Tender Loving Care
Author: Andrew Neiderman
Date: 1984-04-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: Michael loves his wife, but after the tragic accident to their daughter Lillian, Miriam was untouchable, like a dream. Desperate, hoping that his living nightmare will finally end, and yearning to lie once again in the arms of his beautiful wife, Michael hires a nurse to care for his beloved. But though Nurse Randolph’s powerful presence has done wonders for Miriam, the nurse’s ominous yet erotic dominance over Michael fills him with a strange, shuddering sense of doom. And nothing can make the terror disappear, especially not Tender Loving Care….
Publisher: Pocket Books

Michael loved his wife, but after the tragic accident to their daughter Lillian, Miriam was untouchable, like a dream.

Desperate, hoping that his living nightmare will finally end, and yearning to lie once again in the arms of his beautiful wife, Michael hires a nurse to care for his beloved.

But though Murse Randolph’s powerful presence has done wonders for Miriam, the nurse’s ominous yet erotic dominance over Michael fills him with a strange, shuddering sense of doom.

And nothing can make the terror disappear, especially not ...

Sometimes in the night, he could hear her screaming for his help. “Hurry,” she’d beg. “Lillian’s calling, she’s so afraid ...”

Now Nurse Randolph has Miriam’s eyes shining brightly and her joyful laughter filling the house once again. But Michael isn’t happy.

His daughter’s gone and Miriam is still living in a world of illusions.

Nurse Randolph is all one could ask for in a nurse, efficient, competent, tactful.

But Michael feels sucked in by her great assurance, her enormous aura of power. And something else.

He is beginning to live under her spell.

He isn’t sure he knows how to cope with that ...

Books by Andrew Neiderman

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Someone’s Watching
Tender Loving Care

Published by POCKET BOOKS

Most Pocket Books are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums or fund raising. Special books or book excerpts can also be created to fit specific needs.

For details write the office of the Vice President of Special Markets, Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Another Original publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 1984 by Andrew Neiderman

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020
ISBN: 978-1-4516-6654-0
eISBN: 978-1-4516-8178-9

First Pocket Books printing April, 1984

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For my father, whose smile gave me
the strength to endure pain,
and whose courage
gave me the will to succeed

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Humphrey Evans III, who lives on for me in the contributions he made to my work

Pat Capon, an editor who personifies literary perception

Prologue

WITH MRS. RANDOLPH GONE, THE HOUSE IS VERY quiet at night. I have been reading and Miriam has been knitting a new sweater for Lillian. From time to time throughout the evening, I have looked up to watch her work. Miriam is very beautiful, childlike in her expressions. Her face captures and holds innocence and peace. I can sit and watch her forever.

When she is knitting, her fingers move with a graceful rhythm. I am dazzled by the little twists and turns. I even enjoy watching her do crossword puzzles because I can practically see her mind mulling over the meanings and spellings. A dimple forms in her right cheek, and she tilts her head just a little to the left whenever she is in deep thought.

Tonight she is not in deep thought. She is content and I am content. We are both glad that Mrs. Randolph is no longer here. I go back to my reading and then stop when Miriam puts her knitting down. She sighs and looks up at the ceiling in the direction of Lillian’s room.

“It’s late,” she says. “I’ll go upstairs and turn off her television set. Otherwise, she’ll never go to sleep.”

“Very good, dear. I won’t be long.”

“I hope not, Michael. You know how she waits for you to go in and say good night.”

“I know,” I say softly, almost too softly to be heard. I watch her put her knitting away and move across the room. Her eyes are glassy, trancelike.

For me the hardest part of the day is going upstairs to sleep. Lately, I try to stay up later and later in an attempt to put it off for as long as possible. It’s not that I can’t sleep. When I finally do get into bed and shut the world out, I sleep very well. It’s just too difficult to have to stop at Lillian’s room. It tears the heart out of me. And if I should try not to, by pretending I have forgotten or acting as though it’s too late, Miriam never fails to remind me.

She does so tonight. I have taken a while to go up, and when I come to Lillian’s doorway, I pause and then go on to our bedroom. Miriam is sitting up in bed.

“You didn’t go into Lillian’s room.”

“I ... I think she’s asleep.”

“No, no. I just heard her moving about. She’s awake. You know how she waits for you to say good night. She won’t fall asleep for the longest time.”

“All right. I’m going.”

I am deliberately loud when I go into Lillian’s room to say good night. I am annoyed that I am doing it, that Miriam has made me do it. It reminds me too much of the way Mrs. Randolph treated me.

But I want Miriam to be reassured. I love her that much. Miriam needs the reinforcement; it’s what keeps her going. I have had enough opinions about it, a few of them from people with three degrees after their names, and I can see no reason to add to the hurt and pain she has already suffered. I am dreading Dr. Turner’s impending return.

More often now I think of my own suffering. I do so tonight and am on the verge of tears when I come back from Lillian’s room. But I hide it. If I were to show Miriam my sorrow, she would be destroyed completely. So I swallow hard. I dress for bed, forcing myself to think of insignificant things: the buttons on my pajamas, how far I have opened the windows, how neatly I have folded and hung my clothes.

In the darkness Miriam cannot see my face, and my sorrow forces its way out. I struggle with it desperately, pleading with my inner self to be stronger. I tell myself I don’t have the freedom to feel alone and afraid. I have to keep up the facade. Miriam lives in a world of cellophane as it is.

But tonight I weaken and lose some of the grip I usually have on myself. A sob escapes. I hold my breath. Did Miriam hear it? She turns over in bed. I keep my eyes shut tightly and wait. I know she’s listening hard. She might even hear the pounding of my heart.

“Was that you?”

“What?”

“I heard crying. It woke me.”

“No, no,” I say quickly, convincingly. I am a good actor by now.

“It’s Lillian,” she concludes after another moment of silence.

“No. I didn’t hear anything. Honest.”

“I definitely heard someone crying. If it’s not you, it’s got to be her.”

Before I can argue any further, she gets up quickly, puts on her robe, and heads for the door.

“Miriam, I heard nothing.”

“Shh. Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of it.”

I can’t go back to sleep. I hear her muffled voice through the wall. I hear her talking softly to Lillian. I hear her sing a lullabye that her grandmother used to sing to her. It’s an old Hungarian tune, and it brings tears to my eyes.

Oh, how I ache inside; my chest hurts so. I am afraid to close my eyes again. The pain is so great. There is only one way to relieve it: Miriam’s way. When she returns, I ask her.

“Is she all right, dear?”

“Now she is.”

“What happened?”

“She had a nightmare. She dreamt we left her somewhere and never came back for her.”

“We would never do that.”

“Of course not. But she’s a child, so she dreamt it. She fell asleep. She’ll be all right now.”

“I heard you singing that lullabye.”

“Did you?”

“Sing it again, softly.”

She’s beside me now. Her hand wipes some strands of hair from my forehead. I close my eyes. Her fingers feel like warm drops of rain.

“Poor Michael,” she says. “I always forget what you’ve been through. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK.”

“No, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Just sing softly.”

She begins. I rush back through time to become a little boy again. It makes me feel safe. Soon I will fall asleep, and for a time, I will forget. That’s good, even though I know when morning comes it will begin all over again.

1

THE NIGHT MRS. RANDOLPH ARRIVED, THE TREES STOOD hauntingly still. They were full, and the configurations of their branches and leaves gave them shapes I had seen silhouetted in nightmares. To the right, across the field, I saw the dark mountains painted against the purple night sky. To the left and to the rear, the woods were thick and filled with wildlife. That night the animals seemed to ache. They moaned; they called: owls, raccoons, bobcats, deer. It was as though they knew something in the world had gone wrong. I thought they were as much afraid of the darkness as I was.

Where we live, four miles from Gardnertown, a small Catskill hamlet, there are few houses. They call our road a secondary road. It gets plowed last in the winter and patched last, if at all, in the spring. On hot summer nights like the one when Mrs. Randolph came, when the air is heavy, I sit on the small porch of our house and wait for a breeze. Sometimes Miriam joins me, but more often she remains inside listening for Lillian to call.

There is a small hotel about five miles away. I can’t see it from here, but sometimes during the resort season I can hear their poolside band playing for a cocktail party. Laughter and voices carry. They seem like so many ghosts in the darkness, but happy ghosts. It fills me with melancholy. I am the one who is more like a ghost, alone out here, wondering what it’s like to feel free.

Mrs. Randolph came by taxi from Monticello. I didn’t know what bus she was on, so I couldn’t meet her at the station. We got her from a firm in New York that Dr. Turner knew. He said there were many nurses who preferred not to work in hospitals. The salary could be just as good, and there were less hassles. I wanted to do what was best. He told me a full-time nurse would be ideal. We had the money so I went out and hired her.

I shouldn’t say I went out and hired her. I didn’t actually go and choose her from a group. In fact, I was surprised by the woman who stepped out of the cab. I had prepared myself to greet an elderly woman, one who probably had little family and few active interests. But Mrs. Randolph looked in about her mid-thirties. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman either.

I got up quickly to help with her bags. The driver wasn’t doing much.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Michael Oberman.”

She didn’t look at me when she spoke. She reached in for a small carryall bag and waved her hand arrogantly at the driver.

“This man,” she said, pronouncing “man” as though it were an obscenity, “says it’s twenty-two dollars from Monticello to here. Is that the correct fare?”

“Well ... I really don’t know for sure. I never take cabs. Have my own car,” I said pointing to the station wagon. We had an English sports car, but I don’t even want to think about that anymore. “I’ll take care of the fare.”

“Don’t overtip him. He hasn’t been that nice,” she said loudly, enough for him to hear her clearly. She headed for the house.

The driver took his hat off and wiped his forehead. He looked overwhelmed by the heat and his passenger. I had no idea about the circumstances of their trip out here, but I felt sorry for him. I gave him a decent tip.

“You’ve got a tough one there,” he said. He left immediately after I paid him. I stood there for a moment, watching the night swallow him up. Of course there are no streetlights on this country road, and darkness rushes in behind passing automobiles.

“Mr. Oberman,” she said. “I would like to get inside and settled tonight.”

I turned quickly. With the porch light behind her, backlighting her head, her face was in shadow. She wore the darkness like a mask. Somehow, it made her look dangerous.

“Sorry,” I said, and I hurried to pick up her two suitcases. They were quite heavy so I must have looked comical struggling with them. I was five feet nine inches tall and only weighed one hundred and forty pounds. I was never much heavier. In high school they called me Stick.

“I would have picked you up if I had known what bus,” I said. The effort to carry her bags caused my voice to lower. Although I didn’t mean it that way, she took it as a reprimand.

“I didn’t get the call until late this morning,” she snapped. She brought her shoulders back and up and folded her arms just under her chest. I nearly fell back over the second step, fumbling stupidly to keep her suitcases from touching the ground. I had to set the bags down softly for a moment though. My lower arms felt as though they were coming out at the elbow. It gave me a chance to catch my breath.

Although she was up a step, I could tell that she was an inch or so taller than I was. She was dressed in a dark blue skirt and a loose, white blouse, the kind through which a woman’s bra is well outlined. She had a well-shaped bosom even though her shoulders were a little heavy and her upper arms were considerably bigger than mine. She was narrow waisted and long legged. I must say that I was intimidated by her almost immediately.

“Do you know the situation?” I asked in a subdued voice. Miriam was in the living room, but the television wasn’t on. I thought she might be able to hear us.

“Certainly. Do you think I would come all the way up here without knowing it? Let’s get settled and we’ll do the introductions properly.”

“Of course. Right this way.” I bumped her with one of the big suitcases as I passed her on the steps. She opened the screen door, and I led her into the house. Apparently, Miriam didn’t hear us.

We went up the stairs to what would be her room. It was just across from Lillian’s. Our two-story house has four upstairs bedrooms and three bathrooms: one downstairs, one upstairs, and one in the master bedroom. The house was a turn-of-the-century structure that I had renovated considerably. I had replaced the old wooden siding with aluminum, reshingled the roof, put new floorboards in the porch, recarpeted every floor inside, modernized some light fixtures, and redone the kitchen with greater counter space, all new appliances, and tile flooring. All of the fixtures in the three bathrooms had been changed as well.

The house had belonged to my father, who died five years after we moved in with him. My mother died nearly twenty years ago. We inherited the house and the twenty-six acres, including the lake and what was once good pasture land. Up until the last ten years of his life, my father ran a rather prosperous dairy farm. But I was no real farm boy. I always hated the physical labor and avoided the animals as much as I could. We have had no farm animals on the land since my father died.

For the last ten years, I’ve worked as a bank teller in the United National in Liberty, a village about fifteen miles away. Six months ago the trustees granted me a leave of absence. I explained that things were getting difficult and I needed to be home for a while until I figured out some solution or there was some improvement. I was a loyal and efficient employee, and since they sympathized with our situation, there wasn’t any difficulty. When it appeared that my staying home wasn’t going to be enough, Dr. Turner recommended the nurse.

I opened the door and snapped on the light quickly for her. She stood there surveying the room. Her eyes became small, and she studied every crack and crevice. I thought she might just say, “Sorry, this is not good enough,” and turn around to go back to New York. It wasn’t an elaborate and luxurious room, but it was neat and clean. There was a definite feminine touch to it: light pink walls, a white pine double bed with a blue and white bedspread, a dark brown shag carpet, and flower-patterned cotton curtains. One of the windows faced the front, and one faced the pasture side of the house. There were two dressers that matched the bed, one with a vanity mirror above it. I had left an antique web seat in the corner.

“I hope this is OK,” I said.

“It’ll do.” Although I breathed relief, I was a little annoyed that she didn’t think more of the room. “Just leave everything by the closet there,” she commanded. I lugged the suitcases in and dropped them by the closet door. When I turned around, I felt as though she were about to give me a tip. It was then that I took my first good look at her face.

She had light brown hair cut sharply at the nape of her neck so that the strands hung straight and loose just above her shoulders. Her complexion was only a shade or two darker than pale, and I noticed the tiniest of freckles along the sides of her soft cheekbones. She was a little round-faced with an indistinct jawbone, but her mouth was strong and well shaped. Her nose was sharp but well proportioned. I was drawn to her eyes. They were a light blue, like the late afternoon sky, but they were magnetic and powerful.

Being a bank teller for so many years, I was accustomed to facing people. Most people look away after they made their requests, especially when I look back at them. Mrs. Randolph didn’t flinch. She challenged, and I was the one who looked away.

“Well, I ...”

“I’ll change and come right down,” she said.

“The bathroom’s just across the hall to the right.”

“Thank you.” The door closed immediately, and for a moment I just stood there. I realized that I was trembling and ascribed it to my nervousness about presenting her to Miriam.

As I suspected, Miriam hadn’t heard a thing, not the cab or Mrs. Randolph’s entrance. She was where I had left her, sitting in the corner of the couch, knitting and smiling as she watched her own fingers move through the monotonous pattern. It was as if her hands were two little animals working on their own and she was sitting there admiring their achievement. I stood there, hoping she would notice me and I wouldn’t frighten her. She didn’t so I cleared my throat. Her fingers stopped instantly, and she looked up at me as though I had interrupted a very private and very enjoyable conversation.

“Didn’t you hear the cab pull up?”

“No, Michael. I have to concentrate on what I’m doing so I don’t lose a stitch.”

“Of course.” I came further into the room. “Well, you remember about the nurse we discussed?”

“You mean the nurse for Lillian?”

“Yes.”

“I remember. I told you, I could take care of her without any nurse.”

“I know, dear, but Dr. Turner said—”

“Dr. Turner, Dr. Turner.” She turned away.

“He’s just trying to do the right thing. You want to do the right thing, don’t you, Miriam? It’s important we do the right thing. It’s important for Lillian.”

She was like a little girl, pouting. I waited.

“Is that who came in the cab?” she asked without turning back to me.

“Yes. Her name is—”

“Lillian’s not going to like her. She’s going to be afraid of her, and she’s not going to like her.”

“We have to give it a chance, dear. You promised me—”

“I’ll give it a chance,” she said, straightening up again and moving her needles, “but I know what the end result will be. We’ll send her away.”

“Maybe.”

I heard the bedroom door close, so I stepped out to greet her. She was very impressive in her nurse’s uniform; it changed her entire appearance. She had gone into that bedroom and donned an aura of medical authority and importance the same way other women put on cosmetics. She paused at the top of the stairway as though she wanted me to appreciate her look of power.

She was statuesque. Her posture didn’t seem stiff anymore; it was correct. Conscious of my own slouch, I brought my shoulders back. I suddenly realized the resemblance nurses and doctors had to the military. I got the definite feeling she was here to take command. She descended with heavy but sure steps. Her bosom barely shook. She moved like some sort of machine, every part tight.

As she drew closer, I noted how the immaculate uniform lightened her complexion even more and brought out the dominance of her eyes. They were calculating and careful as she looked about and measured every aspect of the setting. I felt under surveillance. I was nervous and afraid of those eyes. They made me feel guilty, as though everything that was happening was my fault.

“She’s in here,” I said nodding toward the living room. It was one of those superfluous remarks people make when they are intimidated. The nurse walked past me and into the living room without giving me the opportunity to introduce her.

I was more interested in Miriam’s reaction, but the expression on the nurse’s face captured my attention. I don’t know what she was expecting, but what she found obviously surprised her. That hard, authoritarian look melted away. Her eyes softened, and her posture became relaxed.

Miriam, unaware that the nurse was standing there, continued to knit. She still wore her Mona Lisa smile and looked peaceful. The nurse moved her hands over her own hips, and the sound of her palms against the stiff material made Miriam look up. For a moment they simply contemplated each other. Then Mrs. Randolph smiled.

“Hi. I’m Mrs. Randolph.” She extended her hand. Miriam lifted hers slowly, and their fingers touched and held. “I’m here to help you. I know what you’ve been through,” she added with what I thought was tremendous sincerity.

“Hi,” Miriam said, her eyes locked in fascination.

“Please, have a seat,” I said indicating the easy chair. Miriam and she still held hands. The nurse looked at the chair and then sat next to Miriam. Miriam’s smile widened, and the nurse’s eyes became brighter. I backed myself into the easy chair and watched them. I was only afraid Mrs. Randolph would start off by saying the wrong thing.

“Michael says you’re from New York City.”

“Yes. I live in Manhattan and work out of a Manhattan agency.”

“Michael’s on a leave of absence from his job.”

“Oh.” She looked at me disapprovingly. “What kind of a job?”

“Banking. I mean bank teller.”

“Michael’s not very ambitious. He could be the bank president, if he set his mind on it.”

“Now, Miriam. She exaggerates,” I said smiling, but Mrs. Randolph still looked disdainful. I felt chastised and fumbled for new words. “Would anyone like something to drink? Juice, soda?” I was anxious to get out of there for a few minutes. Sweat had broken out under my collar.

“Not for me,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“No, thank you, Michael. If you need something ...”

“No, no, I don’t need anything.”

“This is a very nice house,” the nurse said.

“It was a farmhouse. We don’t do any farming anymore, but in the morning you’ll be able to see how beautiful the land is. Have you spent time in the country before?” I asked.

“No, not really.”

“Well,” I said finding a comfortable topic, “you’re going to have quite an experience. You’ll miss the noise, the hubbub, the—”

“I’m not here for a vacation, Mr. Oberman. I won’t require much more than is completely necessary for myself. What I will require is cooperation.”

“We understand that,” I said, a little more aggressively than I had intended. She seemed to appreciate it though. I saw a look of pleasure in her eyes.

“This is the first time we’ve had a stranger living in the house with us,” Miriam said. Her voice was so small. My heart went out to her.

“I know what it’s like, Miriam,” Mrs. Randolph said in a warmer, softer tone of voice. My eyes widened with interest. “When I was very young, we had to have a nurse in the house to take care of my mother. She had suffered a stroke.”

“How terrible,” Miriam said.

“Yes, but out of everything terrible, good can come. That was what decided me on becoming a nurse. I saw the tremendous good you could do for other people.” Miriam nodded at her, her eyes framed in a warm smile. “If people let you.”

“Oh, we will,” Miriam said. She sounded so young, so impressionable.

“Then things will be good. I know it’s later than I had hoped when I arrived,” Mrs. Randolph said, “but I’d like to talk to you a while about Lillian and about what happened.” She turned to me. “Perhaps you can excuse us for a few minutes, Mr. Oberman. It won’t be long.”

I was surprised by the request.

Miriam’s eyes were wide with interest. For a moment I wasn’t sure what to do. Apparently, Mrs. Randolph realized it. She leaned toward me, and in a lower voice, she said, “It’s important we develop a certain trust between us, you see.”

“Of course,” I finally said. “That is, if it’s all right with you, dear.”

Miriam looked at Mrs. Randolph again and then at me. She seemed amused by all this.

“It’s all right,” she said. I smiled and nodded, but Mrs. Randolph turned away from me to show her impatience, I’m sure. I thought she expected too much right from the start. She must have assumed I had all sorts of preparation for this, but I didn’t have much more than Miriam had. I was following the doctor’s recommendations, which is the same as the doctor’s orders. What do you do when a doctor suggests something? If you defy it, you’re defying all that medical knowledge.

For a few moments I contemplated spying on Miriam and Mrs. Randolph, but then I thought myself ridiculous, perhaps even jealous. I went back out on the porch. I often wondered what was said during that initial private conversation. I asked Miriam about it, and she told me things, but I never believed she told me everything. She was too impressed with Mrs. Randolph too quickly.

Mrs. Randolph didn’t come out to the porch afterward. I was hoping she would have a private conversation with me, too, but all she did was come to the doorway and say, “We’re finished. I’m tired, so I’m going upstairs.” I got up quickly, practically tripping over myself.

“Is there anything I can get you?” I asked. She didn’t turn around or acknowledge me. I watched her walk all the way up, and then I went into the living room to see what effect she had on Miriam. Miriam was knitting again, smiling angelically and knitting. “Well,” I said sitting down across from her, “how was your little talk with Mrs. Randolph?”

“Very nice.”

“Very nice? Does that mean you’re happy she’s here?”

“Well, of course I’m happy, Michael. Why shouldn’t I be happy to have professional help with Lillian?”

“But I thought ... I mean ... that’s very good, dear. That’s the right attitude.” She continued to concentrate on her knitting. “You know, if it works out all right, I might go back to the bank.”

“Fine.”

“Not that we need money. You know you don’t have to worry about money, not with the legacy and the investments and all.”

“I don’t worry about money, Michael. I have full faith in your ability to handle our finances. I mean, you’re a banker and all.” She laughed. It had been a while since I heard her laugh like that. “And we still have the trust fund for Lillian, don’t we?” She waited for my response. For a moment I teased her with my silence. “Don’t we?”

“Of course, dear.”

“She’ll need it for college. Once she gets better,” she said, looking at her needles, “she’ll want to go to college just like other girls her age. I wish I could have gone to college.”

“You still can, dear. You can take courses at the community college if you want.”

“It’s not the same thing, Michael. You know it’s not. I’m talking about being a college girl, being on campus, wearing sweaters and carrying books and meeting a nice fraternity man. All the things I never did, things Lillian will do. She will do them,” she said when I didn’t respond immediately.

“Of course.” I looked toward the ceiling. The image of Mrs. Randolph’s well-outlined bra beneath her transparent blouse returned, and I was stimulated by the realization that there was another woman in the house.

“What are you thinking about, Michael? Did you hear anything?”

“No. I was just wondering if she likes the room.”

“Who?”

“Mrs. Randolph. She studied it so hard I thought she was either going to buy it or run out.”

“Why shouldn’t she like the room? I always keep it clean even though we never use it. It’s a nice room and it’s very close to Lillian’s room. Where else should a nurse be?”

“She seems like a competent sort, a down-to-business type,” I said, still fishing for Miriam’s real reactions.

“We’ll see,” she said. I thought that was a very sensible response.

I watched her for a while longer, and then I got up and made myself a highball. I am not a big drinker, but once in a while I like a shot to calm my nerves. With Miriam apparently content, I went outside to sit on the porch again. The first crisis was over; the nurse was in the house.

As I sat there, I thought again about her youth and attractiveness. I told myself that almost any woman would seem enticing to me now. I had been living practically like a monk, afraid that any sexual advances might shatter Miriam’s fragile composure. She was untouchable, like a dream. The worse thing was she seemed incapable of understanding any suggestions. She had returned to some previous state of innocence. A rapist could come walking in and she would offer him milk and cookies. I laughed, thinking about it, but then I ached because of my own unanswered needs.

What about her needs? Would they ever return?

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when I noticed Mrs. Randolph’s shadow move over the light from her room. The yellowish glow that had spilled over the lawn suddenly filled me with a tingling pleasure. I put my glass down slowly on the arm of the chair, barely making a sound. I touched my lips with the tip of my tongue and studied that portion of the lawn illuminated by her window. I felt myself becoming aroused, pressing up against the confining undergarment.

My heartbeat quickened. I moved as one in a trance, lifting my body slowly from the chair. I inched myself into a standing position. My sexual excitement was reinforced by slow, deliberate moves.

I stepped off the porch quietly, even slyly, staying as deeply in the darkness as I could. I moved out on the lawn until I could look up and over the porch roof. As I hoped, Mrs. Randolph’s window shade was up and the curtains were still open. I stood there for quite a while before I began to chastise myself for such a childish and dishonest act, but as I headed back to the porch, I saw her move across the window. She went by in a flash, but I thought she was bare breasted.

The sight made me tremble, and I came to my senses quickly. What if she had seen me standing there looking up? The thought drove me back to the porch so quickly I tripped and fell. Fortunately, it was on the grass so I did no damage to my clothing or my hands. I got up and went back to my seat. My heart was beating so hard I thought I might go into some kind of cardiac arrest. That made me laugh because then I would need the nurse.

I wiped the sweat from my face and straightened my clothes. When I was calm enough again, I got up and went inside. I put things away in the kitchen and turned off the lights. When I came back to the living room, I saw that Miriam had already gone upstairs. I hesitated, thought about the fact that we had someone else living in the house with us, and then started up myself.

As soon as I reached Lillian’s room, I looked at Mrs. Randolph’s door and saw that there was no light coming out from under it. I imagined she had gone to sleep. Even so, I felt quite self-conscious about going into Lillian’s room to say good night, but I thought this of all nights had to be perfect.

For a long moment I stood there in the doorway peering into the darkness. I tried desperately not to think of Lillian and to think only of the silence, but it was just as impossible as ever to do that. I could hear the rustling of her sheets. I could smell the scent of her powders and perfumed soaps. I could even hear her regular, rhythmic breathing.

Oh God, I thought, please. Let Mrs. Randolph be of some real help for all our sakes. Even for Lillian’s.

“Good night, Lillian,” I said, loud enough for Miriam to hear. And then I fled from her room.

“I have been going over your wife’s medication,” Mrs. Randolph said. I was quite shocked that she had gotten up, gone down to the kitchen, and made coffee without my even knowing she had left the bedroom. I assumed, because her door was closed, she was still asleep.

I was surprised at how quickly she had made herself at home, and I was a little annoyed that there wasn’t any uncertainty or timidity about her. She was behaving as though she had been living in my house for years. People like her have always been a mystery to me. They move with such control, such assurance. They make me aware of my own insecurities.

“I thought you were still asleep,” I said. She peered at me over her coffee cup. She was seated at the side of the small kitchen table and had her legs crossed. The skirt of her uniform was pulled up almost to her knees. I hadn’t noticed it before, but she was wearing those antiseptic stockings that make a nurse’s legs look like the limbs of a skeleton.

Gazing at the sterile whiteness of the uniform, the thick stockings, and the big-heeled, clumsy-looking shoes, I found it incredible that the woman had aroused some erotic interest in me the night before. It had to be because of the long interruption in sexual relations between Miriam and me.

She took her time responding. Arrogance, I thought, pure arrogance. Dressed in my cotton robe and silk pajamas and wearing my oldest but most comfortable slippers, I felt like her patient. I tightened the belt of the robe and kept my hands in my deep front pockets.

“I’m an early riser,” she finally said. “Getting back to the medication. I think using Valium as a depressant and Seconal as a sleeping pill is overkill. Ideally, we should wean your wife away from all medication.”

“That’s more like a doctor’s decision, don’t you think?”

“Of course. I intend to discuss it with Dr. Turner. Is your wife awake?”

“No. She usually sleeps late in the morning. By the time I’m finished making her breakfast and bring it up, she’s awake.”

“That’s wrong,” she said lowering her coffee cup to the saucer gently. “You’re keeping her too comfortable and secure in her condition. We have to bring her out to a more active and self-rewarding existence. I take it you didn’t always make breakfast,” she added.

“No.” The way she asked the question made it a direct assault on my manhood. I poured myself some coffee and sat across from her at the table. I couldn’t believe how uptight I was, and I was hoping the coffee would relax me before she noticed. “There are a number of things I do now that I never used to do.”

“That’s my point,” she said quickly. “I’m sure you can appreciate the irony: your wife is desperately and pathetically holding on to the past; she doesn’t want things to have changed. You’ve created or contributed to her unreal world, an illusory world in which you do things you’ve never done before and she stops doing the things she used to do.”

I hated to admit it, but it seemed like a very perceptive comment, and from someone who hadn’t been in the house a day. I wondered why Dr. Turner had never put it to me that way.

“You seem to know a great deal about my wife’s condition. How much did Dr. Turner tell you?”

“Enough. I have had previous experience with people in her state of mind. That’s why the firm called me. I am not saying I know it all or I know more than the doctor. Please, don’t misunderstand me. But there are certain basic things we have to do if we are going to help her in any significant way

“You don’t intend to do anything terribly shocking, do you?”

“Of course not, but you should go back upstairs and wake her up to tell her that it’s time we all had breakfast.”

“It might be too abrupt. I mean—”

“It’s not too abrupt. She’ll understand that there’s a stranger in the house and you want to make the best possible impression. This is her home. She has been a mother and a wife here. She has a certain pride, and our job is to revive that pride.’’ She stared at me for a moment. I just sat there with my coffee cup frozen in the air before me. “Can you do that or do you want me to?”

“No, no, I’ll do it.”

There was no doubt in my mind that she would go up there. I took another quick sip of my coffee and stood up. She flipped open a notepad that she had in the pocket of her uniform and began writing. I had been dismissed to carry out her orders. For a moment I was filled with indignation. Then I thought, maybe she is right and maybe I am being too concerned with my own pride. I told myself I have got to think more about Miriam. I didn’t have to like Mrs. Randolph. That wasn’t important. What was important was her doing her job well and the end result being beneficial to Miriam.

I walked out quickly and headed up the stairs. It wasn’t until I reached the bedroom door that I began to feel a little afraid. But then I thought that if the nurse could be so definitive and assured, I could be so too. She had already caused a change in me. I had to be stronger, and with that awareness I realized that Miriam had to be stronger, too. It was time for it. The nurse was right.

Miriam was lying on her back, the blanket nearly up to her chin. Her eyes were opened, and she was staring up at the ceiling. Before she went to sleep at night, she always undid her hair. In the morning the dark brown strands would be out in all directions over the pillow. I waited a moment, but she didn’t acknowledge me. Sometimes she would be like that for hours in the morning.

“Miriam, the nurse is up. She’s in the kitchen.” Her eyes lowered slowly until she could see me. “She wants breakfast,” I added smiling. “And she wants to discuss Lillian’s breakfast with you.”

“Lillian’s breakfast?”

“Yes. And I can’t ... well,” I said, “I think you’d better handle this.”

“Yes,” she said. She sat up. The bodice of her light floral nightgown clung to her firm breasts. There was nothing wrong with Miriam’s figure. She was shapely and inviting. I wanted so to touch her as I had in the past. We had always been gentle with each other, loving.

But she looked past me. It was hard to believe she couldn’t see the desire in my eyes. We had always been so attuned to each other’s needs and considerate of those needs. I took a step toward her. I just wanted to kiss the back of her neck in a passionate way and have her turn into me.

