And if Litchfield really sticks in your craw, call somebody else. The phone books as full of doctors as it ever was. Probably true, but seventy was maybe a little old to be picking a new sawbones by the eeniemeenieminiemoe method. And he wasnt going to call Litchfield back. Period. Okay, so whats next, you stubborn old goat? A few more folk remedies? I hope not, because at the rate youre going youll be down to eye of newt and tongue of toad in no time. The answer that came was like a cool breeze on a hot day . . . and it was an absurdly simple answer. All his bookresearch this summer had been aimed at understanding the problem rather than finding a solution. When it came to answers, he had relied almost solely on backfence remedies like whiskey and honey, even when the books had already assured him they probably wouldnt work or would only work for a while. Although the books did offer some presumably reliable methods for coping with insomnia, the only one Ralph had actually tried was the simplest and most obvious going to bed earlier in the evening. That solution hadnt worked  he had simply lain awake until eleventhirty or so, then dropped off to wake at his new, earlier time  but something else might. It was worth a try, anyway. 3 Instead of spending the afternoon in his usual frenzy of backyard pottering, Ralph went down to the library and skimmed through some of the books he had already looked at. The general consensus seemed to be that if going to bed earlier didnt work, going later might. Ralph went home (mindful of his previous adventures, he took the bus) filled with cautious hope. It might work. If it didnt, he always had Bach, Beethoven and William Ackerman to fall back on. His first attempt at this technique, which one of the texts called delayed sleep, was comic. He awoke at his nowusual time (345 by the digital clock on the livingroom mantel) with a sore back, an aching neck, no immediate idea of how he had gotten into the wingchair by the window, or why the TV was on, broadcasting nothing but snow and a soft, surflike roar of static. It was only as he allowed his head to roll cautiously back, supporting the nape of his neck with a cupped palm, that he realized what had happened. He had intended to sit up until at least three oclock and possibly four. He would then stroll off to bed and sleep the sleep of the just. That had been the plan, anyway. Instead, The Incredible Insomniac of Harris Avenue had dropped off during Jay Lenos opening monologue, like a kid whos trying to stay up all night long just to see what its like. And then, of course, he had finished the adventure by waking up in the damned chair. The problem was the same, Joe Friday might have said; only the location had changed. Ralph strolled off to bed anyway, hoping against hope, but the urge (if not the need) to sleep had passed. After an hour of lying awake, he had gone back to the wingchair again, this time with a pillow propped behind his stiff neck and a rueful grin on his face. 4 There was nothing funny about his second try, which took place the following night. Sleepiness began to steal over him at its usual time  eleventwenty, just as Pete Cherney was giving the following days weather forecast. This time Ralph fought it successfully, making it all the way through Whoopi (although he almost nodded off during Whoopis conversation with Roseanne Arnold, that evenings guest) and the latenight movie that came on after that. It was an old Audie Murphy flick in which Audie appeared to be winning the war in the Pacific pretty much singlehanded. It sometimes seemed to Ralph that there was an unspoken rule among local TV broadcasters which stated that movies telecast in the small hours of the morning could only star Audie Murphy or James Brolin. After the last Japanese pillbox had been blown up, Channel 2 signed off. Ralph dialed around, looking for another movie, and found nothing but snow. He supposed he could have watched movies all night if he had the cable, like Bill downstairs or Lois down the street; he remembered having put that on his list of things to do in the new year. But then Carolyn had died and cable TV  with or without Home Box Office  had no longer seemed very important. He found a copy of Sports Illustrated and began to slog through an article on womens tennis hed missed the first time through, glancing up at the clock every now and then as the hands began to close in on 300 a.m. He had become all but convinced that this was going to work. His eyelids were so heavy they felt as if they had been dipped in concrete, and although he was reading the tennis article carefully, word for word, he had no idea of what the writer was driving at. Whole sentences zipped across his brain without sticking, like cosmic rays. Im going to sleep tonight  I really think I am. For the first time in months the sun is going to have to come up without my help, and that isnt just good, friends and neighbors; that is great. Then, shortly after three oclock, that pleasant drowsiness began to disappear. It did not go with a champagnecork pop but rather seemed to ooze away, like sand through a fine sieve or water down a partially clogged drain. When Ralph realized what was happening, it wasnt panic he felt, but sick dismay. It was a feeling he had come to recognize as the true opposite of hope, and when he slipperscuffed his way into the bedroom at quarter past three, he couldnt remember a depression as deep as the one which now enveloped him. He felt as if he were suffocating in it. Please, God, just forty winks, he muttered as he turned off the light, but he strongly suspected that this was one prayer which was not going to be answered. It wasnt. Although he had been awake for twentyfour hours by then, every trace of sleepiness had left his mind and body by quarter of four. He was tired, yes  more deeply and fundamentally tired than he had ever been in his life  but being tired and being sleepy, he had discovered, were sometimes poles apart. Sleep, that undiscriminating friend, humankinds best and most reliable nurse since the dawn of time, had abandoned him again. By four oclock Ralphs bed had become hateful to him, as it always did when he realized he could put it to no good use. He swung his feet back onto the floor, scratching the mat of hair  almost entirely gray now  which curled through his mostly unbuttoned pajama top. He slid on his slippers again and scuffed back to the living room, where he dropped into the wingback chair and looked down at Harris Avenue. It was laid out like a stage set where the only actor currently on view wasnt even human it was a stray dog moving slowly down Harris Avenue in the direction of Strawford Park and UpMile Hill. It held its right rear leg up as much as possible, limping along as best it could on the other three. Hi there, Rosalie, Ralph muttered, and rubbed a hand across his eyes. It was a Thursday morning, garbagepickup day on Harris Avenue, so he wasnt surprised to see Rosalie, whod been a wandering, hereandthere fixture in the neighborhood for the last year or so. She made her way down the street in leisurely fashion, investigating the rows and clusters of cans with the discrimination of a jaded fleamarket shopper. Now Rosalie  who was limping worse than ever this morning, and looked as tired as Ralph felt  found what looked like a goodsized beef bone and trotted away with it in her mouth. Ralph watched her out of sight, then simply sat with his hands folded in his lap, gazing out on the silent neighborhood, where the orange hiintensity lamps added to the illusion that Harris Avenue was nothing but a stage set standing deserted after the evening performance had ended and the actors had gone home; they shone down like spotlights in a perfect diminishing perspective that was surreal and hallucinatory. Ralph Roberts sat in the wingchair where he had spent so many earlymorning hours lately and waited for light and movement to invest the lifeless world below him. Finally the first human actor  Pete the paperboy  entered stage right, riding his Raleigh. He biked his way up the street, tossing rolled newspapers from the bag slung over his shoulder and hitting the porches he aimed at with a fair degree of accuracy. Ralph watched him awhile, then heaved a sigh which felt as if it had come all the way from the basement, and got up to make tea. I dont remember ever reading about this shit in my horoscope,he said hollowly, and then turned on the kitchen tap and began to fill the kettle. 5 That long Thursday morning and even longer Thursday afternoon taught Ralph Roberts a valuable lesson not to sneer at three or four hours sleep a night simply because he had spent his entire life under the mistaken impression that he had a right to at least six and usually seven. It also served as a hideous preview if things didnt improve, he could look forward to feeling like this most of the time. Hell, all of the time. He went into the bedroom at ten oclock and again at one, hoping for a little nap  even a catnap would do, and half an hour would be a lifesaver  but he could not so much as drowse. He was miserably tired but not in the least bit sleepy. Around three oclock he decided to make himself a Lipton CupASoup. He filled the teakettle with fresh water, put it on to boil, and opened the cupboard over the counter where he kept condiments, spices, and various envelopes containing foods which only astronauts and old men actually seem to eat  powders to which the consumer need only add hot water. He pushed cans and bottles around in aimless fashion and then simply stared into the cupboard for awhile, as if expecting the box of soup packets to magically appear in the space he had made. When they didnt, he repeated the process, only this time moving things back to their original positions before staring in again with the look of distant perplexity which was becoming (Ralph, mercifully, did not know this) his dominant expression. When the teakettle shrieked, he put it on one of the rear burners and went back to staring into the cupboard. It dawned on him  very, very slowly  that he must have drunk his last packet of CupASoup yesterday or the day before, although he could not for the life of him remember doing so. Thats a surprise? he asked the boxes and bottles in the open cupboard. Im so tired I cant remember my own name. Yes, I can, he thought. Its Leon Redbone. So there! It wasnt much of a joke, but he felt a small smile  it felt as light as a feather  touch his lips. He stepped into the bathroom, combed his hair, and then went downstairs. Heres Audie Murphy, heading out into enemy territory in search of supplies, he thought. Primary target one box of Lipton Chicken and Rice CupASoup packets. If locating and securing this target should prove impossible, Ill divert to my secondary Noodles n Beef. I know this is a risky mission, but  but I work best alone, he finished as he came out on the porch. Old Mrs Perrine happened to be passing, and she favored Ralph with a sharp look but said nothing. He waited for her to get a little way up the sidewalk  he did not feel capable of conversation with anyone this afternoon, least of all Mrs Perrine, who at eightytwo could still have found stimulating and useful work among the Marines at Parris Island. He pretended to be examining the spiderplant which hung from the hook under the porch eave until she had reached what he deemed a safe distance, then crossed Harris Avenue to the Red Apple. Which was where the days real troubles began. 