Come on, lets go! Faye got slowly to his feet. He stood easily a foot taller than the shovelfaced Pedersen and outweighed him by at least sixty pounds. Ralph could hardly believe what he was seeing. And if the poison had seeped this far, what about the rest of the city? It seemed to him that Doc Mulhare was right; Susan Day must not have the slightest idea of how bad an idea bringing her act to Derry really was. In some ways  in a lot of ways, actually  Derry wasnt like other places. He was moving before he was consciously aware of what he meant to do, and he was relieved to see Stan Eberly doing the same thing. They exchanged a glance as they approached the two men standing nose to nose, and Stan nodded slightly. Ralph slipped an arm around Fayes shoulders a bare second before Stan gripped Pedersens upper left arm. You aint doing none of that, Stan said, speaking directly into one of Pedersens tufted ears. Well end up taking the both of you over to Derry Home with heart attacks, and you dont need another one of those, Harley  you had two already. Or is it three? I aint letting him make jokes about wimmin murderin babies! Pedersen said, and Ralph saw there were tears rolling down the mans cheeks. My wife died havin our second daughter! Sepsis carried her off back in 46! So I aint havin that talk about murderin babies! Christ, Faye said in a different voice. I didnt know that, Harley. Im sorry Ah, frig your sorry! Pedersen cried, and ripped his arm out of Stan Eberlys grip. He lunged toward Faye, who raised his fists and then lowered them again as Pedersen went blundering past without looking at him. He took the path through the trees which led back out to the Extension and was gone. What followed his departure was thirty seconds of pure shocked silence, broken only by the waspwhine of an incoming Piper Cub. 3 Jesus, Faye said at last. You see a guy every few days over five, ten years, and you start to think you know everything. Christ, Ralphie, I didnt know how his wife died. I feel like a fool. Dont let it get you down, Stan said. Hes probly just havin his monthlies. Shut up, Georgina said. Weve had enough dirty talk for one morning. Ill be glad when that Day woman comes n goes n things can get back to normal, Fred Zell said. Doc Mulhare was down on his hands and knees, collecting chesspieces. Do you want to finish, Faye? he asked. I think I remember where they all were. No, Faye said. His voice, which had remained steady during the confrontation with Pedersen, now sounded trembly. Think Ive had enough for awhile. Maybe Ralphll give you a little tourney prelim. Think Im going to pass, Ralph said. He was looking around for Dorrance, and at last spotted him. He had gone back through the hole in the fence. He was standing in kneehigh grass at the edge of the service road over there, bending his book back and forth in his hands as he watched the Piper Cub taxi toward the General Aviation terminal. Ralph found himself remembering how Ed had come tearing along that service road in his old brown Datsun, and how he had sworn (Hurry up! Hurry up and lick shit! ) at the slowness of the gate. For the first time in over a year he found himself wondering what Ed had been doing in there to begin with.  than you did. Huh? He made an effort and focused on Faye again. I said you must be sleepin again, because you look a hell of a lot better than you did. But now your hearins goin to hell, I guess. I guess so, Ralph said, and tried a little smile. Think Ill go grab myself a little lunch. You want to come, Faye? My treat. Nah, I already had a Coffee Pot, Faye said. Its sittin in my gut like a piece of lead right now, to tell you the truth. Cheez, Ralph, the old fart was crying, did you see that? Yes, but I wouldnt make it into a big deal if I were you, Ralph said. He started walking toward the Extension, and Faye ambled along beside him. With his broad shoulders slumped and his head lowered, Faye looked quite a lot like a trained bear in a mansuit. Guys our age cry over just about anything. You know that. I spose. He gave Ralph a grateful smile. Anyway, thanks for stoppin me before I could make it worse. You know how I am, sometimes. I only wish someone had been there when Bill and I got into it, Ralph thought. Out loud he said, No problem. Its me that should be thanking you, actually. Its something else to put on my rsum when I apply for that highpaying job at the UN. Faye laughed, delighted, and clapped Ralph on the shoulder. Yeah, SecretaryGeneral! Peacemaker Number One! You could do it, Ralph, no shit! No question about it. Take care of yourself, Faye. He started to turn away and Faye touched his arm. Youre still up for the tournament next week, arent you? The Runway 3 Classic? It took a moment for Ralph to figure out what he was talking about, although it had been the retired carpenters main topic of conversation ever since the leaves had begun to show color. Faye had been putting on the chess tournament he called The Runway 3 Classic