Instead, all I did was stand there and watch her put on her robe and slippers. She scooped her hair up behind her head and bound it with rubber bands. I was surprised at her quickness and energy, and even though I was frustrated by it, I was happy that she was eager to help the nurse. She didn’t even stop at Lillian’s room on the way down. I followed her to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“I’m sorry I slept so late,” Miriam said. The nurse shot a glance at me, but all I did was widen my eyes. Did she think I had been lying to her, that Miriam wasn’t depressed every morning?

“Yes, well, we have to develop a schedule so it’s best we get started right away.” Miriam nodded and looked very thoughtful and concerned. I just wanted to stand and observe, but Mrs. Randolph had her own ideas. “You can go up and get dressed, Mr. Oberman, and we’ll call you when we’re ready.”

I felt like a little boy who had been told he wasn’t old enough to stay with the big boys. I know I must have reddened. I certainly didn’t just turn around and leave. But Miriam, who was now standing right beside Mrs. Randolph, looked at me with the most peculiar expression on her face. She seemed annoyed that I didn’t snap to at Mrs. Randolph’s order. I was like an intruder in my own kitchen in my own house. They were obviously not going to do anything until I left.

“All right,” I said. I wanted to say much more. I wanted to say, “I’ll get dressed when I feel like getting dressed, and if I want to stay here in the kitchen, I’ll stay here.” But of course I didn’t say anything like that. I didn’t even look annoyed. I didn’t dare spoil what the nurse was trying to accomplish. I looked at her, hoping for a wink or a nod. Something that would suggest she and I were secret partners in this at least. But her expression was solid, steady, even piercing. I turned quickly and left the kitchen, feeling as though I were fleeing.

When I walked upstairs and reached Lillian’s door, I hesitated. I stood there to catch my breath and get hold of myself. I was really very curious as to how the nurse was going to handle Lillian’s breakfast. Would she have Miriam bring it up? Would she bring it up? I was sure she wasn’t going to ask me to bring it up. There’d be no point to that.

Suddenly the coming of Mrs. Randolph and her subsequent orders and ideas took on new meaning and excitement for me. Because of the way we had been living, the entrance of a new person, especially one like Mrs. Randolph, was like the coming of a creature from outer space. The world that had become dreary, heavy, and still was changing. Already morning was different.

Instead of the quiet, trancelike pace, there was excitement and activity. I know why Miriam hated to face the new day. I hated it for the same reasons. No matter how bright it was outside, darkness never left the house. Now, though Mrs. Randolph’s manner was sharp and domineering, there was at least noise and energy.

I should get dressed, I thought. Mrs. Randolph is right. Miriam should get dressed, too. I nodded at Lillian’s door. What’s the matter with me? I wondered. The woman is just trying to get things started. I slapped my hands together, feeling a new sense of hope.

I was so desperate for change that I forced myself to ignore my initial instincts.

That was my first mistake.

2

I WAS OUT ON THE RIDING LAWNMOWER CUTTING THE grass around the house. Usually, I trimmed only a small area, doing only the minimum required outside work. I didn’t analyze it at the time, but the nurse’s efficiency made me feel guilty about my lazy attitudes. I decided to clear more than an acre so that the house and grounds would look more presentable.

There is an old farmer about a mile down the road from us, Max Gilbert, who has come around a few times to offer to cut down the fields. He would do it just for the hay, but I like the sense of isolation the overgrown grass gives us, and Miriam enjoys the solitude. Strangers unnerve her. That was why I was so concerned about Mrs. Randolph.

Miriam and I were born and bred in the area; however, Miriam is more rural than I am, even though I was brought up on this farm. Miriam has never really been anywhere. Her parents were barely able to scrape a living together. Her father was a mechanic over in Centerville, a village about five miles from here. He had a heart attack and died when Miriam was in the tenth grade. She and her mother continued to live in their small home just outside the village. It wasn’t as isolated as this, but it was on a quiet road with few neighboring homes.

The reason Miriam stayed home so much was that her mother was so neurotic. Her parents had her when they were well along in their years. She was almost an afterthought. Miriam always says she was a “change-of-life” baby, whatever that means. Apparently her mother’s nervousness had a lot to do with the fact she had to bring up a child just when she herself was going through emotional and physiological changes. To me it was a convenient explanation for all the inhibitions and fears in that household.

We both went to the same high school, Gardnertown Central. Miriam is a year younger than I am. I didn’t take note of her actually until she was in the eleventh grade. That wasn’t hard to understand. She was so shy and withdrawn it was easy to miss her, even in a class of twenty students. But by the time I was a senior and she was a junior, she had developed into one of those hidden beauties. I say “hidden” because she was never obvious about her figure. Most other girls did things to emphasize their maturity, but Miriam had this innocence, this unawareness about herself.

Her clothes were always out of style; they had a homemade look. She wore long skirts and blouses that were a size or two too big. With her clear, wide-frame glasses, she had an older, more matronly appearance. Most of the other students mistook her shyness for snobbery. From what I could see, she had few acquaintances and no real friends. First, I was attracted to her out of pity; but very shortly afterward, I realized that Miriam Stein was an attractive girl.

She had smooth, blemish-free skin, a complexion like the girls in the television ads. When I studied her—watched the way she walked, sat, moved about the school—I realized she had a full, shapely figure underneath those loosely fitting, out-of-date clothes. Although she wore her hair pinned up, it had a gleam that indicated it was well cared for and rich. It wasn’t long before I was fantasizing her beside me, her hair down, her lips close.

I wasn’t very aggressive with girls; I had yet to go out on a real date. In locker rooms I listened while the other guys bragged. I was looking for some secret, some method that would guarantee success with Miriam. In the beginning, every attempt I made to develop a relationship failed. I suppose I was very awkward because she seemed both terrified and amused by me.

I’ll never forget when I asked her to go to the senior prom. She nearly fell over herself backing away, fumbling for excuses. Anyone else would have given up, but I was attracted to her for too many reasons, none the least of which was I saw something in common with her shyness. I felt she was my kind of people.

I remember being terrified when Scott Bradley remarked that he thought “Miriam Stein’s a piece of ass.” He had quite a reputation for success with women, and he was always on the lookout for a new conquest. All the other guys but me thought he was crazy. I had nothing to be afraid of, however, because while Miriam made excuses with me, she refused to even respond to him. He gave up rather quickly and agreed with everyone else: “Miriam Stein’s ‘off the wall’ and not worth the effort.”

She was well worth the effort as far as I was concerned. Before the school year ended, I did have one good date with her. I got her to let me walk her home. It was more than a two-mile walk, but in the spring she would rather do that than take the school bus. We found we had many similar interests and a great many similar hates. That walk was the real beginning of our relationship.

We went out quite often that summer. In the fall I went to accounting school but returned home many weekends to see her. When she graduated high school, she took a job as a receptionist-secretary for a dentist in Monticello. We continued to see each other regularly, and we were engaged by the middle of my third year in college. Her mother had a stroke at the beginning of that year and another one by April. She lingered in a terrible state for months and passed away that summer. I made up my mind not to go back to college.

My father wasn’t upset because he didn’t think I should have even started with college. He wanted me to take over the running of his farm, but I had an absolute abhorrence for the work and was very pleased when he finally determined it was unprofitable to continue it. He sold his cows and most of his equipment at an auction.

Right before that, I took a job with the bank in Liberty. I was never more than a teller. I am sure that my business degree would have helped me rise to some significant managerial position if I wanted it, but I was never very ambitious. My father had a considerable amount of money. He was in farming when farming was profitable, and he inherited a great deal from his mother’s estate.

If he was proud of me for anything, it would be the way I manipulated his investments. I have always had a good mind for that, and I nearly doubled his money in ten years. Of course, I always knew all of it would become my money. He lost his younger brother years before he died, and he never liked any of his relatives much. I rarely heard from any of them. I suppose that was because I never returned any letters or any phone calls.

My father was too opinionated for most people. There was very little compromise in him. Friendships were never as important as what he considered to be the “bitter truth.” According to him life was a series of hardships. His vocabulary was filled with expressions like “hard shell,” “toughing it out,” “grit,” and “facing reality.” The last one was his favorite.

He wasn’t happy about my marrying Miriam until I brought her to the house. He didn’t think she was strong enough to be “a farmer’s wife.” “I’m not a farmer,” I told him, but that didn’t matter. When she moved into the house, she mothered him as much as she mothered me, if not more. And then when Lillian was born, he was in his glory. He spent nearly all his time with her. She called him “Popsy-Pu.” Lillian loved to add “do’s” and “pu’s” to names. Thank God my father never lived to see what happened.

Anyway, when I made a turn with the lawn tractor that morning, I saw the nurse on the front porch waving. She looked very agitated, but I couldn’t hear her because of the noise of the engine. She stood there with her hands on her hips, looking very impatient. Lawn tractors don’t go very fast, and mine never worked right. I am not much of a mechanic. As soon as I reached the house, I turned it off.

“What’s wrong?”

“Miriam says you can do that later.”

“But I’m almost finished. I don’t do it all,” I began to explain. “I—”

“You’re free to do what you want, but it would be helpful to me if you would do it later.”

“What possible difference does it really make? Why doesn’t she want me to do it now?”

She looked at me a moment, giving me a piercing stare.

“The noise that thing is making is keeping Lillian awake. We want her to take a nap, but she can’t.”

“Huh?”

She offered no further explanation. Instead, she turned her back on me and went into the house. Dumbfounded, I sat on the tractor. I looked up at the window of Lillian’s room that faced the front. It was opened halfway. I usually kept it closed. The curtains brushed back and forth against the screen.

“Dammit,” I said, and I got off the tractor. I hated doing the lawn as it was. Prolonging it irked me, and what bothered me even more was that Miriam had never made such a complaint before. When I went into the house, I was surprised to find Miriam in the kitchen working on a cake. She hadn’t done anything like that for months.

“Lemon supreme,” she said. “Lillian’s favorite. She asked for it.”

“When?”

“What’s that, Michael?”

“When did she ask for it?” I was still so annoyed that I felt like putting pressure on her.

“Just before, Michael,” she said. She had that half smile, half threatening cry on her face. I softened my tone of voice.

“It’s been a long time since she has asked for it,” I said. Her face took on a complete smile. I saw a new excitement in her eyes.

“I know. Mrs. Randolph got her interested. They had a long discussion about her meals. I told her how much weight Lillian’s lost and how disinterested in eating she has been.”

“What did Mrs. Randolph do about it?”

“She discussed it with her sensibly, from a strictly medical viewpoint,” Miriam said, obviously imitating the nurse’s pedantic demeanor. I nearly laughed. “Lillian is going to eat more nutritiously.”

“Lemon supreme is nutritious?”

“No, silly, but Mrs. Randolph made a deal with her. If Lillian eats well again, she can have some of the things she likes. The logic worked because she promised to eat well,” she said and turned back to her batter. I stared at her for a few moments. Everything was happening so fast. I could sense a new momentum in the house, and I didn’t like the idea that I was being swept away with it.

“Where is Mrs. Randolph?”

“She’s upstairs giving Lillian a sponge bath,” she said without looking up.

“What?” My tone of voice and my face gave away my surprise. Miriam looked right through it and began reciting the nurse’s dialogue verbatim.

“Lillian hasn’t been out of that room for so long. There are sanitary factors to consider.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Michael, it’s so. There are many things we’ve neglected. Having her come here was the best thing you could have done.”

“I can see that,” I said, my understatement underscoring my doubt.

“Honestly, Michael, you sound as though something’s upsetting you. What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to finish the lawn this morning. You know how I hate doing it.”

“So, finish it.”

“You just sent Mrs. Randolph out to tell me to stop. She said you said it was keeping Lillian from napping.”

“No, I didn’t. Lillian must have complained to her.”

“What?”

She kept working as though she could no longer hear me. I watched her for a moment and then left the kitchen quickly and went to the stairs. What was really going on? I wondered. It was very confusing and now very annoying. Just as I reached the upstairs landing, I stopped. Mrs. Randolph came out of Lillian’s room carrying a basin of water and a sponge.

My heart began beating rapidly, and my throat closed so tightly I couldn’t speak for a moment. I looked at Lillian’s closed door and then at Mrs. Randolph. She wore what I was beginning to think of as her “nonexpression.” Her forehead was so smooth, so wrinkle free, the skin looked synthetic. Her eyes were very still, and her lips were barely parted.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. Lower your voice.”

“I thought you said my cutting the lawn was bothering Miriam. She said she never told you that.”

She relaxed her posture, contemplating me as though I were the one who needed special understanding and care. Her expression softened into the closest thing to a smile I had seen on her face since her arrival.

“And you believed her? Really, Mr. Oberman. Your wife is quite unbalanced. You can’t expect her to remember from one moment to the next, can you?”

“She usually does,” I said, but not with any confidence. Maybe I never noticed it or never wanted to notice it. The nurse was probably right, I thought. This would be something an outsider might spot right away. Someone who was emotionally aloof could see things that I was too close to. I focused on the basin of water. “Why did you go into Lillian’s room with that?”

“It’s what I told Miriam I would do. In the beginning it’s going to be very important for me, and for you, to actually do the things we say we are going to do. I have to win her complete confidence. You can understand that, can’t you?” She asked it as though she were talking to a grade school student. I felt myself redden.

“Of course,” I said. I heard the note of retreat in my voice and imagined that if anyone saw me standing there, he or she would think I looked very silly questioning the things the nurse was doing.

“Fine. After you shower and change, I have a list of groceries I’d like you to get,” she said, and she walked past me and down the stairs. I watched her descend, fascinated with her militarylike gait and her authoritarian composure.

Shower and change? I hadn’t intended on doing that, but I hadn’t intended on going into town either. I looked down at my shirt and jeans. Well, maybe I should, I thought. Then I thought, what groceries? I had just recently been to the supermarket. We had plenty of everything. Everything Miriam and I liked, that was.

Perhaps there were foods we needed for medical reasons. I didn’t know for sure. Mrs. Randolph hadn’t been here long, but I could see she had a habit of expecting me to understand everything. Orders were orders. I wondered whether all nurses were that arrogant. Doctors certainly could be. Maybe it came with the territory. I could understand some of it in a hospital, but it didn’t have to be that way here.

What could I do? I looked at Lillian’s closed door and thought about Miriam downstairs actually making a cake. I shook my head, shrugged, and hurried to my bedroom. I would shower and dress and go to town just as Mrs. Randolph commanded.

During the ride to town, I thought about the way things had begun at home and wondered how much of it Dr. Turner knew and sanctioned. He hadn’t mentioned any regular procedure for evaluation, and I wondered if he expected me to contact him. Why couldn’t these medical people spell things out more clearly? I thought they were deliberately unclear just to make themselves seem that much more important.

I decided to stop at his office before I went to the supermarket. His office wasn’t that far out of the way. It was in a newly built, fancy wooden structure called the Gardnertown Professional Building. It had a pine wood siding and a unique modular design. It was the kind of building most people would pause to look at and comment about but not choose for themselves.

I liked it because all of the offices had large windows, which made them bright and airy. There was no question it was on an ideal site: a high knoll looking down over the major highway and across at the Shwangunk Mountains. Miriam always commented about the view when we came here.

There was a small parking lot directly in front of the building. The spot closest to the building had a sign marked “Reserved for Doctor.” I knew he was in his office because his Jaguar was parked there. Actually, there were only three empty spots in the lot. That didn’t necessarily mean he was busy.

Besides Dr. Turner, the building housed an accounting firm, a lawyer, a dentist, and a surveyor. Even though it was only a two-story structure, it had a small elevator. There were large oil reproductions in the hallways. Most of them were landscapes. The walls and floors were always immaculate, and even though the building was five years old, it looked as new as the day it opened. I found out later that Dr. Turner was part owner and the structure had been built to provide a tax shelter for him and two investors.

Of course, I should have phoned before coming, but I wasn’t thinking so clearly that first morning. I had a long wait, and I wouldn’t have remained if I weren’t so concerned about Mrs. Randolph. Through looks and her tone of voice, Mrs. Greenstreet, the receptionist, let me know that she didn’t appreciate my barging in like that. Dr. Turner always had a “tight schedule,” and it was “difficult enough keeping him organized with his regular appointments.”

I skimmed through a dozen magazines, continually watching his inner office door, willing it to open with all my mental strength. While I was there, Mrs. Greenstreet lowered her voice during a number of phone calls. I think they were of a personal nature and she didn’t want me to know she did things like that on the doctor’s time. Finally, his door opened and a sullen-looking teenage boy came out. He glared at me as he walked through the waiting room. I actually felt threatened and pretended deep interest in the magazine article. It was a relief to see Dr. Turner in the doorway.

“Mr. Oberman insisted on seeing you, doctor,” Mrs. Greenstreet said. “I told him you were pressed for time and had to rush off to the state hospital in Middletown.”

It seemed very important for her to shift all the blame to me. I wondered whether Turner was a hard man to work for. That thought made me a little more tolerant of her.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s all right, Michael. I can give you a few minutes. Come in.”

I avoided Mrs. Greenstreet’s gaze and followed the doctor into his inner office. Turner was a stout man, built more like a professional wrestler than a psychiatrist. Later on I found out that he did wrestle in college. Although he was only in his early forties, his thick, dark brown hair had grayed considerably. He wore it a couple of inches too long in the back, a stylistic touch that I thought reminiscent of the sixties. He wore a full beard which had grayed down both sides and in the chin, but much of it was still sweet potato red, especially the mustache.

Dr. Turner had a wide forehead with bushy eyebrows. I always thought he had a sailor’s weathered look about his eyes. They were kindly and soft, but far reaching, as though he were used to looking over great distances. He would look at you when he spoke to you or listened to you, but it was as though he were looking beyond you. I asked Miriam about it, and she said it was as though he were looking into your soul.

A man in his line of work had to have attractive eyes. They were hazel green and bright. I wondered how many women came to him simply because of his good looks, for he had high cheekbones and a straight nose. Even I thought there was something sexy about the way he held his lips slightly open when he listened to someone.

Of course, he was a good listener, one who could make the speaker feel as though his every word were important. When he smiled, there was a brightness and life in his face that would cheer the most depressed individual. And when he smiled, that sea-weathered look about his eyes took form in small wrinkles in his temples.

There was one thing about him that was definitely an asset to a man of his profession: his air of calm. He moved with an athlete’s grace and sat so still and so relaxed that a patient couldn’t help but feel relief just in his presence. His voice, though strong and confident, was soft. He slipped words and phrases in and out of his conversation with an ease I envied. Everything seemed to fit; everything was structured.

I liked the feel of his handshake, for it was always strong and definite. His fingers looked powerful, and the small dark hairs that grew just above his knuckles added a touch of masculinity. He took my hand as soon as I came through the door and gestured toward a seat.

“What’s up, Michael?”

“The nurse has arrived,” I said and sat down quickly.

“I know,” he said moving slowly to his seat. “She called me.”

“She did? She never told me.” He just nodded, waiting for me to specify why that was important. “I know she was critical of Miriam’s medication.”

“Well, we did discuss it. Now that she’s there, we can try to work Miriam off some of the drugs.”

“Then you agreed with her? I didn’t want to ask her what experience she’s had with this sort of thing. I didn’t want to appear critical from the start.”

“I understand. Well, she’s dealt with the senile; she’s dealt with people in trauma. She’s worked with disturbed children. She’s had a great deal of experience with that,” he said. He looked sad about it.

“Although her name is Mrs. Randolph, I get the distinct feeling she’s no longer married.”

“Divorced,” he said nodding slightly. “Recently, too. The agency says she’ll be able to give us a nice stretch of time. That’s important because we’ll have consistency. How does Miriam feel about her?”

“Better than I expected.”

“That’s good then.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t like her, is that it?” he asked. He seemed to anticipate it. “Has there been some kind of problem?”

“Her methods strike me as unorthodox.”

“How so?”

“She’s very authoritative for one thing.” He smiled with understanding.

“Well, she’s been a head nurse; she’s had a great deal of responsibility. As long as she’s efficient and does her job well—”

“I think she humors Miriam too much. I think she’s going about it all wrong,” I said. It was what I thought so I said it straight out. Dr. Turner’s eyes grew small for a moment, but he showed no impatience or anger. In fact, his tone of voice was ingratiating.

“I don’t think you’ve had all that much experience with this sort of thing, Michael. You’ve never had a full-time nurse there.”

“I know.”

“So why not let her work? She has an enormous task, you know, and a major step will be for her to win Miriam’s trust.”

“That’s what she says.”

“She’s not lying.” He smiled again. I began to feel stupid for coming. Anything I would add at this point would sound petty, I thought. “We’re all watching the situation closely. You shouldn’t be anxious about it.”

“Right,” I said. I stood up. “Thanks.”

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I walked down the corridor quickly and practically ran down the short flight of stairs. When I got outside, I felt like a high school kid who had been kept in detention. For a moment I forgot where I was going. Then I remembered Mrs. Randolph’s list of groceries in my pocket and got into the car.

As I drove I thought about the way Dr. Turner had said, “She called me.” His tone of voice and the way he looked at me suggested that Mrs. Randolph hadn’t told him only about Miriam. She must have told him things about me as well. She might have complained about the way I questioned some of her first actions. What could I say in my own defense? Whom would Dr. Turner believe?

He had made it clear to me that he had great respect for the nurse. Someone down at the agency gave him an opinion, and he was impressed or wanted to be impressed. Surely he would place greater value in the thoughts and comments of another medical person than he would in whatever I might say. I could just hear him make a remark like, “Well, you do have big problems in your house, Michael. It has to have taken its toll on you.” I mean, my views could be completely disregarded.

Now I was convinced that when he said, “She called me,” there was a conspiratorial tone in his voice. What he really meant to say was, “We’ve discussed everything already, so what the hell are you coming around for?”

Even so, I wasn’t going to stop being cooperative, especially since this situation had really just gotten started. How could I? But I wasn’t going to be pushed out of all the important decisions. It was my home, and what happened in it involved me.

This new sense of determination made me feel better, stronger. I was glad I had barged into his office and had even that short conversation. At least I had an idea of the way things were going to go, and at least he knew I was someone who wanted to be involved. I wasn’t just going to throw off everything to the nurse and Dr. Turner. There was a great temptation to do so. Most people would, I know, but I’m not most people.

When I drove up to the house after completing the shopping, I was surprised to see Miriam sitting on the front porch. She rarely came out during the day lately. From the way she looked when I pulled into the driveway, it was apparent that she had been waiting anxiously for me. She got up quickly, an excited smile on her face, and stood at the top of the steps. For a moment I thought Mrs. Randolph might have left and Miriam was happy about that.

“Hi,” I called, and I went around the car to take the packages out of the trunk.

“Oh, Michael,” she said, “Michael.” She came down the steps. She looked so bright and alive. It was a pleasure simply to watch her. She moved with an energy that reminded me of the old days before my father died. What a light she had brought to this house then. I was always so anxious to get home from work just to be with her, to be around her.

“What’s up?” I said. I stood there with my hands on my hips, smiling widely myself. I nearly laughed at her eagerness to get to me.

“It’s Lillian,” she said. She was out of breath from the excitement. She put her right hand against the car and held the fingers of her left hand against the bottom of her throat. I could see that her hair had been brushed with a great deal more care. It was shiny and bright in the sunshine. There was that small quiver in her upper lip again. I used to like to touch it softly and then kiss her.

“What about Lillian, dear?” Instinctively, I looked up at Lillian’s window. The curtains were still open, the window up.

“She’s sitting up in bed,” she said. “She’s sitting up.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Mrs. Randolph got her to do it. We were talking about Lillian and how she has to start trying harder, and Mrs. Randolph said, ‘Well, she should be sitting up.’ Then she went right upstairs and got her to do it. Just like that, Michael. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes, dear. It’s wonderful.”

“And that’s not all, Michael. You’ve got to do it; you’ve got to.”

“Do what, dear?”

“Put a television set in her room. She wants her own television set.”

I kept smiling. It was frozen on my face. Miriam was still breathing hard. I looked to the front door, expecting Mrs. Randolph to appear, but she wasn’t there.

“In whose room, dear?”

“Lillian’s room, Michael.” The excitement left her face. “Whom do you think I’ve been talking about? Now that she’s sitting up, she wants to watch television. I should think you would be a lot more excited and happy about it.”

“Oh, I am,” I said. “It’s just such ... such a surprise.”

“Yes,” she said, “isn’t it?” Then she leaned toward me and whispered, “It’s because of Mrs. Randolph. That woman can work miracles.”

“I can see that,” I said, but it didn’t make any sense to me. I wondered if one had to be a doctor or a nurse to understand.

“You will do it, won’t you, Michael? You will put a television set in Lillian’s room?”

“If that’s what she wants, dear.” Was it really what Mrs. Randolph wanted also?

“She does.”

“OK. First I’d better get some of these perishables into the house.”

“I’ll help you.”

“No, I—”

“I said I would help you, Michael. I’m not helpless, you know.” She looked aggressive, determined. Miriam’s changing, I thought. She’s really changing. But I wasn’t sure I liked the change.

“Of course, dear,” I said, and I handed her a fairly heavy bag. She didn’t seem to notice or care. She was too excited and too happy. I watched her head directly for the house, and then I grabbed the other two bags and started after her. I looked for Mrs. Randolph when I entered, but she wasn’t in the hallways, the living room, or the kitchen.

“Where is the nurse?” I asked. Miriam was already unloading her bag. She stopped and took on an intense look before she spoke in a subdued voice.

“She’s upstairs doing her yoga, Michael. She does it faithfully for one hour every day, and while she does it, she can’t be disturbed.”

“Is that right?” I deliberately spoke loudly and looked toward the ceiling.

“Shh, Michael. Whatever she does takes great concentration. She is going to teach me how to do it.”

“Won’t that be swell,” I said. I looked down at some of the unloaded groceries. “Look at this stuff: organic vegetables and health cereals. This stuff is expensive, and if you ask me, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Soya milk, for Christ’s sake.”

“Michael!”

“Well ...”

“Nothing is too big of a sacrifice or an effort if it will eventually help Lillian,” she said. She said it as though she had been taught to memorize it. What could I say? All I could do was nod and continue to unload and put away the groceries. Suddenly Miriam grabbed my arm.

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear her? Lillian’s calling. She’s been calling for you all day.”

“Oh.”

“Go up to her room, Michael. I’m sure you’re anxious to see her sitting up, aren’t you? And Michael, you’ve got to decide how to install the television set. I’ll be up there as soon as I finish here.”

For a moment I debated making a stand there and then. I considered challenging everything and saying “No!”

But I didn’t. I was shaking. I was trembling as I turned from her and began my slow ascent toward Lillian’s room. I was afraid, afraid that when I opened that door, I would actually see Lillian sitting up in her bed.

Nothing could be more terrifying.

3

“TELL ME ABOUT LILLIAN,” MRS. RANDOLPH SAID. “What kind of a student was she in school?”

The three of us were sitting in the living room. Miriam was doing a crossword puzzle and I was reading. The nurse had been watching television, but a fierce lightning storm had blown in from the northwest, so I had to turn off the set and disconnect it. A friend of mine at the bank, Peter Curtiz, didn’t do that one stormy night and lightning hit his antenna. His set was destroyed instantly. Out in the “boondocks” homes like mine are too far from cable hookups. We have to depend on the old-fashioned antenna. Our reception is affected by the weather, but it’s just not cost-effective for the cable company to run wire out here. Not enough homes.

I explained all this to Mrs. Randolph, but she didn’t seem to understand. Actually, I think it was more that she didn’t want to understand. She was simply intolerant. When I got up and turned off the television set, she was extremely annoyed.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Miriam looked up from her puzzle.

“The lightning.”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you see how the picture is jumping? If we don’t disconnect the set, it could blow up.”

“I never heard of such a thing.”

“Life is different in the country,” I said smugly. The skin on her face tightened, and her eyes grew smaller. I avoided her gaze and sat down again, but I wasn’t halfway through the page I was reading when she asked about Lillian. Miriam lowered her crossword puzzle book and smiled. I kept the book before me and raised my eyes.

“A wonderful student,” Miriam said. “I have all her report cards and all her letters of commendation. I even have some of her early art projects. She has a wonderful talent for drawing. Do you want to see any of it?”

“Yes.”

I looked from the nurse to Miriam and back at the nurse again. She turned toward me slowly, something of a look of fury still in her eyes. Miriam started to get up then stopped.

“Maybe you’ll get it, Michael,” she said. I don’t think she wanted to leave me alone in the room with the nurse. She sensed tension.

“Get what, dear?”

“Those things I just described to Mrs. Randolph.”

“I’m not sure I know where it all is.”

“It’s all in Lillian’s room, on her dresser and in the top drawer. I haven’t moved anything out of there, Michael.”

I looked to Mrs. Randolph again, but she said or indicated nothing. She simply sat there waiting to see what I would do. I tried to express a thought in my facial expression, but she either didn’t understand it or rejected it. I wanted to say, “This is too painful. We shouldn’t permit it,” but the nurse seemed eager for it to happen.

“It’s late, dear. Lillian’s probably asleep,” I said. I could play the nurse’s game.

“Just be quiet about it, Michael. You’ve gone in there before when she was asleep and you didn’t wake her.”

“Well, ... all right,” I said. I got up reluctantly, hoping the nurse would say something to postpone it. I wasn’t thinking about it being painful only for Miriam. Mrs. Randolph kept her hands folded on her lap and stared forward, looking as stoic and as unfeeling as a bad statue, the kind that is slapped together and put up on the lawn before a government building.

As I turned out of the living room and started up the stairs, I heard the nurse say, “I want to get to know as much as I can about Lillian.” I’m not a doctor, of course, but none of this seemed right. Instinctively, I felt we were moving in the wrong direction, but at that point, I could do nothing about it.

I looked at the top of the stairs. We had a hall light about midway between Lillian’s room and the stairway. It wasn’t very bright; it cast just enough of a glow to illuminate the way. But this particular evening, just because I was doing this emotionally painful thing, the light was eerie. Familiar shadows were elongated and distorted. It was as though the house had become pliable, the walls changed. They looked wider, shorter, and the ceiling was lower. I felt more closed in. My house had become clay in the nurse’s hands, and she had molded it to suit her own tastes. The idea was ridiculous, I know, but it ran through my mind nevertheless.

As I neared the top of the stairway, I became conscious of my own footsteps. I never realized that the stairs creaked so or that I walked with such a heavy step. My heels snapped against the wood, and when I tried to be quieter, my feet scraped along. It sent chills up and down my spine, like when a wise guy in school runs his fingernails along the blackboard to make the girls scream.

Usually, we kept the door to Lillian’s room closed, but that afternoon, the nurse and Miriam had decided it was wrong to shut it completely. From now on, it was to be kept open a good inch or two. I had forgotten about that, and the sight of the door ajar stopped me cold. Who opened the door? I wondered. I was actually afraid. Later, when I thought about it, it bothered me a great deal that I had been afraid. Who was I afraid of? Why should I be afraid? Darkness and solitude terrify most people. I know. But this was different.

I remember the night after my mother died. I was young at the time, but that wasn’t important. I would have the same feelings if it all happened now. We had buried her that morning, and I was alone in my room. I had just said good night to my father and put the lights out when suddenly, I thought I felt her presence. I should have felt no fear, even though she was dead and we had just come from the cemetery. It was my mother’s spirit. My mother wouldn’t harm me, even in that state of existence. Nevertheless, I broke out into such a sweat that I had to get up and put on the lights for a while. My father came by, and I told him I couldn’t sleep, but I couldn’t tell him why. I never forgot that feeling. I had the same feeling standing there in the hallway, until I remembered why Lillian’s door was opened.

In less than forty-eight hours, the nurse had certainly changed a number of things. I had a mixed reaction to her, just as I would react to a good dentist: I hate to go to him, but I’m glad he’s there when I need him. We needed the nurse, and Dr. Turner said she was good.

I wasn’t going to put on the light in Lillian’s room. I knew where the things Miriam talked about were. By pretending ignorance, I had hoped to dissuade her from wanting them. Any time I went into Lillian’s room in the daytime, my attention was drawn to her sheets of artwork: those funny faces and pictures of animals, the picture of Dinky-Do, the holiday cards she made for us, the birthday cards, especially the one that said, “For Daddy. I love you.”