6 He entered the convenience store once again mulling over the spectacular failure of the delayedsleep experiment and wondering if the advice in the library texts was no more than an uptown version of the folk remedies his acquaintances seemed so eager to press upon him. It was an unpleasant idea, but he thought his mind (or the force below his mind which was actually in charge of this slow torture) had sent him a message which was even more unpleasant You have a sleepwindow, Ralph. Its not as big as it once was, and it seems to be getting smaller with every passing week, but you better be grateful for what youve got, because a small window is better than no window at all. You see that now, dont you? Yes, Ralph mumbled as he walked down the center aisle to the bright red CupASoup boxes. I see that very well. Sue, the afternoon countergirl, laughed cheerfully. You must have money in the bank, Ralph, she said. Beg pardon? Ralph didnt turn; he was inventorying the red boxes. Here was onion . . . split pea . . . the beefandnoodles combo . . . but where the hell was the Chicken and Rice? My mom always said people who talk to themselves have Oh my God! For a moment Ralph thought she had simply made a statement a little too complex for his tired mind to immediately grasp, something about how people who talked to themselves had found God, and then she screamed. He had hunkered down to check the boxes on the bottom shelf, and the scream shot him to his feet so hard and fast that his knees popped. He wheeled toward the front of the store, bumping the top shelf of the soup display with his elbow and knocking half a dozen red boxes into the aisle. Sue? Whats wrong? Sue paid no attention. She was looking out through the door with her fisted hands pressed against her lips and her brown eyes huge above them. God, look at the blood! she cried in a choked voice. Ralph turned further, knocking a few more Lipton boxes into the aisle, and looked through the Red Apples dirty show window. What he saw drew a gasp from him, and it took him a space of seconds  five, maybe  to realize that the bloody, beaten woman staggering toward the Red Apple was Helen Deepneau. Ralph had always thought Helen the prettiest woman on the west side of town, but there was nothing pretty about her today. One of her eyes was puffed shut; there was a gash at her left temple that was soon going to be lost in the gaudy swelling of a fresh bruise; her puffy lips and her cheeks were covered with blood. The blood had come from her nose, which was still leaking. She wove through the Red Apples little parking lot toward the door like a drunk, her one good eye seeming to see nothing; it simply stared. More frightening than the way she looked was the way she was handling Natalie. She had the squalling, frightened baby slung casually on one hip, carrying her as she might have carried her books to high school ten or twelve years before. Oh Jesus, shes gonna drop the kid! Sue screamed, but although she was ten steps closer to the door than he was, she made no move  simply stood where she was with her hands pressed to her mouth and her eyes gobbling up her face. Ralph didnt feel tired anymore. He sprinted up the aisle, tore open the door, and ran outside. He was just in time to catch Helen by the shoulders as she banged a hip against the ice cabinet  mercifully not the hip with Natalie on it  and went veering off in a new direction. Helen! he yelled. Jesus, Helen, what happened? Hun? she asked, her voice dully curious, totally unlike the voice of the lively young woman who sometimes accompanied him to the movies and moaned over Mel Gibson. Her good eye rolled toward him and he saw that same dull curiosity in it, a look that said she didnt know who she was, let alone where she was, or what had happened, or when. Hun? Ral? Wha? The baby slipped. Ralph let go of Helen, grabbed for Natalie, and managed to snag one of her jumper straps. Nat screamed, waved her hands, and stared at him with huge darkblue eyes. He got his other hand between Nats legs an instant before the strap he was holding tore free. For a moment the howling baby balanced on his hand like a gymnast on a balance beam, and Ralph could feel the damp bulge of her diapers through the overall she was wearing. Then he slipped his other hand around her back and hoisted her up against his chest. His heart was pounding hard, and even with the baby safe in his arms he kept seeing her slip away, kept seeing her head with its cap of fine hair slamming against the buttlittered pavement with a sickening crack. Hum? Ar? Ral? Helen asked. She saw Natalie in Ralphs arms, and some of the dullness went out of her good eye. She raised her hands toward the child, and in Ralphs arms, Natalie mimicked the gesture with her own chubby hands. Then Helen staggered, struck the side of the building, and reeled backward a step. One foot tangled in the other (Ralph saw splatters of blood on her small white sneakers, and it was amazing how bright everything was all of a sudden; the color had come back into the world, at least temporarily), and she would have fallen if Sue hadnt picked that moment to finally venture out. Instead of going down, Helen landed against the opening door and just leaned there, like a drunk against a lamppost. Ral? The expression in her eyes was a little sharper now, and Ralph saw it wasnt so much curiosity as incredulity. She drew in a deep breath and made an effort to force intelligible words past her swelled lips. Gih. Gih me my bayee. Baybe. Gih me . . . Nahlie. Not just yet, Helen, Ralph said. Youre not too steady on your feet right now. Sue was still on the other side of the door, holding it so Helen wouldnt fall. The girls cheeks and forehead were ashy pale, her eyes filled with tears. Get out here, Ralph told her. Hold her up. I cant! she blubbered. Shes all bluhbluhbloody! Oh for Gods sake, quit it! Its Helen! Helen Deepneau from up the street! And although Sue must have known that, actually hearing the name seemed to turn the trick. She slipped around the open door, and when Helen staggered backward again, Sue curled an arm around her shoulders and braced her firmly. That expression of incredulous surprise remained on Helens face. Ralph found it harder and harder to look at. It made him feel sick to his stomach. Ralph? What happened? Was it an accident? He turned his head and saw Bill McGovern standing at the edge of the parking lot. He was wearing one of his natty blue shirts with the irons creases still in the sleeves and holding one of his longfingered, oddly delicate hands up to shade his eyes. He looked strange, somehow naked that way, but Ralph had no time to think about why; too much was happening. It was no accident, he said. Shes been beaten up. Here, take the kid. He held Natalie out to McGovern, who at first shrank back and then took the baby. Natalie immediately began to shriek again. McGovern, looking like someone who has just been handed an overfilled airsick bag, held her out at arms length with her feet dangling. Behind him a small crowd was beginning to gather, many of them teenage kids in baseball uniforms on their way home from an afternoon game at the field around the corner. They were staring at Helens puffed and bloody face with an unpleasant avidity, and Ralph found himself thinking of the Bible story about the time Noah had gotten drunk  the good sons who had looked away from the naked old man lying in his tent, the bad one who had looked . . . Gently, he replaced Sues arm with his own. Helens good eye rolled back to him. She said his name more clearly this time, more positively, and the gratitude Ralph heard in her blurry voice made him feel like crying. Sue  take the baby. Bill doesnt have a clue. She did, folding Nat gently and expertly into her arms. McGovern gave her a grateful smile, and Ralph suddenly realized what was wrong with the way he looked. McGovern wasnt wearing the Panama hat which seemed as much a part of him (in the summertime, at least) as the wen on the bridge of his nose. Hey, mister, what happened? one of the baseball kids asked. Nothing thats any of your business, Ralph said. Looks like she went a few rounds with Riddick Bowe. Nah, Tyson, one of the other baseball kids said, and incredibly, there was laughter. Get out of here! Ralph shouted at them, suddenly furious. Go peddle your papers! Mind your business! They shuffled back a few steps, but no one left. It was blood they were looking at, and not on a movie screen. Helen, can you walk? Yeff, she said. Fink . . . Think so. He led her carefully around the open door and into the Red Apple. She moved slowly, shuffling from foot to foot like an old woman. The smell of sweat and spent adrenaline was baking out of her pores in a sour reek, and Ralph felt his stomach turn over again. It wasnt the smell, not really; it was the effort to reconcile this Helen with the pert and pleasantly sexy woman he had spoken to yesterday while she worked in her flowerbeds. Ralph suddenly remembered something else about yesterday. Helen had been wearing blue shorts, cut quite high, and he had noticed a couple of bruises on her legs  a large yellow blotch far up on the left thigh, a fresher, darker smudge on the right calf. He walked Helen toward the little office area behind the cash register. He glanced up into the convex antitheft mirror mounted in the corner and saw McGovern holding the door for Sue. Lock the door, he said over his shoulder. Gee, Ralph, Im not supposed to Just for a couple of minutes, Ralph said. Please. Well . . . okay. I guess. Ralph heard the snick of the bolt being turned as he eased Helen into the hard plastic contour chair behind the littery desk. He picked up the telephone and punched the button marked 911. Before the phone could ring on the other end, a bloodstreaked hand reached out and pushed down the gray disconnect button. Dough . . . Ral. She swallowed with an obvious effort, and tried again. Dont. Yes, Ralph said. Im going to. Now it was fear he saw in her one good eye, and nothing dull about it. No, she said. Please, Ralph. Dont. She looked past him and held out her hands again. The humble, pleading look on her beaten face made Ralph wince with dismay. Ralph? Sue asked. She wants the baby. I know. Go ahead. Sue handed Natalie to Helen, and Ralph watched as the baby  a little over a year old now, he was pretty sure  put her arms around her mothers neck and her face against her mothers shoulder. Helen kissed the top of Nats head. It clearly hurt her to do this, but she did it again. And then again. Looking down at her, Ralph could see blood grimed into the faint creases on the nape of Helens neck like dirt. As he looked at this, he felt the anger begin to pulse again. It was Ed, wasnt it? he asked. Of course it was  you didnt hit the cutoff button on the phone when someone tried to call 911 if you had been beaten up by a total stranger  but he had to ask. Yes, she said. Her voice was no more than a whisper, the answer a secret imparted into the fine cloud of her baby daughters hair. Yes, it was Ed. But you cant call the police. She looked up now, the good eye full of fear and misery. Please dont call the police, Ralph. I cant bear to think of Natalies dad in jail for . . . for . . . Helen burst into tears. Natalie goggled at her mother for a moment in comic surprise, and then joined her. 7 Ralph? McGovern asked hesitantly. Do you want me to get her some Tylenol or something? Better not, he said. We dont know whats wrong with her, how bad she might be hurt. His eyes shifted to the show window, not wanting to see what was out there, hoping not to, and seeing it anyway avid faces lined up all the way down to the place where the beer cooler cut off the view. Some of them were cupping their hands to the sides of their faces to cut the glare. What should we do, you guys? Sue asked. She was looking at the gawkers and picking nervously at the hem of the Red Apple duster employees had to wear. If the company finds out I locked the door during business hours, Im apt to lose my job. Helen tugged at his hand. Please, Ralph,she repeated, only it came out Peese, Raff through her swollen lips. Dont call anybody. Ralph looked at her uncertainly. He had seen a lot of women wearing a lot of bruises over the course of his life, and a couple (although not many, in all honesty) who had been