ever since the end of his real life in 1984. The trophy was an oversized chrome hubcap with a fancy crown and scepter engraved on it. Faye, easily the best player among the Old Crocks (on the west side of town, at least), had awarded the trophy to himself on six of the nine occasions it had been given out, and Ralph had a suspicion that he had gone in the tank the other three times, just to keep the rest of the tourney participants interested. Ralph hadnt thought much about chess this fall; hed had other things on his mind. Sure, he said, I guess Ill be playing. Faye grinned. Good. We should have had it last weekend  that was the schedule  but I was hopin that if I put it off, Jimmy V would be able to play. Hes still in the hospital, though, and if I put it off much longer itll be too cold to play outdoor and well end up in the back of Duffy Spragues barber shop, like we did in 90. Whats wrong with Jimmy V? Cancer come back on him again, Faye said, then added in a lower tone I dont think hes got a snowballs chance in hell of beatin it this time. Ralph felt a sudden and surprisingly sharp pang of sorrow at this news. He and Jimmy Vandermeer had known each other well during their own real lives. Both had been on the road back then, Jimmy in candy and greeting cards, Ralph in printing supplies and paper products, and the two of them had gotten on well enough to team up on several New England tours, splitting the driving and sharing rather more luxurious accommodations than either could have afforded alone. They had also shared the lonely, unremarkable secrets of travelling men. Jimmy told Ralph about the whore whod stolen his wallet in 1958, and how hed lied to his wife about it, telling her that a hitchhiker had robbed him. Ralph told Jimmy about his realization, at the age of fortythree, that he had become a terpin hydrate junkie, and about his painful, ultimately successful struggle to kick the habit. He had no more told Carolyn about his bizarre coughsyrup addiction than Jimmy V had told his wife about his last Bgirl. A lot of trips; a lot of changed tires; a lot of jokes about the travelling salesman and the farmers beautiful daughter; a lot of latenight talks which had gone on until the small hours of the morning. Sometimes it was God they had talked about, sometimes the IRS. All in all, Jimmy Vandermeer had been a damned good pal. Then Ralph had gotten his deskjob with the printing company and fallen out of touch with Jimmy. Hed only begun to reconnect out here, and at a few of the other dim landmarks which dotted the Derry of the Old Crocks  the library, the poolhall, the back room of Duffy Spragues barber shop, four or five others. When Jimmy told him shortly after Carolyns death that he had come through a bout with cancer a lung shy but otherwise okay, what Ralph had remembered was the man talking baseball or fishing as he fed smoldering Camel stubs into the slipstream rushing by the wingwindow of the car, one after another. I got lucky was what he had said. Me and the Duke, we both got lucky. Except neither of them had stayed lucky, it seemed. Not that anyone did, in the end.


Oh, man, Ralph said. Im sorry to hear that. Hes been in Derry Home almost three weeks now, Faye said. Havin those radiation treatments and gettin injects of poison thats supposed to kill the cancer while its half killing you. Im surprised you didnt know, Ralph. I suppose you are, but Im not. The insomnia keeps swallowing stuff, you see. One day its the last CupASoup envelope you lose track of; next day its your sense of time; the day after that its your old friends. Faye shook his head. Fucking cancer. Its spooky, how it waits. Ralph nodded, now thinking of Carolyn. What rooms Jimmy in, do you know? Maybe Ill go visit him. Just so happens I do. 315. Think you can remember it? Ralph grinned. For awhile, anyway. Go see him if you can, sure  they got him pretty doped up, but he still knows who comes in, and I bet hed love to see you. Him and you had a lot of high old times together, he told me once. Well, you know, Ralph said. Couple of guys on the road, thats all. If we flipped for the check in some diner, Jimmy V always called tails. Suddenly he felt like crying. Lousy, isnt it? Faye said quietly. Yes. Well, you go see him. Hell be glad, and youll feel better. Thats how its supposed to work, anyway. And dont you go and forget the damn chess tournament! Faye finished, straightening up and making a heroic effort to look and sound cheerful. If you step out now youll fuck up the seedings. Ill do my best. Yeah, I know you will. He made a fist and punched Ralphs upper arm lightly. And thanks again for stopping me before I could do something Id, you know, feel bad about later. Sure. Peacemaker Number One, thats me. Ralph started down the path which led to the Extension, then turned back. You see that service road over there? The one that goes from General Aviation out to the street? He pointed. A catering truck was currently driving away from the private