I could still see her eyes widen whenever she handed us one of those cards or pictures to look at. There was such expectation in her face and such excitement. Miriam kept the latest ones taped to the refrigerator door. On the few occasions when I was home before she came from school, I got to see her stepping off the bus, screaming her excitement, waving the cards and the pictures as she came running up the front steps.

And these were the things the nurse wanted me to bring downstairs. Why? All little girls did the same kinds of things. She wouldn’t learn anything special from them, anything she could use at least. Then I thought, maybe there is something in them that I don’t see, that I don’t have the education or training to understand. Maybe the nurse was looking for clues that would help her to do her job here. Who was I to challenge it?

I told myself I had to try to stop being such an obstructionist. Until there was a clear and obvious error that any layman could see, I had to learn to keep my objections under control. It had always been a bad trait of mine to have an initial impression and then deny all evidence that might lead to a contrary conclusion. I could be very narrowminded. My teachers often remarked about it in school.

I put my hand against Lillian’s door. Of course, it was totally dark inside, and with an overcast rainy sky outside, there was no light coming through the window unless a streak of lightning happened nearby. Nevertheless, I couldn’t get myself to put on the light. I just couldn’t do it. I never did it at night, even when I came into the room to say good night so Miriam would be satisfied. It was always easier in the dark.

Actually, darkness had become a friend in this room. I was grateful for it. I was especially grateful for it now. I pushed at the door, and it opened further and further. When I felt a breeze, I realized the nurse had left her window open. Damn, I thought, the rain would come in. The glass chimes that hung to my left in a corner of the room tinkled. How Lillian loved that sound. She would sit there on the floor and play with her toy dishes and listen to the chimes. Sometimes when I looked in on her, I would find her staring up at them with such intensity. It was as though she could see something no one else could see or hear something no one else could hear in them.

So much of this room became part of her: the sounds of it, the scents in it, the feel of the rug, the blanket—all of it more than symbolized her. All of it became extensions of her. The room was always important, right from the day she was born and we put the crib in and had the walls papered with that pink and blue design-little figures playing flutes and dancing, elves and fantasy creatures. This was Lillian’s world, the world of a little girl. Ironic, I thought, how it all became Miriam’s world, too.

I hesitated and then moved in quickly, going right to the dresser. I didn’t want to think about anything; I didn’t want to look at anything. I wouldn’t even close the window. I opened the top drawer quietly and felt for the report cards and letters. When I had them, I gathered the artwork, scooping it all up clumsily, all the while chastising myself for rushing to get out of that room. It was no way for a mature, stable man to act.

When I came into the room, I expected I could do everything in one quick motion—simply go in, get what I wanted, and rush out untouched. But it didn’t happen that way. Despite my reluctance, I was drawn around to look toward her bed. I couldn’t help thinking about her. It was the scents and the tinkling chimes. Everything conspired against me, and I visualized an image of her so well in that darkness that I thought I actually heard her call, “Daddy.”

Did I then say, “What, baby?” Did I actually do that? I don’t know if I made the sounds, but I am sure the words passed through my mind. Of course, I began to shake because of that. I trembled and dropped some of the cards.

“What’s happening to you, Michael?” I asked myself. “Get a grip on yourself, Michael,” I told myself. “What if the nurse should see you this way? She’d get some satisfaction from it, no doubt. She’s the type.”

I bent down slowly and felt for the dropped cards. After I found them and gathered them, I thought I was in control again. My confidence returned, and it would have been all right, too. I would have gone out of that room and down those stairs with enough indifference to get myself through the rest of the evening, if only I hadn’t looked back just as a streak of lightning burned the air in front of the house.

The silver light illuminated the room. True, it was only for an instant, a part of a second, but in that particle of time, all our days of quiet pretending were washed away. We were exposed in the shadows, naked and vulnerable.

Lillian’s empty bed was washed in light. It was as though someone had taken my face and pressed it against Lillian’s tombstone. The cold reality was driven through me. All of it returned and rushed over me, drowning me in the memories: the screech of the brakes, the metal slamming into metal, the screams, Lillian’s limp body being lifted from the car, her head bleeding, Miriam passing out and being revived and then passing out again. I was floating, moving in a surrealistic nightmare, sitting in the ambulance as it tore through the deadly night, its siren twisting and turning my thoughts upon each other. All I could do was stare at her bent fingers.

Everyone knew it was over before we arrived at the hospital, but no one said it. Later, I found out it was a technique. The idea was to ease the parents into the realization that the child is dead. They went so far as to work at reviving her, filling me with false hope. Miriam was already upstairs being prepared for X-rays. I sat in the waiting room alone, unaware that there were other people staring at me, wondering what terrible tragedy was about to unfold for me.

The nurse came to me first. She wore her death mask. They have a way of saying it without uttering a word. It is as though Death itself had possessed them for a short time. It uses them to announce its victory.

I stood up and followed her back to the examination room where the doctor stood beside Lillian’s body. He said, “I’m sorry.” I believed him, believed he would go home with a heavy heart. Of course, his wife would work at helping him face it, if she were a good doctor’s wife. She would say, “You knew you would see things like this when you went into medicine,” or “You’ve got to think about the ones you save.” Whatever. I couldn’t blame her for it. I couldn’t blame anyone, but myself.

I took her hand into mine and wished away her death with all my heart.

I could almost feel her fingers in mine now in her room. There was a snap of thunder that literally shook the house. The chimes went mad. I cringed and I guess I shouted. Then, as quickly as that lightning had struck, I turned and fled the room.

The roll of thunder passed and coughed quickly into silence. Lights blinked throughout the house and went out. I heard Miriam screaming for me.

“It’s all right, dear,” I said. “I’m at the top of the stairs. I can feel my way down the bannister.”

I heard some mumbling, the nurse’s subdued voice. She was calming Miriam in the dark. I made my way down slowly, and by the time I reached the living room, the nurse had lit two candles. She gave one to Miriam, and the small glow from each lit their faces. They stared out at me with yellowish white skin. I felt as though I had fallen through some portal and entered the Land of the Dead.

“What about Lillian?” Miriam said. “You know she’s afraid of the thunder and lightning.”

“She’s asleep,” I said. “I waited a moment after the thunderclap, but she didn’t awaken.”

“We’ll have to listen for her, nevertheless, Michael, and go up to check on her in a few minutes.”

“Of course, dear. Well,” I said coming further into the room, “I guess it’s lucky I disconnected that television set.” I couldn’t resist making that point.

“Did you get everything?” Miriam asked.

“Yes, but without enough light—”

“It’s all right,” Mrs. Randolph said. “There’s enough light from the candles.”

“There’s nothing else for us to do now? Michael,” Miriam said. “You can’t read and I can’t do my puzzles. At least until the electricity comes back on.”

I grunted and moved forward. The last thing I wanted to do was sit there in the candlelight with Mrs. Randolph and Miriam and go through Lillian’s things. With the rain and the thunder, flashes of lightning, the nurse’s candlelit eyes, and the muffled sound of Lillian’s chimes above us, I felt as though I had joined a séance.

“Come, Michael, sit beside me on the couch,” Miriam said. She moved over and I sat down on one side of her, the nurse on the other. All of Lillian’s things were placed on the small table before us. The candles were placed beside them. The rain, now blown wildly by the wind, sounded like a thousand tiny fingers tapping on the windows. The tiny flames fluttered. “This was the report she got in the first grade,” Miriam began, lifting the first card. “See, everything was S and S+, satisfactory and excellent. Read the comment at the year’s end.”

The nurse leaned toward the light. The skin of her face was like alabaster in the glow. Her eyes became smaller and smaller until they almost closed. She held the card gently, as though it might crumple into dust if she pressed too tightly. Miriam held her breath. I felt her hand move against my leg until she found mine. She wrapped her fingers around my palm, and the anger and frustration I felt turned quickly into sorrow and pity.

“Lillian is a fine young lady who cooperates and gets along well with others. She is very polite and eager to share. It was a delight to have her this year. Mrs. Schoonmaker, 1E.”

“Look at this Halloween drawing she made,” Miriam said quickly. She sifted through the papers. “Pumpkins with three eyes. My father-in-law used to grow pumpkins. He’d put them on a stand by the road, and people would come from all the surrounding villages to buy them, right, Michael?”

“That’s right. He did it more as a community service than anything else.”

“He did it for a while even after he gave up the cows. Then he just did it for Lillian. We have to remember to get her a real pumpkin this year, Michael. She enjoyed that so.”

“Of course, dear.”

“What’s this?” the nurse asked. She held up an award ribbon.

“That’s when Lillian won a first prize in the third grade for a fire prevention week poster. The local fire department gave them out. The poster’s in there somewhere.”

“Oh, yes,” the nurse said. “She does show a talent for art.”

There was such a note of sincerity in the nurse’s voice when she said that. For a few moments, I softened toward her and thought maybe this is a nice thing she’s doing for Miriam. Maybe this gentle, interested approach is the right approach. I know it made me feel as though we were in school again, sitting around with other parents and teachers at one of those Parent-Teacher Association meetings discussing our children and the school. I was thrown back deep into my memory. I remembered the feelings of pride and happiness. I remembered how Miriam’s face lit up when the teachers spoke of Lillian’s talents and Lillian’s compassion for others. She did have Miriam’s softness; they shared that special warmth that made them naturally and spontaneously beautiful. Whenever I saw them together, in the fields, on the porch, in the house, I thought of a doe and her fawn: innocent eyes, graceful moves, reaffirmations that the world could be filled with light and warmth.

Miriam and the nurse were talking, going over each piece of paper, each letter and card; but I was drifting further and further into my memory, sinking eagerly like one lowering himself into a warm bath. I pulled the images and the sounds around me and wore them as a blanket against the rain and the darkness. All of my senses hungered for the experiences. I had no idea how starved I was for Lillian’s touch, her little fingers in mine, the sound of her happy voice, her singing voice, the scent of her just washed hair, her laughter on warm afternoons when the lowering sun lifted cool shadows over us and draped us in contentment.

My reverie was broken by another sharp, close clap of thunder. Both Miriam and the nurse stood up quickly, almost as though they were linked. Miriam started out.

“Wait,” the nurse said, “take a candle.” She reached down and handed one to Miriam. “I’ll go with you,” she added and took the other candle as well.

“What is it?”

“Lillian’s calling,” Miriam said. “She’s afraid, just as I said she would be.”

As the two of them went out, taking the candlelight with them, the darkness closed in around me. The rain poured even harder. Lightning flashed with the regularity of a pulsating neon light for a few moments, and then there was heavy rolling thunder making the house shake. My revived memories of Lillian were still strong, and I could hear Miriam calling up to her as she and the nurse climbed the stairs. I wanted to go after them; I wanted to be there, but I didn’t move. I sat trembling like a baby.

When the heart of the storm moved off and the lightning and thunder diminished, the rain slowed. I could hear their voices above me. There was even some laughter. The nurse’s voice was heavy and firm. Miriam’s voice was light and filled with a mother’s tone of comfort. They laughed again and again. They were joking about the storm now. I even heard the nurse’s laugh. I sat back but listened hard. For a moment it was quiet and then ... then there was a distinct third laugh. I know it sounds crazy, but when I heard it, I felt as though lightning had come through the window. I couldn’t move. I sat there, terrified that I would hear it again. I was still like that after the nurse and Miriam came down and the lights came back on, but neither Miriam nor the nurse seemed to notice or care.

I thought Miriam had forgotten about the television set for Lillian. The nurse must have reminded her. Miriam’s memory was nothing like it had been. Just a few hours after she said something, she often forgot she had said it; but almost immediately after I awoke the next morning, she was standing there requesting the television set again.

First, I was surprised that she had gotten up and dressed before me. I couldn’t remember the last time she had done that. Her hair was brushed out, and she was wearing one of her brighter print dresses. She even had put on some lipstick. For a few moments, I didn’t hear a thing she said.

“Well, are you going to do it today, Michael?”

“Do what?”

“Put the TV set in Lillian’s room. What do you think I’ve been talking about?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, yes.”

“Maybe you can do it before breakfast, Michael. I’ll make you your favorite pancakes—buckwheat.”

The offer sounded more like a reward for doing what she wanted me to do. It wasn’t in Miriam’s nature to be like that. She wasn’t that sly and conniving. I looked around her, through the opened bedroom door.

“Where is Mrs. Randolph?” I asked, loud enough for anyone standing just outside to hear.

“She’s next door changing Lillian’s bedspread. She’ll be out in a moment and you can work. I’ll be downstairs if you need me for anything,” Miriam said. I just nodded and continued to stare. “Well, get up, Michael.”

“I am. I am.” I threw off the cover and sat up quickly to satisfy her.

“Really,” she said, “with all of us making such an effort, you’d think you’d be more energetic.” She turned and walked out quickly. I couldn’t believe her; I couldn’t believe the nurse had gotten her so worked up. And the whole thing with this television set .... It was ridiculous.

I got up and put on my robe. I could hear Mrs. Randolph working next door in Lillian’s room. I wasn’t keen on confronting her in that room, but I had to take advantage of the opportunity. Miriam had gone downstairs. I went to Lillian’s room and peered in. Mrs. Randolph had changed the bedspread and was now smoothing out the pillows.

“Excuse me.”

She looked back and then stood up straight. There wasn’t any smile in her face, nothing warm, nothing cordial. She looked annoyed that I interrupted her. Interrupted her from what? I thought. It wasn’t as though any of this had to be done.

“Yes?”

“This thing with the television set.”

“What ... thing?” She just had to be sarcastic about my choice of words.

“Bringing a set to this room and actually hooking it up.”

“What about it?”

“What about it?” I stepped further into the room. “Listen,” I said, “I accepted these other things you’ve done. I mean, I understood why you had to do them—this need to win Miriam’s confidence and all, but—”

“Well, thank you.” She folded her arms under her breasts and stiffened. “I’m so grateful that you’ve accepted them.”

“What I am trying to say is they made some sense, but—”

“Excuse me, but did you come in here to tell me you thought I was doing something that made no sense?”

“Well ...”

“Are you accusing me of stupidity?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“What do you call someone who does something that makes no sense?” Her shoulders seemed to rise. In fact, I felt as though she were expanding and I were shrinking.

“But bring a television set in here and get it so it actually works?”

“And what do you do when Miriam says, ’Lillian’s calling, go check on her’? Do you tell her it would be stupid to do so?”

“Of course not.”

“If you without any training do such things, don’t you think I should get the benefit of the doubt?”

“I just thought—”

“Since you’ve brought it up, Mr. Oberman, let me tell you that I don’t get the sense of cooperation you promised at the outset. I feel your critical eyes everywhere.”

“That’s not so.”

“Isn’t it? Right from the start, you questioned the things I was doing. Aren’t you interested in your wife making progress?”

“Of course.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Then I insist you permit me to do my work the way I know it has to be done. Is there anything else?” I didn’t respond. “Then I would appreciate it if you would hook up the television set as Miriam asked you to.” She unfolded her arms and went back to smoothing out the pillows.

I shook my head and left. After I got dressed, I went into my father’s room and got the old Philco black and white. He had played it for years, only having to change a tube or two once in a while. I had to drill holes and string wire from the antenna into Lillian’s room. When I got there, the nurse was gone. The windows were still open, and everything looked neat and clean. There was even a new scent in the air, the scent of sweet lilacs.

I made sure the set worked and then went downstairs. I was very hungry by now, and the thought of buckwheat pancakes made my stomach churn in anticipation. Miriam and the nurse were seated at the table having coffee. They had been conversing in low tones and stopped the moment I appeared.

“It’s done,” I said.

“Good. What is she watching?”

“What?”

“What program is she watching, Michael?” Miriam asked. I looked at the nurse, but she was her usual expressionless self.

“Oh, I ... I turned the set off. She was sleeping,” I said quickly.

“She’ll be so excited when she wakes up, won’t she?” Miriam looked to Mrs. Randolph, who simply nodded and continued to nibble on a piece of natural carrot cake, the brand with no artificial colors or flavors. I remembered that on her grocery list she had underlined “no.” I watched her and waited for her to wink or give me some sort of knowing expression, but she did nothing except stare ahead blankly and eat. So, I went to get myself a cup of coffee.

“I’m starving,” I said.

“The batter’s all ready. I’ll put it on the skillet,” Miriam said, getting up. I took the seat next to hers, just across the table from Mrs. Randolph.

“It’s been a long time since Miriam has made me pancakes,” I said. I didn’t want it to sound as though I were giving the nurse credit, but she had a very self-satisfied look on her face. She closed her eyes gently as she put the carrot cake into her mouth and chewed. I never saw anyone make eating look so sensuous. I began to wonder whether that cake was really that good.

“Mrs. Randolph thinks we might have mice, Michael.”

“Is that so?” I suppose I sounded skeptical. She stopped chewing and glared at me.

“There’s quite a racket in the closet and on the floor after I put my lights out,” she said.

“It would be terrible if there were any in Lillian’s room,” Miriam said.

“I’ll set some traps.”

“Maybe you should get a cat,” the nurse said.

“A cat can be more trouble than the mice,” I said. I reached over and broke off a piece of the cake.

“Mrs. Randolph says a pet might be good for Lillian.”

“What?” The outrage in my voice was undisguised. “Animals are out of the question.”

“I’m looking for ways to bring life back into this house, Mr. Oberman,” she said. There was no backoff in her. She couldn’t have said anything that struck more to the core either. Miriam came up beside me.

“She’s right, Michael.”

I felt them ganging up on me, and I had the feeling that it all had been discussed and decided before I arrived. There was something contrived about the way it had been brought up. It was as though the words had been planned out and rehearsed. I was indignant, but the nurse didn’t flinch, and Miriam stood there staring down at me, letting the pancakes sizzle.

“We’ll think about it.”

“I don’t want to suggest anything that will make you uncomfortable, Mr. Oberman.”

“Michael wouldn’t mind anything if it would help Lillian, would you, Michael?”

“Of course not, dear.” There was a terrible moment of silence. Even the pancakes seemed quieter. “If Mrs. Randolph thinks a pet will help, we’ll get a pet.”

“You see,” Miriam said turning back to the stove. “Michael is about the most wonderful man you could find. I’ve never met anyone more understanding. Maybe we should try to find a dog that looks like Dinky-Do.”

“Maybe. I’ll look for one,” I said quickly. I knew that meant I could take forever, but the nurse was thinking ahead of me.

“No,” Mrs. Randolph said. “From what you told me, her dog’s death was quite painful to her. Let’s not remind her of that one. Get a different kind.”

“That’s a very good point,” Miriam said. “Don’t you think so, Michael?”

“Yes, I do. But with Lillian so confined, maybe a pet wouldn’t do. Maybe it would be too much of a tease.”

“Or an inspiration,” Mrs. Randolph replied. She seemed to be enjoying my efforts to find a way out. “Everyone needs some inspiration,” she added, nodding ever so slightly toward Miriam.

Oh, I thought, now I know what she’s doing. Or at least I thought I knew. That was the first time since she had arrived that I believed she had taken me into her confidence. I finally felt that we were both handling Miriam and the nurse wasn’t treating me the same way she was treating Miriam.

“Well, then,” I said, “I’ll just take a ride over to the SPCA and see what’s available. It’ll have to be a small dog and preferably not too old.”

Miriam clapped her hands and then brought over the first serving of buckwheat pancakes.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” she said. “It’s like everything is beginning again.”

“Yes, dear,” I said. “It is.”

I was going to help clean up after breakfast, but Miriam didn’t want me to. Lately I had been doing most of that sort of work myself. Apparently, the nurse had been right: Miriam’s pride was stirred. Here she had gotten up early and made me my favorite breakfast. Now she was showing Mrs. Randolph that she could take care of these things herself. Once again I felt that I had underestimated the nurse and perhaps been too critical.

“That was delicious, dear,” I said.

“It was good,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Thank you, Michael. You just go off to the SPCA now. I can’t wait to see Lillian’s face when we show her the new dog. I remembered how she was when your father got her Dinky-Do.

“OK,” I said. I waited a moment, hoping Mrs. Randolph would step out with me so I could discuss this in private, but she didn’t get up from her seat. I imagined that meant I was really supposed to go through with it.

When I stepped outside, I noted that the air was cool, an aftermath of last night’s thunderstorm and rain. I stood there debating whether or not I should go in to get a jacket. Even the most insignificant decisions had become so critical to me. I attributed this new tension and nervousness to the nurse’s arrival. I wanted so much for her to be effective and successful, but not at the expense of the little peace and tranquility I had. She had already initiated disturbing changes in the pattern of my life. Now, I was actually off to bring back a new pet! What the hell am I doing? I thought. Events were just carrying me along, and they were happening so fast I really didn’t have a chance to decide anything.

The front lawn looked ridiculous, half cut. I had gotten up this morning and actually worked for over an hour putting a television set in Lillian’s room. Now I was off to get a dog. I had to take a firmer stand in all this. Surely there were other ways to handle the situation. As I stood there arguing with myself, my immobility turned more and more into indignation. I would go back inside and demand that Mrs. Randolph come out to have another private conversation with me, even though I didn’t do so well with the conversation in Lillian’s room. I started to turn around to do just that when the television set in Lillian’s room was turned on.

The volume was loud enough so that the voices and music traveled through her opened window. I heard Miriam’s laughter and envisioned the happy and bright face she had worn just now in the kitchen. The quiet resignation, the childlike fragility that had been draped over her during these past months was gone. What if I went back inside and in my stupidity brought it all back?

I started down the steps, driven forward by the sound of a television commercial. I got into the car, started it up, and headed out past the front of the house. As I went by the front, I thought I saw Mrs. Randolph peering out of Lillian’s window. She looked satisfied; everything was going along just the way she wanted it.

4

“ALL I NEED IS FIVE MINUTES OF HIS TIME, MRS. Greenstreet,” I said. I was standing in a pay phone in front of a garage in Rock Hill. Just a half a mile more and I would be at the SPCA. “It’s important,” I added. Dr. Turner’s receptionist didn’t reply, but I heard the phone go onto hold. A good half minute later, Turner said hello.

“Sorry to bother you after such a short space of time.”

“What’s the problem?”

I told him about the television set and about the dog. He was quiet for a moment after, so I pressed him.

“Is it right for her to keep Miriam’s hopes up like this? I mean, Miriam’s going to expect a lot more than she’ll ever get.”

“I understand, but she’s going to have to help lead Miriam down a pretty hard road soon, and if there is no trust between them ... You did say Miriam’s disposition has improved?”

“Well ... yes. In many ways she’s back to being her old self. More energy, less depression.”

“So then Mrs. Randolph must be doing something right. I assure you, she comes with the highest recommendations. I’ve seen her resume. She’s perfect for the case. Why don’t you just relax for a while and let things take their course. Call me in a week, OK?”

“For now I should be totally cooperative?”

“It would help a great deal.”

“Thank you,” I said. He hung up without saying goodbye.

At the animal shelter, I found a small dog that looked like a fox. They told me the animal wasn’t more than two years old. I thought it was docile enough, and I thought its color, golden brown, was attractive so I took it. I purchased a leash and a dog run. We still had Dinky-Do’s doghouse in the backyard, but there was no longer a run. I didn’t want the dog sleeping in the house at night, not even in Lillian’s room.

When I drove up to the house, Miriam came out to greet me. I imagined she was probably sitting at the front window in the living room watching the road. She was on the porch immediately and down the front steps before I came to a stop. I had the dog on the floor in the back of the car so she didn’t see him until I picked him up. She thought he was perfect.

“Does it have a name?”

“I don’t know. I forgot to ask.”

“It doesn’t matter. Lillian will want to give it her own name anyway. Come on, don’t you want to see how she reacts?”

I was about to ask where Mrs. Randolph was when I saw her standing just behind the screen door. Her white uniform revealed her in the shadows. Standing there and observing us so quietly, she seemed more like a presence. I felt intimidated, under glass as it were.

“Well?” Miriam said.

“You go ahead, dear. I want to finish cutting this grass. It looks stupid. And then I’ll set up the dog run in the back by the doghouse.’’

Miriam took the leash, and the mutt followed her up the steps and into the house. Mrs. Randolph opened the front door for them. She looked out at me, and we stared at each other for a moment. Then she turned and went with Miriam up to Lillian’s room. What if Dr. Turner called my house, I thought, because he had forgotten something or wanted to add or ask something? And she answered the phone? It could have happened, and he could have discussed the things I told him.

So what, I thought. If she doesn’t like it, she can quit. I have a right to ask questions. I tried not to think about it, but all the while I was cutting the grass, I did. Doctors and nurses, they were already conspirators of a sort. It would be natural for them to gang up on me.

My thoughts were interrupted by Miriam’s shouts. She was very excited so I had to turn off the engine and listen. I was almost finished anyway.

“Lillian’s decided to name him Dinky-Do, even though he doesn’t look like Dinky-Do.”

“What does Mrs. Randolph say about that?”

“She said it was understandable. We fed it and now it’s sleeping in Lillian’s room. Oh, Michael, she was so excited about it. It made such a difference. It was just like when your father brought the first Dinky-Do. She stared and stared without saying a word, you know. And her eyes got so wide, and her face got so flushed with excitement. Remember?”

“I wasn’t there the first time. My father had already given her the dog by the time I got home.”

“It was the same, Michael. It was the same.”

I wanted to say that nothing was the same, that things had to be different. But I just couldn’t get myself to do it. Instead I looked away over the newly cut portion of the lawn. Miriam’s face was awash with lies, but she wore them like a schoolgirl who had touched herself unknowingly with the ink side of her pen and had no idea that she was besmirched. I wanted to reach out and hold her face in my hands and wipe the fantasy off of it, but I was afraid everything would come off and I would be left holding a skeleton. The image made me shiver, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes took on the look of blindness; she could see only behind them.

“She wouldn’t let us take the dog out of her room. She has such a look of energy and health in her face now, Michael.” Miriam put her hand on the tractor and leaned in toward me to whisper. “Mrs. Randolph was right. She knows things; she understands. She’s a very experienced woman for one so young.”

Miriam almost made me laugh the way she said that, and then I looked back at the house and thought about the nurse. I felt funny asking Miriam things about her, but I sensed that she knew things I didn’t.

“She is younger than I expected. How old is she?” I asked quickly, but Miriam stepped back, smiling like a tease. “What’s the matter?”

“Women can’t give away other women’s secrets, Michael.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding. You think that’s such a big secret?”

“I’m going back inside.”

“Miriam?”

“What?”

“You know how old she is but you won’t tell me?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, Michael?”

“I might just do that.”

“Good. Then she won’t be mad at me.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said. I was really annoyed. Why was she so concerned about what the nurse would feel, as opposed to what I felt? “That dog can’t sleep in the house,” I snapped when she turned around again. “Even the first Dinky-Do didn’t sleep in the house at night.”

“We know that, Michael,” she said. “The nurse explained that very nicely to Lillian, and she accepted it,” she added and walked on again.

Of course, it was an out and out lie. The nurse would never have known to talk about that. How could she? Miriam just said it to counter my anger. She could sense when I was annoyed. When two people live together as closely as we have, these things are obvious to each.

I calmed myself, completed cutting the lawn, and went to the backyard to set up the run. They were both seated in the living room when I entered the house and walked upstairs to get the dog. Neither of them spoke as I led the animal down the steps and out to the back. I hooked it to the run. Almost immediately, it started to bark, but I ignored it and went back into the house.

They were no longer in the living room. I went looking for Miriam and was surprised not to find her anywhere downstairs. She wasn’t in our room or Lillian’s room either, so I surmised she was still with Mrs. Randolph. The door to her room was closed. I stood outside listening, but I heard nothing. I felt silly standing there so I shouted for Miriam, pretending I had no idea she was in the nurse’s room. The door opened partway, and Mrs. Randolph peered out at me.

“Would you please be quiet?” she said. “We’re trying to develop some concentration.”

“Huh? I just ... I didn’t ... concentration?”

She closed the door softly. I heard it lock, and it was very quiet there again. For a moment I didn’t know where to go in my own house. I felt I had to tiptoe about. I went downstairs to the living room, made myself a highball, and sat fuming in the easy chair. The dog had begun to bark again. Now I thought my actually getting it had been one of the dumbest things I had done over the past six months. I felt helpless and frustrated. For the first time since Mrs. Randolph had arrived, I seriously considered going back to work immediately. I wasn’t doing a helluva lot of good around here, I thought. And what was the point of having the nurse if I were going to be around, too? Surely that wasn’t logical. No one would blame me for going back to work at this point.

I went to the phone and called my boss, Nat Kasofsky. He said he had been thinking about calling me himself.

“We are short of help and with the summer and all .... We were hoping things had gotten easier for you and maybe you could come back.”

“Well, I’ve taken in a full-time nurse. She seems to have things under control. To say the least,” I added in a mutter.

“Come in tomorrow and we’ll see about setting you up. Welcome back, Michael. Good people are hard to find.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kasofsky,” I said. I was impressed. Nat Kasofsky was quite frugal when it came to compliments, especially compliments for the employees. Things must have gone a little downhill since I left, I thought. It made me feel good to think so. After what I had been going through with the nurse and Miriam, I needed something to stroke my ego.

After what seemed to be a good hour later, Miriam and Mrs. Randolph came downstairs. I should say, Miriam floated downstairs. She looked more peaceful than ever. She glided over the carpet; her face was nearly transparent. She looked beyond me, through me. It was as though the underlying stream of nervousness and hysteria that ran just beneath her fragile facade was completely gone. There was a contentment in her eyes, even an afterglow. I must say I think I was a little jealous at that moment.

Mrs. Randolph followed right behind her, looking as powerful and as satisfied as usual. Her correct posture made the bodice of her uniform tight. Her breasts pointed at me accusingly, defiantly. As she moved I imagined that her legs were as aseptic white as the material that covered them. I was sure she had brought more than one uniform. This one seemed tighter, cut more to the contours of her hips and waist. Her arms, although covered with tiny freckles, looked more powerful and masculine than ever protruding from those sleeves. The two top buttons of her uniform were undone, and I could see the sharp outline of her collarbone. There was a slight redness at the base of her throat. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Then I gathered my thoughts quickly, angrily.

“I’m glad you’re finished,” I said. “I would like to talk to both of you.”

“We were thinking of having lunch,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Can’t it wait a few minutes?” My voice betrayed me with its whiny tone, but Mrs. Randolph sat down and Miriam, almost as though she were in tune with the nurse’s every move, sat down beside her. She held her legs the same way and pulled her back as straight. They had the look of sisters who had inherited similar familial gestures.

“Well?” the nurse said.

“I’ve been giving everything a great deal of thought,” I said and for a moment Miriam’s idiotic smile made me lose my drift. “And I think I should go back to work right away.” There was silence so I added, “Tomorrow.”

I expected Miriam to voice some opposition immediately. For nearly six months, I had been home caring for her, providing her with needed companionship. Ironically, we had grown closer than ever at a time when events should have ripped us apart. We had developed a highly emotional and deep dependence. When two people spend as much time together every day as Miriam and I had spent, they grow interdependent as well. Our actions had become more like reactions. We were two parts of the same machine, each one bending and moving, turning and twisting according to the movement of the other. Surely she felt this as strongly as I did, and with her fragility, I felt confident that she would protest my being away from her for so many hours a day. I had prepared some arguments, but none of them were necessary.

“That’s very good, Michael,” she said. I looked to Mrs. Randolph, but she sat there as stoic as ever, even looking a bit bored. “You should go back to work. It will be good for you to mix with people and be active again.”

“You won’t ... won’t mind?” I said. I suddenly realized that what I had wanted was a private conversation, and my decision to blurt out everything had been a childish act of revenge for their shutting themselves up secretly from me. Now I didn’t want to discuss it in front of Mrs. Randolph, but it was too late.

It occurred to me, however, that my entire life was opened before her. Because of Miriam and because of what had happened, I was as naked and as exposed as possible. The nurse could see, hear, touch anything she wanted. She was party to all our dreams, our nightmares, our fears. She heard us cry and laugh. The feeling I had experienced outside before returned. The nurse was more than another person living in the house; she was a presence. She hovered about us, around us, between us.