beaten much more severely than Helen. It hadnt always seemed this grim, though. His mind and morals had been formed at a time when people believed that what went on between a husband and wife behind the closed doors of their marriage was their business, and that included the man who hit with his fists and the woman who cut with her tongue. You couldnt make people behave, and meddling into their affairs  even with the best of intentions  all too often turned friends into enemies. But then he thought of the way she had been carrying Natalie as she staggered across the parking lot held casually on one hip like a textbook. If she had dropped the baby in the lot, or crossing Harris Avenue, she probably wouldnt have known it; Ralph guessed that it was nothing but instinct that had caused Helen to take the baby in the first place. She hadnt wanted to leave Nat in the care of the man who had beaten her so badly she could only see out of one eye and talk in mushy, rounded syllables. He thought of something else, as well, something that had to do with the days following Carolyns death earlier in the year. He had been surprised at the depth of his grief  it had been an expected death, after all; he had believed he had taken care of most of his grieving while Carolyn was still alive  and it had rendered him awkward and ineffective about the final arrangements which needed to be made. He had managed the call to the BrookingsSmith funeral home, but it was Helen who had gotten the obit form from the Derry News and helped him to fill it out, Helen who had gone with him to pick out a coffin (McGovern, who hated death and the trappings which surrounded it, had made himself scarce), and Helen who had helped him choose a floral centerpiece  the one which said Beloved Wife. And it had been Helen, of course, who had orchestrated the little party afterward, providing sandwiches from Franks Catering and soft drinks and beer from the Red Apple. These were things Helen had done for him when he could not do them for himself. Did he not have an obligation to repay her kindness, even if Helen might not see it as kindness right now? Bill? he asked. What do you think? McGovern looked from Ralph to Helen, sitting in the red plastic chair with her battered face lowered, and then back to Ralph again. He produced a handkerchief and wiped his lips nervously. I dont know. I like Helen a lot, and I want to do the right thing  you know I do  but something like this . . . who knows what the right thing is? Ralph suddenly remembered what Carolyn used to say whenever he started moaning and bitching about some chore he didnt want to do, some errand he didnt want to run, or some duty call he didnt want to make Its a long walk back to Eden, sweetheart, so dont sweat the small stuff. He reached for the phone again, and this time when Helen reached for his wrist, he pushed it away. You have reached the Derry Police Department, a recorded voice told him. Push one for emergency services. Push two for police services. Push three for information. Ralph, who suddenly understood he needed all three, hesitated for a second and then pushed two. The telephone buzzed and a womans voice said, This is Police 911, how may I help you? He took a deep breath and said, This is Ralph Roberts. Im at the Red Apple Store on Harris Avenue, with my neighbor from up the street. Her name is Helen Deepneau. Shes been beaten up pretty badly. He put his hand gently on the side of Helens face and she pressed her forehead against his side. He could feel the heat of her skin through his shirt. Please come as fast as you can. He hung up the telephone, then squatted down next to Helen. Natalie saw him, crowed with delight, and reached out to give his nose a friendly honk. Ralph smiled, kissed her tiny palm, then looked into Helens face. Im sorry, Helen, he said, but I had to. I couldnt not do it. Do you understand that? I couldnt not do it. I dont understand anyfing! she said. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but when she reached up to swipe at it, she winced back from the touch of her own fingers. Helen, why did he do it? Why would Ed beat you up like this? He found himself remembering the other bruises  a pattern of them, perhaps. If there had been a pattern, he had missed it until now. Because of Carolyns death. And because of the insomnia which had come afterward. In any case, he did not believe this was the first time Ed had put his hands on his wife. Today might have been a drastic escalation, but it hadnt been the first time. He could grasp that idea and admit its logic, but he discovered he still couldnt see Ed doing it. He could see Eds quick grin, his lively eyes, the way his hands moved restlessly when he talked . . . but he couldnt see Ed using those hands to beat the crap out of his wife, no matter how hard he tried. Then a memory resurfaced, a memory of Ed walking stifflegged toward the man who had been driving the blue pickup  it had been a Ford Ranger, hadnt it?  and then flicking the flat of his hand across the heavyset mans jowls. Remembering that was like opening the door of Fibber McGees closet in that old radio show  only what came falling out wasnt an avalanche of old stored junk but a series of vivid images from that day last July. The thunderheads building over the airport. Eds arm popping out of the Datsuns window and waving up and down, as if he could make the gate slide open faster that way. The scarf with the Chinese symbols on it. Hey, hey, Susan Day, how many kids did you kill today? Ralph thought, only it was Eds voice he heard, and he pretty well knew what Helen was going to say before she even opened her mouth. So stupid, she said dully. He hit me because I signed a petition  thats all it was. Theyre circulating all over town. Someone pushed it into my face when I was going into the supermarket day before yesterday. He said something about a benefit for WomanCare, and that seemed all right. Besides, the baby was fussing, so I just . . . You just signed it, Ralph finished softly. She nodded and began to cry again. What petition? McGovern asked. To bring Susan Day to Derry, Ralph told him. Shes a feminist I know who Susan Day is, McGovern said irritably. Anyway, a bunch of people are trying to get her here to speak. On behalf of WomanCare. When Ed came home today he was in a great mood, Helen said through her tears. He almost always is on Thursdays, because its his half day. He was talking about how he was going to spend the afternoon pretending to read a book and actually just watching the sprinkler go around . . . you know how he is . . . Yes, Ralph said, remembering how Ed had plunged his arm into one of the heavyset mans barrels, and the crafty grin (I know a trick worth two of that) on his face. Yes, I know how he is. I sent him out to get some baby food . . . Her voice was rising, becoming fretful and frightened. I didnt know hed be upset . . . Id all but forgotten about signing the damned thing, to tell the truth . . . and I still dont know exactly why he was so upset . . . but . . . but when he came back . . . She hugged Natalie to her, trembling. Shhh, Helen, take it easy, everythings okay. No, its not! She looked up at him, tears streaming from one eye and seeping out from beneath the swelled lid of the other. Its nuhnuhnot! Why didnt he stop this time? And whats going to happen to me and the baby? Where will we go? I dont have any money except for whats in the joint checking account . . . I dont have a job . . . oh Ralph, why did you call the police? You shouldnt have done that! And she hit his forearm with a strengthless little fist. Youre going to get through this just fine, he said. Youve got a lot of friends in the neighborhood. But he barely heard what he was saying and hadnt felt her small punch at all. The anger was thudding away in his chest and at his temples like a second heartbeat. Not Why didnt he stop; that wasnt what she had said.


What she had said was Why didnt he stop this time? This time. Helen, wheres Ed now? Home, I guess, she said dully. Ralph patted her on the shoulder, then turned and started for the door. Ralph? Bill McGovern asked. He sounded alarmed. Where you going? Lock the door after me, Ralph told Sue. Jeez, I dont know if I can do that. Sue looked doubtfully at the line of gawkers peering in through the dirty window. There were more of them now. You can, he said, then cocked his head, catching the first faint wail of an approaching siren. Hear that? Yes, but The cops will tell you what to do, and your boss wont be mad at you, either  hell probably give you a medal for handling everything just right. If he does, Ill split it with you, she said, then glanced at Helen again. A little color had come back into Sues cheeks, but not much. Jeepers, Ralph, look at her! Did he really beat her up because she signed some stupid paper in the S and S? I guess so, Ralph said. The conversation made perfect sense to him, but it was coming in long distance. His rage was closer; it had its hot arms locked around his neck, it seemed. He wished he were forty again, even fifty, so he could give Ed a taste of his own medicine. And he had an idea he might try doing that anyway. He was turning the thumbbolt of the door when McGovern grabbed his shoulder. What do you think youre doing? Going to see Ed. Are you kidding? Hell take you apart if you get in his face. Didnt you see what he did to her? You bet I did, Ralph replied. The words werent quite a snarl, but close enough to make McGovern drop his hand. Youre seventy fucking years old, Ralph, in case you forgot. And Helen needs a friend right now, not some bustedup antique she can visit because his hospital room is three doors down from hers. Bill was right, of course, but that only made Ralph angrier. He supposed the insomnia was at work in this, too, stoking his anger and blurring his judgement, but that made no difference. In a way, the anger was a relief. It was better, certainly, than drifting through a world where everything had turned shades of dark gray. If he beats me up bad enough, theyll give me some Demerol and I can get a decent nights sleep, he said. Now leave me alone, Bill. He crossed the Red Apple parking lot at a brisk walk. A police car was approaching with its blue grille flashers pulsing. Questions  What happened? She okay?  were thrown at him, but Ralph ignored them. He paused on the sidewalk, waited for the police car to swing into the parking lot, then crossed Harris Avenue at that same brisk walk with McGovern trailing anxiously after him at a prudent distance. CHAPTER THREE 1 Ed and Helen Deepneau lived in a small Cape Cod  chocolate brown, whippedcream trim, the kind of house which older women often call darling  four houses up from the one Ralph and Bill McGovern shared. Carolyn had liked to say the Deepneaus belonged to the Church of the LatterDay Yuppies, although her genuine liking for them had robbed the phrase of any real bite. They were laissezfaire vegetarians who considered both fish and dairy products okay, they had worked for Clinton in the last election, and the car in the driveway  not a Datsun now but one of the new minivans  was wearing bumper stickers which said SPLIT WOOD, NOT ATOMS and FUR ON ANIMALS, NOT PEOPLE. The Deepneaus had also apparently kept every album they had ever purchased during the sixties  Carolyn had found this one of their most endearing characteristics  and now, as Ralph approached the Cape Cod with his hands curled into fists at his sides, he heard Grace Slick wailing one of those old San Francisco anthems One pill makes you bigger, One pill makes you small, And the ones that Mother gives you Dont do anything at all, Go ask Alice, when shes ten feet tall. The music was coming from a boombox on the Cape Cods postage stampsized porch. A sprinkler twirled on the lawn, making a hishahishahisha sound as it cast rainbows in the air and deposited a shiny wet patch on the