terminal, its windshield reflecting bright darts of sunlight into their eyes. The truck stopped just short of the gate, breaking the electriceye beam. The gate began to trundle open. Sure I do, Faye said. Last summer I saw Ed Deepneau using that road, which means he had a keycard to the gate. Any idea how he would have come by a thing like that? You mean The Friends of Life guy? Lab scientist who did a little research in wifebeating last summer? Ralph nodded. But its the summer of 92 Im talking about. He was driving an old brown Datsun. Faye laughed. I wouldnt know a Datsun from a Toyota from a Honda, Ralph  I stopped bein able to tell cars apart around the time Chevrolet gave up the gullwing tailfins. But I can tell you who mostly uses that road caterers, mechanics, pilots, crew, and flight controllers. Some passengers have keycards, I think, if they fly private a lot. The only scientists over there are the ones who work at the airtesting station. Is that the kind of scientist he is? Nope, a chemist. He worked at Hawking Labs until just a little while ago. Played with the white rats, did he? Well there arent any rats over at the airport  that I know of, anyway  but now that I think of it, there is one other bunch of people who use that gate. Oh? Who? Faye pointed at a prefab building with a corrugated roof standing about seventy yards from the General Aviation terminal. See that building? Thats SoloTech. Whats SoloTech? A school, Faye said. They teach people to fly. 4 Ralph walked back down Harris Avenue with his big hands stuffed into his pockets and his head lowered so he did not see much more than the cracks in the sidewalk passing beneath his sneakers. His mind was fixed on Ed Deepneau again . . . and on SoloTech. He had no way of knowing if SoloTech was the reason Ed had been out at the airport on the day he had run into Mr West Side Gardeners, but all of a sudden that was a question to which Ralph very much wanted an answer. He was also curious as to just where Ed was living these days. He wondered if John Leydecker might share his curiosity on these two points, and decided to find out. He was passing the unpretentious double storefront which housed George Lyford, CPA, on one side and Maritime Jewelry (WE BUY YOUR OLD GOLD AT TOP PRICES) on the other, when he was pulled out of his thoughts by a short, strangled bark. He looked up and saw Rosalie sitting on the sidewalk just outside the upper entrance to Strawford Park. The old dog was panting rapidly; saliva drizzled off her lolling tongue, building up a dark puddle on the concrete between her paws. Her fur was stuck together in dark clumps, as if she had been running, and the faded blue bandanna around her neck seemed to shiver with her rapid respiration. As Ralph looked at her, she gave another bark, this one closer to a yelp. He glanced across the street to see what she was barking at and saw nothing but the BuffyBuffy Laundromat. There were a few women moving around inside, but Ralph found it impossible to believe Rosalie was barking at them. No one at all was currently passing on the sidewalk in front of the coinop laundry. Ralph looked back and suddenly realized that Rosalie wasnt just sitting on the sidewalk but crouching there . . . cowering there. She looked scared almost to death. Until that moment, Ralph had never thought much about how eerily human the expressions and body language of dogs were they grinned when they were happy, hung their heads when they were ashamed, registered anxiety in their eyes and tension in the set of their shoulders  all things that people did. And, like people, they registered abject, total fear in every quivering line of the body. He looked across the street again, at the spot where Rosalies attention seemed focused, and once again saw nothing but the laundry and the empty sidewalk in front of it. Then, suddenly, he remembered Natalie, the Exalted  Revered Baby, snatching at the grayblue contrails his fingers left behind as he reached out with them to wipe the milk from her chin. To anyone else she would have looked as if she were grabbing at nothing, the way babies always appeared to be grabbing at nothing . . . but Ralph had known better. He had seen better. Rosalie uttered a string of panicky yelps that grated on Ralphs ear like the sound of unoiled hinges. So far its only happened on its own . . . but maybe I can make it happen. Maybe I can make myself see See what? Well, the auras. Them, of course. And maybe whatever Rosalie (threesixnine hon) was looking at, as well. Ralph already had a pretty good idea (the goose drank wine) of what it was, but he wanted to be sure. The question was how to do it. How does a person see in the first place? By looking, of course. Ralph looked at Rosalie. Looked at her carefully, trying to see everything there was to see the faded pattern on the blue bandanna which served as her collar, the dusty clumps and tangles in her uncaredfor coat, the sprinkle of gray around her long muzzle. After