“I understand, Michael,” Miriam said. Her angelic smile was unnerving now. “And it’s not like I have all the responsibility anymore,” she added, touching Mrs. Randolph’s arm. I nodded.

“What do you think?” I asked Mrs. Randolph. I don’t think she wanted to say anything, but I felt like forcing her to voice an opinion. Maybe Miriam would disagree.

“It’s a decision for the two of you to make, but if you’re asking me whether or not Miriam and I can handle things while you’re at work, the answer is yes.”

“You see,” Miriam said nearly singing. “There’ll be nothing to worry about.”

“Now what do you say we all have some lunch,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“I’m not hungry,” I said.

“That’s because you ate so many of Miriam’s pancakes.” She turned to Miriam, and Miriam smiled at her lovingly. It was nauseating to see. “We didn’t.” They laughed like two high school girls in a conspiracy.

I watched the two of them get up and leave the room. They were arm and arm as though they were strolling through the park. My heart was beating hard and fast. I finished my drink quickly, and then I sat listening to them chatter and laugh in the kitchen. That plus the damn dog’s barking drove me outside. I went around back and took a stick to the animal. It ran into Dinky-Do’s old house and cowered away from the entrance. I slapped the roof a few times and then left it.

As I looked past the overgrown pasture toward the thick forest filled with cool shadows and darkness, I felt terribly alone and almost overcome with a sense of foreboding. It had always been lonely growing up here. My father had his work, and I had so few friends. Those who came here always ended up working with my father because they were intrigued with the animals or the machinery. It got so I didn’t bother inviting anyone anymore.

I suppose I’m not really a country person. I don’t like walking in the woods; I never swam in the lake. I never joined the Boy Scouts or went on a long hike. Even when I was a little boy, I had no interest in exploring. I remained around the house, I read, I had my games.

Perhaps I was afraid; perhaps I’ve always been afraid. I enjoy peace and quiet and value my solitude, but I don’t venture into the darkness. At night I stay well within the perimeters of my light. I hear the animals, and I think all sorts of terrifying things and envision all sorts of horrible images.

Sometimes on hot summer nights, I awake from my sleep and listen to the raccoons. They sound like little lost children crying for their mothers. It is so much like an infant’s wail. I want to stick my head out the window and shout at them to scare them away, but I can’t wake Miriam. So I cover my ears with my hands and wait. Eventually, they move on and there is enough silence for me to return to sleep.

Invariably, the racoons’ crying makes me think of Lillian. I see myself going to her because she’s had a nightmare. Sometimes talking and holding her wasn’t enough so I had to lie down beside her and talk about nice things. I would make up stories about fantasy characters, like the Ice Cream King who had an army of all flavors and lived in the Candy Forest, where peppermint sticks grew like trees. I think I would make up the stories for myself as well as for her. It was easier for me to go to sleep afterward. It’s a memory and a picture that reoccurs often, but I don’t tell Miriam. Some things have to be private, even in a relationship like ours.

Anyway, I thought, if I told her, the nurse would find out and I didn’t want the nurse to have that kind of information about me. My reluctance was instinctive, just like my fears. Some people would say I was being irrational about her, even childish, but I couldn’t help it. I decided it would have to be that way for as long as the nurse was with us.

The moment I walked into that bank the next day, I knew I would have difficulty. It wasn’t just because of the length of time I had been away. I could overcome that and I could take to any new procedures Mr. Kasofsky had established. The actual labor wasn’t any problem. It was my concentration and the way my fellow workers behaved toward me.

I would be handling money, counting out a withdrawal, when suddenly I would lose my place. Of course, I would have to start over again and the customer would be upset. I would look at the clock and think about Miriam and what she would be doing at this time.

Most of all I would wonder about Mrs. Randolph. My instincts were at it again. Something was grinding away at me inside, telling me I was doing a terrible thing leaving Miriam alone with her. I called every chance I got, and although there was nothing in the content of the dialogue that would make me suspicious, there was something about Miriam’s tone of voice that told me things weren’t right. By the third phone call, she was downright belligerent. It wasn’t like her. I imagined Mrs. Randolph prompted every word.

“Why do you keep calling me, Michael? It’s OK. Why shouldn’t it be OK? Mrs. Randolph is here with me.”

“I know that. It’s just that ... that I like to hear it from you.”

“You can’t be working very hard, Michael. Not if you can call me so often.”

“Don’t you like me to call you?”

“I like it. Once in a while. Like you used to call when you were working before. Let’s do things like we did before, Michael,” she said. It was practically a command. I paused for a moment and then asked to speak to Mrs. Randolph.

“How is she doing?”

“She’s doing fine, Mr. Oberman.”

“I just thought ... I mean, with me actually gone. It’s one thing to talk about it, but it’s another when it really happens.”

“The reality hasn’t been too much for her, Mr. Oberman. She’s doing fine,” Mrs. Randolph repeated. I was intrigued with her voice on the telephone. Maybe it was my imagination, but for some reason her voice was warmer. She sounded more concerned. It was ... interesting. I didn’t want to hang up, and I didn’t want to go back to talking to Miriam.

“It’s been difficult for me,” I said, “being away from it so long.”

“Yes, I understand,” she said. It was reinforcing. It was the tone of voice and the words I wanted Miriam to say.

“I’ll try to be home early.”

“Don’t feel you have to rush.”

“Maybe I should bring home something to eat. Like Chinese food or something. Miriam likes it. Do you like it?”

“We’ve already planned our dinner,” she Said. Her voice was cold and sharp again.

“OK,” I said quickly. “Bye.”

After I hung up, I was surprised to see how wet my hand was. I must have been squeezing that receiver for dear life. When I caught my reflection in a glass partition, I noted that my ear looked red. I had that earpiece pressed hard against it.

What was wrong with me? I wondered. Why was I so excited about talking to Mrs. Randolph? I guess I had an absolutely troubled expression on my face as I stood there thinking because Charley Tooey, the teller next to me and a man I had known for years, came over to me and asked if anything was wrong at home. He had seen me on the telephone. In fact, everyone at the bank seemed to have seen me on the telephone. I thought they were all glancing my way, some straight out, some sneaky-like, pretending they were looking at something behind me or near me.

I spun around. Mr. Kasofsky was looking through his big glass window. He was standing there with his hands behind his back watching me. Even some customers, people I didn’t know, stopped their transactions and looked my way.

“Huh?” Charley said.

“What?” I had no idea that I had screamed back at him, but he grimaced and lifted his arm defensively as though he expected me to throw a blow next.

“What’s going on?” Mr. Kasofsky asked from his doorway.

“Is everything all right?” Dorothy Wilson called from behind her desk across the way. She was the loan officer, and Charley once told me she admired me. She thought I reminded her of Tony Perkins.

Suddenly what might be going on occurred to me. Mr. Kasofsky called Dr. Turner after I called him. He asked him how things were at the Oberman house. Everyone knew what had happened. I could just imagine the stories that had been circulating since. He wanted to know if it were all right for me to come back to work. He probably said something like, “I don’t mean to pry, but for the sake of the bank I have to know some personal things. To begin with, after what has happened and what Michael Oberman’s gone through and is going through, is he stable enough to handle a position of some responsibility again?” That would be the type of question I would ask.

Oh, and I could just see and hear Dr. Turner’s response. “Just a moment,” he would say and hit his intercom button. “Mrs. Greenstreet, can you step in here a moment?” He would be sitting back when she came in, and he’d have the receiver on his shoulder. Very casual, very suave, very Dr. Turner. “Remember Michael Oberman the other day?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How did he strike you? I mean—”

“Oh I know what you mean, Dr. Turner. He was very high strung, insistent on seeing you. He seemed unusually aggressive. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

“Thank you. Yes, Mr. Kasofsky. Sorry to keep you waiting. To put it simply, I would let him work, but I would watch him closely. See what the tension does to him. He’s been under quite a strain for a long while now, as you know.”

“Thank you. We’ll do just that,” Kasofsky said. “And don’t worry. I’ll be discreet.”

He’d be discreet, but he would just mention to a few of those who work closely with me to keep an eye on me and report any unusual behavior. That was all he had to say, and they all observed me like I was some sort of mentally deranged creature. I just knew it. That was why they were so attentive now. Why else would Charley Tooey come butting in?

“Nothing’s going on,” I said to Kasofsky. “I just made a phone call, a simple phone call.”

“Then let’s get back to our duties,” he said.

“Yes, let’s,” I added, glaring back at all of them, at each and every one of them, even customers. All avoided my eyes. I had learned something from Mrs. Randolph.

Needless to say, I was upset when I left work that day. I drove fast and recklessly, almost causing two accidents. I thought a policeman would pull me over before I made the turn off the main highway to Wildwood Drive, but no one stopped me and soon there was barely any traffic.

It was still quite light out when I arrived at the house. I looked up and saw that the curtains had been changed in Lillian’s room. They were the bright yellow ones we had stored in the attic Why had they done that now? I wondered. I just knew there were going to be more changes every day, none of them making any sense to me.

The moment I opened the car door, I heard the dog barking. He sounded frantic. It was a high-pitched yelp. So I went around back first and found him tangled around the doghouse. I saw that he had been fed, but what, I thought, what is the point of this? Freed from its entanglement, the animal ran in idiotic circles around me and began barking again as soon as it realized I was leaving it.

As soon as I got to the front door, I smelled the odors of roast beef and baked potatoes. I could even detect a pie in the oven. Mrs. Randolph hadn’t been kidding when she said they had already planned our dinner. It was going to be the best one Miriam had made in the last six months.

I stopped at the living room doorway. Everything had been changed around so that the television set was not the centerpiece. All of the furniture, even some of the paintings that had hung in the same place for as long as I could remember, had been switched about. I didn’t like it. It made me feel like a stranger in my own home.

“Hi,” Miriam said. She stood in the hallway by the kitchen, a large mixing spoon in her hand. She wore a full blue and white polka dot apron over what looked to be one of her older dresses, an out of style, frilly, sleeved thing that she had hung in the attic along with other old garments years ago.

“What’s going on here? The living room—”

“Yes, doesn’t it look better? Mrs. Randolph suggested it.”

“No,” I said. “It doesn’t look better.”

“Oh, Michael, you’re just saying that because you’re not used to it. Mrs. Randolph told me that would be your response. Men always react that way when the patterns of their lives are disturbed,” she added. They were obviously not her words.

“Where is Mrs. Randolph?”

“Meditating before supper. It helps the digestion. I already did it.”

“Meditating, meditating.”

“My, you’re uptight. You should do meditation. What is it, the job?” She was practically singing her words. She seemed high on something. I became suspicious. She giggled and shook the spoon at me.

“What are you doing?”

“Making the salad,” she said, pronouncing each word slowly and definitely. “Go wash and change. We’re having dinner by candlelight in the dining room. Mrs. Randolph helped me fix it up. And wait until you see the changes in Lillian’s room. It’s brighter than ever!”

“I saw the new curtains when I drove up.”

“Go look at the rest,” she said and went back into the kitchen before I could say another word. I cursed under my breath and hurried up the steps.

The door to Mrs. Randolph’s room was shut. I imagined she was into her meditation, just as Miriam had said. I went hesitantly to Lillian’s room, wondering what were the other changes. As always now, the door was partially open. I touched the handle and moved the door further.

They had found Lillian’s old bedspread in the attic, the spread that matched the curtains. The dressers had been moved, and the bed had been turned so the headboard faced the right wall instead of the door. I could just imagine that Mrs. Randolph told Miriam Lillian would be able to look out the window now.

The chimes still hung in the same spot, but her toy chest had been moved closer to the bed. There were dolls and stuffed animals on the bed, lying about as if a child had just finished playing with them. The small desk and chair had been moved closer to the right window, and the walls were now peppered with many of Lillian’s old drawings.

These changes did give the room a more lived-in appearance. Before it had been more of a shrine. Now it looked used, even a little messy. For a moment it gave me the chills. I felt Lillian might come running up behind me and push past me into the room. I could almost hear her giggling.

“Clean this place up,” I would say. After all, toys had been left deliberately on the floor. A dresser drawer was partially open with the sleeve of a blouse sticking out. I even saw a streak of crayon on the wallpaper near the desk.

Such attention to detail, I thought. It’s terrifying. Why was she doing this? What possible purpose could it serve? I turned around, annoyed and surprised enough to demand answers. We would have our first head to head confrontation, the nurse and I. I was determined, regardless of what Dr. Turner had said. I went to her door.

For a moment I just stood there listening. Maybe she would hear me and open it up herself. Nothing happened and I heard nothing. I tapped gently and waited. There wasn’t a sound, and there was no movement.

“Mrs. Randolph?” Nothing. I looked at the stairway. Could she have gone down while I was in Lillian’s room? “Mrs. Randolph?” I raised my voice and waited. Nothing.

Slowly, timidly, I reached for the knob. Before I turned it, I knocked again, this time a great deal harder. I waited, but there was still no sound and no movement from within so I turned the knob until I felt the click. I waited and then pushed the door forward in little jerks.

I saw her large dresser first and her window with the curtains waving in the breeze. I called again, waited, and opened the door a lot further. My heart was beating fast, and I was holding my breath. I don’t know why I was filled with such anxiety, but my hand was practically shaking on the doorknob.

At first I didn’t see her. She wasn’t on the bed, and she wasn’t sitting at the vanity table. The closet door was closed, and there was no sound of her right behind the door.

Then I saw her. She was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed between it and the wall. She was in the lotus position and she was completely naked. From my angle I gazed on her right profile. Her back was straight, the spinal curve nearly perfect. With her shoulders up, her full breasts were firm. Her skin was smooth and tight, the curve of her waist sharp, but feminine. There were no layers of fat, no bulges.

She was so unmoving she looked poured from a mold. Some sculptor with the talent to create lifelike figures had chipped her out of marble. I could run my hand down her spine and feel the coolness of smooth stone. That’s how still she appeared. She didn’t turn her head toward me; she didn’t move a limb or shift her weight. She simply continued to stare forward, her concentration unbroken.

I had stood there for only a few fleeting seconds, unsure of how to make a graceful retreat. I was drawn into conflict: I didn’t want to stop looking at her—she had a beautiful body and my sexual arousement was most welcome and most exciting. She seemed unaware of my intrusion, and I could back out without being discovered. There would be no embarrassment and no explanations.

I closed the door softly. I was sure my face was flushed. I lay my hands against my cheeks and felt the heat. My legs were weak and unsteady, yet I was tempted to peek in again. I had never seen such a deep self-hypnotic trance. I thought I could even walk right up to her and touch her without realizing it. The idea was fascinating.

I heard Miriam turn on the stereo downstairs, and I came back to reality. I retreated from the nurse’s doorway as though within lived every evil temptation since time began. Speed seemed to help. I practically tore the clothes off myself and got into the shower. For a while I simply let the cold water beat down on my chest and face, but the pulsations that had hardened my erection stubbornly remained, demanding some satisfaction. I was afraid to scrub myself.

But every other moment another fantasy appeared. When I stepped out of the shower, I imagined walking naked to her door, entering, and sitting beside her on the floor. Without touching, we would meditate until we joined on the same mental highway and coupled in an ecstasy beyond mere physical passion. Our orgasm would be total, reaching deeply into the essence of one another, our sex exploding throughout our entire beings. Afterward, we would part almost without the realization that we had been together. It was the perfection of lovemaking.

When I heard her door open and close, I realized that I had left my bedroom door open. I stood there naked with the towel against my stomach. Would she come to the doorway to complain about my entering her room? I stood frozen until I heard her footsteps on the stairway. Then I went to the bed and sat as though I had just come out of a daze.

Why had I reacted like this? Surely it was because of my own sexual frustration. I had been living like a monk. I might as well have been sleeping with myself these past months, and now, to have the buxom nurse .... The image of her nude body was a torment.

When I looked in the mirror to brush my hair and I saw that the flush remained in my face, I realized I was still excited. Would the nurse see it when I sat down to eat with Miriam? Being an expert on the human body, she would understand. Would she then say something about my opening the door?

Before, I had been aggressive and strong enough to want to challenge any medical theories. I wanted to demand things from her and from Dr. Turner. I wanted to treat her as my servant, my employee. But now I couldn’t imagine doing it.

She had taken control of Miriam in a way that made me jealous. What was she doing to me?

For the first time I sensed that I, personally, felt threatened.

5

THE CANDLES WERE LIT; THE MUSIC WAS SOFT, AND the lights had been dimmed in the dining room. I heard both of them in the kitchen. There was that high school girl giggling and then quiet, and then the giggling again.

“Hey,” I called. “What’s all this?” Miriam peeked in.

“Make yourself a cocktail, Michael. Mrs. Randolph and I already have ours,” she said, and she pulled her head back out of view.

“I can see that,” I said, but I’m sure she didn’t hear me. I looked over the table. Miriam had one of our finer tablecloths on it and our best china and silverware in place. I hadn’t seen the table set like this for at least a year. The last time was either our anniversary or Lillian’s birthday.

I made my drink and then fiddled with the stereo, adjusting the tone and the volume. I didn’t know where Miriam found the records. They came from an album entitled Music for Special Occasions. What was so special about this occasion? I wondered. A few minutes later Miriam called for me to come to the table.

They were both already seated. I stood somewhat in awe. Mrs. Randolph was not in uniform. She wore what I recognized to be one of Miriam’s evening dresses, the blue one with a revealing V-neck. Miriam had always been very timid about wearing it. It was a little tight on Mrs. Randolph, especially around the shoulders and bodice. She had on Miriam’s sapphire necklace and matching earrings, and when she lifted her left hand to her face, I saw the slim gold watch I had bought Miriam for her birthday two years ago.

Out of uniform, Mrs. Randolph seemed vulnerable, human, one of us. It could have been from the whiskey she had already drunk or perhaps the lighting, but there was more color in her cheeks. Although the shade was very light, she wore lipstick, too. The necklace and the earrings highlighted the blue in her eyes. I realized I was staring intently and turned quickly to Miriam.

She had removed her apron. There were new things about her that caught my interest as well. Maybe it was because I remembered how old that frilly white dress was, or maybe it was because I recalled when she wore it last, but in any event, she looked younger and more vibrant. I was thrown back to earlier days and almost felt as though I should go back into the living room to get my father and remind him dinner was being served.

Certainly the subdued lighting and the glow of the candles did much toward making the scene ethereal and unreal. The very walls of the room looked different. When I stepped in, I crossed over some mystical boundary. I had entered someone else’s dream, someone else’s illusion. Everything about me immediately adjusted. I could speak only in low, soft tones. I moved gracefully, carefully. My hearing changed; the music became softer. Even the tinkle of the china and the silverware was melodic.

There were two bottles of wine on the table and a shrimp cocktail appetizer on everyone’s plate. From the moment I entered to the moment I sat down, both women watched me eagerly, anxiously. I lifted the fancy monogrammed napkin and smiled.

Mrs. Randolph’s eyes were deep and tempting. Although she looked at Miriam almost as much as she looked at me, I was drawn to her sensuality. I thought I could see the beat of her heart in the pulsation of her blood through tiny veins at the base of her throat. There was a redness at the crown of her bosom. It emanated from somewhere deep within her cleavage. My fingers tingled. I envisioned them following the dark crevice down to the peaks of her breasts and over the almond-colored nipples. I didn’t look at her long, but I quickly became self-conscious. Miriam giggled.

I found her in direct contrast to Mrs. Randolph’s maturity. The frilly dress, her face already flushed from the whiskey, and her innocent eyes made her childlike. It was as though the thin membrane of what was left of her sanity had given way and she had fallen into some imaginary, farcical state. She had become Alice in Wonderland. She wasn’t really with us; she was moving on another level in another dimension. We met infrequently at short intervals, and then she traveled again on her own highway.

“This is ... beautiful, dear,” I said.

“Welcome to the celebration,” Miriam said, and she nodded to Mrs. Randolph, who began to pour the wine into our goblets. “Celebration of what?”

“Your first day back at the job, Michael. Congratulations!”

“Congratulations,” Mrs. Randolph said handing me a glass of wine. Our eyes locked, but her gaze was not threatening or intimidating. There was a look of amusement in her eyes. She was encouraging me to go along with it all.

“It’s our surprise,” Miriam said. “We were planning it all day. Every time you called, you interrupted us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Mrs. Randolph really planned out the menu. She’s a gourmet. Wait until you see what I made for dessert.”

“Mrs. Randolph is many things,” I said raising my glass to her. She smiled and raised hers as well. We all sipped our wine and then began to eat our appetizers.

Miriam talked incessantly, describing almost every moment of her day. Her monologue was made of the most insignificant details, punctuated here and there with references to Lillian.

Neither Mrs. Randolph nor I interrupted her. I thought Mrs. Randolph overdid her attentiveness. She looked enraptured. I did think that her eyes were filled with more sympathy and understanding than I had yet seen in them. It made me more tolerant. And the meal was fantastic.

We didn’t just have roast beef; we had beef Wellington. All of the vegetables were sautéed. There was homemade bread and baked potatoes with cream. Every item on the menu drew compliments. The meal became an orgy. We savored the flavors; we remarked about textures. We watched each other chew and drink and swallow. There was a great deal of laughter and more wine. A third and fourth bottle were opened. I ate more than I ever imagined I could. I let myself go. I relaxed, felt free and unafraid. And Mrs. Randolph? Mrs. Randolph fanned the flames.

If Miriam stumbled on a word, Mrs. Randolph repeated it the way Miriam had said it and we all laughed. She encouraged me to joke and do imitations. I described some of my customers, some that I had that day and some that I had in the past. Then Miriam got up and imitated me coming home from work.

“It was like Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” she said and she clutched her stomach. Mrs. Randolph was laughing aloud, and I was trying to keep my wine from drooling down the sides of my mouth. “Who sat in my chair? he asked,” Miriam said in deep voice. “Someone’s been in my living room.”

They both went into hysterics, but I didn’t join them. Suddenly it seemed that the humor was totally at my expense. They were together in this; they might even have joked about it before. I had that distinct feeling.

“All right,” I said. “All right. You’d be surprised, too. And I’m putting my chair back where it was,” I said in as serious a tone as I could muster. Mrs. Randolph nodded at me as though I were a complete idiot. Miriam thought that was even funnier. She clutched the back of her chair and pointed at me.

“You see,” she said. “You see how he is.”

“How am I? I’m a man who expects some stability in his home. That’s not an outrageous expectation, is it?” I asked Mrs. Randolph. She shook her head and smiled at me. I saw her wink at Miriam. I drank some more wine. My mood was changing. Miriam’s laughter was beginning to unnerve me. “And that dog,” I muttered. “Who the hell needs that damn dog barking all day and all night.”

Miriam’s laughter stopped abruptly, but the smile remained frozen on Mrs. Randolph’s face.

“Michael, how can you say that?”

“How can I say that? How can I say that?”

“Well, how can you? You know I wanted you to get that dog,” she said. I muttered indistinctly and drank some more. “You’re right, Mrs. Randolph,” Miriam said, “men are more selfish.”

“Who said they are?”

“Mrs. Randolph said.”

“Is that so? You’re an expert on men, too, are you?” I asked. I wanted to say, If you’re such an expert on men, how come you recently went through a divorce? I wanted to expose her and take her down a peg so Miriam wouldn’t be in such awe of her.

“Michael!”

“That’s all right, Miriam. No, I’m not an expert on men. I’m an expert on people. That’s my job.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Miriam took her seat again.

“You’re spoiling things,” she said softly.

“Well, it’s my celebration. I can spoil it if I want to,” I said. Mrs. Randolph laughed and then I laughed and then Miriam laughed. Our silly mood returned. Miriam got up to get the coffee and the surprise dessert. Mrs. Randolph offered to help her, but she said no. We watched her clear some of the table and then go into the kitchen. “It’s good to see her so jolly,” I said.

Mrs. Randolph sat back. I detected a subtle change in her eyes. Her face grew tighter. The relaxation left her lips. Her posture stiffened. She had gone back to being “the nurse.”

“You’ve got to tread softly,” she said, “or she’ll crumple right before your eyes.”

“Don’t you think I know that? What do you think it’s been like for the past six months?”

“Then don’t challenge everything so openly. Think of her.”

“Think of her? That’s all I do is think of her.” I leaned forward. The alcohol in my blood gave me courage. “Why did you change my living room around? What does it have to do with—”

“Oh come on.”

“No, I want to know,” I said insistently. She glanced toward the doorway to the kitchen and shifted toward me.

“I’m trying to find ways to get her to join the living, Mr. Oberman. I want her to be like any normal woman: care about her house and her appearance. What I am doing requires subtle, slow maneuvering. Surely you see a difference in her already. You just remarked about her good mood.”

“Yes, but—”

“Everybody ready?” Miriam called from the kitchen.

“We’re ready,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Ta da.” Miriam entered the dining room carrying a tray with a large dish of flaming crêpes suzette. She had never done anything like it. I didn’t think she would even attempt it.

Mrs. Randolph flashed her eyes at me. They were filled with pride. She wore a look of complete satisfaction, but I resented it. It was as though she were flaunting her success with Miriam. I didn’t even want to eat the dessert.

“That’s fantastic,” I said.

“And there’s coffee with anisette.”

“Really? Well if this keeps up, I’ll go back to work more often,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but neither Miriam nor Mrs. Randolph laughed.

“What do you mean?” Miriam asked. “You’re going back to work tomorrow, aren’t you?”

My smile was frozen on my face. I looked at Mrs. Randolph. She seemed as intent as Miriam. Such concern over my answer made me ponder it. Why had it become so important to them that I go to work? It had been my idea in the first place, and when I thought back to my true motives, I realized I had gone back to work just to spite Miriam. I had been hoping it would bother her, but neither the announcement of it, nor the day away had made the impression I expected. That was why I had made all those phone calls. Now she was afraid I wouldn’t continue working. I know I should have been happy about her returning independence, but as ridiculous as it seemed, I felt rejected. When I analyze it, I realize that it wasn’t so much that Miriam was suddenly independent again, as much as it was that she was dependent on someone else: Mrs. Randolph.

“I’ll give it another try,” I said.

“It was a bad day?” Miriam asked.

“I was trying to tell you that each time I called you, dear, but you seemed so resentful of each call.”

“I wasn’t resentful, Michael.”

“How could she know?” Mrs. Randolph interjected.

She was coming to Miriam’s immediate rescue. “You enjoyed the work before.” Her tone was calm, reasonable. It made me seem more unreasonable.

“That’s right, Michael. How would I know?”

“Well ... it was difficult after being away so long. I told you that,” I said to Mrs. Randolph.

“Understandable. As time goes by, it will get better, I’m sure.”

“That’s right, Michael. You’ve got to give it a chance.”

I looked down at my wine goblet and turned it at the stem. I didn’t want to continue the argument. Mrs. Randolph had succeeded in making me feel as though I were the one who needed treatment and special understanding. Anyone who had just come on the scene might think she was here for me instead of for Miriam. And Miriam ... she was actually humoring me, talking to me as though I were the one walking on thin ice. It was degrading. Mrs. Randolph was sharp enough to see that.

“Let’s pour the coffee,” she said, “and try Miriam’s gourmet dessert.”

I almost said, “Yes, teacher.” Instead I smiled and held up my cup. In a moment we were all at it again: savoring the dessert, complimenting Miriam, oozing with pleasure. The chatter returned, filled with Miriam’s insignificant details. The anisette and coffee warmed me. I sat back and felt myself drifting away, falling out of the scene, watching it like someone who was part observer and part participant. Neither Miriam nor Mrs. Randolph appeared to notice. They were quite content with themselves.

Afterward I poured myself a snifter of brandy and waited in the living room while they cleared the dishes from the table. They carried their conversation and laughter into the kitchen with them. As I sat waiting alone, I became more melancholy than I had been in months. There was a picture of the three of us in a frame on the small table by the couch. In the picture Miriam and I were holding hands and Lillian was between us, forcing a smile, her eyes squinting. It was really a nice picture and one of the last truly clear things my father had done. He had told Lillian to smile harder. Both Miriam and I had a peaceful look in our eyes. We were gazing beyond the camera, beyond my father, beyond the moment.

But I thought about that moment. I sipped my brandy and studied that picture and wondered if there was any way of telling, any way of seeing what was to come. Is our future ever imprinted on us somewhere? I dreamed of a far more powerful camera, one that could capture spirits hovering around us. We were standing on the lawn in the picture, with the forest as background. What if Death itself were silhouetted in the shadows of the trees? What if the camera had caught it hovering behind us, looking at us with lust?

I reached forward and took the picture into my hands. Maybe even now, now that I knew, I could study those shadows and see a darker, crueler, more horrifying shape. It was there, planning, marking us, scheduling us for disaster. Perhaps it had just gone by and had just touched Lillian. If only there had been such a camera ....

I put the picture back on the table and poured another snifter of brandy. Miriam’s and Mrs. Randolph’s voices had died completely. There was no longer any laughter coming from the kitchen. I listened hard. Were they whispering? I thought I could hear whispering. The music had ended a while ago. It was so quiet all of a sudden. It might have been that way for a while, but listening to my own thoughts, I hadn’t realized it. I walked to the living room door.

“Hey,” I called. “What’s happening?”

“We’re coming,” Miriam said. She answered so quickly after I called. It was as though they had been waiting for me to notice they were so quiet.

I sat on the easy chair and closed my eyes. Now, more than half finished with my second snifter of brandy, I felt my body take on a warm glow. I radiated. I was phosphorescent and imagined that if we turned off the lights in the room, I would illuminate the house. I suppose I had a silly smile on my face as I sat there thinking about this, because I realized they were both standing before me, giggling. When I opened my eyes, they stopped, but smiled down at me.

“What’s so funny? All this giggling and laughing all night.”

“It has healing power,” the nurse said. Why was it she always had the right response and knew how to smother my anger or criticism?

“Anybody want any brandy?” I said getting up to go to the bottle.

“We had enough alcohol for tonight,” the nurse said. I grunted and filled my snifter for spite. They watched me take a long sip, and then when I turned to them, they sat down together on the couch. They sat pretty close to one another and practically held hands. Miriam still looked simple, mindless; and the nurse’s cleavage grew deeper. The tight bodice helped lift and shape her bosom.

“Yeah, well an afterdinner drink keeps the old fire burning, stretches the wick on the candle,” I added and laughed at my imagery.

“You might not feel so good at the bank in the morning if you keep drinking that stuff,” the nurse said. Miriam nodded. They couldn’t be more in synchronization if they were Siamese twins.

“She’s right, Michael.”

“She’s always right. That’s why she’s the nurse,” I said and lifted my glass to toast her. I laughed as the brandy burned my throat. I had gulped it. The expression on their faces made me laugh even harder. I nearly spilled the remainder of my drink. But as I laughed, I thought, Actually, the nurse is right—laughter does have healing power. I was feeling better, lighter. I sat down in the easy chair across from them.

“Are you OK, Michael?” Miriam asked.

“Of course, dear. Fine, fine. Let’s talk,” I said. “Let’s talk about the magic of laughter, its healing power. Let’s talk about the mystery of medicine, the voodoo of doctors and nurses. Hey, that’s right, let’s talk about Dr. Turner. What do you think of Dr. Turner, Mrs. Randolph?”

“I think we might say something we will regret tomorrow,” she said. She couldn’t glare at me any harder, and her voice couldn’t drip with any more venom. I sipped the brandy, forced a laugh, and lay my head back on the chair. My eyelids had become heavy. In fact, my whole head felt too heavy for my neck muscles. It was comfortable just resting it like that.

After a moment I heard them begin to talk again. Their conversation started with a review of the meal, recipes, variations, whatever. I found it boring immediately and closed my ears. Soon their voices became indistinct. Words merged, drifted, and disappeared. They began to have one voice. I couldn’t tell who was speaking and who was listening. They seemed to get lower and lower until they were gone.

When I woke up, it was totally dark in the room. My feet had been placed on the hassock, my shoes removed. I was down in the easy chair with my arms draped over the sides. For a few moments, I was totally confused and just lay there from the fear that came with that confusion. When I sat up, I became dizzy immediately and had to close my eyes and hold on tightly to the arms of the chair. Then I remembered that they had been talking and I had turned them off.