sidewalk. Ed Deepneau, shirtless, was sitting in a lawnchair to the left of the concrete walk with his legs crossed, looking up at the sky with the bemused expression of a man trying to decide if the cloud passing overhead looks more like a horse or a unicorn. One bare foot bopped up and down in time to the music. The book lying open and facedown in his lap went perfectly with the music pouring from the boombox Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, by Tom Robbins. An all but perfect summer vignette; a scene of smalltown serenity Norman Rockwell might have painted and then titled Afternoon Off. All you had to overlook was the blood on Eds knuckles and the drop on the left lens of his round John Lennon specs. Ralph, for Gods sake dont get into a fight with him! McGovern hissed as Ralph left the sidewalk and cut across the lawn. He walked through the lawn sprinklers fine cold spray almost without feeling it. Ed turned, saw him, and broke into a sunny grin. Hey, Ralph! he said. Good to see you, man! In his minds eye, Ralph saw himself reaching out and shoving Eds chair, pushing him over and spilling him onto his lawn. He saw Eds eyes widen with shock and surprise behind the lenses of his glasses. This vision was so real he even saw the way the sun reflected on the face of Eds watch as he tried to sit up. Grab yourself a beer and drag up a rock, Ed was saying. If you feel like a game of chess Beer? A game of chess? Christ Jesus, Ed, whats wrong with you? Ed didnt answer immediately, only looked at Ralph with an expression that was both frightening and infuriating. It was a mixture of amusement and shame, the look of a man whos getting ready to say, Aw, shit, honey  did I forget to put out the trash again? Ralph pointed down the hill, past McGovern, who was standing  he would have been lurking, if there had been something to lurk behind  near the wet patch the sprinkler had put on the sidewalk, watching them nervously. The first police car had been joined by a second, and Ralph could faintly hear the crackle of radio calls through the open windows. The crowd had gotten quite a bit bigger. The police are there because of Helen! he said, telling himself not to shout, it would do no good to shout, and shouting anyway. Theyre there because you beat up your wife, is that getting through to you? Oh, Ed said, and rubbed his cheek ruefully. That. Yes, that, Ralph said. He now felt almost stupefied with rage. Ed peered past him at the police cars, at the crowd standing around the Red Apple . . . and then he saw McGovern. Bill! he cried. McGovern recoiled. Ed either didnt notice or pretended not to. Hey, man! Drag up a rock! Want a beer? That was when Ralph knew he was going to hit Ed, break his stupid little roundlensed spectacles, drive a splinter of glass into his eye, maybe. He was going to do it, nothing on earth could stop him from doing it, except at the last moment something did. It was Carolyns voice he heard inside his head most frequently these days  when he wasnt just muttering along to himself, that was  but this wasnt Carolyns voice; this one, as unlikely as it seemed, belonged to Trigger Vachon, whom hed seen only once or twice since the day Trig had saved him from the thunderstorm, the day Carolyn had had her first seizure. Ayy, Ralph! Be damn careful, you! Dis one crazy like a fox! Maybe he want you to hit im! Yes, he decided. Maybe that was just what Ed wanted. Why? Who knew? Maybe to muddy the waters up a little bit, maybe just because he was crazy. Cut the shit, he said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper. He was gratified to see Eds attention snap back to him in a hurry, and even more pleased to see Eds pleasantly vague expression of rueful amusement disappear. It was replaced by a narrow, watchful expression. It was, Ralph thought, the look of a dangerous animal with its wind up. Ralph hunkered down so he could look directly at Ed. Was it Susan Day? he asked in the same soft voice. Susan Day and the abortion business? Something about dead babies? Is that why you unloaded on Helen? There was another question on his mind  Who are you really, Ed?  but before he could ask it, Ed reached out, placed a hand in the center of Ralphs chest, and pushed. Ralph fell backward onto the damp grass, catching himself on his elbows and shoulders. He lay there with his feet flat on the ground and his knees up, watching as Ed suddenly sprang out of his lawnchair. Ralph, dont mess with him! McGovern called from his place of relative safety on the sidewalk. Ralph paid no attention. He simply remained where he was, propped on his elbows and looking attentively up at Ed. He was still angry and afraid, but these emotions had begun to be overshadowed by a strange, chilly fascination. This was madness he was looking at  the genuine article. No comicbook supervillain here, no Norman Bates, no Captain Ahab. It was just Ed Deepneau who worked down the coast at Hawking Labs  one of those eggheads, the old guys who played chess at the picnic area out on the Extension would have said, but still a nice enough fella for a Democrat. Now the nice enough fella had gone totally bonkers, and it hadnt just happened this afternoon, when Ed had seen his wifes name on a petition hanging from the Community Bulletin Board in the Shop n Save. Ralph now understood that Eds madness was at least a year old, and that made him wonder what secrets Helen had been keeping behind her normal cheery demeanor and sunny smile, and what small, desperate signals  besides the bruises, that was  he might have missed. And then theres Natalie, he thought. Whats she seen? Whats she experienced? Besides, of course, being carried across Harris Avenue and the Red Apple parking lot on her staggering, bleeding mothers hip? Ralphs arms broke out in goosebumps. Ed had begun to pace, meanwhile, crossing and recrossing the cement path, trampling the zinnias Helen had planted along it as a border. He had returned to the Ed Ralph had encountered out by the airport the year before, right down to the fierce little pokes of the head and the sharp, jabbing glances at nothing. This is what the geewhiz act was supposed to hide, Ralph thought. He looks the same now as he did when he took after the guy driving that pickup truck. Like a rooster protecting his little piece of the barnyard. None of this is strictly her fault, I admit that. Ed spoke rapidly, pounding his right fist into his open left palm as he walked through the cloud of spray thrown by the sprinkler. Ralph realized he could see every rib in Eds chest; the man looked as if he hadnt had a decent meal in months. Still, once stupidity reaches a certain level, it becomes hard to live with, Ed went on. Shes like the Magi, actually coming to King Herod for information. I mean, how dumb can you get? Where is he that is born King of the Jews? To Herod they say this. I mean, wise men my ass! Right, Ralph? Ralph nodded. Sure, Ed. Whatever you say, Ed. Ed returned the nod and went on tramping back and forth through the spray and the ghostly interlocking rainbows, smacking his fist into his palm. Its like that Rolling Stones song  Look at that, look at that, look at that stupid girl. You probably dont remember that one, do you? Ed laughed, a jagged little sound that made Ralph think of rats dancing on broken glass. McGovern knelt beside him. Lets get out of here, he muttered. Ralph shook his head, and when Ed swung back in their direction, McGovern quickly got up and retreated to the sidewalk again. She thought she could fool you, is that it? Ralph asked. He was still lying on the lawn, propped up on his elbows. She thought you wouldnt find out she signed the petition. Ed leaped over the walk, bent over Ralph, and shook his clenched fists over his head like the bad guy in a silent movie. Nononono! he cried. The Jefferson Airplane had been replaced by the Animals, Eric Burdon growling out the gospel according to John Lee Hooker Boomboomboomboom, gonna shoot ya right down. McGovern uttered a thin cry, apparently thinking Ed meant to attack Ralph, but instead Ed sank down with the knuckles of his left hand pressed into the grass, assuming the position of a sprinter who waits for the starters gun to explode him out of the blocks. His face was covered with beads of what Ralph at first took for sweat before remembering the way Ed had paced back and forth through the spray from the sprinkler. Ralph kept looking at the spot of blood on the left lens of Eds glasses. It had smeared a little, and now the pupil of his left eye looked as if it had filled up with blood. Finding out that she signed the petition was fate! Simple fate! Do you mean to tell me you dont see that? Dont insult my intelligence, Ralph! You may be getting on in years, but youre far from stupid. The thing is, I go down to the supermarket to buy babyfood, hows that for irony  and find out shes signed on with the babykillers! The Centurions! With the Crimson King himself! And do you know what? I . . . just . . . saw . . . red! The Crimson King, Ed? Whos he? Oh, please. Ed gave Ralph a cunning look. Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth, and slew all the children that were in Bethlehem, and in all the coasts thereof, from two years old and under, according to the time which he had diligently enquired of the wise men. Its in the Bible, Ralph. Matthew, chapter 2, verse 16. Do you doubt it? Do you have any fucking question that it says that? No. If you say so, I believe it. Ed nodded. His eyes, a deep and startling shade of green, darted here and there. Then he slowly leaned forward over Ralph, planting one hand on either side of Ralphs arms. It was as if he meant to kiss him. Ralph could smell sweat, and some sort of aftershave that had almost completely faded away now, and something else  something that smelled like old curdled milk. He wondered if it might be the smell of Eds madness. An ambulance was coming up Harris Avenue, running its flashers but not its siren. It turned into the Red Apples parking lot. You better, Ed breathed into his face. You just better believe it. His eyes stopped wandering and centered on Ralphs. They are killing the babies wholesale, he said in a low voice which was not quite steady. Ripping them from the wombs of their mothers and carrying them out of town in covered trucks. Flatbeds for the most part. Ask yourself this, Ralph how many times a week do you see one of those big flatbeds tooling down the road? A flatbed with a tarp stretched across the back? Ever ask yourself what those trucks were carrying? Ever wonder what was under most of those tarps? Ed grinned. His eyes rolled. They burn most of the fetuses over in Newport. The sign says landfill, but its really a crematorium. They send some of them out of state, though. In trucks, in light planes. Because fetal tissue is extremely valuable. I tell you that not just as a concerned citizen, Ralph, but as an employee of Hawking Laboratories. Fetal tissue is . . . more . . . valuable . . . than gold. He turned his head suddenly and stared at Bill McGovern, who had crept a little closer again in order to hear what Ed was saying. YEA, MORE VALUABLE THAN GOLD AND MORE PRECIOUS THAN RUBIES! he screamed, and McGovern leaped back, eyes widening in fear and dismay. DO YOU KNOW THAT, YOU OLD FAGGOT? Yes, McGovern said. I . . . I guess I did. He shot a quick glance down the street, where one of the police cars was now backing out of the Red Apple lot and turning in their direction. I might have read it somewhere. In Scientific American, perhaps. Scientific American! Ed laughed with gentle contempt and rolled his eyes at Ralph again, as if to say You see what I have to deal with. Then his face grew sober again. Wholesale murder, he said, just as in the time of Christ. Only now its the murder of the unborn. Not just here, but all over the world. Theyve been slaughtering them by their thousands, Ralph, by their millions, and