a few moments of this she seemed to feel his gaze, for she turned, looked at him, and whined uneasily. As she did, Ralph felt something turn over in his mind  it felt like the startermotor of a car. There was a brief but very clear sense of being suddenly lighter, and then brightness flooded into the day. He had found his way back into that more vivid, more deeply textured world. He saw a murky membrane  it made him think of spoiled eggwhite  swim into existence around Rosalie, and saw a dark gray balloonstring rising from her. Its point of origin wasnt the skull, however, as had been the case in all the people Ralph had seen while in this heightened state of awareness; Rosalies balloonstring rose from her muzzle. Now you know the most essential difference between dogs and men, he thought. Their souls reside in different places. [Doggy! Here, doggy, cmere!] Ralph winced and drew back from that voice, which was like chalk squeaking on a blackboard. The heels of his palms rose most of the way to his ears before he realized that wouldnt help; he wasnt really hearing it with his ears, and the part that the voice hurt the worst was deep inside his head, where his hands couldnt reach. [Hey, you fucking flea suitcase! You think Ive got all day? Get your raggedy ass over here!] Rosalie whined and switched her gaze from Ralph back toward whatever she had been looking at before. She started to get up, then shrank back down on her haunches again. The bandanna she wore was shaking harder than ever, and Ralph saw a dark crescent begin to spread around her left flank as her bladder let go. He looked across the street and there was Doc 3, standing between the laundromat and the elderly apartment house next door, Doc 3 in his white smock (it was badly stained, Ralph noticed, as if he had been wearing it for a long time) and his midgetsized blue jeans. He still had McGoverns Panama on his head. The hat now appeared to balance on the creatures ears; it was so big for him that the top half of his head seemed submerged in it. He was grinning ferociously at the dog, and Ralph saw a double row of pointed white teeth  the teeth of a cannibal. In his left hand he was holding something which was either an old scalpel or a straightrazor. Part of Ralphs mind tried to convince him that it was blood he saw on the blade, but he was pretty sure it was just rust. Doc 3 slipped the first two fingers of his right hand into the corners of his mouth and blew a piercing whistle that went through Ralphs head like a drillbit. Down the sidewalk, Rosalie flinched backward and then voiced a brief howl. [Get your fucking ass over, Rover! Do it now!] Rosalie got up, tail between her legs, and began to slink toward the street. She whined as she went, and her fear had worsened her limp to the point where she was barely able to stagger; her hindquarters threatened to slide out from under her at each reluctant, lurching step. [Hey!] Ralph only realized that he had yelled when he saw the small blue cloud float up in front of his face. It was etched with gossamer silver lines that made it look like a snowflake. The bald dwarf wheeled toward the sound of Ralphs shout, instinctively raising the weapon he held as he did. His expression was one of snarling surprise. Rosalie had stopped with her front paws in the gutter and was looking at Ralph with wide, anxious brown eyes. [What do you want, Shorts?] There was fury at being interrupted in that voice, fury at being challenged . . . but Ralph thought there were other emotions underneath. Fear? He wished he could believe it. Perplexity and surprise seemed surer bets. Whatever this creature was, it wasnt used to being seen by the likes of Ralph, let alone challenged. [Whats the matter, ShortTime, cat got your tongue? Or have you already forgotten what you wanted?] [I want you to leave that dog alone!] Ralph heard himself in two different ways. He was fairly sure he was speaking aloud, but the sound of his actual voice was distant and tinny, like music drifting up from a pair of Walkman headphones which have been temporarily laid aside. Someone standing right beside him might have heard what he said, but Ralph knew the words would have sounded like a weak, outofbreath gasp  talk from a man who has just been gutpunched. Inside his head, however, he sounded as he hadnt in years  young, strong, and confident. Doc 3 must have heard it that second way, for he recoiled momentarily, again raising his weapon (Ralph was now almost certain it was a scalpel) for a moment, as if in selfdefense. Then he seemed to regroup. He left the sidewalk and strode to the edge of Harris Avenue, standing on the leafdrifted strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street. He hitched at the waistband of his jeans, yanking it through the dirty smock, and stared grimly at Ralph for several moments. Then he raised the rusty scalpel in the air and made an unpleasantly suggestive sawing gesture with it. [You can see me  big deal! Dont poke your nose