Where were they now? I listened for them but heard nothing. I had no idea what time it was. I opened my eyes slowly and leaned forward in tiny jerks to keep myself from falling into that dizzy spell again. When I stood up, I had to steady myself by holding on to the small table. I wiped my face vigorously with the palms of my hands, but I couldn’t scrub out the heavy, nauseating feeling. For a brief moment I thought they might be still sitting there in the dark, watching me. The nurse might have kept Miriam there just to prove that she was right—I would regret my drinking.

“Miriam?”

There was no one else in the room. I stumbled to the doorway and took hold of the frame. There was some light coming from the top of the stairway. They had been that considerate at least. I looked at my watch in the glow of the stairway light. I had to have been sleeping for close to four hours. Why hadn’t they awakened me?

“Damn,” I said, not loud, but loud enough for them to hear if they were still somewhere downstairs. They weren’t. The nightlight was on in the kitchen, but everything else had been turned off. I ran my fingers through my hair and opened my shirt further. It was so hot and musty. I took a deep breath and began to make my way up the stairs.

I muttered and cursed as I ascended. They had both left me and gone up to be comfortable in their beds, I thought. Conspirators, conspirators! I felt like shouting it. I stopped at the top of the landing and caught my breath, holding the bannister with my right hand and wiping my forehead with my left. Mrs. Randolph’s door was shut tight as usual. For a few fleeting seconds, I recalled the images of her meditation scene, the way she looked in Miriam’s dress, and the sexuality in her eyes as we looked at one another over glasses of wine. I fantasized opening her door and lying down beside her. I imagined she slept naked. She could be listening to me out here now, I thought. She could be awake, sitting in her lotus position in the bed, facing the door and waiting. I could slip in, stand beside her at the bed, and then reach down and cup those full breasts in my hands. She would stare ahead, practically unmoved, maybe her eyes blinking. Her nipples would stiffen, and I would slip out of my clothes. Then she would unfold her body and slide under the blanket, holding it up so I could move in beside her. I longed to feel a woman beside me who longed to feel me beside her.

I shook my head to drive the fantasy from my mind. My frustration had developed into an actual physical ache. Miriam and I were once such good lovers. Frequently, we touched each other, kissed each other with passion, embraced and made love. Now ... my body couldn’t take the denial much longer.

Go to sleep, I told myself, and don’t wake Miriam. “Shh,” I said as though I were two different people. “Of course,” I said, “don’t wake, Miriam. God forbid.” I almost began to giggle again. I took a step and stopped.

The door to Lillian’s room was not slightly open as it had been; it was completely open. Had Miriam left it that way expecting I would stop to say good night to Lillian no matter what hour of the night? Even in her insanity, she wouldn’t think like that. She wouldn’t want me to wake her. Why was the door open so wide?

I approached it slowly, hesitantly, listening as hard as I could, concentrating as hard as I could. My head still felt terribly heavy, and a small pounding had begun just over my eyes. I’m still drunk, I told myself. The nurse was right-I’m going to be sorry about this in the morning. I was sorry about it already. I stopped at the door and took a deep breath. Usually when I went into that room to say good night, I held my breath anyway.

Of course, it was dark within, but the sky was clear and the moonlight was so bright that it came through the window and washed the walls in a yellowish film, illuminating every piece of glass and reflecting off every shiny piece of metal. I didn’t actually enter the room; I just stopped in the doorway to peer in. I don’t know what drew me to do it. Miriam wasn’t watching me, calling to me, demanding that I do it. Why did I even bother to stop? Was it the sight of the completely opened door? Was it the pattern of stopping to say good night every night?

Or was it the power of the darkest forces in my mind emerging unabated, unleashed by my anger and frustration, and taking advantage of my inebriated state? Whatever it was, it had enough control over me to have me stand there and stare and stare until ... I saw.

My mind reeled with confusion and fear. I subdued a scream. I brought my hands to my face. I felt the blood drain from it and rush into my legs to burn through my veins and make me feel like I was sinking into the floor.

Someone was sitting up in Lillian’s bed. It wasn’t imaginary, a part of Miriam’s illusion and desperate insanity. It wasn’t my wishful thinking. It wasn’t a creation of shadows. It was someone nearly Lillian’s size, silhouetted fully. It had dimension and density. There was fullness and height.

She didn’t move, but she was looking my way. I was clutching at my face, tearing at my own flesh. It can’t be, I thought. It couldn’t be. Nights and nights of coming in here to say good night to a daughter who lived only in my wife’s demented mind, talking about her, doing things for her ... all this had done it, had created this ghoulish thing in the dark.

I should have reached for the light switch. I should have filled the room with illumination to burn away the three-dimensional image, but I didn’t move. Then those chimes, as if on cue, as if they were meant to add to the torment just at the moment of my indecision and shock, sounded.

I spun around. I looked back at the bed. And then I stepped out of the room and closed the door quickly. I thought that I had slammed it loud enough to wake both Miriam and Mrs. Randolph. I hoped that I had. I wanted and needed company, but there was only silence and the now muffled tinkle of the chimes.

I stepped back and for a moment simply stood there debating what to do. Should I wake the nurse to tell her that someone was in Lillian’s bed? It would be useless to wake Miriam to tell her, I thought. She would say, “Of course, it’s Lillian. Who else would be in her bed?”

I pressed my fist into my mouth and bit down on my knuckles. God, I’m going mad, I thought. Get hold of yourself, Oberman. You saw nothing. It’s the booze, the aftereffect of all that whiskey, the wine, and the brandy, not to mention the rich food. You saw nothing.

I looked back at the closed door. Maybe I hadn’t even opened it. Maybe I never peered in. Maybe it had been a dream. I fell asleep standing here dreaming of making love to the nurse and then I had this terrible nightmare. Dreams occur in seconds. Nightmares that seem to take hours actually only occur over moments. Surely that was what had happened.

Should I open the door again and check? I wondered. I wanted to, but the idea of turning that handle again was terrifying. Stop the torment, I told myself. Go to sleep. Sleep. You need sleep.

I headed into my bedroom quickly. I saw Miriam under the blanket, folded in the fetal position as always, her back to my side. I could say nothing, do nothing. As quickly but as quietly as I could, I undressed and slipped under the blanket.

The moonlight tore through the curtains and simmered in our darkness. It made everything look hot. I squeezed my fists tight; I closed my eyes. I kept my moaning within, echoing down the corridors of my mind. I felt like a man falling forever, but I welcomed the darkness. It brought protection.

Even so, someone sitting up in her bed, looking my way, silhouetted in the moonlight, took the foremost place on my shelf of nightmares and haunted me until morning.

6

I AWOKE ABRUPTLY TO THE SOUND OF THE DOG BARKING. Then Miriam spoke.

“Michael, you’ll be late for work the second day back if you don’t get up.”

I lifted my head of rock off the pillow. Miriam was standing in the doorway. She was looking even brighter and more alive than the day before. Her hair was already brushed down and pinned along the sides so it flowed smoothly above her ears and around her neck. She wore her cherry-colored blouse and skirt outfit, and I noticed she had put on her little pearl earrings. She had never been fond of makeup, but on this morning, she wore the nurse’s shade.

“Oh,” I said, and I let my head fall back to the pillow.

“Mrs. Randolph was right about the booze,” she said. “You should have listened to her. What’s the point of having a nurse around if you don’t listen to her about things that affect your health?”

“Yes, yes.” The dog’s barking grew more intense.

“Well, are you getting up?”

“Soon, soon. Someone shut that dog up,” I said putting the pillow over my head.

“There’s coffee and scrambled eggs. I defrosted those little rolls we had in the freezer for so long. Mrs. Randolph is having a bowl of soya milk and granola, but I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“You thought right, dear. I’ll shower and dress. Hey,” I said as she turned to go, “why did you two leave me down there last night?”

“We didn’t leave you, Michael. We decided to go up and watch television with Lillian. We asked you, but you didn’t appear interested in joining us.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Well, it’s a wonder you remember anything. You consumed quite a bit of alcohol.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” I said, tossing my legs over the bed. I felt as though every part of me could easily become detached. Miriam left and I went into the shower. It did revive me enough so I could shave, get dressed, and brush my hair, but I knew I was going to need some aspirin before I did much else.

The moment I stepped into the hall, the memory of what I had seen in Lillian’s room returned. I saw that her door was still shut completely, as I had left it. I moved forward slowly but deliberately, determined to open it to look inside. But just as I reached for the handle, the door opened. I gasped and stepped back.

Mrs. Randolph paused and looked out at me. The shock had taken my breath away, and I couldn’t speak for a few seconds. She turned to close the door partway and then contemplated me.

“What were you ...”

“Lillian’s breakfast,” she said, and she continued on down the hall and down the stairs. I watched her disappear and then looked at the door again. My mind was electric with weird ideas. I stepped forward and pushed the door open so I could gaze upon the entire room. It was as they had changed it the day before, and there was no one in Lillian’s bed. The breakfast tray lay on the small table beside it, and the curtain fluttered in the breeze. The chimes tinkled, but I was still not satisfied. I walked in.

It was rare that I touched anything in Lillian’s room. That was why I resisted getting her report cards and artwork for Miriam and Mrs. Randolph. It was not hard to explain why I hated touching Lillian’s things. Before Mrs. Randolph had arrived, Lillian’s room was sacred. I read a Japanese poem once, a haiku. Not very long, but terribly effective. It was about a widower who confronted his wife’s vanity table shortly after he buried her. He thought he could live with her death until he realized he was standing on something. That something was one of her combs. The realization struck down his brave front, and he was overcome with grief.

I was always afraid something like that would happen to me if I handled Lillian’s things. Her combs and brushes were still on her little table. If I looked closely, I could see strands of her hair caught in the bristles. All of her clothing carried the scent of her—her baby powders and the perfumes Miriam gave her. I was terrified of touching them.

Ordinarily, people don’t die this slowly. The bereaved often give away the clothing, strip the rooms, place objects in attics or basements.

But this room had been frozen in time. Few would keep a room so intact. Lillian lingered in everything: her toys, her clothes, her trinkets and books. Mostly, she lingered in Miriam’s mind. But now, in the bright daytime hours, the room closed in around me, too. I was almost unable to do what I wanted to do.

I moved forward to Lillian’s bed. I stood beside it and looked down at the blanket and pillow. The pillow had been patted and shaped; it was something Miriam usually did every morning. I disregarded that, and I reached out to fold the blanket back to about the middle of the bed.

What I saw confirmed my terror: the sheet and the mattress were indented, pressed in and shaped in the form a young girl’s body would create. It certainly couldn’t have been this way for six months, I thought. Someone had been in this bed. The conclusion stunned me. My arm remained straight out, frozen; my fingers clutched the blanket tightly.

Finally I dropped it to the bed and looked around the room suspiciously. My imagination was running wild. I focused on the closed closet door. Would I find something within? It occurred to me that I hadn’t had any reason to open that closet since Lillian’s death, yet I was sure Miriam had. She was always taking Lillian’s clothes out, ironing things, folding them, hanging them up. Nothing strange should be there, but I still approached it gingerly, recalling what I had thought I had seen in this room the night before.

I grasped the handle, hesitated, and then pulled the door open abruptly. The breeze and the vibrations shook the hangers and clothing. Their movement frightened me and I stepped back. But when I reviewed what was in there, I found nothing to support my insane suspicions.

I went back to look at the bed. Maybe it wasn’t what I thought. Yet, what else could it be? Perhaps Miriam had done something. Perhaps she had been doing it for months and I had never known because I never touched the bed. There had to be a logical explanation for all this. I had to get hold of myself. I began with a quick retreat from Lillian’s room.

Both Miriam and Mrs. Randolph were very quiet during the beginning of breakfast. They communicated more with looks and gestures. I knew it was going on, but I pretended not to be aware. I didn’t mind the silence anyway, my head ballooning as it was. I was surprised I had any appetite at all that morning, but food seemed to make me feel better. I made the mistake of mentioning that fact. It set the nurse off, and she talked about hangovers, low blood sugar, hypoglycemia, and alcoholic diabetes. I felt like checking myself into the nearest hospital.

When she spoke, she spoke in a monotone and she didn’t look directly at either Miriam or myself. She recited medical information dryly, like some sort of walking encyclopedia. Miriam sat listening with her head down, a smile on her face. It was as though she knew the nurse was going to do this—make this informational lecture for my benefit—and she was embarrassed, both for herself and for me.

“That’s all very interesting,” I said pushing my plate away, “but there’s a bartender down at McDermott’s who’s been curing hangovers for years with a concoction of his own making, and the only medical knowledge he has he’s gotten from watching the soap operas on television by the bar.”

“Then why don’t you stop in to see him?” Mrs. Randolph asked. It was a very matter-of-fact, controlled tone of voice, but I knew she didn’t appreciate my rebuff.

“Might just do that.”

“Oh, Michael, you don’t have the time,” Miriam said. I grunted. They looked at each other with satisfaction. Was the nurse able to predict everything I would say, everything I would do? I felt as though my every statement and action confirmed her authority and strengthened her hold over Miriam.

“I’m off,” I said and got up. Miriam followed me to the front door.

“I want you to get something on the way home from work today, Michael.” The new Dinky-Do could be heard howling now, but I’d be damned if I’d be the one to go out to feed and water him.

“I know, dog food.”

“No. We have enough dog food. Mrs. Randolph says all those cans are still good.”

“Then what?”

“Invitations to a birthday party.”

“What?”

“I know it’s short notice with only a little more than a week to go, but Mrs. Randolph agrees—it would be great therapy for Lillian.”

“You want to give a birthday party for Lillian?” I couldn’t help but raise my voice with a tone of incredulity. She mistook the reason for my reaction.

“It’s not too late, Michael. We still have eight days. If we make out the invitations tonight and mail them in the morning—”

“But, Miriam ...”

“Yes, Michael?” I simply stared at her, at that Mona Lisa smile, at those soft, pleading eyes. She was primed for excitement, radiating hope and life. All the dark shadows that had come charging into this house had been pushed back. They hovered at the door, waiting for my answer. Only a few words from me and they would reenter and take up permanent residence. Who could blame me for retreating? Anyway, I kept hoping the nurse had good reason. Soon I would understand and all this would make sense.

“OK,” I said. She clapped her hands together.

“I want to make the cake myself and the favors and decorate the dining room.”

“Hold on. So much?”

“Of course, Michael. And you’d better start thinking about a birthday present. The tenth year is an important birthday. And don’t say that the dog was a birthday present,” she added quickly. “I know how you think sometimes, Michael. That wasn’t why we got it. Oh, and Mrs. Randolph says you might pick up a Pin the Tail on the Donkey game. We even have an idea how we’re going to get Lillian to play, but that’s a surprise. OK? You look confused, Michael. Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’ll call you later, just in case you think of anything else.”

“Good. Call me in the afternoon, Michael. Like you used to.”

“All right, dear, I will,” I said. I turned and left the house quickly, actually eagerly. I was looking forward to being with sane people for a while.

It was very busy at the bank, and for a good part of the morning, I lost myself in the work. It felt good to do so, and I was glad I had decided to go back to work. It provided a needed escape. I hadn’t realized how damaging the last six months had been for me. I thought I knew what an elementary schoolteacher must feel like, dealing with little children all day. Imagine if he or she had no respite from it. After a while they would probably talk to everyone the same way. It reminded me of a comedian I once saw who had a routine about marrying a schoolteacher. He said she gave him a report card after the honeymoon. He flunked neatness because he left a towel on the bathroom floor.

During a lull, though, I thought about Miriam wanting to have a birthday party for our dead daughter. Surely this was too much. The nurse was going too far to win her trust. Soon she might become unreachable, if she hadn’t already. I decided the only thing to do was push up the date of her appointment with Dr. Turner. Taking advantage of a break, I went to the phone and called his office. Mrs. Greenstreet was as curt as usual.

“The doctor’s not in. We’ve canceled all of his immediate appointments. He’s had an emergency. His brother suffered a massive coronary.”

“I’m sorry. When do you expect him back?”

“Obviously, there’s no way we can predict that, Mr. Oberman. Do you want me to refer you to Dr. Malisoff?”

“No, no, I don’t want anyone else. There would be too much to fill in. I’ll wait. When should I call again?”

“Not for two days, at least.”

“All right,” I said. I was going to add, “Thank you,” just as a courtesy, but she didn’t wait.

Naturally it was difficult for me to concentrate on work again. Charley Tooey wanted me to join him for lunch, but I declined. I didn’t want anyone to see me go to the department store to buy a packet of children’s birthday party invitations. I hid the pack under my seat in the car. That’s how paranoid I was about it. I called Miriam right after I proofed my drawer. It was when I called her in the old days, and she was so intent on things being as they were then. It took all my self-control to wait that long, but I did.

“Don’t forget the Pin the Tail on the Donkey game,” she told me. I had forgotten so I knew I had to go back to the store. “And get three rolls of crepe paper, assorted colors. Bright colors.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with all this? I mean, it’s a great deal of work.”

“Of course, Michael. I don’t know how you could even ask such a question. Few things are more important to me than Lillian’s happiness. I should think you would feel the same way.”

“I do, dear. I do. I was only thinking how tired you’ve been.”

“But it’s different now, Michael,” she said. “We have Mrs. Randolph and she takes much of the load off me.”

“Yes, she does.”

“We have time to figure out other things. I was thinking we might barbecue hamburgers and hotdogs like we did two years ago, or was it last year?”

“No, it was two years ago,”

“All right then.”

“Er ... is Mrs. Randolph nearby?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could. I was sure she was practically on top of her.

“Just a moment.” There wasn’t more than a second or two of a pause.

“Yes?”

“Why,” I began, looking around to be sure no one was eavesdropping, “are we going on with this party idea? What’s the point?”

“I couldn’t answer that right now,” she replied, her voice making obvious references to Miriam’s proximity.

“I want an answer,” I said. Away from her, distanced by the telephone, I was not intimidated by her. When she was actually before me, the white uniform carried authority and power, just like a policeman’s uniform signals authority. Talking to her over the phone, I could block that out. My voice had strength, and I sounded more like the man I once was.

“Fine.”

“We need to have a private conversation. I know it’s not easy to do that at home, but—”

“I’m going to meditate between five and six,” she said seductively. “Come into my room at five forty-five.”

For a moment I couldn’t respond. I saw her naked, sitting there on the floor. I thought of the small of her back, recalled the way her breasts lay firm. I closed my eyes and wiped my forehead. Then I shifted the receiver to my other ear.

What kind of an invitation was it? I was convinced that she had realized I was in that room during her meditation. Was she taunting me? Did she think I would refuse, be too embarrassed? Miriam’s voice broke my train of thought.

“Michael, you’re interested in meditation?”

“Well, I was just curious and—”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’m happy about it. It can only do you good.”

“Mrs. Randolph?”

“She had to go upstairs to Lillian. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, dear,” I said. I didn’t hang up as soon as she did. I stood there holding the receiver, listening to the dial tone. Pin the Tail on the Donkey, I thought. Along with the crepe paper, I wrote it down on a note pad by my window so I wouldn’t forget it again. I didn’t realize Charley Tooey was standing right behind me. He read what I had written.

“I remember that game,” he said. I folded the paper quickly and put it in my jacket pocket. Then I smiled at him. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked softly, a look of sincere curiosity on his face.

“It’s the answer to a question on one of Miriam’s crossword puzzles. I just figured it out for her.”

“Oh. Yeah, I remember she was good at them. Still doing them religiously, huh?”

“What else is there for her?” I asked him with a great deal more anger than he expected. He simply nodded.

“Listen,” he said. “I was talking with my wife the other day, and we both thought we might take a ride up to see you people one day or night. Alice feels bad we never did. What’dya think, Michael? Would that be all right or—”

“Maybe after the nurse goes,” I said. “The doctor’s expecting some real progress by then. I think that would be for the best.”

“Sure, sure. You know, sometimes Alice takes your route rather than over the Quickway when she goes into Woodridge. She always means to stop, but—”

“It’s understandable.”

“But just let us know when though, huh? Don’t forget. It’s something we both want to do. Tracy and Lillian practically lived in each other’s houses there for a while.” He smiled. I knew he was just trying to be friendly, but I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t even look at him. I was grateful for Mr. Kasofsky’s passing remark. It gave me an avenue for escape.

“Nice day’s work there, Michael. Welcome back,” he said. I thanked him and continued to get my things together. Charley went back to his own window.

I couldn’t believe how nervous I was on my way home that night. I went shopping, I turned on the radio, I thought about the day’s work; but all I could think about was Mrs. Randolph in her room. How quickly it had become “her room.” Nothing within it had been changed radically. The linens, the rug, the wallpaper, all of it was the same. Aside from the toiletries she had laid out on the dresser and the sight of her suitcases standing neatly in the corner near the closet, there wasn’t anything that specifically identified the room with her.

And yet when I walked past Mrs. Randolph’s closed door or looked up at her window, I could feel her presence. The door and the window did look different now. Anything she touched became part of her. I knew she was wearing Miriam’s dress the night before, but even though she might have returned it to Miriam’s closet by now, it would never again be Miriam’s dress. I could never look at it and not think of Mrs. Randolph, especially her smooth neck and enticing bosom.

The nurse had a kind of power over things. She consumed them. I wondered what it must have been like for her husband, and I wondered if they divorced because she was too possessive, too domineering. Suddenly it became important to find out, to know more about her and learn details that would flesh out a picture. I felt that if I knew her as a person, as an ordinary human being with problems and background like anyone else, she would be less intimidating. I chastised myself for not going down to the agency and researching her more from the start. I had been too lazy, and just like most people, I had left it up to doctors and medical bureaucrats.

It wasn’t unusual. How many people go interview their surgeons before they let them operate on them? We shop around for someone to lay carpet or repair leaky faucets, but when it comes to doctors and nurses, we go by the “faith,” the faith in the magic of medicine. The doctor had invested his nurse with the “power.” She was his minister. Like the disciple of some high priest, the nurse had been sent to my house. I wasn’t bowing down to her so much as I was bowing down to him through her.

Maybe that was why I was driven to know her as a person. Only when she was brought down to my level would I feel comfortable and secure. I wished for an opportunity to walk with her away from the house, away from Miriam and the shadow of Lillian, so she could tell me her troubles and her problems. I would listen sympathetically. I was sure that afterward, when we went back into the house, I would feel better about her and tolerate the things she was doing and had to do.

It was a little past five o’clock when I drove in and parked the car. The dog began barking, but I ignored it. I wanted to give full concentration to my single objective: my impending conversation with Mrs. Randolph. I tried to anticipate the dialogue, how I would begin, how insistent I would be for satisfactory answers. In deep thought, I hurried into the house.

Just like the night before, Miriam appeared in the hallway by the kitchen as soon as she heard my entrance. She was dressed in her full apron again. This time she wore a white blouse and blue skirt beneath it. I recognized both garments as being quite old, predating our marriage. They were part of what we had boxed away in the attic. The skirt, far too short for today’s fashions, made her look silly. She had more modern, up-to-date clothing. Why was she doing this?

“Do you have everything, Michael?”

“Yes. You haven’t worn those things for ages. Where did you dig them up?”

“My closet, Michael. Where do you think?” She spun around. “Mrs. Randolph likes them.”

“Your closet?”

“Just set everything in the dining room. We’re eating a light supper so we’ll eat in the kitchen. Mrs. Randolph says no booze for you tonight,” she added, waving her right forefinger at me.

“Oh she does, does she? I suppose she’s upstairs staring at the wallpaper.”

“That’s no way to put it, Michael. When you learn more about it, you’ll be more respectful.”

It was practically a reprimand and so unlike Miriam. Even the expression on her face was uncharacteristic. Her eyes were as intense and as piercing as the nurse’s. Her posture was different too. She was stiffer, and her shoulders were up. She looked taller, harder. I felt a greater distance between us. Her voice had been so cold and her words so sharp.

“I see,” I said. I was taken aback and could think of no appropriate response. She wasn’t interested and she didn’t wait. She looked at her watch.

“You have a little time before you meet with Mrs. Randolph. Why don’t you change and wash up? Get into something comfortable for the exercises.”

“Exercises?”

“Of course, Michael. Honestly, sometimes you do act like a farmer. Oh, and don’t say anything to Lillian about the party. We want it to be a surprise.”

“Who’s we?” I said, but she had already turned to go back into the kitchen. I stood there staring at the doorway, listening to her work in the kitchen.

These weren’t Miriam’s words, I thought. These weren’t Miriam’s ways. She wasn’t improving; she was changing and she wasn’t changing back either. This wasn’t the Miriam I knew before Lillian’s death. This woman was a stranger.

I put all the birthday party things on the dining room table and walked upstairs. Mrs. Randolph’s door was closed, as I expected it would be. I paused there for a moment, envisioning what she was doing behind it. I knew something about meditation, having studied about Far Eastern religions in school and read about the new transcendental groups. There was a big one in South Fallsburg that had bought out one of the older resorts and turned it into an ashram. They chose it because it was well secluded for their religious meditation.

What I didn’t know was that the medical community, Mrs. Randolph embodying a certain segment of it, had embraced meditation as a method of treating the mentally disturbed. Later, she would tell me it served as a tranquilizer with none of the side effects drugs often have. I wasn’t critical of it; I was just surprised.

I looked at my watch. It was just five fifteen. I did have a half an hour before our so-called appointment. The time she had given me had become something official. It made her seem more professional, more important. It turned a mere bedroom into an office. What would I find next: Mrs. Greenstreet sitting at the dresser taking notes? I shook my head. I’d have to wait. What else was there for me to do but what Miriam told me to do? I would shower and change.

I began undressing when suddenly I remembered what Miriam had said downstairs about her clothing. How could she get so mixed up about it? I wondered. Out of curiosity, but also out of what had become an inexplainable fear, I went to her closet. When I opened the door, I found a whole row of different garments. It consisted of most of her old clothing. She hadn’t thought they were even worth giving away because “no one would wear things so out of style.’’ I pulled some of the clothing toward me. All had been ironed and pressed. It was eerie. I stood there for a moment feeling as though I had been thrown back through time, feeling as though nothing had really happened since these garments were in the closet. When I walked out of this room, the world would be as it was ten years ago. I thought about my own clothing.

“No,” I said, “they couldn’t have.”

I went to my closet quickly and was relieved to find that nothing had been changed. Still, an explanation was in order; I would demand one. I rushed to shower and then put on a light short-sleeve shirt and a pair of old slacks. I decided to put on a pair of old sneakers, too. I would try to appear as “laid back” as most of those people who came up to the Catskill meditation sites and walked along the country roads as if they were in a trance.

It was five forty. I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was, despite my determination not to be intimidated. My hair was brushed, but I had missed a few spots shaving this morning, and my teeth weren’t as white as I would have liked them to be. I wasn’t as worried about my appearance the night she arrived. What was going on in my head?

I looked at my watch again. It was five forty-three. I would be as prompt and as correct as a nurse taking the pulse of a critically ill patient. Maybe I was overdoing it, but I went to her door at five forty-four and stood there with my wrist up, watching my second hand go around on the watch.

When it hit the twelve, I knocked.

7

DRAPED IN A BRIGHT BLUE DASHIKI, MRS. RANDOLPH opened the door. The loosely fitting garment hung nearly to the floor. Falling from her shoulders, it ballooned around her, making her look immense, formidable. I was not prepared to find her in what was usually a man’s tribal robe. I saw her breasts move against the material and then disappear within its folds. Her arms hung out of the dark, cavernous sleeves. I felt like reaching in to find her body. She hovered before me like a blue, imposing spirit who had just appeared.

In contrast, I was small, flimsy, even fragile. I was afraid to step forward, afraid she would envelop me and smother me in the hills and valleys of her puffed up body. Her white uniform of authority had been replaced by a large, blue physical presence that in some ways was even more overpowering.

Her face radiated with the energy and force. The blue was in her eyes and her skin. She was unmovable, demanding. I wanted to back away and meet her at another time, another place. I searched frantically for the right words of escape, but I could not speak or move. I could only wait for her to command me. She did it with a gesture, stepped back, and waited for me to enter her room. I took a deep breath and moved forward. As soon as I did, she closed the door behind me. I had the definite feeling that she had entrapped me.

I went right to the chair in the right corner and sat down. She brushed her hair back with the palms of her hands and sat on the bed to face me. The dashiki flowed around her, and her naked feet hung just above the floor. Somehow, maybe because the garment covered so much of her, her bare feet and uncovered ankles became erotic and suggestive. She patted some of the dashiki down between her legs and sat up straighter. I pressed myself against the back of the chair. I couldn’t believe how hard my heart was pounding. I wondered if she could tell.

“Miriam thinks you’re teaching me how ... how to meditate,” I said, forcing a smile. My cheeks felt as stiff as they did when they were sunburnt; the corners of my mouth moved reluctantly, like soft plastic about to crack. She didn’t change her expression: an unemotional, thoughtful gaze that caused me to squirm and cross my legs.

“That wouldn’t be so bad for you. You don’t realize how high-strung and nervous you are. I’m sure it’s a result of all that has happened and is happening; but nevertheless, it’s true.”

It was as if an oracle had spoken. Her tone was condescending, mechanical.

“Maybe when it’s over, I’ll go to a doctor,” I said and smirked. She was undaunted.

“To begin with, I think we have to do away with this idea of it ever being ‘all over.’ It’s not like curing the measles or chicken pox. You can’t expect things to return to exactly the way they were before.”

“I realize that. I meant when your stay here is no longer necessary.” I could be exacting too, if I had to be. Obviously, with someone like her, I had to be.

She continued to stare at me and then nodded. She slid herself back some on the bed so that she could rest herself against the headboard. The dashiki tightened around her and her breasts became fully outlined, the nipples pressing upward to create two pointed caps. When she moved her arms, there was a distinct rippling across her bosom as her breasts carried the vibrations. The dashiki moved up her ankles and revealed more of her legs. She folded her hands on her lap, and I pressed my upper teeth gently against my lower lip. My mouth was filling with saliva, creating a salty warmth.

“Well,” she said, “on the phone you spoke about the need for answers.”

“Yes. I am confused about some of the things that are going on here, about the way you ... we, are catering to Miriam’s ... illusions. I mean, I imagine you are in close contact with Dr. Turner, but—”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, you didn’t check anything with him today. I know,” I said quickly, aggressively. “I called his office myself and he’s gone.” Her eyes became smaller immediately and a whiteness appeared around her mouth as she drew her lips in.

“I was going to tell you that, myself, Mr. Oberman. Dr. Turner’s brother has suffered a serious heart attack. But I suppose since you called his office you know all about that.”

“I don’t really know all about it,” I said looking away. I felt somewhat embarrassed by my obvious attempt to trap her in a lie. “His receptionist, Mrs. Greenstreet, is not exactly the most talkative and friendly person I’ve spoken to.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she said. I realized she had been checking with Dr. Turner, which probably meant he sanctioned most of what she was doing. I was confused and annoyed, but I was determined to press on for some satisfaction.

“All right,” I said, taking great pains to keep my voice controlled. I was afraid I would stutter or my vowels would shake. “I don’t understand why we are supporting Miriam’s illusion. It seems self-defeating.”

“We’re not supporting Miriam’s illusion; we’re supporting Miriam. I don’t have to tell you how fragile she is, how close to a total withdrawal from reality. Before I arrived,” she said leaning forward slightly, her eyes wider, warmer, “she was just about gone. You did everything in this house. She sat around knitting and humming and living completely within the soft walls of a dream. It didn’t take me long to analyze what was going on, how you were tiptoeing around her, afraid to touch her. I’ve seen it before. She was floating around this house in a fog and you were simply sustaining it. It would go on until one of you broke down completely. That’s right,” she added quickly and pointed at me for emphasis. I suppose I had a look of skepticism. “You were in danger as well. I know. Don’t think you are somehow immune because it is Miriam who suffers so openly. You suffer, too, but you contain it and try to bury it in work and in support of her. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes,” I said. It was more of a whisper. She was overwhelming. I felt as though I were being tossed about the room, waved through the air like a streamer. To think I had come here to challenge her, to make demands. In a moment she had torn me open. I felt exposed, helpless, as she continued her pursuit.