do you know why? Do you know why weve reentered the Court of the Crimson King in this new age of darkness? Ralph knew. It wasnt that hard to put together, if you had enough pieces to work with. If you had seen Ed with his arm buried in a barrel of chemical fertilizer, fishing around for the dead babies he had been sure he would find. King Herod got a little advance word this time around, Ralph said. Thats what youre telling me, isnt it? Its the old Messiah thing, right? He sat up, half expecting Ed to shove him down again, almost hoping he would. His anger was coming back. It was surely wrong to critique a madmans delusional fantasies the way you might a play or a movie  maybe even blasphemous  but Ralph found the idea that Helen had been beaten because of such hackneyed old shit as this infuriating. Ed didnt touch him, merely got to his feet and dusted his hands off in businesslike fashion. He seemed to be cooling down again. Radio calls crackled louder as the police cruiser which had backed out of the Red Apples lot now glided up to the curb. Ed looked at the cruiser, then back at Ralph, who was getting up himself. You can mock, but its true, he said quietly. Its not King Herod, though  its the Crimson King. Herod was merely one of his incarnations. The Crimson King jumps from body to body and generation to generation like a kid using steppingstones to cross a brook, Ralph, always looking for the Messiah. Hes always missed him, but this time it could be different. Because Derrys different. All lines of force have begun to converge here. I know how difficult that is to believe, but its true. The Crimson King, Ralph thought. Oh Helen, Im so sorry. What a sad thing this is. Two men  one in uniform, one in streetclothes, both presumably cops  got out of the police car and approached McGovern. Behind them, down at the store, Ralph spotted two more men, these dressed in white pants and white shortsleeved shirts, coming out of the Red Apple. One had his arm around Helen, who was walking with the fragile care of a postop patient. The other was holding Natalie. The paramedics helped Helen into the back of the ambulance. The one with the baby got in after her while the other moved toward the drivers seat. What Ralph sensed in their movements was competency rather than urgency, and he thought that was good news for Helen. Maybe Ed hadnt hurt her too badly . . . this time, at least. The plainclothes cop  burly, broadshouldered, and wearing his blond mustache and sideburns in a style Ralph thought of as Early American Singles Bar  had approached McGovern, whom he seemed to recognize. There was a big grin on the plainclothes cops face. Ed put an arm over Ralphs shoulders and pulled him a few steps away from the men on the sidewalk. He also dropped his voice to a bare murmur. Dont want them to hear us, he said. Im sure you dont. These creatures . . . Centurions . . . servants of the Crimson King . . . will stop at nothing. They are relentless. Ill bet. Ralph glanced over his shoulder in time to see McGovern point at Ed. The burly man nodded calmly. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his chinos. He was still wearing a small, benign smile. This isnt just about abortion, dont get that idea! Not anymore. Theyre taking the unborn from all kinds of mothers, not just the junkies and the whores  eight days, eight weeks, eight months, its all the same to the Centurions. The harvest goes on day and night. The slaughter. Ive seen the corpses of infants on roofs, Ralph . . . under hedges . . . theyre in the sewers . . . floating in the sewers and in the Kenduskeag down in the Barrens . . . His eyes, huge and green, as bright as trumpery emeralds, stared off into the distance. Ralph, he whispered, sometimes the world is full of colors. Ive seen them since he came and told me. But now all the colors are turning black. Since who came and told you, Ed? Well talk about it later, Ed replied, speaking out of the corner of his mouth like a con in a prison movie. Under other circumstances it would have been funny. A big gameshow host grin dawned on his face, banishing the madness as convincingly as sunrise banishes night. The change was almost tropical in its suddenness, and creepy as hell, but Ralph found something comforting about it, just the same. Perhaps they  he, McGovern, Lois, all the others on this little stretch of Harris Avenue who knew Ed  would not have to blame themselves too much for not seeing his madness sooner, after all. Because Ed was good; Ed really had his act down. That grin was an Academy Award winner. Even in a bizarre situation like this, it practically demanded that you respond to it. Hey, hi! he told the two cops. The burly one had finished his conversation with McGovern, and both of them were advancing across the lawn. Drag up a rock, you guys! Ed stepped around Ralph with his hand held out. The burly plainclothes cop shook it, still smiling his small, benign smile. Edward Deepneau? he asked. Right. Ed shook hands with the uniformed cop, who looked a trifle bemused, and then returned his attention to the burly man. Im Detective Sergeant John Leydecker, the burly man said. This is Officer Chris Nell. Understand you had a little trouble here, sir. Well, yes. I guess thats right. A little trouble. Or, if you want to call a spade a spade, I behaved like a horses ass. Eds embarrassed little chuckle was alarmingly normal. Ralph thought of all the charming psychopaths hed seen in the movies  George Sanders had always been particularly good at that sort of role  and wondered if it was possible for a smart research chemist to grow a smallcity detective who looked as if he had never completely outgrown his Saturday Night Fever phase. Ralph was terribly afraid it might be. Helen and I got into an argument about a petition shed signed, Ed was saying, and one thing just led to another. Man, I just cant believe I hit her. He flapped his arms, as if to convey how flustered he was  not to mention confused and ashamed. Leydecker smiled in return. Ralphs mind returned to the confrontation last summer between Ed and the man in the blue pickup. Ed had called the heavyset man a murderer, had even stroked him one across the face, and still the guy had ended up looking at Ed almost with respect. It had been like a kind of hypnosis, and Ralph thought he was seeing the same force at work here. Things just kinda got out of hand a little, is that what youre telling me? Leydecker asked sympathetically. Thats about the size of it, yeah. Ed had to be at least thirtytwo, but his wide eyes and innocent expression made him look barely old enough to buy beer. Wait a minute, Ralph blurted. You cant believe him, hes nuts. And dangerous. He just told me This is Mr Roberts, right? Leydecker asked McGovern, ignoring Ralph completely. Yes, McGovern said, and to Ralph he sounded insufferably pompous. That is Ralph Roberts. Uhhuh. Leydecker at last looked at Ralph. Ill want to speak to you in a couple of minutes, Mr Roberts, but for the time being Id like you to stand over there beside your friend and keep quiet. Okay? But Okay? Angrier than ever, Ralph stalked over to where McGovern was standing. This did not seem to upset Leydecker in the least. He turned to Officer Nell. You want to turn off the music, Chris, so we can hear ourselves think? Yo. The uniformed cop went to the boombox, inspected the various knobs and switches, then killed The Who halfway through the song about the blind pinball wizard. I guess I did have it cranked a little. Ed looked sheepish. Wonder the neighbors didnt complain. Oh, well, life goes on, Leydecker said. He tilted his small, serene smile up toward the clouds drifting across the blue summer sky. Wonderful, Ralph thought. This guy is a regular Will Rogers. Ed, however, was nodding as if the detective had produced not just a single pearl of wisdom but a whole string of them. Leydecker rummaged in his pocket and came out with a little tube of toothpicks. He offered them to Ed, who declined, then shook one out and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. So, he said. Little family argument. Is that what Im hearing? Ed nodded eagerly. He was still smiling his sincere, slightly puzzled smile. More of a discussion, actually. A political Uhhuh, uhhuh, Leydecker said, nodding and smiling, but before you go any further, Mr Deepneau Ed. Please. Before we go any further, Mr Deepneau, I just kind of want to tell you that anything you say could be used against you  you know, in a court of law. Also that you have a right to an attorney. Eds friendly but puzzled smile  Gosh, what did I do? Can you help me figure it out?  faltered for a moment. The narrow, appraising look replaced it. Ralph glanced at McGovern, and the relief he saw in Bills eyes mirrored what he was feeling himself. Leydecker was maybe not such a hick after all. What in Gods name would I want an attorney for? Ed asked. He made a halfturn and tried the puzzled smile out on Chris Nell, who was still standing beside the boombox on the porch. I dont know, and maybe you dont, Leydecker said, still smiling. Im just telling you that you can have one. And that if you cant afford one, the City of Derry will provide you with one. But I dont Leydecker was nodding and smiling. Thats okay, sure, whatever. But those are your rights. Do you understand your rights as Ive explained them to you, Mr Deepneau? Ed stood stockstill for a moment, his eyes suddenly wide and blank again. To Ralph he looked like a human computer trying to process a huge and complicated wad of input. Then the fact that the snowjob wasnt working seemed to get through to him. His shoulders sagged. The blankness was replaced by a look of unhappiness too real to doubt . . . but Ralph doubted it, anyway. He had to doubt it; he had seen the madness on Eds face before Leydecker and Nell arrived. So had Bill McGovern. Yet doubt was not quite the same as disbelief, and Ralph had an idea that on some level Ed honestly regretted beating Helen up. Yes, he thought, just as on some level he honestly believes that these Centurions of his are driving truckloads of fetuses out to the Newport landfill. And that the forces of good and evil are gathering in Derry to play out some drama thats going on in his mind. Call it Omen V In the Court of the Crimson King. Still, he could not help feeling a reluctant sympathy for Ed Deepneau, who had visited Carolyn faithfully three times a week during her final confinement at Derry Home, who always brought flowers, and always kissed her on the cheek when he left. He had continued giving her that kiss even when the smell of death had begun to surround her, and Carolyn had never failed to clasp his hand and give him a smile of gratitude. Thank you for remembering that Im still a human being, that smile had said. And thank you for treating me like one. That was the Ed Ralph had thought of as his friend, and he thought  or maybe only hoped  that that Ed was still in there. Im in trouble here, arent I? he asked Leydecker softly. Well, lets see, Leydecker said, still smiling. You knocked out two of your wifes teeth. Looks like you fractured her cheekbone. Id bet you my grandfathers watch shes got a concussion. Plus selected short subjects  cuts, bruises, and this funny bare patch over her right temple. Whatd you try to do? Snatch her baldheaded? Ed was silent, his green eyes fixed on Leydeckers face. Shes going to spend the night in the hospital under observation because some asshole pounded the hell out of her, and everybody seems in agreement that the asshole was you, Mr Deepneau. I look at the blood on your hands and the blood on your glasses, and I got to say I also think it was probably you. So what do you think? You look like a bright guy. Do you think youre in trouble? Im very sorry I hit her, Ed said. I didnt mean to. Uhhuh, and if I had a quarter for every time Ive heard that, Id never have to buy another drink out of