into what doesnt concern you, ShortTime! The mutt belongs to me!] The bald doc turned back to the cringing dog. [Im done fooling with you, Rover! Get over here! Right now! ] Rosalie gave Ralph a beseeching, despairing look and then began to cross the street. I dont mess in with longtime business, Old Dor had told him on the day hed given him the book of Stephen Dobyns poems. I told you not to, either. Yes, he had, yes indeed, but Ralph had a feeling it was too late now. Even if it wasnt, he had no intention of leaving Rosalie to the unpleasant little gnome standing in front of the coinop laundry across the street. Not if he could help it, that was. [Rosalie! Over here, girl! Heel!] Rosalie gave a single bark and trotted over to where Ralph stood. She placed herself behind his right leg and then sat down, panting and looking up at him. And here was another expression Ralph found he could read with ease one part relief, two parts gratitude. The face of Doc 3 was twisted into a grimace of hate so severe it was almost a cartoon. [Better send her across, Shorts! Im warning you!] [No.] [Ill fuck you over, Shorts. Ill fuck you over bigtime. And Ill fuck your friends over. Do you get me? Do you] Ralph suddenly raised one hand to shoulder height with the palm turned inward toward the side of his head, as if he meant to administer a karate chop. He brought it down and watched, amazed, as a tight blue wedge of light flew off the tips of his fingers and sliced across the street like a thrown spear. Doc 3 ducked just in time, clapping one hand to McGoverns Panama to keep it from flying off. The blue wedge skimmed two or three inches over that small, clutching hand and struck the front window of the BuffyBuffy. There it spread like some supernatural liquid, and for a moment the dusty glass became the brilliant, perfect blue of todays sky. It faded after only a moment and Ralph could see the women inside the laundromat again, folding their clothes and loading their washers exactly as if nothing had happened. The bald dwarf straightened, rolled his hands into fists, and shook them at Ralph. Then he snatched McGoverns hat off his head, stuck the brim in his mouth, and tore a bite out of it. As he performed this bizarre equivalent of a childs tantrum, the sun struck splinters of fire from the lobes of his small, neatly made ears. He spat out the chunk of splintery straw and then clapped the hat back on his head. [That dog was mine, Shorts! I was gonna play with her! I guess maybe Ill have to play with you instead, huh? You and your asshole friends!] [Get out of here.] [Cuntlicker! Fucked your mother and licked her cunt! ] Ralph knew where he had heard that charming sentiment before Ed Deepneau, out at the airport, in the summer of 92. It wasnt the sort of thing you forgot, and all at once he was terrified. What in Gods name had he stumbled into? 5 Ralph lifted his hand to the side of his head again, but something inside had changed. He could bring it down in that chopping gesture again, but he was almost positive that this time no bright blue flying wedge would result. The doc apparently didnt know he was being threatened with an empty gun, however. He shrank back, raising the hand holding the scalpel in a shielding gesture. The grotesquely bitten hat slipped down over his eyes, and for a moment he looked like a stagemelodrama version of Jack the Ripper . . . one who might have been working out pathologic inadequacies caused by extreme shortness. [Gonna get you for this, Shorts! You wait! You just wait! No ShortTimer runs the game on me!] But for the time being, the little bald doctor had had enough. He wheeled around and ran into the weedy lane between the laundromat and the apartment house with his dirty, toolong smock flapping and snapping at the legs of his jeans. The brightness slipped out of the day with him. Ralph marked its passage to a large extent with senses he had never before even suspected. He felt totally awake, totally energized, and almost exploding with delighted excitement. I drove it off, by God! I drove the little sonofawhore off! He had no idea what the creature in the white smock really was, but he knew he had saved Rosalie from it, and for now that was enough. Nagging questions about his sanity might creep back tomorrow morning as he sat in the wingchair looking down at the deserted street below . . . but for the time being, he felt like a million bucks. You saw him, didnt you, Rosalie? You saw the nasty little He looked down, saw that Rosalie was no longer sitting by his heel, and looked up in time to see her limping into the park, head down, right leg slueing stiffly off to the side with every pained stride. Rosalie! he shouted. Hey, girl! And, without really knowing why  except that they had just gone through something extraordinary together  Ralph started after her, first just jogging, then running, finally sprinting all out. He didnt sprint for long. A stitch that felt like a hot chrome needle buried itself in