“And what is Miriam like now?” she asked, sitting back, her arms folded across her breasts. “She’s up and about. She’s working in the house; she’s off drugs completely. In short, she’s returning to some semblance of reality, becoming an active, contributing individual again. Isn’t she?”

“Yes, but—”

“But we’ve continued her illusion and, as you say, supported it.” She smirked in disdain.

“Isn’t that true?” I asked. I was beginning to wonder myself. Did all that I thought happened these past few days happen, or was I caught up in some weird nightmare? Mrs. Randolph spoke with such confidence and self-assurance that she made me doubt my own eyes and ears.

“Yes and no. If I had contradicted her from the start, she would have simply turned me off, shut me out. My effectiveness would have been negligible. There would have been no point to my being here. But because I have humored her with a certain sincerity, she has permitted me to enter her world. The greater grasp I have on that world, the greater are my chances of changing it. Do you understand?”

I nodded, but not with confidence.

“Look,” she said sitting up straight and away from the headboard, “if Miriam were institutionalized and believed Lillian were there with her in the same room, do you think her doctors and nurses would insist it wasn’t so and force her to see that no one else was in that room?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then?”

“But some of the things seem a bit too much. I mean, a birthday party—”

“We won’t actually have it.”

“Why did we start with it? It’s bizarre.”

“She wanted it. Did you want me to say, ‘Your daughter’s dead; what’s the point?’ ”

“Miriam said you suggested it. That it would be good therapy for Lillian.”

“That’s part of her mental defense mechanism at work. She’s using me now, don’t you see? If she has me endorse something, you’re sure to go along with it.”

“You make it sound as though she’s conniving, actually thinking and planning things out.”

“Don’t underestimate her intelligence just because she is going through a mental aberration. Many people confuse a lack of intelligence with mental illness. One has nothing to do with another. In fact, an intelligent person who becomes psychotic can be quite a challenge for doctors and nurses.”

“What’s the end result? I mean, how do we come to some conclusion?”

She hesitated before answering.

“We end with the reliving of the tragedy.”

“How so?” I pressed my back against the chair and straightened up. Her dramatic pause had started my heart beating fast again.

“One night,” she said, her eyes in a glaze as though she could see into the future, “the accident must happen again.”

For a moment I couldn’t respond. A hot flash passed through my body. My mind was a blur of lights and images: uniforms, mangled metal, hands reaching out to guide and to steady me. There was a doll on the side of the road, one of its legs mashed. I was sinking into the pavement, melting into the macadam. Like a streak of blood, I would stain the highway. Her hair poured through the broken window, and pieces of glass glittered like diamonds at my feet.

Relive the accident? Repeat the agony? Admit that there was a part of me forever in the darkness, forever still, forever cold, alone? I was there; I saw the earth close around the box, but I kept thinking, I’ve got to get home. I’ve got to be with them. They’ll be upset. They need me.

And Miriam in the hospital begging me with her eyes to confirm what she believed, what the doctors permitted her to believe: not dead, hurt, recuperating, but not gone, never gone.

“I want to get better to help you take care of her,” Miriam had said. “I’m being a good girl, Michael. I’m doing everything they say.”

I would sit in the hospital parking lot with my head against the steering wheel until I had the strength to go in there. And then I would walk like a zombie over the hospital corridors and drive home to a house filled with echoes. Maybe that was what Miriam heard: echoes. Soon they would die away and it would all be over.

“You don’t mean drive to the spot and ...” My voice was barely audible.

“No. I mean describe it to her, force her to listen, to remember. But not until we’ve laid a foundation for acceptance,” she added quickly. “Hopefully, she’ll tell us that Lillian is dead. It’s essential that she be at a point of strength when she accepts it.”

“I can’t imagine that right now.”

“Then you can appreciate how great the task is. She could go the other way, face it, and crumble into a helpless catatonic and never fully participate in life. But you know that. I don’t have to tell you that.”

I nodded and sat forward again. She never took her eyes off me. I knew she was studying my reactions, observing me closely to see what effects her words had on me.

“I know that Miriam has shown some changes for the better and, as you say, gotten stronger, but right now it still seems to me that we’re regressing. She hasn’t denied anything; there isn’t even a suggestion of a denial.”

“I realize that,” she said, something close to a smile on her face. “You’ll just have to trust us for a while.”

I considered her sitting there looking so solid, so unmoving. Trust was what it would always come down to. At that moment I resented the whole medical community and not just nurses like her. I went to a chiropractor once years ago. He did an adjustment for my back pain and then told me to come back in two days. I said I couldn’t; it would have to be three days. He shrugged and said, “It’s your back.” In other words, either do what he wanted or suffer. Power, control, what could I do? Mrs. Randolph was right—I had to trust her.

“This meditation you’ve been teaching Miriam, was that something Dr. Turner recommended too?”

“No, that’s my contribution. Miriam’s mind has been jumbled and twisted. Her thoughts are confused and distorted. Think of it as a blackboard covered with writing. The lines are going every which way. We could go back over each line painstakingly and try to fix it or we could erase the whole board and start again. True meditation is the state in which the mind becomes thoughtless. I want to eliminate the static, clear her, and then ease in the truth.”

“That sounds very good,” I said. I was impressed.

“It is good.”

“Where did you learn all this?”

“From life,” she said, and suddenly she took on a look of sadness and deep thought.

“Personal tragedy?” I asked softly. Her eyes widened and flashed with anger.

“My problems are not important for now,” she said. I had to look away.

“This meditating sounds intriguing,” I said. “Maybe I should learn how to do it. Would you ... I mean, could you ...”

“Show you how? Yes, but not along with Miriam. You have to be separate. Just the two of us,” she added, and I conjured up the image of her naked, sitting on the floor. There was a tingling and a stirring inside my thighs.

“I understand.”

“Tomorrow, try to get home a little earlier and be in here by five when I start.”

“I’ll do that. Good,” I said and stood up. “Well, we’re having a light supper according to Miriam.” She nodded. Her anger hadn’t fully receded, but her eyes were more neutral. “That robe looks very comfortable,” I said.

“Yes.” She ran the palms of her hands over her breasts and down her hips. “I either wear something like this or meditate in the nude. It’s important to be unrestricted, and it’s essential to meditate on an empty stomach. That’s why I do it before dinner.”

I looked as unaffected as I could. Was she teasing me now? Did she expect me to say, “I know. I peeked in here and saw you?” All I did was look thoughtful.

“What should I wear for our session?”

“Put on a pair of loosely fitting pajamas.”

“Fine,” I said nearly swallowing the word. I fumbled for the door knob behind me and then retreated into the hall. I was shaking with excitement and decided to splash my face with cold water before going down to Miriam, but before I could do that, the phone rang and I had to pick it up in the bedroom. It was Dr. Turner. I wanted to ask him to hold on while I went back to close my bedroom door. I was afraid Mrs. Randolph would overhear me, but I didn’t. Instead, I spoke as softly as I could.

“I was told you called, Michael. Anything wrong?”

“Are you back? How’s your brother?”

“No, I’m still here. He’s not doing all that well. But I try to keep in touch with my office. How is it going?”

“Well,” I said, practically whispering; I had my left hand up beside my mouth, “I was concerned about things again, especially when Miriam began talking about a birthday party.”

“Birthday party?”

“For Lillian.”

“I see. And Mrs. Randolph?”

“I thought she was going along with it. I thought it was her idea, but ... it seems Miriam is fantasizing through her now. At least that’s the way Mrs. Randolph explained it.”

“Very possible.”

“I mean, I understand what Mrs. Randolph is saying ... it’s just that ...”

“Just what, Michael?”

“I wish you were here now so you can evaluate things for yourself.’’

“Miriam’s still improving?”

“In many ways, yes. I suppose this meditation—”

“Meditation?”

“That’s Mrs. Randolph’s idea. She has Miriam meditating with her. She gave me an explanation of the treatment.” He was silent for a long moment. “I gathered that you didn’t originate the idea, but is there anything wrong with it?”

“I can’t say there’s anything wrong with it, Michael. As long as Miriam is comfortable with it ....”

“Mrs. Randolph says she’s used it before. I’ll say one thing about her—she’s not afraid to take on responsibility. That’s for sure.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, but he didn’t make it sound like a compliment. “I’ll try to get back to you in a day or so,” he added quickly, “but if I don’t, don’t hesitate to call the office, and Mrs. Greenstreet will try to get in touch with me.”

“She made it sound as though she couldn’t.”

“She’s just being a good secretary and protecting her boss,” he said, and he laughed.

“Good luck with your brother,” I said. He thanked me and hung up. Before I put the receiver down, I turned to the doorway because I heard Mrs. Randolph’s footsteps in the hall. Had she overheard? Was she listening in the moment she heard me pick up the phone? If so, she made no mention of it, and I thought it best I say nothing either.

After dinner I fed the dog and sat down to read the paper. I saw that a movie I had been interested in had come to the local theater. I mentioned it, and both Miriam and Mrs. Randolph insisted I go see it. Ordinarily, after what had been going on the past few days, I would have declined, but since my conversation with Dr. Turner, I felt more relieved. I began seriously to consider going. It would be the first time I had done something like that since Lillian died.

“Mrs. Randolph and I will keep each other company, Michael. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, if you think it will be all right, dear.”

“I know it will be all right, Michael.”

“I wouldn’t worry about anything,” Mrs. Randolph said. She didn’t wink, but she gave me a slight nod, which was more than anything she had done before. I felt more secure, more involved and in control.

“I might just do it then.”

“Good. Mrs. Randolph and I are going to sit around and write out Lillian’s party invitations so you can mail them in the morning.”

“Good idea,” I said. Mrs. Randolph looked pleased with my response, so I added, “Maybe I’ll get some of those little party hats and noisemakers.”

“Wonderful,” Miriam said. “Lillian will be so pleased. But don’t forget, it’s a secret.”

“She’ll never hear it from me.” I put the paper down on the small table and went for my light jacket. When I said so long, they both looked up at me with the same “cat-ate-the-mouse” smile. It took me aback for a moment, but I hesitated only a few seconds. After that, I went out and drove to the movies.

It was my particular misfortune to run into Charley and Alice Tooey at the theater. Actually, it wasn’t that much of a coincidence. I remembered that Charley had shown some interest in the film when it was mentioned at the bank, and there are only three movie theaters within a fifty-mile radius in our area. The Lyceum was the closest one to them, as it was to me. They were standing by the popcorn counter in the lobby. When I entered, Alice saw me first. I saw her poke Charley. She smiled and looked nervous about meeting me, so I imagined Charley had brought home some stories about my return to the bank and my mental state. The way she stared at me when we spoke made me feel as though I were wearing some kind of Halloween mask.

Alice was a tall, slim woman, nothing like Miriam. She had harder features, although I suppose she was closer to what one would term a model’s figure. She wore her hair cut very short, which I thought emphasized the sharpness of her nose and the thinness of her mouth. Actually, she was always a pleasant person in my and Miriam’s company. On more than one occasion, we remarked to ourselves that she was too nice for an abrasive guy like Charley. It was always, “I don’t know what she saw in him.”

“Hey, buddy,” Charley said. He slapped me on the shoulder like we had planned to meet here.

“Hello, Alice,” I said. She continued to smile but practically whispered my name.

“Alone?” Charley asked, which I thought was a pretty stupid question considering there was no one with me.

“Yes. Miriam’s home with Mrs. Randolph.”

“Mrs. Randolph, that’s the nurse?” Alice asked, glancing at Charley and then at me.

“Yes. A very capable person. Actually, Miriam’s taken to her very well. They’ve quickly become companions. A brilliant woman, more than just a nurse. She’s also a student of meditation. I should say a teacher. She’s had a great deal of experience with mental and spiritual matters,” I added. I realized I was rambling, finding security in words. “We’re lucky to have gotten her. Got her from a firm in New York City. Sight unseen. It was pure luck.”

Neither of them said a word. They stood there staring at me with the dumbest smiles on their faces. There was a very long, embarrassing pause. I had to break it.

“I was looking forward to seeing this,” I said, “and when I spotted the advertisement in today’s paper ...”

“Yeah, us too. Well,” Charley said, “why don’t we all find some seats.”

“How is Miriam, Michael?” Alice asked with deep sincerity. It nearly brought me to tears.

“She’s coming along, Alice. She hadn’t been until Mrs. Randolph arrived. The doctor wasn’t enough; we needed someone full time, and it appears to have made an effect. As I said, I think it’s because of the particular caliber of nurse we’ve gotten.”

“A specialist of sorts, huh?” Charley said.

“You might say that. And I think Miriam was in need of a specialist. Just anyone wouldn’t do.”

“We want to stop by,” Alice said. “We have always wanted to, but—”

“I know. Charley told me. I don’t hold it against you two. If the situation were reversed, I’m sure I would feel the same way. It’s not easy for anyone.”

“I go by the house occasionally, but I didn’t think ... that is, without telling you first ....”

“Right. As I told Charley, give us a little more time.”

“She’s still—”

“Lillian isn’t dead,” I said. “Not yet.” Alice nodded sadly.

“Well,” Charley said slapping his hands together, “about those seats ... this place is filling up quickly.”

I felt sorry for Alice. I think she was uncomfortable with me sitting beside her. It was understandable. So much had happened since the four of us went out together. However, there wasn’t much I could do about it until the movie ended and the lights came on. Almost simultaneously, Charley leaned over to say, “Let’s all go for coffee, huh?”

“No, I’ve got to get back. I’m sure Miriam’s waiting up for me. And Mrs. Randolph,” I added. Alice looked relieved.

“We understand,” she said quickly.

We paused together outside the theater. It was another embarrassing moment because no one really had anything to say and it was difficult to find a graceful parting. We spoke a little about the movie, but Charley was never anyone to analyze anything, and I could see that neither of them really understood or cared for it.

“So, was that the right answer today?” he asked just before I turned to leave them.

“Right answer? What answer?”

“Pin the Tail on the Donkey. For the crossword puzzle?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah.” I forced a laugh. “Good night, Alice.”

“Please,” she said taking my hand dramatically, “let Charley know when.”

“I will,” I said and rushed away from them. When I looked back, they were still standing there, looking my way.

Seeing them had ruined my one night out, but I was determined not to let Miriam know. If she asked me any questions, I would talk only about the movie. It was an oddity about her condition that she never inquired about friends like Charley and Alice Tooey. That part of our lives seemed to be completely erased for her.

But when I thought about it now (feeling more rational since I talked with Mrs. Randolph), I realized that Miriam had blocked them out of her mind because of their daughter Tracy and Tracy’s friendship with Lillian. It made sense, and I was proud of myself for figuring it out on my own. I thought I might even tell Mrs. Randolph about it and have my theory confirmed.

It wasn’t that late when I got home, but the house was already dark. The dog’s barking was weaker, lower, and ended before I even reached the front door. Only the nightlight in the kitchen was on downstairs, and there was no sign of anyone. It was very quiet. I was disappointed because I had hoped to sit up and talk with them about the movie. I was sure someone as intelligent as Mrs. Randolph would appreciate it. Also, I was looking forward to a cup of coffee. There was nothing to do but go up to bed.

The light above the stairs washed the steps in a sickly yellowish glow. I hated it, but there was no point in putting a stronger bulb up there. It would make it too bright, and we could never sleep with our door completely closed. Miriam would be afraid she wouldn’t hear Lillian call.

I imagined that one or both of them had gotten tired, so I made very little noise as I climbed the stairway. When I reached the landing, I noticed that Lillian’s door was completely shut. That made me very curious, but I would have had to go in there anyway to satisfy Miriam. I was sure she was listening for my “Good night, Lillian,” despite the fact that she might be tired and might even have fallen asleep. Sometimes I thought she could hear me in her sleep and if she didn’t hear my “Good night, Lillian” she would snap awake.

I opened the door slowly, but I didn’t take more than a step or two inside. I froze and stared. The sight of something new and big in Lillian’s room would have been shock enough as it was, but to see a wheelchair there was mind shattering. It was more than confusion. My thoughts became unglued. I was like someone thrown into outer space. I lost my hold on reality. The chair made it seem as though Lillian were alive, an invalid, just as Miriam believed; and it was I who was in need of mental help.

I didn’t look past it; it captured the complete focus of my attention. I was drawn to it, hypnotized by the metal arms and legs that reflected the hall light. The chair was turned slightly toward me. My mind began to play tricks. I thought the chair turned a little more and a little more until I was looking directly at it. It had a green backing and a soft green cushion seat. When I looked at the spokes, the wheels seemed to move. In my wild imagination, I saw it coming toward me, so I backed up quickly and slammed the door shut.

Only a second went by before Miriam called.

“Michael?”

I didn’t respond. I stood there breathing hard watching the handle of Lillian’s door. Did I see it turn?

“Michael, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing? Michael?”

“Just a moment.” I had to fight to regain my composure. I wiped my face with my handkerchief and looked at the nurse’s closed door. I was going to knock softly on it so Miriam couldn’t hear and then go in to talk to Mrs. Randolph about the chair. I doubted that I would sleep, thinking about it. But Miriam came to the doorway of our room.

“What is it, Michael? Was something wrong with Lillian?”

“No, but what ... how did that chair ...”

“Oh, the wheelchair. That was our surprise. It’s how Lillian’s going to play games with the others, remember? Remember when I told you we figured out a way?” At this point her silly girlish tone of voice was annoying.

“No, I don’t recall,” I said walking in past her.

“Well, I said it, Michael. I remember saying it because Mrs. Randolph and I already had discussed it. We are going to get Lillian out of that room and into the fresh air. And the stairway is not going to be a problem, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said following me around the bedroom as I undressed and took out a pair of pajamas. “Between Mrs. Randolph and myself, we’ll be able to carry her, chair and all, downstairs whenever we want. When you’re around, you’ll help, too. Why do you look so upset?”

“It’s not that I’m upset. I’m ... I’m surprised. It was quite a shock.”

“I know, but I made Mrs. Randolph keep it to herself. I know how you can get sometimes, Michael; and I didn’t want any of this spoiled.” I shook my head, and she smiled and patted me on the arm. “It’ll work out, you’ll see. It’s a great idea. Why, from now on, Lillian will be with us even more. She’s very excited about it herself. We’ve already given it a test run,” she added laughing. It was insane.

“Miriam, listen ...”

“What?” She stopped smiling. “What, Michael? You are going to say something to spoil it, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Then what, Michael?” She folded her arms across her breasts defiantly. The pressure ballooned her bosom until her nipples were almost exposed. Although I looked at her lustfully, she seemed totally unaware, like a preadolescent oblivious to the effect her nudity would have on a man. I was filled with the urge to take her in my arms and awaken the sexuality in her. But I did nothing.

“We can’t put too much hope in anything, Miriam. That’s all I wanted to say. I don’t want you to be more disappointed than you are already.”

“I’m not putting too much hope in it, Michael. And I wouldn’t have done it, even thought of it, if it weren’t for Mrs. Randolph. I think she would know about too much hope, don’t you? Well, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“So?”

“It’s fine, dear. As I said, I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Good. When you come home from work, you can push her around outside. We’ll tie the dog to the chair and he can follow along. Won’t that be nice?”

“Yes, dear. It will.”

“Things are changing, Michael. I can feel them changing, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can.”

“It’s wonderful,” she said. “And so much of it is because of Mrs. Randolph. You ought to talk to her more. She’s a great nurse and a great person.”

“I intend to,” I said, but Miriam was already back in bed, the cover drawn to her neck. I stood there looking at her for a moment and then went to the bathroom. There wasn’t any more to say. She had closed me out; her eyes were glassy and her face was frozen in that Mona Lisa smile.

In the morning all the chatter around the breakfast table was about the chair, my surprise about it, and the plans they had for using it. I listened politely, but every chance I got, I let Mrs. Randolph know through my facial expression that I believed this was too much. I didn’t have much time alone with her, but when I did get a minute, I told her what I thought.

“I know we had a good conversation and I felt I understood much of what was happening, but this is definitely unnecessary.” She didn’t appear annoyed by my criticism. She nodded as though she had expected it.

“I realize how it looks,” she said, “but I asked you to trust me.”

“I can trust but—”

She reached forward and covered my left hand with hers. Her touch was soothing, warm. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for such female attention. Her eyes were calm; her face was filled with understanding. I felt myself relax.

“How do you suppose we’ll ever get to reenact that accident if we never get Lillian out of that bed and out of that room? Don’t you see how important this is?”

“But actually renting a wheelchair ... it’s ... it’s ...”

“Eerie, I know; but the whole condition is.” She patted my hand and sat back. “Trust me,” she mouthed as Miriam reentered the room. Shortly afterward, I left for work.

All the way over I thought about what Mrs. Randolph had said and how she had said it. I debated with myself as to whether I was upset with the wheelchair because it was eerie or because it might help accomplish what Mrs. Randolph wanted to accomplish—the reliving of the accident. I didn’t want to relive the accident. Who would? But if I opposed what Mrs. Randolph was doing because I was afraid or annoyed, I would be opposing it for selfish reasons. It was then that I realized I would have to be as cooperative as I could, but I would suffer almost as much as Miriam suffered in the process.

Right from the start, it was not a good day at the bank for me. I made a tremendous error on a customer’s deposit slip, placing the decimal point in the wrong place and instead of giving him credit for a twelve thousand dollar deposit, I gave him credit for twelve hundred. He didn’t notice it until he was out of the bank and back at work. We received a phone call first and then he returned, enraged. Mr. Kasofsky handled him personally. I apologized profusely, but it didn’t do much good. After that I was as irritable as could be, and I know I annoyed a number of customers.

But the climax of the day for me came a little more than an hour after lunch. Charley Tooey had gotten a phone call. I saw him talking on the phone and I saw him look at me. His face grew white as he continued speaking, nodding and shrugging. Instinctively, I knew he was going to say something terrible to me.

After he hung up, he stood there for a few moments staring my way. I tried to ignore him, but as soon as he started toward me, my heart began beating faster. I didn’t have any customers so I prayed someone would come to my window to keep me from talking to him, but no one came. He stood right beside me waiting for me to look up from my counter. I had readded the same figures four times.

“What’s up?” I said without turning.

“That was Alice on the phone.”

“So?”

“She just rode by your house a little while ago.”

I turned and looked at him. From the expression on his face, I thought I could imagine what had happened.

“She stopped to talk to Miriam.”

“No, she was too frightened. She just rode on by. She was all out of breath. You should have heard her on the phone. I was trying to calm her.”

“Well, as I said, in time ...”

“She saw Miriam,” he said quickly.

“What do you mean? You said she didn’t stop.”

“And her nurse. They were outside.” He swallowed and then leaned forward to whisper. “Pushing a wheelchair.”

“Oh. You see ...” There was something in his eyes that made me stop. “What?”

“She said there was someone in it. A child ... smaller than Lillian, but dressed in one of Lillian’s outfits.”

8

THERE WERE MOMENTS DURING MY RIDE HOME WHEN I considered the possibility that I, like Miriam, had become mentally ill because of the accident. I recalled the faces of people I had met or had business with since. I tried to remember details: the tone of their voices, the way their eyes searched my face, the content of the things they said to me. Was I being humored?

The nurse had told me I was high-strung. She had recommended meditation as a treatment. Was that her way of telling me I was sick? Perhaps Dr. Turner had discussed this with her. Perhaps he had said, “Michael Oberman is just as ill as his wife only he doesn’t realize it. Humor him for as long as you can and when you can, try to treat him.”

How does one know who’s sane and who’s not? I remember a scene in a terror film I had gone to see when I was a teenager. I don’t remember the title of the movie or even the names of the actors who were in it. The story is a blur. I get it confused with so many other tales. But there was this sequence on a train. A man who had escaped from a mental institution had been captured and was being brought back by this detective or something. He might have been a doctor. I can’t recall. Anyway, they were seated at a table in the dining car when all of a sudden a large fly landed on the table. The detective or doctor scooped it up in his fist. He was about to crush it when the mentally deranged man said, “Why do you have to do that?”

The detective hesitated and thought for a moment. I can still see his smile clearly. The two men locked gazes, and then the detective simply opened his fist and let the fly go off. The mentally ill man smiled as though to say, “That’s a good boy now.”

I laughed aloud. My friends with me in the theater didn’t see the humor I saw. In that moment, the crazy man had turned the tables. He had made the supposedly sane man look sadistic and evil. Anyone who had just come onto that scene and no other would seriously question who needed mental treatment and who didn’t.

Why wouldn’t the same thing happen if someone just walked into my house? Look at Miriam, I thought, how gentle she was, how soft and friendly; and then look at me—I was mostly irritable, short tempered, eager to be alone and terrified of ordinary conversation. I was sure Charley Tooey wouldn’t want to vouch for my sanity. We all have our own illusions and fantasies. We all cling to them. Some cling more desperately than others. When do they become symptomatic of mental illness?

Fantasy, illusion, and another sort of desperate need were now drawing me to Mrs. Randolph’s room. I had come to feel that it was a place of power. It was dangerous for me to go in there, but it was exciting, too. There was a part of me that wanted the danger and the mystery.

It was the same part of me that drove me to open Lillian’s closed door to confront the darkness. It made me think of the nurse’s first night and the way I had slithered through the shadows to peer up at her uncovered window. My body tingled with the memory of her bare breasts washed in the warm light.

I drove on like the mythical Odysseus who was warned about the power of the sirens to tempt him onto the rocks, but unlike Odysseus, I did not lash myself to the mast and stuff the ears of my men with wax. I couldn’t stop myself from knocking on her door.

I had rushed my work so that I would get home before five. Mrs. Randolph had told me she gave Miriam a session of meditation before she went into her own. So, when I first entered the house, I thought they were both upstairs. I opened the front door quietly and moved in slowly and slyly like a thief. I wanted to come upon Mrs. Randolph and Miriam and watch them unseen.

I hesitated in the hallway. Apparently no one had heard me enter. The dog hadn’t heard me drive up, and no one had come out to greet me. There were no sounds coming from the kitchen. Miriam wasn’t preparing supper. I looked at the stairway and then started toward it until I heard what sounded like soft sobbing. It was coming from the living room. Practically on tiptoe, I turned toward it. When I looked in, I saw Miriam sitting on the couch, looking down at a sheet of paper in her hands, and crying.

“What is it, Miriam? What’s wrong?”

She looked up quickly and smiled through the tears. I walked into the room and she stood up to greet me.

“Oh, Michael,” she said, “I’m so happy.”

“You’re crying because you’re happy?”

“Yes.”

“What’s made you so happy?”

“This,” she said and handed me the sheet of paper. There was a drawing on it, the drawing of a dog. The style of the childish artwork was quite reminiscent of Lillian’s. In fact, it was remarkably similar to the collection of pictures and drawings we kept in Lillian’s room. “It’s the first creative thing she’s done since ... since the accident,” Miriam said.

I looked up at her with some amazement. Her very mention of it was almost as shocking as the new drawing. Right from the first day she had come home from the hospital, Miriam never used the word “accident” in reference to Lillian. Lillian was always “ill,”

“sick,” “recuperating,” but the cause was never stated. It was as though the recognition of the reason would contradict Lillian’s imagined existence.

After my initial surprise, my first reaction was to think Mrs. Randolph was really making progress with her. She had already gotten her to do so much and now this—an admission that the accident occurred. But rather than leave me with a feeling of joy, it simply added to my confusion. I gazed at the drawing again. Even for the sake of Miriam’s happiness, I couldn’t pretend about it,

“Maybe this was one of her drawings we hadn’t seen before, dear. Maybe this was simply buried under the others.”

“Oh no, Michael.” She shook her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Can’t you tell? It’s a picture of the new dog. She just did it.”

I looked at it again and nodded. It was a picture of the new dog, capturing its shape and color.

“When did ... did she give you this?”

“Mrs. Randolph brought it down a little while ago. She said Lillian surprised her with it. She didn’t know Lillian was working on something new either. You should have seen her; she was almost as excited about it as I was.”

“I bet.”

“She’s had such success with her in such a short space of time. Lillian will be up and walking again before you know it. You’ll see.” She nodded after she spoke, like a little girl pleading for confirmation.

“It wouldn’t surprise me. In fact, nothing Mrs. Randolph does anymore would surprise me. You used the wheelchair today,” I began, handing the drawing back and keeping my tone of voice calm, “and took Lillian out?”

“Yes, but it was hard wheeling it on the lawn so we went down the road a ways and then back.”

“I see. Mrs. Randolph is upstairs in her room, I suppose.”

“She told me she was going to teach you to meditate today. That’s good, Michael. You need something to calm your nerves,” she said, and she sat on the couch again.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, dear,” I said. She smiled, but when I turned to leave, she got up and took my arm. There was something in her face, some new look of strength and determination that surprised me.

“Mrs. Randolph is a very, very special person, Michael. Be kind to her.”

“Very well, dear. I’ll do my best,” I said. She nodded and sat down again, holding the drawing in her lap. Then she looked up at me with such joy in her face that it nearly brought me to tears.

“It’s a gift, Michael, a gift from God. I’m so grateful and so happy. If anything destroyed that happiness now—”

“I know, dear. Nothing will destroy it,” I said.

“I love you, Michael,” she said. She hadn’t said that since Lillian died. “And having her come back to us like this frees me to love you even more.”

I couldn’t speak. I felt trapped, yet pulled in different directions. In a tearful, joyful moment, Miriam had made the world fragile and thin again. I couldn’t be abrupt or loud. All my anger had to be subdued. The walls of the house had become mere membranes. Everything in it was made of thin china. There would be no slamming of doors, no heavy footsteps. There would be only softness and the gentle tinkle of Lillian’s chimes.

I turned and walked out to climb the stairs slowly, thoughtfully. The terror that had come as a result of Alice Tooey’s tale to her husband had filled me with an insane paranoia, and now my moments with Miriam had left me with a mixture of anxiety and compassion. I was shaking, crumbling with every footstep, as though the bones in my legs were melting and being absorbed in my flesh. Before I reached the top of the stairway, I thought I would flow back down and become a puddle at the bottom.

The image of that drawing in Miriam’s hands flashed before me. That dog was definitely the new dog, and the style of the artwork was definitely Lillian’s style. Was I still of this world or had we all died with Lillian?

I stood before the nurse’s room. She was within, waiting for me. When I raised my hand to tap on her door, I felt my heartbeat in the palm of my hand. My fingers seemed to merge with the wood. I didn’t think I had knocked, but the nurse called, “Come in,” and I entered.

She was as I had found her before, dressed in that blue dashiki. She was seated on the bed, leaning back and bracing herself with her arms to her side, her palms down.

“You’re early,” she said. “That’s good. Close the door.”

I heard the door click behind me, but I didn’t feel my arm go out to close it. I was filled with a strange numbness. I knew that I had walked in further because I was closer to her, but I couldn’t feel my feet. I looked down to see if they were still there.

“You look very upset,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“A friend of mine at the bank,” I began. I paused as though I expected she would know the rest.

“Yes?”

“His wife called and said she saw you and Miriam pushing the wheelchair outside.”

“So?”

“She said there was someone in the chair ... a little girl.”

“Ridiculous,” the nurse said. Her eyes grew small, but nothing else changed in her face.

“She recognized the clothing. Their daughter and Lillian were close friends. Lillian often stayed at their house. She knew Lillian’s wardrobe.”

“Oh,” the nurse said smiling.

“What?”

“We had one of Lillian’s outfits in the chair. The woman probably saw the outfit and imagined she saw someone. Going by fast ... the mind plays tricks.”

“Why did you put an outfit in the chair?”

“Miriam had picked it out for Lillian. She wanted her to wear it when we took her outside.”

What she said made sense, but I was disappointed. I realized with a shock that I wanted her to say, “I’ve brought your daughter back from the dead. She’s in her room now. Go see her. She’s been waiting for you to come home. Listen, Lillian’s calling.”

I fought to control myself.

“This ... this drawing Miriam has—”

“Yes. That was a very good idea, don’t you think? Miriam had a great reaction when I gave it to her. She’s coming along much faster than I expected. It’s not going to be much longer now before we have her confronting reality. I’m sure of it.”