my paycheck. Im arresting you on a charge of seconddegree assault, Mr Deepneau, also known as domestic assault. This charge falls under Maines Domestic Violence law. Id like you to confirm once more that Ive informed you of your rights. Yes. Ed spoke in a small, unhappy voice. The smile  puzzled or otherwise  was gone. Yes, you did. Were going to take you down to the police station and book you, Leydecker said. Following that, you can make a telephone call and arrange bail. Chris, put him in the car, would you? Nell approached Ed. Are you going to be a problem, Mr Deepneau? No, Ed said in that same small voice, and Ralph saw a tear slip from Eds right eye. He wiped it away absently with the heel of his hand. No problem. Great! Nell said heartily, and walked with him to the cruiser. Ed glanced at Ralph as he crossed the sidewalk. Im sorry, old boy, he said, then got into the back of the car. Before Officer Nell closed the door, Ralph saw there was no handle on the inside of it. 2 Okay, Leydecker said, turning to Ralph and holding out his hand. Im sorry if I seemed a little brusque, Mr Roberts, but sometimes these guys can be volatile. I especially worry about the ones who look sober, because you can never tell what theyll do. John Leydecker. I had Johnny as a student when I was teaching at the Community College, McGovern said. Now that Ed Deepneau was safely tucked away in the back of the cruiser, he sounded almost giddy with relief. Good student. Did an excellent term paper on the Childrens Crusade. Its a pleasure to meet you, Ralph said, shaking Leydeckers hand. And dont worry. No offense taken. You were insane to come up here and confront him, you know, Leydecker said cheerfully. I was pissed off. Im still pissed off. I can understand that. And you got away with it  thats the important thing. No. Helens the important thing. Helen and the baby. I can ride with that. Tell me what you and Mr Deepneau talked about before we got up here, Mr Roberts . . . or can I call you Ralph? Ralph, please. He ran through his conversation with Ed, trying to keep it brief. McGovern, who had heard some of it but not all of it, listened in roundeyed silence. Every time Ralph looked at him, he found himself wishing Bill had worn his Panama. He looked older without it. Almost ancient. Well, that certainly sounds pretty weird, doesnt it? Leydecker remarked when Ralph had finished. What will happen? Will he go to jail? He shouldnt go to jail; he should be committed. Probably should be, Leydecker agreed, but theres a lot of distance between should be and will be. He wont go to jail, and he isnt going to be carted off to Sunnyvale Sanitarium, either  that sort of thing only happens in old movies. The best we can hope for is some courtordered therapy. But didnt Helen tell you The lady didnt tell us anything, and we didnt try to question her in the store. She was in a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. Yes, of course she was, Ralph said. Stupid of me. She might corroborate your stuff later on . . . but she might not. Domestic abuse victims have a way of turning into clams, you know. Luckily, it doesnt really matter one way or the other under the new law. We got him nailed to the wall. You and the lady in the little store down the street can testify to Mrs Deepneaus condition, and to who she said put her in that condition. I can testify to the fact that the victims husband had blood on his hands. Best of all, he said the magic words Man, I just cant believe I hit her. Id like you to come in  probably tomorrow morning, if that works for you  so I can take a complete statement from you, Ralph, but thats just filling in the blanks. Basically, this ones a done deal. Leydecker took the toothpick out of his mouth, broke it, tossed it in the gutter, and produced his tube again. Pick? No thanks, Ralph said, smiling faintly. Dont blame you. Lousy habit, but Im trying to quit smoking, which is an even worse one.


The thing about guys like Deepneau is that theyre too goddam smart for their own good. They go over the high side, hurt someone . . . and then they pull back. If you get there soon enough after the blowup  like you did, Ralph  you can almost see them standing there with their heads cocked, listening to the music and trying to get back on the beat. Thats just how it was, Ralph said. Exactly how it was. Its a trick the bright ones manage for quite awhile  they appear remorseful, appalled by their own actions, determined to make amends. Theyre persuasive, theyre charming, and its often all but impossible to see that underneath the sugar coating theyre as nutty as Christmas fruitcakes. Even extreme cases like Ted Bundy sometimes manage to look normal for years. The good news is that there arent many guys like Ted Bundy out there, in spite of all the psychokiller books and movies. Ralph sighed deeply. What a mess. Yeah. But look on the bright side were gonna be able to keep him away from her, at least for a while. Hell be out by suppertime on twentyfive dollars bail, but Twentyfive dollars? McGovern asked. He sounded simultaneously shocked and cynical. Thats all? Yup, Leydecker said. I gave Deepneau the seconddegree assault stuff because it do sound fearsome, but in the state of Maine, lumping up your wife is only a misdemeanor. Still, theres a nifty new wrinkle in the law, Chris Nell said, joining them. If Deepneau wants bail, he has to agree that hell have absolutely no contact with his wife until the case is settled in court  he cant come to the house, approach her on the street, or even call her on the phone. If he doesnt agree, he sits in jail. Suppose he agrees and then comes back, anyway? Ralph asked. Then we slamdunk him, Nell said, because that one is a felony . . . or can be, if the district attorney wants to play hardball. In any case, violators of the Domestic Violence bail agreement usually spend a lot more than just the afternoon in jail. And hopefully the spouse he breaks the agreement to visit will still be alive when he comes to trial, McGovern said. Yeah, Leydecker said heavily. Sometimes thats a problem. 3 Ralph went home and sat staring not at the TV but through it for an hour or so. He got up during a commercial to see if there was a cold Coke in the refrigerator, staggered on his feet, and had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was trembling all over and felt unpleasantly close to vomiting. He understood that this was nothing but delayed reaction, but the weakness and nausea still frightened him. He sat down again, took a minutes worth of deep breaths with his head down and his eyes closed, then got up and walked slowly into the bathroom. He filled the tub with warm water and soaked until he heard Night Court, the first of the afternoon sitcoms, starting up on the TV in the living room. By then the water in the tub had become almost chilly, and Ralph was glad to get out. He dried off, dressed in fresh clothes, and decided that a light supper was at least in the realm of possibility. He called downstairs, thinking McGovern might like to join him for a bite to eat, but there was no answer. Ralph put on water in which to boil a couple of eggs and called Derry Home Hospital from the phone by the stove. His call was shunted to a woman in Patient Services who checked her computer and told him yes, he was correct, Helen Deepneau had been admitted to the hospital. Her condition was listed as fair. No, she had no idea who was taking care of Mrs Deepneaus baby; all she knew was that she did not have a Natalie Deepneau on her admissions list. No, Ralph could not visit Mrs Deepneau that evening, but not because her doctor had established a novisitors policy; Mrs Deepneau had left that order herself. Why would she do that? Ralph started to ask, then didnt bother. The woman in Patient Services would probably tell him she was sorry, she didnt have that information in her computer, but Ralph decided he had it in his computer, the one between his giant economysize ears. Helen didnt want visitors because she was ashamed. None of what had happened was her fault, but Ralph doubted if that changed the way she felt. She had been seen by half of Harris Avenue staggering around like a badly beaten boxer after the ref has stopped the fight, she had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance, and her husband  the father of her daughter  was responsible. Ralph hoped they would give her something that would help her sleep through the night; he had an idea things might look a little better to her in the morning. God knew they couldnt look much worse. Hell, I wish someone would give me something to help me sleep through the night, he thought. Then go see Dr Litchfield, you idiot, another part of his mind responded immediately. The woman in Patient Services was asking Ralph if she could do anything else for him. Ralph said no and was starting to thank her when the line clicked in his ear. Nice, Ralph said. Very nice. He hung up himself, got a tablespoon, and gently lowered his eggs into the water. Ten minutes later, as he was sitting down with the boiled eggs sliding around on a plate and looking like the worlds biggest pearls, the phone rang. He put his supper on the table and grabbed it off the wall. Hello? Silence, broken only by breathing. Hello? Ralph repeated. There was one more breath, this one almost loud enough to be an aspirated sob, and then another click in his ear. Ralph hung up the telephone and stood looking at it for a moment, his frown putting three ascending wavelines on his brow. Come on, Helen,he said. Call me back. Please. Then he returned to the table, sat down, and began to eat his small bachelors supper. 4 He was washing up his few dishes fifteen minutes later when the phone rang again. That wont be her, he thought, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and then flipping it over his shoulder as he went to the phone. No way itll be her. Its probably Lois or Bill. But another part of him knew differently. Hi, Ralph. Hello, Helen. That was me a few minutes ago. Her voice was husky, as if she had been drinking or crying, and Ralph didnt think they allowed booze in the hospital. I kind of figured that. I heard your voice and I . . . I couldnt . . . Thats okay. I understand. Do you? She gave a long, watery sniff. I think so, yes. The nurse came by and gave me a painpill. I can use it, too  my face really hurts. But I wouldnt let myself take it until I called you again and said what I had to say. Pain sucks, but its a hell of an incentive. Helen, you dont have to say anything. But he was afraid that she did, and he was afraid of what it might be . . . afraid of finding out that she had decided to be angry at him because she couldnt be angry with Ed. Yes I do. I have to say thank you. Ralph leaned against the side of the door and closed his eyes for a moment. He was relieved but unsure how to reply. He had been ready to say Im sorry you feel that way, Helen in the calmest voice he could manage, that was how sure hed been that she was going to start off by asking him why he couldnt mind his own business. And, as if she had read his mind and wanted to let him know he wasnt entirely off the hook, Helen said, I spent most of the ride here, and the checkin, and the first hour or so in the room, being terribly angry at you. I called Candy Shoemaker, my friend from over on Kansas Street, and she came and got Nat. Shes keeping her for the night. She wanted to know what had happened, but I wouldnt tell her. I just wanted to lie here and be mad that you called 911 even though I told you not to. Helen Let me finish so I can take my pill and go to sleep. Okay? Okay. Just after Candy left with the baby  Nat didnt cry, thank God, I dont know if I could have handled that  a woman came in. At first I thought she must have gotten the wrong room because I didnt know her from Eve, and when I got it through my head that she was here to see me, I told