his left side, then spread rapidly across the left half of his chest wall. He stopped just inside the park, standing bent over at the intersection of two paths, hands clamped on his legs just above the knees. Sweat ran into his eyes and stung like tears. He panted harshly, wondering if it was just the ordinary sort of stitch he remembered from the last lap of the mile run in highschool track, or if this was how the onset of a fatal heart attack felt. After thirty or forty seconds the pain began to abate, so maybe it had just been a stitch, after all. Still, it went a good piece toward supporting McGoverns thesis, didnt it? Let me tell you something, Ralph  at our age, mental illness is common! At our age its common as hell! Ralph didnt know if that was true or not, but he did know that the year he had made AllState Track was now over half a century in the past, and sprinting after Rosalie the way hed done was stupid and probably dangerous. If his heart had seized up, he supposed he wouldnt have been the first old guy to be punished with a coronary thrombosis for getting excited and forgetting that when eighteen went, it went forever. The pain was almost gone and he was getting his wind back, but his legs still felt untrustworthy, as if they might unlock at the knees and spill him onto the gravel path without the slightest warning. Ralph lifted his head, looking for the nearest park bench, and saw something that made him forget stray dogs, shaky legs, even possible heart attacks. The nearest bench was forty feet farther along the lefthand path, at the top of a gentle, sloping hill. Lois Chasse was sitting on that bench in her good blue fall coat. Her gloved hands were folded together in her lap, and she was sobbing as if her heart would break. CHAPTER TWELVE 1 Whats wrong, Lois? She looked up at him, and the first thought to cross Ralphs mind was actually a memory a play he had taken Carolyn to see at the Penobscot Theater in Bangor eight or nine years ago. Some of the characters in it had supposedly been dead, and their makeup had consisted of clownwhite greasepaint with dark circles around the eyes to give the impression of huge empty sockets. His second thought was much simpler Raccoon. She either saw some of his thoughts on his face or simply realized how she must look, because she turned away, fumbled briefly at the clasp of her purse, then simply raised her hands and used them to shield her face from his view. Go away, Ralph, would you? she asked in a thick, choked voice. I dont feel very well today. Under ordinary circumstances, Ralph would have done as she asked, hurrying away without looking back, feeling nothing but a vague shame at having come across her with her mascara smeared and her defenses down. But these werent ordinary circumstances, and Ralph decided he wasnt leaving  not yet, anyway. He still retained some of that strange lightness, and still felt that other world, that other Derry, was very close. And there was something else, something perfectly simple and straightforward. He hated to see Lois, whose happy nature he had never even questioned, sitting here by herself and bawling her eyes out. Whats the matter, Lois? I just dont feel well! she cried. Cant you leave me alone? Lois buried her face in her gloved hands. Her back shook, the sleeves of her blue coat trembled, and Ralph thought of how Rosalie had looked when the bald doctor had been yelling at her to get her ass across the street miserable, scared to death. Ralph sat down next to Lois on the bench, slipped an arm around her, and pulled her to him. She came, but stiffly . . . as if her body were full of wires. Dont you look at me! she cried in that same wild voice. Dont you dare! My makeups a mess! I put it on special for my son and daughterinlaw . . . they came for breakfast . . . we were going to spend the morning . . . Well have a nice time, Ma, Harold said . . . but the reason they came . . . you see, the real reason . . . Communication broke down in a fresh spate of weeping. Ralph groped in his back pocket, came up with a handkerchief which was wrinkled but clean, and put it in one of Loiss hands. She took it without looking at him. Go on,he said. Scrub up a little if you want, although you dont look bad, Lois; honest you dont. A little raccoony is all, he thought. He began to smile, and then the smile died. He remembered the day in September when he had set off for the Rite Aid to check out the overthecounter sleep aids and had encountered Bill and Lois standing outside the park, talking about the dollthrowing demonstration which Ed had orchestrated at WomanCare. She had been clearly distressed that day  Ralph remembered thinking that she looked tired in spite of her excitement and concern  but she had also been close to beautiful her considerable bosom heaving, her eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed with a maids high color. That all but irresistible beauty was hardly more than a memory today; in her melting mascara