“But she thinks ... I mean, it was so much like one of Lillian’s drawings. How did you do it?”

She sat up straight, the dress pouring around her. I saw a look of pride in her face. I could see that she was eager to describe what she had clone.

“I took a few of Lillian’s old drawings and traced parts of them out. Then I put them together in the form of the new dog,” she said.

“It was something of a shock.”

“I can see that. You’ve had a tough afternoon. You’re very uptight. I’m glad you’ve decided to meditate,” she said, and she got up to go to her dresser. She opened the top drawer and took out a small pill case. “I want you to take one of these,” she said. She held out a pill and took a glass of water off the top of the dresser.

“What is it?”

“Something that will help you relax. A muscle relaxant, nothing very strong, don’t worry. I don’t want to cloud your mind, but I want you to lose some of that tension. Take it,” she commanded. I went to her and lifted the pill from her palms. I didn’t know what it was; all pills look the same to me, but she was so intimidating, like any nurse bringing medication to a patient. “Go on,” she said, “we have a lot to do.” I took the glass of water and put the pill to my tongue. Her eyes never moved from me. I swallowed the pill in a quick gulp. She put the glass back on the dresser. “Sit on the bed,” she said. “Let me take your jacket.” I slipped out of it, and she draped it over the web seat chair. “You look frightened,” she said, something of a smile on her face.

“It’s just that I never did anything like this before.”

“It won’t be hard.”

“Shouldn’t I get into my pajamas? You said—”

“We’ll do without them today.” Her smile now was warm, even inviting, but more like a mask. I felt as though I were being enticed into some sort of trap, or at least coaxed into something that might turn out to be unpleasant. She reminded me of a dental receptionist smiling and saying, “You’re next, Mr. Oberman.”

“Take off your shoes,” she ordered as soon as I sat on the bed. As I did so, she sat on her knees on the bed and moved behind me. When I had my shoes off, she pressed her fingers against both my temples and began to rub gently in soft circles. “Close your eyes,” she said, “and try to relax. Loosen up. Unflex your back muscles and your neck muscles. You feel like a mannequin. Relax, relax.”

“It’s not easy,” I said, but I felt something happening. The little pill she gave me was already into my bloodstream. I was sure of it.

Her fingers moved down to the back of my neck. She had remarkably strong hands, probably from lifting and turning patients. There was a rhythm and determination to her pressing and rubbing. Despite my nervousness, my body began to slacken and become less and less rigid.

“It does feel good,” I said.

“Of course. Unbutton your shirt,” she said. She remained directly behind me. I did as she said, and then I felt her breath on my neck. She reached around me and took the shirt to help me slip out of it. I was wearing an undershirt, too. Without speaking, she lifted it at the bottom. My arms shot up cooperatively, and she took it off quickly.

Immediately her hands were on my back. I felt her trace my spinal cord and move out over the muscles. I knew she had an excellent knowledge of anatomy because her fingers pressed in at just the right places, massaging and soothing tendons, relaxing muscles, and moving over my back as though my skin were transparent.

When she reached my waist, she paused. Then her hands came around and her fingers unfastened my belt. Surprised, I looked down and watched her unbutton the pants. She took hold of my zipper and pulled it down smoothly. I held my breath.

“Slip out of them,” she whispered, her lips practically touching my ear. I felt her breasts pressed against me, and their firmness sent a warmth through my chest. The feeling was telegraphed with electric swiftness to my loins. A nudging and a pressure began to build in my underpants. When I stood up to lower my trousers, a tingling started inside my thighs.

Her fingers moved to the elastic band of my underwear, and she made the garment follow my pants downward. There was a small hesitation as it found an obstacle in my growing erection, but she was gentle. Her fingers came around to the sides and lifted the garment until I snapped free of it. I watched my underwear move down to my knees. I kept my hands one on top of the other, pressed against my chest.

“Step out of it,” she said, “and sit back again.”

How fast she had gotten me nude. I think having my back to her made it easier for me, although I recognized that I wanted it, that I enjoyed the sensations. Despite my nakedness, my body was warm all over. Her hands were at me, moving methodically over my shoulders and down my arms, rubbing and stroking. I looked down at my pulsating erection, which had swollen and reddened. Her fingers were at my waist, kneading my flesh. Soon she moved under my buttocks and practically lifted me off the bed.

Every part of my body that she touched responded. Even after her hands left an area and moved on to another, the sensations remained. It was as though she had a hundred hands and could leave a pair at every spot to work. My body trembled with pleasure; my eyes moved spasmodically against my closed lids. Although my breathing was regular, it grew deeper and deeper.

“The power of the mind over the body,” she whispered, “is incredible.”

“Yes,” I said. I could barely utter a sound. Her hands left my body, and she moved just enough to take her breasts from my body. I leaned back, but she wouldn’t touch me.

“I want you to open your eyes,” she said. Her voice was harder now, harder and overpowering. I clung to every syllable; my mind opened to every sound she made. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to surrender to her, to have her consume me and wash my body with her sexual force. My eyelids fluttered with my effort. I wanted to dwell in the erotic darkness. But she would not permit it. “Open them,” she commanded. She nudged me in the ribs, and my eyes opened.

“They’re open.”

“Good. Now look at the doorknob. Concentrate on the doorknob. Think hard about it.” She paused as I did it. “Try to touch it with your mind,” she said. “Feel it, taste it, taste the metal, feel it turning. Think of its essence, its color, its odor. Can you touch it? Are you touching it?”

“Yes.”

“It gets bigger and bigger when you touch it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s going to grow as big as you. It’s going to swallow you into it. You want it around you. Think of it; think of nothing but it,” she said. “It’s growing,” she whispered. “It’s growing.”

After a while that doorknob did seem to get bigger, and I felt myself drawn to it. I stared at it as hard as I could, and the longer I did, the more it seemed as though I were moving toward it. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I was moving off the bed, drawing closer and closer to that knob. Soon, I could see nothing but the knob. It filled the screen of my vision.

All the while she was whispering things into my ear, talking about the knob, making it seem like such an object of pleasure. I longed to touch it, to taste it, to press it against my face. When I started to concentrate on the turning of it, I actually tilted my body in the direction of the turn. I was grasping it with my mind, willing it to move centimeter by centimeter.

Her voice became fluid; her words oozing through my brain, trickling down my spine, lifting me from the bed and wrapping me around the knob. I was caressing it, kissing it, pressing myself against it. She was telling me to stroke it, to touch it with the tips of my fingers, to lick it and take it into my mouth.

“Draw it around you,” she said, “like a metallic womb.”

Suddenly I felt myself growing smaller and smaller. The doorknob ballooned around me. I was slipping into the neck of it. The doorknob on the other side was drawing me. I reached up to prevent myself from falling and sliding, but the walls of the metal knob were as slick as ice.

First I fell into the darkness of the outside knob. Then, like a fetus, I developed and grew. A pinpoint of light came through the opening for the door key. The light grew brighter and bigger as the opening widened. I felt myself being pushed toward it. The very walls of the knob contracted and gently moved me along. The opening widened enough for my feet and then my legs, my hips and my torso. I was sliding out.

As I emerged, I grew bigger and bigger until I resumed my normal size. Now I was standing on the other side of the door, and the knob looked like an ordinary knob. I felt cold because I was naked, so I knocked.

Mrs. Randolph opened the door and greeted me all smiles. Then she drew me to her, and I fell into the depths of her blue dashiki. She wrapped me in it and brought me back to the bed. When I awoke, I was lying on it face up and she was naked.

“What happened?” I asked her. She was kneeling beside me, patting my forehead with a damp washcloth. Her face was flushed as though she had been in a steam bath. The redness that I had seen emerging from the top of her cleavage appeared under her breasts and over her stomach as well. It made her breasts whiter and their nipples a much brighter almond. Those nipples had risen firmly and were extended fully. As she leaned toward me, I longed to lift my head and touch them with the tip of my tongue.

Her smallest movement brought a quake in her bosom. Her breasts were so firm that it was just a slight shudder, but the motion was magnetic. When I could gaze downward, I followed the lines of her stomach to the inside of her thighs. They looked soft and warm and filled with promise. She sat back and watched me visually explore her body.

“What happened?” I repeated.

“You had a vision,” she said, “a true meditative experience. How do you feel?”

“Strange. Like I’m floating. I feel very light, filled with hydrogen. I think I’m going to rise to the ceiling.” I laughed. I was a little giddy. She didn’t smile, but there was a look of pleasure in her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, “you might.”

There was a pause during which I continued to gaze at her body, traveling from her neck down. As I reached her waist, she took my left hand and brought it to the inside of her thighs. She moved her legs apart just enough for my fingers and palm to slip within. In a moment I began to feel her wet, warm softness. I blinked slowly. Things were becoming hazy again, and I fought to keep my full awareness.

Her left hand moved up between my legs until she cupped my balls and fingered the stem of my erection. She had it in a soft, scissors grip and tugged gently until she had me at my fullest and hardest. I squirmed in exquisite agony. I closed my eyes and turned my body toward her.

She pushed my shoulder back to the bed and straddled me. I watched her lower herself, taking my penis in her right hand and guiding it carefully as she descended. She took it into her in a single, smooth motion. I slid the palms of my hands under my buttocks and lifted myself upward to make the furthest entry possible and then brought my arms around so I could reach up and massage her breasts and stroke the stiffened nipples. She sat up straighter, and I had to lift myself awkwardly to fully enjoy her bosom. Her pistonlike action drove me flat against the bed.

All the while her eyes never closed. She scrutinized me as though she were putting me through some medical procedure. I thought she was analyzing my complexion, observing the dilation of my pupils, monitoring the quickness of my breath and the very pulse of my heart. The sterile aroma of rubbing alcohol traveled down to my nostrils. I had to close my eyes. I was afraid she might somehow steal my sexual pleasure just before the climax of my ecstasy.

I listened to the sound of the bedsprings, my own groans, and my own heavy breathing. I reached out to touch her thighs, but she caught my hands with hers and held my arms away from both our bodies. She began to move more vigorously, pumping and squeezing my hands in synchronization with her bounce. I couldn’t keep up with her momentum, but the pitch of my excitement was such that I exploded in long, hot spurts. When it ended, she released her grip on my hands and I opened my eyes.

As she straightened up, she seemed to grow taller and wider. Her breasts looked enormous. I shriveled beneath her. She dismounted and took the ends of the dashiki to wrap it around me until only my face showed. Then she went to the closet and took out a bathrobe for herself.

“Just lay there,” she said, “until you feel solid again.” I nodded obediently and watched her go out to the bathroom. After a moment I closed my eyes. Because of the dashiki, my darkness was a blue black darkness. I felt myself drifting and sinking. I fell asleep for a few minutes, but when she came back into the room, I awoke. She studied my face, framed in blue. “You’re coming back,” she said. “What you need to do is take a shower, lay down for a few minutes, and then dress for dinner. I’ll be going down to help Miriam.”

As soon as she mentioned Miriam’s name, the reality of what I had done hit me. Regardless of how it had happened, I had, in fact, made love to another woman. Up until now, I had made love to only one woman in my life, and from what I knew and believed, she had made love only with me. I could say the nurse seduced me; I could say that it was the result of more than six months of frustration and denial, but no matter how I characterized and explained it, there was only one conclusion: I had betrayed Miriam.

I thought about her working downstairs, thinking I was up here getting some therapeutic treatment. All the while she was happy for me and even excited by the prospect that the nurse could be of some benefit to my health. I thought about the times we had sworn our endless faithfulness to each other, times when we denied that their could ever be anything to come between us. Miriam had always been so fragile and delicate, so precious to me. If she ever found out what really happened in here ...

All of it would come thundering down on her—Lillian’s death, my infidelity, her own vulnerability, the sense of loneliness, the terror that comes from having no one to believe in—and it would be my fault, my fault.

I sat up to look for my clothing, which the nurse had piled neatly at the corner of the bed. Silently, I dressed. She put on her uniform. I didn’t want to say anything to her before I left, but she said, “I’ll tell you when I want you to come back for another session.” As I closed the door, I thought I heard her laugh, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too much in a fog, like someone who had just awoken from a very deep sleep and had trouble focusing and orienting himself to consciousness.

The moment I entered my bedroom, my guilt intensified. How many times had Miriam and I made love in that bed. What I had just done with the nurse was nothing like it. Miriam and I made love with affection and care. We were soft with each other and always found mystery and thrill with each other’s bodies. I never felt sick or perverted afterward. I wondered if I would ever make love to Miriam again like that. The nurse had ravaged my sex. I was unclean and certainly not good enough for anyone as pure as Miriam.

I showered, but I was still not totally myself afterward so I decided to continue following the nurse’s prescription. I put on my underwear and lay down. I had no head pain, but I felt like a man fighting a hangover. I closed my eyes, thinking I would take a ten-minute nap, but when I opened them again, I realized rather quickly that a considerable amount of time had passed. In fact, I had slept three hours.

The house was dead quiet. Curious, I dressed quickly and headed downstairs. I knew there was no one in the nurse’s room because the door was partially open and the room was dark. I moved down the stairs quietly, listening hard.

Downstairs, the kitchen light was off and the dining room light had been turned down very low. It made the room soft and seductive, but there were no sounds; there was no one in it. Although the hall light was off, I could see clearly down it because light spilled out from the living room. Again I listened hard, and again I heard nothing. What were they doing?

“Miriam?” I didn’t realize how softly I had called. “Miriam?”

“We’re in here,” she said.

Perhaps it was my sense of guilt, but I thought I heard something accusatory, something threatening in the tone of Miriam’s voice. I walked slowly, even cautiously, to the door and peered in.

They were both sitting there on the couch, side by side, looking out at me. The nurse’s uniform looked whiter than ever, giving her even more of a crisp, authoritative demeanor. She wore no makeup, and her face had a bland complexion. Her eyes were unflinching; her face so still she looked frozen and as cold as Death itself. It was terribly unnerving.

Miriam’s smile was different. She looked confused, half frightened, half happy. I got the distinct feeling that my next few words and how I said them would make all the difference. Suddenly I felt thrown into a new crisis. I looked to the nurse for some guidance, but she simply glared at me threateningly. Could she have ... would she have ... told her?

“Well,” Miriam said, “it’s about time you came down.”

I thought I caught a quick, side glance at Mrs. Randolph, who didn’t look back. She kept her hands in her lap, her posture straight. Her stillness was intimidating. She radiated with such power. She would have made a great judge during the Reign of Terror in France. I was standing there with my hands clasped before me and rested against my body, my head slightly bowed, my eyes moving nervously from side to side like a man about to be guillotined.

“I slept longer than I expected.”

“Meditation can by physically exhausting,” Mrs. Randolph said. There was a wry smile on her face. I looked quickly at Miriam, but she had no reaction.

“That’s right, Michael,” she said.

“Especially if you’re like Michael and you get right into it,” the nurse added. There was laughter around her eyes now. She enjoyed watching me squirm.

“I suppose you’ll have more respect for what Mrs. Randolph says now, Michael,” Miriam said condescendingly. “She is a professional.”

“I always respected the things Mrs. Randolph said.” The nurse and I locked eyes. She closed and opened hers gently. She made me feel as though I were paying homage to her.

“All of Mrs. Randolph’s ideas have been good ones,” Miriam said. She said it with such force it was as if she wanted me to repeat it as one would a catechism.

“Yes,” I said. I still hadn’t really entered the room. I was standing in the doorway.

“And all of them have helped Lillian.”

“I guess I missed supper,” I said, hoping to change the subject.

“I said, and all of them have helped Lillian, Michael.”

“Yes, dear, they have.”

“While you were sleeping,” Miriam went on, obviously determined to deliver a thought, “Mrs. Randolph pointed out another problem we have yet to confront.”

“Oh?”

“All this time Lillian’s been falling behind in her schoolwork. One day when she’s able to go back, she’ll be at such a disadvantage. It could be very discouraging.”

“Yes,” I said, relieved that the problem was only something to do with Lillian.

“Fortunately, Michael, Mrs. Randolph has some teaching experience. Did you know that?”

“I sort of gathered it,” I said, but my sarcasm was lost on her.

“So she’s going to start tutoring Lillian.”

“Tutoring Lillian?”

“Of course, Michael. What else could we mean?” Her smile widened. She was close to laughing at me. I was annoyed, but I contained myself and simply nodded.

“That’s nice.”

“It’s an additional duty, so we’ll pay her more.”

The nurse began to take on a look of great self-satisfaction. It was nauseating, but I could do nothing.

“Of course, dear.”

“And this means that she’ll be with us for some time,” Miriam added, her voice taking on a light, happy, childish tone. “Some time,” she muttered, her eyes even wider. The idea put her in another world. I looked at Mrs. Randolph.

She was smiling.

9

FRIDAYS ARE ALWAYS ROUGH AT A BANK, BUT I HAD forgotten just how rough they could be. Like most banks, ours remained open longer to accommodate people before the weekend. I did my best to concentrate on my work, but every once in a while I had a rush of sexual imagery pass before me and I had to pause. My sense of guilt was such that I actually looked around to see if anyone could tell what sort of thoughts I had just had. Perhaps it was written on my face. I felt flushed and continually fiddled with my collar and loosened my tie. I didn’t realize how much I was doing that until Dorothy Wilson left her desk across the lobby and came to my window.

“Is something wrong, Michael?”

I looked up with surprise. I know I must have appeared like someone who had just been caught with his hands in the till. She wore the most peculiar smile on her face, as though my face were changing right before her eyes. I felt like some sort of monster, someone who couldn’t prevent himself from turning into a werewolf.

“No. Why do you ask that?” I wasn’t only annoyed; I was downright nasty. The smile faded.

“I ... I thought you might not be feeling well. You look so uncomfortable.”

“Things must be pretty slow at your desk if you’ve been watching me all afternoon.”

She didn’t say anything else. She just turned and walked away. I didn’t regret my responses. At the moment I was feeling so bad about what I had done with Mrs. Randolph that I hated all womankind. Miriam didn’t deserve someone like me. She was so much better. Even now, a day after it happened, I was reliving it as though it had happened only an hour ago. My body was hot. I was even experiencing an erection.

When customers came to my window, I tried to hurry them along. Some resented it. Unfortunately, the one mathematical mistake I made I made with a rather loudmouthed woman. She couldn’t simply point it out to me and leave it at that. She had to bust in in front of the man who had just stepped up to the counter and scream at me in what must have been close to the top of her voice. “You gave me twenty dollars too little! Look! Look!”

“All right,” I said. “All right. Just a moment.”

No, she wouldn’t have it that way. I had to push aside the transaction I had just begun and take care of her. Some people left my line because of that. It attracted everyone’s attention, and I was a great deal more belligerent with people because of it.

Charley Tooey didn’t say anything to me all day. He hardly looked my way, even when the woman made her big scene. I knew why. He didn’t believe my explanation about the girl in the wheelchair. Frankly, at this point I didn’t care if he believed it or not. I was curt with him, and when he said his wife swore she saw a child, I said, “Tell her to take the other way to town.”

“That’s a helluva answer, Michael.”

“Look, I’ve got work to do,” I said. He walked away, shaking his head. I was much happier with him not talking to me anyway.

When I called Miriam, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to say something that would make things right again, even though she didn’t know anything was wrong. I spoke as softly as I could, and I was as loving and agreeable as I could be. There was nothing in her voice to indicate anything was different. She was just as excited about things as she was the night before. I was close to tears and pressed my hand against my forehead and my forehead against the wall. Naturally my posture attracted the attention of another busybody. Peter Curtiz had to interrupt.

“Is there anything wrong, Michael?” he asked. I didn’t hear him come up behind me.

“No,” I snapped, and I turned my back on him immediately. I heard him walk off. Miriam talked right through it.

“I want you to bring home pads of paper and pencils and pens.”

“Fine, dear.”

“Get some crayons, too. She needs new crayons. She might have to color in maps or something. And current events magazines ... get some. You know, like Newsweek or Time. Mrs. Randolph says we don’t get the right magazines. She wants the latest Cosmopolitan and Redbook.”

“OK.”

“Oh, and Lillian needs a ruler. I can’t find her ruler.”

“One ruler.”

“Get two. They’re not expensive.”

“Two rulers. How are you doing, dear?”

“I’m doing fine, Michael. Why?”

“I was just thinking about you. I’m still not used to being away from you.”

“That’s silly, Michael. You’re not really away from me. You’re at work. Most husbands and wives are separated during the day. If I didn’t have Lillian to think about, I might be looking for a job myself. Mrs. Randolph says I should think in those terms. She wants me to have more independence.”

“Mrs. Randolph should stick only to medical problems.”

“That’s not fair, Michael, and not right either. Mrs. Randolph is a worldly woman. She’s a woman of many resources. I should have half of what she has.”

“You have more. Don’t say that. You’re twice the person she is. Why you have more kindness, more beauty, more ...” I was vaguely aware of someone behind me telling me to speak lower.

“Don’t get so upset, Michael. It was only a manner of speaking. You won’t forget any of those things I told you to get now, will you?”

“No.”

“Because she’s going to need them, Michael, and I’ll just send you all the way back.”

“I promise. I won’t forget. See you soon, dear.”

After I hung up, I just stood there by the phone. I turned when I felt someone touch my shoulder. It was Peter Curtiz again.

“What?”

“Mr. Kasofsky wants to see you before you leave,” he said. I looked toward Kasofsky’s office. Charley Tooey was in there. I could see they were having a rather intense conversation. Charley was gesturing emphatically, and Mr. Kasofsky was nodding thoughtfully. When he looked my way, I went back to my window. After Charley left his office, he left the bank without so much as gazing in my direction. I proofed out quickly and accurately and then headed for Mr. Kasofsky’s office.

Mr. Kasofsky was a man in his late fifties. His red hair had thinned and grayed considerably, yet his face always had that flushed look characteristic of people who worked outdoors. I could never understand it. I once mentioned it to Mrs. Randolph, and she said it might mean that he suffered from high blood pressure. I doubted that because he always looked like a man who had things under control. He was certainly an effective bank president and always had the appearance of stability, organization, and efficiency. He was the kind of a man people would trust with their life’s savings.

When I entered, he looked up and gestured toward the seat next to his desk. I took it quickly, leaned back, and crossed my legs. He studied me for a moment and sat back himself, although he did not look relaxed.

“You know,” he began, “I remember as a little boy going out to your place with my father to get milk from your grandfather. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No. At least, I don’t recall your telling me that.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Nothing tastes as good as fresh milk. But you, of all people, know that.”

“I’ve always hated it and preferred store-bought milk.”

“Have you? I don’t know ... my brothers and I used to fight over who would get the cream at the top of the bottle.” He laughed. “Days that are long gone.”

“All I remember was that my grandfather and my father were slaves to that place.”

“I suppose that was true, only they didn’t think of it that way, did they?”

I shrugged. I really didn’t know. I had never discussed it with my father. He knew I hated the work, and that was that. I rarely initiated any conversations about the farm.

“They didn’t know much of anything else,” I suggested. He agreed. There was a long pause during which he obviously phrased his thoughts with care. I looked away until he began.

“Michael, I know why you wanted to come back to the bank, and I think that’s admirable, admirable. There is something to be said for work after all, eh?”

“Something to be said for getting out and doing things, yes.”

“I know your situation has been pretty difficult and pretty painful. I sympathize with you, believe me. Everyone here does,” he added as though it just occurred to him.

“Really,” I said dryly.

“Oh yes, everyone. There’s been a lot of concern about you.”

“Maybe too much.”

“Maybe. In any case,” he said leaning forward, his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped before him, “it might just be that you started this too soon. I know getting the nurse and all has given you some new freedom—”

“A great deal of freedom. She’s an extremely competent person.”

“So I gather; so I gather.” He nodded and bit his lower lip. Then he sat back again. “Michael, I’ll be straight out with you. When you called to come back, I was very happy about it and eager to get you here again as part of our operation. You’re a home-grown boy, and you have always been an efficient employee. However, I was worried about your temperament. You have been through a great deal. More than any man deserves. The question is, are you really ready to come back?”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’ve been watching you closely this week. I’m concerned. Not for the bank so much as for you,” he added quickly, pressing his palm at the air between us. “It could be that the pressure of the work ... dealing with various personalities, many of which I know are not pleasant, dealing with your own problems, even though the nurse is there, all of it ... might still be too much for you.”

“You want me to leave the bank. That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?”

“Extend your sabbatical. A little more time is all you need, I’m sure. We’ll always be able to work you in here.”

“I know I was a little on edge today. I had a bad night.” It’s Mrs. Randolph’s fault, I thought quickly, Mrs. Randolph’s ....

“Michael,” he said holding both hands up, “you don’t have to give any explanations. No one with any sense of decency would require it.”

“You want me to leave,” I repeated, almost under my breath. Then a thought occurred. “Did Charley Tooey say something? Did he fill your mind with crazy ideas? Is that what happened here?”

“No one has to say anything to me. I know my employees better than some of them know themselves. Listen—”

“No,” I said, “I don’t want to listen. I gave him an explanation that would have made sense to anyone else, but his wife ... his wife is more hysterical than mine. Mrs. Randolph gave me a perfectly plausible explanation. Any reasonable person—”

“Michael.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the sharpness of it stopped me. “Look, do yourself a favor. Think over what I said. You have the weekend. Give it a day or two and then let me know. If you want to stick with it, then we’ll talk some more about it.”

I didn’t want to say anything more to him. I certainly didn’t want to argue or beg for my job. I could see that he had developed his ideas and there was no changing him. I stood up slowly, keeping absolutely tight control of myself.

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

“Good. Have a nice weekend, Michael,” he said. He had said that on so many Fridays for so many years that he no longer knew what it meant. I left quickly.

I was shaking. Everyone left in the bank was looking at me. Dorothy Wilson was standing at her desk, embracing herself. She wore a look of sorrow and pity, and I hated her for it. The bank guard eyed me suspiciously. Maybe he thought I would go berserk and start throwing things around in a mad rage. I wanted to shout something obscene at all of them, but I simply walked out the door and went to the parking lot to get into my car.

I sat there for a while trying to calm myself. I didn’t want to start driving in the condition I was in. I needed composure, composure to face Miriam and the nurse. Thinking about Miriam reminded me of her list of things so I got out of the car and walked up to the department store. The walk and the shopping had a cooling effect. I was able to get hold of myself and start out for home.

All during the ride home, I kept thinking that I was being punished for my infidelity. It was my own fault. Something precious and important had been shattered, and I was paying for it. If I hadn’t had sex with Mrs. Randolph, I wouldn’t have done what I had done in the bank and none of this would have happened. At first I had been afraid that Miriam would find out. Now I had this insane idea that Lillian knew.

The dead hover about us and know our most secret thoughts and actions. They linger. They become our good and bad angels. God assigns them this role. Call them ghosts, spirits, or souls. It’s all the same. We are haunted by the ones we loved the most. It’s why we can’t forget them. The closer we were with them, the longer they remain with us. I believed this; I was terrified by it.

Wherever Lillian was, she was upset with what I had done, for I had not only betrayed Miriam, I had betrayed her. I betrayed what we three had together—our own private sanctuary, an existence separate from the hardships of the outside world. Insulated in the farm house, we could shut out the noise and the commotion. We could read to the sound of a delicate music box. We could speak in soft voices and tell happy stories. We could go out on the porch and look at the stars and listen to the sounds of the night, and never would we be afraid because we had one another.

Even after Lillian’s death, Miriam would not let go of her hand, and I would watch the shadows and listen to the tinkle of her chimes. Something remained; something of the three of us was still there. I had polluted it when I had sex with the nurse. She was not of our world. She had come in disguise. She was supposed to cure our madness and bring us back to a fruitful existence. Instead she had made the darkness deeper.

As I sped down the highway, I muttered in chantlike fashion. “Please forgive me, Lillian, forgive me. Daddy will make it all good again.”

I was losing everything—my family, my job, my sanity. Maybe it wasn’t important that we cure Miriam, I thought. Maybe we shouldn’t bury Lillian again. Maybe things should be permitted to find their own natural end. One day Miriam would wake up and realize that Lillian was gone and we would go on.

We should get rid of the nurse, I thought. Mrs. Randolph must leave. It would take a few days, but I would have things back to what they were and I would be able to deal with my life again. I wanted that woman out of my house. As I drew closer and closer, the thought became an obsession. I knew it would be difficult to convince Miriam. Somehow I had to make her see that what she thought were Mrs. Randolph’s contributions were really meaningless things. She’ll listen to me, I told myself; she has to.

I knew what I would do. I would call Dr. Turner’s office in the morning. He said I could if I had something important. He said Mrs. Greenstreet would relay the message. Shortly afterward, he would call me and I would tell him that now I was positive—Mrs. Randolph had to go. It’s not working out, I would tell him. You don’t have to be a doctor to know that, I’d say. That would be that. I’d put her on the phone and he would tell her to leave. We might get another nurse later on, if need be. That’s it, I thought, I’ll tell Miriam we’ll get another nurse.

Miriam greeted me at the door. She was anxious that I hadn’t forgotten all the things she listed over the telephone. I wanted to tell her right away about the bank and my meeting with Mr. Kasofsky, but she was too excited about Mrs. Randolph tutoring Lillian.

“Imagine,” she said, “a nurse who can also be a teacher.”

“Yes. Where is she?”

“Oh. She’s upstairs in her room. She told me to tell you as soon as you came in that you should go up for your second meditation session. She said she expected you would be very eager.”

“She did, did she? Well I’m not interested in meditation anymore. I think it’s a farce, just like some other things around here.”

“Michael!”

“Listen to me, Miriam.” I reached out to take her hand, but she stepped away.

“No,” she said. “I’ve got to make supper.” She started away.

“Miriam, wait.” She continued on. I could have pursued her and forced her to listen, but I could see that forcing her wasn’t the way. There had to be a different approach. I looked up the stairs. The arrogant Mrs. Randolph, I thought. She’s expecting me in her room. My entire day at the bank came back at me—the faces of customers, the curiosity of the staff, Mr. Kasofsky’s polite way of firing me—all of it. I had to take a stand somewhere. I was tired of being pushed around.

I practically lunged at the steps and ran up the stairway. I stopped before Mrs. Randolph’s door to compose myself, and then I knocked. This time I rapped hard enough for her to hear me even if she were meditating in the closet. The door frame rattled.

“Just come in,” she said. “It’s not locked. Well,” she said when I thrust the door open, “I told Miriam you’d be eager, but I didn’t think you’d be this eager.” Her smile was sickening. She wore only a bra and a white slip. Because of the light coming from behind her, I could see clearly through the slip. She wasn’t wearing any panties. She had told me one had to dress comfortably to meditate. Now I thought, that was just part of her entrapment. Even that first time I looked in on her and discovered her naked in meditation was simply a planned enticement. I felt sure of it.

“I’m not eager. That is, I’m not eager for your meditation.”

“Oh?” she said, raising her eyebrows. I could see she thought I meant I wanted to skip it and go right to sexual relations.

“What happened in here last night sickened me.”

“Is that a fact?” Her smiled faded, and her eyes became small.

“Yes, it’s a fact. The truth is it’s been bothering me all day. So much so that I couldn’t perform my job well at the bank.”

“My, my.”

“I don’t intend for it to happen again.”

“I see.” She shrugged. I was encouraged by her nonchalance because I had expected a more violent reaction.

“I don’t think you do see. What happened here last night is just a part of it. I’m unhappy with most everything. I don’t think you’re working out. What I mean to say is I think we’d be better off if you would leave. I’m willing to pay you for two more weeks. I think that’s fair.”

“Really now?” She looked amused. “Does Miriam know about this?”

“Miriam is not in any condition to make such decisions.”

“Perhaps you’re not either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re upset about what you did in here last night and you’re acting very selfishly. You’d like to forget about it and so you want me to leave, disappear as though none of it did happen. That won’t work.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. I have a professional responsibility, you know. Whether you’re willing to recognize it or not, I am making progress with Miriam.”

“I don’t think so.”

She paused and stared at me for a moment. I didn’t back off; I didn’t look away.