her I didnt want any visitors. She didnt pay any attention. She closed the door and lifted her skirt up so I could see her left thigh. There was a deep scar running down it, almost all the way from her hip to her knee. She said her name was Gretchen Tillbury, that she was a familyabuse counsellor at WomanCare, and that her husband had cut her leg open with a kitchen knife in 1978. She said if the man in the downstairs apartment hadnt gotten a tourniquet on it, she would have bled to death. I said I was very sorry to hear that, but I didnt want to talk about my own situation until Id had a chance to think it over. Helen paused and then said, But that was a lie, you know. Ive had plenty of time to think it over, because Ed first hit me two years ago, just before I got pregnant with Nat. I just kept . . . pushing it away. I can see how a person would do that, Ralph said. This lady . . . well, they must give people like her lessons on how to get through peoples defenses. Ralph smiled. I believe thats about half their training. She said I couldnt put it off, that I had a bad situation on my hands and I had to start dealing with it right away. I said that whatever I did, I didnt have to consult her before I did it, or listen to her line of bullshit just because her husband had cut her once. I almost said he probably did it because she wouldnt shut up and go away and give him some peace, can you believe that? But I was really pissed, Ralph. Hurting . . . confused . . . ashamed . . . but mostly just POd. I think thats probably a pretty normal reaction. She asked me how Id feel about myself  not about Ed but about myself  if I went back into the relationship and Ed beat me up again. Then she asked how Id feel if I went back in and Ed did it to Nat. That made me furious. It still makes me furious. Ed has never laid so much as a finger on her, and I said so. She nodded and said, That doesnt mean he wont, Helen. I know you dont want to think about that, but you have to. Still, suppose youre right? Suppose he never so much as slaps her on the wrist? Do you want her to grow up watching him hit you? Do you want her to grow up seeing the things she saw today? And that stopped me. Stopped me cold. I remembered how Ed looked when he came back in . . . how I knew as soon as I saw how white his face was . . . the way his head was moving . . . Like a rooster, Ralph murmured. What? Nothing. Go on. I dont know what set him off . . . I never do anymore, but I knew he was going to start in on me. Theres nothing you can do or say to stop it once he gets to a certain point. I ran for the bedroom, but he grabbed me by the hair . . . he pulled out a great big bunch of it . . . I screamed . . . and Natalie was sitting there in her highchair . . . sitting there watching us . . . and when I screamed, she screamed . . . Helen broke down then, crying hard. Ralph waited with his forehead leaning against the side of the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He used the end of the dishtowel hed slung over his shoulder to wipe away his own tears almost without thinking about it. Anyway, Helen said when she was capable of speaking again, I ended up talking to this woman for almost an hour. Its called Victim Counselling and she does it for a living, can you believe it? Yes, Ralph said. I can. Its a good thing, Helen. Im going to see her again tomorrow, at WomanCare. Its ironic, you know, that I should be going there. I mean, if I hadnt signed that petition . . . If it hadnt been the petition, it would have been something else. She sighed. Yes, I guess that might be true. Is true. Anyway, Gretchen says I cant solve Eds problems, but I can start solving some of my own. Helen started to cry again and then took a deep breath. Im sorry  Ive cried so much today I never want to cry again. I told her I loved him. I felt ashamed to say it, and Im not even sure its true, but it feels true. I said I wanted to give him another chance. She said that meant I was committing Natalie to give him another chance, too, and that made me think of how she looked sitting there in the kitchen, with pureed spinach all over her face, screaming her head off while Ed hit me. God, I hate the way people like her drive you into a corner and wont let you out. Shes trying to help, thats all. I hate that, too. Im very confused, Ralph. Probably you didnt know that, but I am. A wan chuckle drifted down the telephone line. Thats okay, Helen. Its natural for you to be confused. Just before she left, she told me about High Ridge. Right now that sounds like just the place for me. What is it? A kind of halfway house  she kept explaining that it was a house, not a shelter  for battered women. Which is what I guess I now officially am. This time the wan chuckle sounded perilously close to a sob. I can have Nat with me if I go, and thats a major part of the attraction. Where is this place? In the country. Out toward Newport, I think. Yeah, I guess I knew that. Of course he did; Ham Davenport had told him during his WomanCare spiel. Theyre involved in family counselling . . . spouse and child abuse . . . they run a shelter for abused women over by the Newport town line. All at once WomanCare seemed to be everywhere in his life. Ed would undoubtedly have seen sinister implications in this. That Gretchen Tillbury is one hard sugarbun, Helen was saying. Just before she left she told me it was all right for me to love Ed  It has to be all right, she said, because love doesnt come out of a faucet you can turn on and off whenever you want to  but that I had to remember my love couldnt fix him, that not even Eds love for Natalie could fix him, and that no amount of love changed my responsibility to take care of my child. Ive been lying in bed, thinking about that. I think I liked lying in bed and being mad better. It was certainly easier. Yes, he said, I can see how it might be. Helen, why dont you just take your pill and let it all go for awhile? I will, but first I wanted to say thanks. You know you dont have to do that. I dont think I know any such thing, she said, and Ralph was glad to hear the flash of emotion in her voice. It meant the essential Helen Deepneau was still there. I havent quit being mad at you, Ralph, but Im glad you didnt listen when I told you not to call the police. Its just that I was afraid, you know? Afraid. Helen, I  His voice was thick, close to cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again. I just didnt want to see you hurt any more than you already were. When I saw you coming across the parking lot with blood all over your face, I was so afraid . . . Dont talk about that part. Please. Ill cry if you do, and I cant stand to cry anymore. Okay. He had a thousand questions about Ed, but this was clearly not the time to ask them. Can I come see you tomorrow? There was a short hesitation and then Helen said, I dont think so. Not for a little while. I have a lot of thinking to do, a lot of things to sort out, and its going to be hard. Ill be in touch, Ralph. Okay? Of course. Thats fine. What are you doing about the house? Candys husband is going to go over and lock it up. I gave him my keys. Gretchen Tillbury said that Ed isnt supposed to go back for anything, not even his checkbook or a change of underwear. If theres stuff he needs, he gives a list and his housekey to a policeman, and the policeman goes to get it. I suppose hell go to Fresh Harbor. Theres plenty of housing there for lab employees. These little cottages. Theyre actually sort of cute . . . The brief flash of fire hed heard in her voice was long gone. Helen now sounded depressed, forlorn, and very, very tired. Helen, Im delighted that you called. And relieved, I wont kid you about that. Now get some sleep. What about you, Ralph? she asked unexpectedly. Are you getting any sleep these days? The switch in focus startled him into an honesty he might not otherwise have managed. Some . . . but maybe not as much as I need. Probably not as much as I need. Well, take care of yourself. You were very brave today, like a knight in a story about King Arthur, but I think even Sir Lancelot had to fall out every now and then. He was touched by this, and also amused. A momentary picture, very vivid, arose in his mind Ralph Roberts dressed in armor and mounted on a snowwhite steed while Bill McGovern, his faithful squire, rode behind him on his pony, dressed in a leather jerkin and his snappy Panama hat. Thank you, dear, he said. I think thats the sweetest thing anyones said to me since Lyndon Johnson was President. Have the best night you can, okay? Okay. You too. She hung up. Ralph stood looking at the phone thoughtfully for a moment or two, then put it back in its cradle. Perhaps he would have a good night. After everything that had happened today, he certainly deserved one. For the time being he thought he might go downstairs, sit on the porch, watch the sun go down, and let later take care of itself. 5 McGovern was back, slouched in his favorite chair on the porch. He was looking at something up the street and didnt immediately turn when his upstairs neighbor stepped outside. Ralph followed his gaze and saw a blue stepvan parked at the curb half a block up Harris Avenue, on the Red Apple side of the street. DERRY MEDICAL SERVICES was printed across the rear doors in large white letters. Hi, Bill, Ralph said, and dropped into his own chair. The rocker where Lois Chasse always sat when she came over stood between them. A little twilight breeze had sprung up, delightfully cool after the heat of the afternoon, and the empty rocker moved lazily back and forth at its whim. Hi, McGovern said, glancing over at Ralph. He started to look away, then did a doubletake. Man, you better start pinning up the bags under your eyes. Youre going to be stepping on them pretty soon if you dont. Ralph thought this was supposed to come out sounding like one of the caustic little bons mots for which McGovern was famous along the street, but the look in his eyes was one of genuine concern. Its been a bitch of a day, he said. He told McGovern about Helens call, editing out the things he thought she might be uncomfortable with McGoverns knowing. Bill had never been one of her favorite people. Glad shes okay, McGovern said. Ill tell you something, Ralph  you impressed me today, marching up the street that way, like Gary Cooper in High Noon. Maybe it was insane, but it was also pretty cool. He paused. To tell the truth, I was a little in awe of you. This was the second time in fifteen minutes that someone had come close to calling Ralph a hero. It made him uncomfortable. I was too mad at him to realize how dumb I was being until later. Where you been, Bill? I tried to call you a little while ago. I took a walk out to the Extension, McGovern said. Trying to cool my engine off a little, I guess. Ive felt headachey and sick to my stomach ever since Johnny Leydecker and that other one took Ed away. Ralph nodded. Me, too. Really? McGovern looked surprised, and a little skeptical. Really, Ralph said with a faint smile. Anyway, Faye Chapin was at the picnic area where those old lags usually hang out during the hot weather, and he coaxed me into a game of chess. What a piece of work that guy is, Ralph  he thinks hes the reincarnation of Ruy Lpez, but he plays chess more like Soupy Sales . . . and he never shuts up. Fayes all right, though, Ralph said quietly. McGovern seemed not to have heard him. And that creepy Dorrance Marstellar was out there, he went on. If were old, hes a fossil. He just stands there by the fence between the picnic area and the airport with a book of poetry in his hands, watching the planes take off and land. Does he really read those books he carries around, do you think, or are they just props? Good question, Ralph said, but he was thinking about the word McGovern had employed to describe Dorrance  creepy. It wasnt one he would have used himself, but there could be no