Lois Chasse looked like a sad and elderly clown, and Ralph felt a quick hot spark of fury for whatever or whoever had wrought the change. I look horrible! Lois said, applying Ralphs handkerchief vigorously. Im a fright! No, maam. Just a little smeary. Lois at last turned to face him. It clearly took a lot of effort with her rouge and eye makeup now mostly on Ralphs handkerchief. How bad am I? she breathed. Tell the truth, Ralph Roberts, or your eyesll cross. He bent forward and kissed one moist cheek. Only lovely, Lois. Youll have to save ethereal for another day, I guess. She gave him an uncertain smile, and the upward movement of her face caused two fresh tears to spill from her eyes. Ralph took the crumpled handkerchief from her and gently wiped them away. Im so glad it was you who came along and not Bill, she told him. I would have died of shame if Bill had seen me crying in public. Ralph looked around. He saw Rosalie, safe and sound at the bottom of the hill  she was lying between the two Portosans that stood down there, her muzzle resting on one paw  but otherwise this part of the park was empty. I think weve got the place pretty much to ourselves, at least for now, he said. Thank God for small favors. Lois took the handkerchief back and went to work on her makeup again, this time in a rather more businesslike manner. Speaking of Bill, I stopped into the Red Apple on my way down here  that was before I got feeling sorry for myself and started to bawl my silly head off  and Sue said you two had a big argument just a little while ago. Yelling and everything, right out in your front yard. Nah, not that big, Ralph said, smiling uneasily. Can I be nosy and ask what it was about? Chess, Ralph said. It was the first thing to pop into his mind. The Runway 3 Tournament Faye Chapin has every year. Only it really wasnt about anything. You know how it is  sometimes people get out of bed on the wrong side and just grab the first excuse. I wish that was all it was with me, Lois said. She opened her purse, managing the clasp effortlessly this time, and took out her compact. Then she sighed and stuffed it back into the bag again without opening it. I cant. I know Im being a baby, but I just cant. Ralph darted his hand into her purse before she could close it, removed the compact, opened it, and held the mirror up in front of her. See? Thats not so bad, is it? She averted her face like a vampire turning away from a crucifix. Ugh, she said. Put it away. If you promise to tell me what happened. Anything, just put it away. He did. For a little while Lois said nothing but only sat and watched her hands fiddle restlessly with the clasp of her purse. He was about to prod her when she looked up at him with a pitiful expression of defiance. It just so happens youre not the only one who cant get a decent nights sleep, Ralph. What are you talking ab Insomnia! she snapped. I go to sleep at about the same time I always did, but I dont sleep through anymore. And its worse than that. I wake up earlier every morning, it seems. Ralph tried to remember if he had told Lois about that aspect of his own problem. He didnt think he had. Why are you looking so surprised? Lois asked. You didnt really think you were the only person in the world to ever have a sleepless night, did you? Of course not! Ralph responded with some indignation . . . but hadnt it often felt as if he were the only person in the world to have that particular kind of sleepless night? Standing helplessly by as his good sleeptime was eroded minute by minute and quarter hour by quarter hour? It was like a weird variant of the Chinese watertorture. When did yours start? he asked. A month or two before Carol died. How much sleep are you getting? Barely an hour a night since the start of October. Her voice was calm, but Ralph heard a tremor which might have been panic just below the surface. The way things are going, Ill have entirely quit sleeping by Christmas, and if that really happens, I dont know how Ill survive it. Im barely surviving now. Ralph struggled for speech and asked the first question to come into his mind How come Ive never seen your light? For the same reason I hardly ever see yours, I imagine, she said. Ive been living in the same place for almost thirtyfive years, and I dont need to turn on the lights to find my way around. Also, I like to keep my troubles to myself. You keep turning on the lights at two in the morning and sooner or later someone sees them. It gets around, and then the nosybirds start asking questions. I dont like nosybird questions, and Im not one of those people who feel like they have to take an ad out in the paper every time they have a little constipation. Ralph burst out laughing. Lois looked at him in roundeyed perplexity for a moment, then joined in. His arm was still around her (or had it crept back on its own after he had taken it away? Ralph didnt know and didnt really care), and he hugged her tightly. This time she pressed against him easily; those stiff little wires had gone out of her body. Ralph was glad. Youre not laughing at me, are you, Ralph? Nope. Absolutely not. She nodded, still smiling. Thats all right, then. You never even saw me moving around in my living room, did you? No. Thats because theres no streetlamp in front of my house. But theres one in front of yours. Ive seen you in that ratty old wingchair of yours many times, sitting and looking out and drinking tea. I always assumed I was the only one, he thought, and suddenly a question  both comic and embarrassing  popped into his head. How many times had she seen him sitting there and picking his nose? Or picking at his crotch? Either reading his mind or the color in his cheeks, Lois said,I really couldnt make out much more than your shape, you know, and you were always wearing your robe, perfectly decent. So you dont have to worry about that. Also, I hope you know that if youd ever started doing anything you wouldnt want people to see you doing, I wouldnt have looked. I wasnt exactly raised in a barn, you know. He smiled and patted her hand. I do know that, Lois. Its just . . . you know, a surprise. To find out that while I was sitting there and watching the street, somebody was watching me. She fixed him with an enigmatic smile that might have said, Dont worry, Ralph  you were just another part of the scenery to me. He considered this smile for a moment, then groped his way back to the main point. So what happened, Lois? Why were you sitting here and crying? Just sleeplessness? If thats what it was, I certainly sympathize. Theres really no just about it, is there? Her smile slipped away. Her gloved hands folded together again in her lap and she looked somberly down at them. There are worse things than insomnia. Betrayal, for instance. Especially when the people doing the betraying are the people you love. 2 She fell quiet. Ralph didnt prompt her. He was looking down the hill at Rosalie, who appeared to be looking up at him. At both of them, maybe. Did you know we share the same doctor as well as the same problem, Ralph? You go to Litchfield, too? Used to go to Litchfield. He was Carolyns recommendation. Ill never go to him again, though. He and I are quits. Her upper lip drew back. Doublecrossing son of a bitch! What happened? I went along for the best part of a year, waiting for things to get better by themselves  for nature to take her course, as they say. Not that I didnt try to help nature along every now and then. We probably tried a lot of the same things. Honeycomb? Ralph asked, smiling again. He couldnt help it. What an amazing day this has been, he thought. What a perfectly amazing day . . . and its not even one in the afternoon yet. Honeycomb? What about it? Does that help? No, Ralph said, grinning more widely than ever, doesnt help a bit, but it tastes wonderful. She laughed and squeezed his bare left hand in both of her gloved ones. Ralph squeezed back. You never went to see Dr Litchfield about it, did you, Ralph? Nope. Made an appointment once, but cancelled it. Did you put it off because you didnt trust him? Because you felt he missed the boat on Carolyn? Ralph looked at her, surprised. Never mind, Lois said. I had no right to ask that. No, its okay. I guess Im just surprised to hear the idea from someone else. That he . . . you know . . . that he might have misdiagnosed her. Huh! Loiss pretty eyes flashed. It crossed all our minds! Bill used to say he couldnt believe you didnt have that fumblefingered bastard in district court the day after Carolyns funeral. Of course back then I was on the other side of the fence, defending Litchfield like mad. Did you ever think of suing him? No. Im seventy, and I dont want to spend whatever time I have left flogging a malpractice suit. Besides  would it bring Carol back? She shook her head. Ralph said,What happened to Carolyn was the reason I didnt go see him, though. I guess it was, at least. I just couldnt seem to trust him, or maybe . . . I dont know . . . No, he didnt really know, that was the devil of it. All he knew for sure was that he had cancelled the appointment with Dr Litchfield, as he had cancelled his appointment with James Roy Hong, known in some quarters as the pinsticker man. That latter appointment had been scratched on the advice of a ninetytwo or threeyearold man who could probably no longer remember his own middle name. His mind slipped to the book Old Dor had given him, and to the poem Old Dor had quoted from  Pursuit, it had been called, and Ralph couldnt seem to get it out of his head . . . especially the part where the poet talked about all the things he saw falling away behind him the unread books, the untold jokes, the trips that would never be taken. Ralph? Are you there? Yeah  just thinking about Litchfield. Wondering why I cancelled that appointment. She patted his hand. Just be glad you did. I kept mine. Tell me. Lois shrugged. When it got so bad I felt I couldnt stand it anymore, I went to him and told him everything.