doubt that old Dor was one of lifes originals. He wasnt senile (at least Ralph didnt think he was); it was more as if the few things he said were the product of a mind that was slightly skewed and perceptions that were slightly bent. He remembered that Dorrance had been there that day last summer when Ed ran into the guy in the pickup truck. At the time hed thought that Dorrances arrival had added the final screwy touch to the festivities. And Dorrance had said something funny. Ralph tried to recall what it was and couldnt. McGovern was gazing back up the street, where a whistling young man in a gray coverall had just come out of the house in front of which the Medical Services stepvan was parked. This young man, looking all of twentyfour and as if he hadnt needed a single medical service in his entire life, was rolling a dolly with a long green tank strapped to it. Thats the empty, McGovern said. You missed them taking in the full one. A second young man, also dressed in a coverall, stepped out through the front door of the small house, which combined yellow paint and deep pink trim in an unfortunate manner. He stood on the stoop for a moment, hand on the doorknob, apparently speaking to someone inside. Then he pulled the door shut and ran lithely down the walk. He was in time to help his colleague lift the dolly, with the tank still strapped to it, into the back of the van. Oxygen? Ralph asked. McGovern nodded. For Mrs Locher? McGovern nodded again, watching as the Medical Services workers slammed the doors of the stepvan and then stood behind them, talking quietly in the fading light. I went to grammar school and junior high with May Locher. Way out in Cardville, home of the brave and land of the cows. There were only five of us in our graduating class. Back in those days she was known as a hot ticket and fellows like me were known as a wee bit lavender. In that amusingly antique era, gay was how you described your Christmas tree after it was decorated. Ralph looked down at his hands, uncomfortable and tonguetied. Of course he knew that McGovern was a homosexual, had known it for years, but Bill had never spoken of it out loud until this evening. Ralph wished he could have saved it for another day . . . preferably one when Ralph himself wasnt feeling as if most of his brains had been replaced with goosedown. That was about a thousand years ago, McGovern said. Whodve thought wed both wash up on the shores of Harris Avenue. Its emphysema she has, isnt that right? I think thats what I heard. Yep. One of those diseases that keep on giving. Getting old is certainly no job for sissies, is it? No, its not, Ralph said, and then his mind brought the truth of it home with sudden force. It was Carolyn he thought of, and the terror he had felt when he came squelching into the apartment in his soaked sneakers and had seen her lying half in and half out of the kitchen . . . exactly where he had stood during most of his conversation with Helen, in fact. Facing Ed Deepneau had been nothing compared to the terror he had felt at that moment, when he had been sure Carolyn was dead. I can remember when they just brought May oxygen once every two weeks or so, McGovern said. Now they come every Monday and Thursday evening, like clockwork. I go over and see her when I can. Sometimes I read to her  the most boring womens magazine bullshit you can imagine  and sometimes we just sit and talk. She says it feels as if her lungs are filling up with seaweed. It wont be long now. Theyll come one day, and instead of loading an empty oxy tank into the back of that wagon, theyll load May in. Theyll take her off to Derry Home, and thatll be the end. Was it cigarettes? Ralph asked. McGovern favored him with a look so alien to that lean, mild face that it took Ralph several moments to realize it was contempt. May Perrault never smoked a cigarette in her whole life. What shes paying off is twenty years in the dyehouse at a mill in Corinna and another twenty working the picker at a mill in Newport. Its cotton, wool, and nylon shes trying to breathe through, not seaweed. The two young men from Derry Medical Services got into their van and drove away. Maines the northeastern anchor of Appalachia, Ralph  a lot of people dont realize that, but its true  and Mays dying of an Appalachian disease. The doctors call it Textile Lung. Thats a shame. I guess she means a lot to you. McGovern laughed ruefully. Nah. I visit her because she happens to be the last visible piece of my misspent youth. Sometimes I read to her and I always manage to get down one or two of her dry old oatmeal cookies, but thats about as far as it goes. My concern is safely selfish, I assure you. Safely selfish, Ralph thought. What a really odd phrase. What a really McGovern phrase. Never mind May, McGovern said. The question on the lips of Americans everywhere is what were going to do about you, Ralph. The whiskey didnt work, did it? No, Ralph said. Im afraid it didnt. To make a particularly apropos pun, did you give it a fair shot? Ralph nodded. Well, you have to do something about the bags under your eyes or youll never land the lovely Lois. McGovern studied Ralphs facial response to this and sighed. Not that funny, huh? Nope. Its been a long day. Sorry. Its okay. They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the comings and goings on their part of Harris Avenue. Three little girls were playing hopscotch in the Red Apples parking lot across the street. Mrs Perrine stood nearby, straight as a sentry, watching them. A boy with his Red Sox cap turned around backward went past, bopping to the beat of his Walkman headset. Two kids were tossing a Frisbee back and forth in front of Loiss house. A dog barked. Somewhere a woman was yelling for Sam to get his sister and come inside. It was just the usual streetlife serenade, no more and no less, but to Ralph it all seemed strangely false. He supposed it was because he had gotten so used to seeing Harris Avenue empty lately. He turned to McGovern and said, You know what was just about the first thing I thought of when I saw you in the Red Apple parking lot this afternoon? In spite of everything else that was going on? McGovern shook his head. I wondered where the hell your hat was. The Panama. You looked very strange to me without it. Naked, almost. So come clean  whered you stash the lid, son? McGovern touched the top of his head, where the remaining strands of his babyfine white hair were combed carefully left to right across his pink skull. I dont know, he said. I missed it this morning. I almost always remember to drop it on the table by the front door when I come in, but its not there. I suppose I put it down somewhere else this time and the exact locale has slipped my mind for the nonce. Give me another few years and Ill be wandering around in my underwear because I cant remember where I left my pants. All part of the wonderful aging experience, right, Ralph? Ralph nodded and smiled, thinking to himself that of all the elderly people he knew  and he knew at least three dozen on a casual walkinthepark, hihowyadoin basis  Bill McGovern bitched the most about getting on in years. He seemed to regard his vanished youth and recently departed middle age as a general would regard a couple of soldiers who desert on the eve of a big battle. He wasnt about to say such a thing, however. Everyone had their little eccentricities; being theatrically morbid about growing old was simply one of McGoverns. Did I say something funny? McGovern asked. Pardon? You were smiling, so I thought I must have said something funny. He sounded a bit touchy, especially for a man so fond of ribbing his upstairs neighbor about the pretty widow down the street, but Ralph reminded himself it had been a long day for McGovern, too. I wasnt thinking about you at all, Ralph said. I was thinking about how Carolyn used to say practically the same thing  that getting old was like getting a bad dessert at the end of a really fine meal. This was at least half a lie. Carolyn had made the simile, but she had used it to describe the brain tumor that was killing her, not her life as a senior citizen. She hadnt been all that senior, anyway, just sixtyfour when she died, and until the last six or eight weeks of her life, she had claimed to feel only half of that on most days. Across from them, the three girls who had been playing hopscotch approached the curb, looked both ways for traffic, then joined hands and ran across the street, laughing. For just a moment they looked to him as if they were surrounded by a gray glow  a nimbus that illuminated their cheeks and brows and laughing eyes like some strange, clarifying Saint Elmos fire. A little frightened, Ralph squeezed his eyes shut and then popped them open again. The gray envelope hed imagined around the trio of girls was gone, which was a relief, but he had to get some sleep soon. He had to. Ralph? McGoverns voice seemed to be coming from the far end of the porch, although he hadnt moved. You all right? Sure, Ralph said. Thinking about Ed and Helen, thats all. Did you have any idea how screwy he was getting, Bill? McGovern shook his head decisively. None whatsoever, he said. And although I saw bruises on Helen from time to time, I always believed her stories about them. I dont like to consider myself a tremendously gullible person, but I may have to reassess my thinking on that score. What do you think will happen with them? Any predictions? McGovern sighed and touched the top of his head with his fingertips, feeling for the missing Panama without realizing it. You know me, Ralph  Im a cynic from a long line of them. I think its very rare for ordinary human conflicts to resolve themselves the way they do on TV. In reality they just keep coming back, turning in diminishing circles until they finally disappear. Except disappearing isnt really what they do; they dry up, like mudpuddles in the sun. McGovern paused and then added And most of them leave the same scummy residue behind. Jesus, Ralph said. That is cynical. McGovern shrugged. Most retired teachers are cynical, Ralph. We see them come in, so young and so strong, so convinced that its going to be different for them, and we see them make their messes and then paddle around in them, just as their parents and grandparents did. What I think is that Helen will go back to him, and Ed will do okay for awhile, and then hell beat her up again and shell leave again. Its like one of those sappy countrywestern songs they have on the juke out at Nickys Lunch, and some people have to listen to that song a long, long time before they decide they dont want to hear it anymore. Helens a bright young woman, though. I think one more verse is all shell need. One more verse might be all shell ever get, Ralph said quietly. Were not talking about some drunk husband coming home on Friday night and beating his wife up because he lost his paycheck in a poker game and she dared to bitch about it. I know, McGovern said, but you asked for my opinion and I gave it to you. I think Helens going to need one more goround before she can bring herself to call it off. And even then theyre apt to keep on bumping up against each other. Its still a pretty small town. He paused, squinting down the street. Oh, look, he said, hoisting his left brow. Our Lois. She walks in beauty, like the night. Ralph gave him an impatient look which McGovern either did not see or pretended not to. He got up, once again touching the tips of his fingers to the place where the Panama wasnt, and then went down the steps to meet her on the walk. Lois! McGovern cried, dropping to one knee before her and extending his hands theatrically. Would that our lives might be united by the starry bonds of love! Wed your fate to mine and let me whirl you away to climes various in the golden car of my affections! Gee, are you talking about a honeymoon or a onenight stand? Lois asked, smiling uncertainly.