“What are you going to tell her, that you asked me to leave because you and I had sexual relations?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s the truth. She’ll have to know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s not stupid. I told you that before. She’ll know something is up between us, and she’ll want to know what.”

“Well, I wouldn’t tell her that.”

“I would.”

Blood left my face. I actually felt it turn white. Her glare was determined and piercing. There was viciousness in this woman, viciousness that I had not anticipated. I began to weaken. Mrs. Randolph had won over Miriam’s trust. She was a clever, conniving woman. I was sure she would find a convincing way to tell Miriam.

“If you did that ... you might, might damage her even more.”

“What do you care about that? Here I am having success with her and you want me out just because I’m sexually attractive to you and you can’t control your lust.”

“That’s not so,” I protested, but even at that moment, my eyes did feast on the exposed portion of her bosom.

“There is work to be done here yet,” she said. “I’ll tell you when it’s time for me to leave.” She took a step toward me. “Now get out of my room. If Miriam knew what you really came in here for—”

“This is outrageous,” I said, but with nowhere the strength I had when I first began. “I’m going to speak to Dr. Turner—”

“So am I. I’m beginning to think you want to keep your wife in her dreadful condition. That’s another reason why you want to get rid of me.”

I couldn’t even respond to that accusation. My eyes widened, and my mouth opened and closed. I backed up to the door and felt for the knob behind me. She kept coming, her hands on her hips, her face red with indignation. Even her breasts seemed threatening.

“Maybe we should talk more about the accident,” she said. “Maybe we should all know more about that night.”

“Stop it,” I said.

“Get out. I want to be alone so I can meditate long enough to calm myself down so I can enjoy dinner.” A smile returned to her face. “Did Miriam tell you? She’s making my favorite meal—veal Parmesan. We’re having an Italian feast. We were thinking of pizza for an appetizer. Lillian loves pizza. You’ll have to go get it so don’t get too comfortable.”

“No,” I said, but it was more like a whisper. Her smile widened as I slipped out of her room and shut the door.

For a few moments I turned around stupidly in the hallway, first looking at my room, then Lillian’s, then the stairway, and back at Mrs. Randolph’s door. How did it happen? How had she beaten me down? Miriam, I thought. I’ve got to get to Miriam before she does. I’ve got to make her understand.

I ran down the stairs again and went into the kitchen. Miriam was working on the meal the nurse described. She didn’t even look up when I entered. I kept thinking there must be a way, there must.

“Well,” I said just to get her attention.

“You didn’t go in to meditate?”

“No, no. I’ve been talking to a lot of people about that,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could.

“Not many of them thought it had much validity. All it did was make me tired.”

“I can’t agree,” she said turning back to her work.

“Well, you know it’s a fad. Mrs. Randolph is into fads. Actually, Miriam, you have to agree she’s something of a kook.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking,” I said taking a seat at the small breakfast table, “you were probably right from the beginning. We didn’t need a full-time nurse here.”

“I’ve changed my mind about that, Michael. You were the one who was right. And Dr. Turner, too,” she added.

“I know what I said in the beginning, but I’ve been talking to Dr. Turner about it. He didn’t really insist on a full-time nurse. He said we might need some assistance, that’s all. Maybe someone more on a part-time basis.”

“What are you talking about, Michael? With all that’s been happening, how can you even think of such a thing?”

“It is expensive,” I said. She gave me an icy stare. “We’ve got to consider that.”

“Since when did money make any difference when it came to what was good for Lillian?”

“I was just thinking that if we could do what was good for Lillian and save money at the same time ... money that we could apply to Lillian’s needs later on ...”

“I don’t think so, Michael.”

“You’re too dependent on her,” I snapped. I regretted it almost immediately because she looked so terribly sad.

“That’s not fair, Michael. That’s not fair at all. I do my share. I do as much as I can.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“What did you mean?”

“I meant ... well, when do you think we can be free of Mrs. Randolph?”

“Free of her?”

“I mean, when won’t we need her?”

“When Lillian is up and around on her own, more or less. I would think you would know that yourself, Michael. Really. Now if you want us to have supper tonight, you’d better let me work.”

Frustrated, I sat there quietly, racking my brain for another approach. The only way was to have her deal with some reality.

“I won’t be going back to work in the bank on Monday,” I said. She stopped working again and turned back to me.

“Why not?”

“They fired me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. Oh, they don’t make it sound as though they’re firing you. Mr. Kasofsky asked me to continue my leave of absence. Something like that. The effect is the same.”

“Why, Michael?”

“I guess I haven’t been doing a good job. I’ve been worrying too much. Maybe he’s right; maybe I did go back too quickly. In any case I’ll be around here again and I’ll be able to help out just like before, don’t you see? We won’t need so much extra assistance.”

“The kind of extra assistance Mrs. Randolph gives us, Michael, you can’t give. I’m really sorry about your losing the job. Why couldn’t you do something you’ve done so long? I mean, what specifically went wrong?”

I looked at her. If only I had the courage to tell her, I thought. Maybe I could take the steam out of Mrs. Randolph. Maybe Miriam would hate her as much as I now did. All I had to do was confess. I could make it sound as though the nurse had seduced me. It wasn’t far from the truth. Miriam might believe that. I considered it, but when I looked at that fragile face, those sad eyes and tender lips, I faltered.

“Just things in general,” I said.

“I knew you were too uptight. That’s why I was hoping you would give the meditation a chance.”

“No. No way,” I said as defiantly as I could.

“Too bad. When you have someone like Mrs. Randolph living in your house, available to you—”

“Miriam!”

“All right, Michael. All right. Maybe you should think about getting another job. Try a different bank.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ll all talk about it during and after dinner. Mrs. Randolph will have some ideas, I’m sure.”

“Will you stop putting so much faith in her? She’s just a nurse, for God’s sake, Miriam. She’s not some kind of god.”

“She’s a very intelligent woman, Michael. It’s no shame to recognize that. But it is a shame not to take advantage of someone like her,” she added quickly. “By the way, I’m making her favorite meal. You like it too. It’s—”

“I know. She told me.”

“Did she?” Miriam smiled widely. “She’s so pleased. I’m glad.”

“You’re spending more time pleasing her than you are me,” I said.

“Don’t be silly.”

I sat there for a while watching her work. She wore that soft, childlike smile, the one that expressed her contentment and pleasure with what she was doing. It reminded me of times when I sat here and watched her during the early years of our marriage. When Lillian was just a baby, I’d wheel the carriage into the kitchen and sit here rocking it and talking to Miriam. The three of us were always together, inseparable. My father used to comment about it. He’d say I was mothering the child or doting on my wife. “A man needs a man’s time alone,” he said. I think he was jealous because he never had such a family relationship.

My reverie was interrupted by Mrs. Randolph’s entrance. She was dressed in uniform, her hair up. I glared at her, but she maintained an expression of complete confidence. Miriam turned around, her face lighting up. I felt so defeated.

“Hi. Lillian hungry?”

“Starving,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Michael brought everything we need for the lessons. You can start tonight.”

“That’s good. The sooner, the better.” She turned to me. “I’m going to want you to go over to the school, Michael, and get some books. I’m sure they’ll cooperate with us,” she said.

“Of course, they will,” Miriam said. “Won’t they, Michael?”

“Of course.” I could barely talk. I had to look down at the table.

“Too bad Michael is giving up on your meditation instruction,” Miriam said. “He’s been so uptight at work that Mr. Kasofsky asked him to hold off coming back.”

“Is that so? When did that happen?”

“It happened today, didn’t it, Michael?”

“Yes.”

“Something happened today?” Mrs. Randolph asked. I didn’t respond.

“He says nothing specific, but I think maybe,” Miriam said.

“Is there something special that’s making you upset?” Mrs. Randolph said. She was turning the screw in me.

“No.”

“Meditation,” Miriam sang.

“I don’t think meditation was enough for him,” Mrs. Randolph said, her eyes on me, her face in a wry smile.

“Maybe you’ll give it another try,” Miriam said. “Michael?”

“I’d be willing to try again with him,” Mrs. Randolph said. Her smile grew wider.

“Michael, Mrs. Randolph is offering to try harder with you.”

“I heard her.”

“You see how uptight he is?”

“I see,” the nurse said. “If you change your mind, Michael, my room is always available.”

I was squirming now, looking down at the floor and twisting my fingers around each other. I wanted to get up and charge right out of the kitchen.

“Um, everything smells so good,” Mrs. Randolph said. “I can’t wait. Did you ask Michael to get the pizza?”

“That’s right. I forgot. Michael, we’d like you to go get a pizza for an appetizer. Go to that Pizza World place in Loch Sheldrake.”

“But that’s ten miles away.”

“We’ll warm it up when you get back,” Mrs. Randolph said. I looked up at her with all the hate I could muster, but she didn’t even blink.

“That’s right, Michael.”

“Lillian hasn’t had a piece of pizza for some time,” Mrs. Randolph said turning to Miriam.

“Michael?”

“All right, all right.” I got up. The nurse stepped back to let me pass through the door, but I think she deliberately leaned forward just as I started through. My arm caressed her breast and she smiled. I hurried on.

“Don’t go anywhere else, Michael,” Miriam called. “I have things timed just right.”

I put on my light jacket and stepped out on the porch. That damn dog was barking again, as loud as ever. I covered my ears with my hands, pressing until the pressure brought pain. Inside, Mrs. Randolph turned on the television set. I looked through the living room window. She was sitting in my chair, her feet up on the hassock. She held a tumbler of soda in her right hand and sat back comfortably. In the kitchen Miriam continued to work on dinner. I hadn’t changed anything. In fact, things seemed worse.

I stepped down and walked toward the car like a zombie. My sense of defeat made everything seem heavy, ponderous, difficult. The prospective ride to the pizza place seemed like some kind of torture. I slammed the car door closed behind me and then pounded the dashboard like a child in a tantrum.

After a moment I started the engine, but I didn’t shift. I debated whether or not I should shut it off and run back into the house to scream and demand she leave. If only I could do it that way. But I couldn’t.

All I could do was turn back to the house and look up at Lillian’s room.

“Help me,” I whispered. “Please.”

A moment more and then I started out to get the nurse her pizza. The real terror had just begun.

10

THE AROMA OF THE PIZZA PIE IN ITS BOX BESIDE ME ON the front seat of the car was tormenting. My mouth watered; my stomach churned in anticipation, but I had made up my mind that I would refuse to touch it. It was her pizza. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I could enjoy it, too. Perhaps I was behaving like a sulking child. However, it was the principle of the thing. I couldn’t give in without compromising myself.

It was only lukewarm when I arrived so Miriam had to warm it up. When she brought it out and they offered me a piece, I turned away without commenting. It didn’t bother them. Neither of them was affected by my melancholy mood. Their energy and chatter increased as the night went on. A good part of the conversation centered around what to do about me. I had become the person with all the problems. Should I go back to work?

Was it self-defeating to stay home again? Should I look for a different job? Mrs. Randolph even suggested I should consider going back to college.

“It’s not too late. Many people go back to earn different degrees or to learn different skills.”

“That’s right, Michael. Maybe you could finish your business degree and become an accountant.”

“I’m not interested in college.”

“You might even go into teaching,” Mrs. Randolph said. “There’s always a great need for math teachers.”

“That’s a good idea, Michael.”

“It isn’t a good idea,” I snapped. “It’s a dumb idea. Another dumb idea,” I repeated, glaring at the nurse. She sipped her coffee as though I hadn’t said a word.

“I’m very worried about you, Michael,” Miriam said. “You seem to be growing more and more upset every day. Maybe you should stop in to see Dr. Turner.”

“What?”

“It’s not a bad suggestion,” the nurse said dryly.

I pushed my plate and cup away, but they ignored my anger. They went on talking about other things. I couldn’t listen so I decided to leave the table. But when I stood up, Mrs. Randolph turned to me and said, “Perhaps you could get us more coffee, Michael.”

It was an outrage. I looked at Miriam, but she simply sat there smiling and staring up at me with those soft, gentle eyes. The nurse held up her empty cup.

“I’ll just get the pot,” I said.

“We need more cream too,” Mrs. Randolph said as I started toward the kitchen.

There wasn’t enough coffee left. Miriam had made barely three cups. I had to brew a whole new potful. When I came back to tell them, Mrs. Randolph suggested I take in the dirty dishes while we waited. Before I could reply, she handed me a few. I cleared the table around her while she went on talking. Just before I finished, she said, “We’ll have the coffee in the living room, Michael. There’s something I want to watch on television.”

Neither of them saw my look of amazement. They just got up and went into the living room, leaving me with the dishes and the silverware. I stacked everything in the dishwasher and then set out a tray, cups, a creamer, and some spoons. When the coffee was perked, I brought it into the living room. Mrs. Randolph was seated in my chair with her feet up on my hassock. The television was tuned in to one of those dumb sitcoms that I hated. Miriam knew how much I hated them, but she sat on the couch, oblivious to it all, working on a crossword puzzle. I set the tray down, but before I could take a seat, Mrs. Randolph had another suggestion.

“I noticed the garbage was quite full in the kitchen,” she said. “It’s starting to stink.”

“Oh, she’s right, Michael.”

“So?”

“Why don’t you take it outside? With this warm weather and all, it’s not too sanitary.”

“I’ll take it out in the morning, like I always do.”

“I wouldn’t leave it in there overnight. It might attract mice, even rats.”

“She’s right, Michael,” Miriam repeated. I was about to say something sarcastic when the nurse clicked her cup and saucer. She looked up at me with a threatening smile.

“All right, I’ll take out the garbage.”

“You might as well feed the dog when you do that,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“There’s a can of food under the sink in the closet, Michael,” Miriam said. “And you can give him whatever leftovers you saved.”

“I didn’t save any leftovers.”

“Well, you should have,” the nurse said.

I cursed under my breath, but I did it all. When I came in again, they were finished with their coffee. Mine was already cold in the cup. Mrs. Randolph told me to put the cups and saucers with the other dishes in the dishwasher before I started it. Miriam wore her simple smile throughout all of this, but I grew more and more infuriated. I was going to have a drink, a stiff one, and go out on the porch, but when I went to the cabinet, I found all the whiskey gone.

“What the hell .... Where’s all the whiskey?” I called. We kept it in the hutch in the dining room. No one answered, so I called again, much louder. All I heard was their laughter at something on television. I slammed the hutch closet door and went into the dining room in heavy, long strides. Neither of them looked away from the television set. “I said, what happened to all my whiskey? There isn’t a bottle in the closet.”

“I don’t know, Michael,” Miriam said. “Maybe you drank it.”

“I didn’t drink a half a dozen bottles. Who took it?”

“You drink too much anyway,” Mrs. Randolph said without turning her attention from the set.

“You took my whiskey?”

She turned slowly.

“Do you know that alcohol is the most used drug?”

“I don’t care about any of that. I want my whiskey.”

“I know nothing about it,” she said, “but if you feel you need something, I have something which is relatively safe.” She started to get up. I backed away.

“No. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Michael! That isn’t very nice. Here Mrs. Randolph is offering you something to help calm your nerves ....”

“Just a muscle relaxant,” Mrs. Randolph said. There was that smile on her face again, the one she had given me in her room during our argument.

“No,” I said. It was more of a whisper. “I ... don’t want anything. I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to bed.”

“That might be best,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Don’t forget to say good night to Lillian,” Miriam called.

As I turned toward the stairway, I heard Mrs. Randolph say, “He’s very high-strung. No wonder he can’t hold down a job.”

I couldn’t fall asleep. Miriam and Mrs. Randolph remained downstairs until nearly twelve o’clock. It wasn’t something Miriam was used to doing. She usually went to sleep early and always went to sleep before I did. When she finally did come into the room, I pretended to be asleep. She tiptoed about, moving things gently and softly. With just a little light from the bathroom, she got undressed and slipped into one of her sheer nightgowns. When she came out of the bathroom and got into bed, I acted as though she had awoken me.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“That’s all right. I’ve been sleeping on and off.”

“You poor thing,” she said. I felt her touch my forehead and reached up quickly to take her hand.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said. “Nothing.”

“Mrs. Randolph says you’re much too tense. She says you’re headed for a nervous breakdown.”

“Listen to me, Miriam. Listen. She’s wrong. She’s not good; she’s bad. She’s filling your mind with crazy things.”

“What crazy things, Michael?”

I hovered in silence, afraid to respond, unsure of how to begin. The wrong words always lingered ominously about me. I could hear myself saying them. She’s been nurturing your mental illness, keeping the disease healthy instead of killing it. You and I know Lillian’s not in that room. We’ve got to stop pretending. Of course, I couldn’t even utter the first syllable of such an answer.

“Michael? What crazy things?”

“She’s making you into a hypochondriac, and now she’s trying to do the same to me ... wanting me to take pills, changing our food habits, trying to make me think I’m an alcoholic. She’s gone overboard. She’s a medical fanatic!”

“Oh, that’s silly. She hasn’t done or said anything that hasn’t made sense.”

“Miriam, listen to me,” I said, raising my voice and sitting up. But before I could continue, there was a soft knocking at our door.

“What is it?” Miriam called. The door was half open, as usual, but for a moment, I could see no one. The level of my gaze actually fell to what would have been Lillian’s height. I remembered the nights she had awoken from a nightmare and come running to our room. Sometimes we would take her into bed with us; sometimes I would go back and stay with her. “Lillian?” Miriam said. My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath. Then the nurse appeared, wearing that damn blue dashiki.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but your loud talking has awoken Lillian. She’s been crying.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” I said.

“That’s because you were talking so loud.”

In the darkness, with just the hall light behind her, the nurse was silhouetted in a sinister shadow. Her face was completely in the dark. The periphery of light made her appear supernatural. She was a nightmare incarnate, a physical presence born out of the darkest fears and the bottom of my deepest terrors. I nearly jumped when Miriam touched my arm.

“Did she fall asleep again?”

“No,” the nurse said. “Michael should go to her. She’s asking for her daddy.”

I shook my head, but Miriam couldn’t see. I cringed but she didn’t sense it. I wanted to lunge forward and beat against the blue darkness. I wanted to destroy her and stamp out her hateful life. But Miriam was already moaning.

“Poor little Lillian. Oh, hurry, Michael. Tell her a story.”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Randolph said. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I thought you should know.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Miriam said. “Michael?”

“I’m going.”

Reluctantly, I got out of bed. The nurse stepped away from the door. She was gone as quickly as she had appeared, an evaporating illusion. For a moment I thought maybe she was never there; maybe it was only a dream. But Miriam spoke again.

“Call me if you need me.”

“I won’t need you. Go to sleep, dear.”

I walked out of the room slowly. I knew Miriam would be listening keenly. There was no way not to go into Lillian’s room and then pretend that I had. The lateness of the hour, the tension of the moment, the shock of being asked to do something that I had often done when Lillian was alive—all of it conspired against me. My body was cold, growing numb from the agonizing. I was barely able to move. Once again the nurse had succeeded in turning Lillian’s room into a torture chamber.

I looked for Mrs. Randolph, but the door to her room was closed and she was no longer in the hall. She has done her vicious duty, I thought, and now she has retreated with satisfaction to the comfort and warmth of her bed. Even so, I was sure she was listening like Miriam, so she could hear me go into Lillian’s room. She might even hear my words. I envisioned her lying there in her warm darkness, smiling with glee.

I entered Lillian’s room like a sleepwalker. The wheelchair intimidated me so I kept my distance from it, and I avoided looking at it. I avoided looking at everything. I kept my eyes closed as I inched toward the bed. I kept thinking that Miriam was listening through the thin walls. Do it right, I told myself. Get it over with and get out. In the morning I would think of a solution. I wouldn’t rest until I had a solution. I would call Dr. Turner and see if I could make an appointment to see him. This madness had to come to an end.

Suddenly I heard the tinkling of the chimes and then the sound of gentle sobbing. I spun around. She was there in the darkness making Lillian sounds. A hot flush came over me. My face was on fire. The sobbing grew louder.

“Michael?” Miriam called. “Is it all right?”

For a moment I couldn’t move; I couldn’t speak. The sounds she was making were so true.

“Daddy,” she said. “I’m scared.”

I screamed unheard. Oh God! I brought my fists to my head and pressed my knuckles against my temples. I bit my lower lip so hard I could taste the blood. I took a few steps toward her. She was in the corner, against the wall, unmoving, barely discernible.

“Don’t do this,” I whispered. “Please.”

“I’m scared,” she repeated in a little girl’s voice.

“Michael?” Miriam said again. “I’m coming.”

“No!” I shouted. “It’s all right.” I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. Maybe if I could draw up Lillian’s face, I thought, maybe I could do this. “Daddy’s here,” I said. “I won’t leave you,” I added. I opened my eyes quickly. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she was satisfied.

“Tell me a story,” she said. “Tell me a story.”

I was choking up. The pain in my throat was so intense I thought I would gush blood. When the words came, they were born out of excruciating agony. I tried desperately to control my voice, to keep the hysteria down. Miriam was listening hard, I thought. I could shatter her in a moment. Everything would come down around us.

“Once upon a time,” I said, “there was a kingdom made of ice cream and candy ...”

As I went on, the blue darkness moved ever so slightly and quietly toward the doorway. In the hall light, it took the nurse’s shape. She didn’t look my way as I went on with the story. She slipped out of the room, moving on a floor of air, floating, it seemed to me. She was like a ghost. I didn’t even see her door open. It was more like she passed through it.

I continued the story, my voice drifting. I spoke as one hypnotized, reciting. There was another Michael Oberman within me talking. I waited patiently for him to finish. When it was over, I backed out of the room. For a moment I stood in the doorway as though I wanted to be sure Lillian was asleep. It was what Miriam would expect me to do. Then I went back to our bed.

“Is she all right now?”

“Asleep.”

“Another nightmare. She has so many lately. I wonder when they’ll stop.”

“Nightmares never stop.”

“You’re so good, Michael, so loving and so good.”

“I want to go to sleep,” I said. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” she said. I felt her lean over and kiss my forehead. Her breasts grazed me and I was aroused.

“Oh, Miriam,” I said, “I’m afraid too. Hold me.”

She ran her arm under my head and drew me to her. I pressed my lips to her neck and followed the smooth line to her shoulder, pushing the nightgown away from her bare skin with my nose and mouth. There was just the slightest moan from her lips.

“You’re so warm,” I said, “so soft and warm.”

She kissed my cheek and brushed my hair. I moved my hand up over her thigh, taking the nightgown up with it. She didn’t resist; she didn’t whimper and pull away as she had so many times before during these past months. Her compliance encouraged and excited me. Our lips met and held. The tip of my tongue touched the tip of hers. Each time we made contact, I increased my demands. She was cooperative and receptive. I was amazed but terrified that she would retreat and leave me hanging.

“It’s been so long,” I whispered. “So long.”

“I know,” she said. “But since the nurse came, I’ve grown stronger.”

I couldn’t believe she said that. I wanted to pull back, do anything but be obligated to Mrs. Randolph in another way. But I couldn’t resist Miriam’s embrace. It was as if we were making love for the first time ever. All the mystery and ecstasy was renewed. I wanted to explore every part of her. My fingers were on their own, searching, touching, separating. She had put her arms up, and I had her nightgown to her neck. I kissed her breasts, lifting and nibbling with my lips. Her body had grown hot, but it brought a most delicious salty taste to my mouth.

I buried my face between her thighs and kissed her moist pocket until she moaned louder and tugged on my head, drawing me up to her and separating her legs to make room for me. I helped her lift herself around me, and then I brought my erection to her, entering her as gently as I could. In my mind she was virginal, pure and untouched. She accepted me with a yes. Sex was reawakening the sleeping woman within her.

Despite the hunger, we were loving and gentle with one another. Our caresses and our rhythms were almost quiet. We drove at each other with a graceful affection as would two people concerned with one another’s needs. Her climaxes came almost one after another. Mine finally came in long, driving thrusts. Her body shook and trembled, but she relished every moment, cherishing every second until we were both still.

When it was over, I rested the side of my face against her breasts and drank in the sweet scent of her body. The beat of her heart was so strong and quick it pounded through my cheekbone. We remained like that for minutes, neither willing to break the magic spell. Finally, I turned over. She said nothing. She got up and went to the bathroom. When she came out, I reached for her and said, “Miriam—”

“Shh,” she said. “We don’t want to wake Lillian again.”

She got into bed beside me, but then she turned and fell asleep in the fetal position with her back to me. I was up most of the night, tossing and turning, unable to deal with the mixture of emotions. Some time before morning, I fell asleep, but awoke when she did.

The events of the night before were so dreamlike I was afraid that the beautiful part hadn’t really happened. Maybe I had already lost touch with reality and entered Miriam’s insane world, I thought.

I remembered my plan to call Dr. Turner. That thought finally got me up and going. I showered, dressed as quickly as I could, and went downstairs. Miriam had all sorts of things prepared for breakfast, but Mrs. Randolph was not there. Satisfied that she wasn’t in any of the other downstairs rooms, I asked Miriam about her.

“It’s sort of her day off, Michael,” she said. “So I thought we would treat her like a queen.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got everything arranged. First, I want you to bring this up to her,” she said. I looked at the tray she had on the counter. Dishes were covered, and a small pot of coffee was steaming.

“What is that?”

“Breakfast. She wants her breakfast in bed. She asked that you be the waiter. It’s all ready so take it.”

“You’re kidding. This is too much. If you think I’m going to—”

“Michael, please.” She smiled. Her face was rosy, robust, and healthy. Sensual memories of the night before passed through my mind, but our lovemaking hadn’t caused Miriam to become much stronger mentally. No direct confrontation, I thought, no direct confrontation with Miriam. It has to be done another way.

“All right,” I said, “but I think this is very silly.” I grabbed the tray.

“Careful. Don’t spill anything.”

I nodded and went up the stairs. Balancing the tray carefully with my left hand, I knocked on the nurse’s door. “Enter,” she said as though she were some kind of queen. I opened it roughly and nearly dropped the tray. The dishes shook, and some of the coffee spilled out. Mrs. Randolph was all smiles because of it. I felt like a buffoon.

She sat up in her bed, the blanket drawn just over her bosom. Her arms lay outside the blanket, and her naked shoulders indicated she had slept in the nude. I didn’t hide my expression of anger, but she looked unaffected.

“Put it right here,” she said patting the blanket before her. “Carefully.”

“Who do you think you are?” I said after setting it down. I backed away quickly. Anyone would have thought I was afraid of her touch. “Huh? Making Miriam do this. And how could you do what you did last night. It was cruel; it was sick.”

For a moment she ignored me and looked under each plate. She poked at the scrambled eggs with her fork and smirked.

“A little overcooked.”

“How could you do it?”

“Do what?” she snapped.

“Pretend you were Lillian.”

She broke a piece of the roll and buttered it slowly and meticulously. It was as if someone’s life depended on how evenly the butter was spread. Then she poured the coffee into her cup. I stood there glaring down at her. She didn’t look up.

“It was what Miriam wanted, what she needed. You performed well.” I was about to say something when she smiled and added, “All throughout the evening apparently.”

“You bitch.”

“Well, what did you expect? Even with my door closed, I heard the bedsprings grinding away, the moaning, the—”

“Shut up.” She took a mouthful of egg and bit into her roll. I watched her sip the coffee.

“I don’t see what you’re so upset about. Miriam has come back to you, hasn’t she? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not like this.”

She shrugged and continued to eat. I watched her, intrigued with the movement in her throat, in the way her small veins pressed against the skin of her temples, how her eyes grew smaller and then bigger with each bite and swallow. The blanket slipped down her body, revealing more than half her bosom. When she lifted her cup again, it slipped even further until it was just above her nipples. I tried looking away, but everything about her was fascinating. It was as though I had been granted the privilege of watching some celebrity in her private moments.

“You’re just like every other man—you want things on your own terms. Be grateful you have anything at all, considering the circumstances.”

“I have been considering the circumstances. When do you plan on leaving?” I asked. I spoke softly, my tone of voice revealing my hesitation and subservience. She looked up from her food, a different sort of smile coming into her face. Then she sat back gently until the blanket fell completely below her breasts. She’s using her body like some sort of weapon, I thought, but I couldn’t resist looking at her.

“Are you sure you really want me to leave?”

“Yes,” I said, but not as convincingly as I would have liked. Even so, the smile left her face.

“I told you. When the job is done.” She went back to eating for a few moments and then looked up and said, “You know, I don’t think I’ll leave this room much today.” She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes. As she stretched, her bosom lifted, each breast rising as though awakened, the nipples erect and inviting. I took another step back. “I’m going to indulge myself.” She looked at me. “Indulge all my senses.” She put the tray on the little night table to the right of the bed and shifted more to that side. Then she lifted the blanket from her body. “There’s plenty of room under here.”

“No,” I said. I started for the door.

“Come on, Michael. You know you want to.”

“No,” I repeated. I seized the knob. I heard her laugh at my retreat. Shaking, I stood outside the door. The thing that frightened me the most was that I was tempted to slide into that bed. I had a glimpse of her naked thighs. Her breasts quivered with promise. “No,” I whispered as though she were still temptingly before me. “No.” I headed down the stairs.

I stopped in the middle. Miriam was at the bottom of the stairway, smiling and holding a slip of paper in her right hand. Had she heard me being chased from Mrs. Randolph’s room? Perhaps this was the time to tell her that the nurse had just invited me into her bed. Would she believe me? I wondered. Would she want to know if I had done it before? The words were at the tip of my tongue.

“Everything all right, Michael?”

I closed my eyes and tried, but I couldn’t do it. I was surrounded: the nurse was behind me, terrifying me with her sex, tormenting me with her confidence; and Miriam was before me, fragile, beautiful, and trusting. What could I say?

“Yes, it’s all right.”

“Good. Before you leave the house to get the paper today, I wanted to be sure to give you this.”

“What is it?”

“A list of a few things Mrs. Randolph needs. There’s an herbal shampoo she wants. You’re probably not going to be able to get it in a regular drugstore, but I called the health food store in Liberty and they have it in stock.”

“You want me to go all the way to Liberty for shampoo? That’s over twenty miles!”

“It’s what Mrs. Randolph needs, Michael. You can’t expect her to get it; she hasn’t got a car.”

“I don’t care. Why can’t she use regular shampoo like everyone else?”

“Michael, really.”

“She’s driving us crazy with her needs,” I said thinking about her body beneath that blanket. I came down the stairway and took the list from Miriam.

“What needs, Michael?” She held that gentle smile. “What needs?”

“Needs, needs.”

“She hasn’t asked for very much. We don’t live exactly near a shopping center, and there are no buses running past our house. She’s not used to this. You, yourself said to her—”

“All right.”

“I mean, not many people would want to stay out here if they didn’t have a car. She could be asking you to drive her all over the place. She could—”

“All right,” I said again. I headed for the door. I kept thinking I had to get in touch with Dr. Turner. It was more important than anything else.

“What about your breakfast, Michael? You don’t have to rush right out.”

“I’m not hungry yet,” I called back. She started to say something else, but I closed the door on her.

I practically ran to the car. Before I got in, I looked back. Something drew my gaze to Mrs. Randolph’s front window. She was standing there looking out. She was smiling at me and she was completely naked. I slammed my car door shut behind me and drove off wildly, spinning out of the driveway, the tires squealing, dirt and pebbles flying. I imagined I heard the sound of her laughter.

I stopped at the first pay phone I saw. It was at a garage near the entrance to the Quickway route to Liberty. I dialed Dr. Turner’s office and waited. After three rings, an operator came on. It was his damn answering service.

“Isn’t he back yet? It’s important, terribly important.”

“We have no notification of his return, sir; however, Dr. Turner’s office has left instructions. There is another doctor covering his—”

“I don’t want another doctor, dammit.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Look, look, do you have the telephone number for his receptionist, Mrs. Greenstreet? She can get in touch with him for me.”

“One moment please,” she said in that infuriatingly calm, mechanical voice. I strummed the top of the phone with the fingers of my right hand.

“I’m sorry, sir, we have no other number associated with Dr. Turner, except for the number of the doctor covering for him.”

“No, no. OK,” I said, and I hung up. I found the chewed up telephone book in the slot under the phone, but when I looked up Greenstreet, I realized I didn’t know Mrs. Greenstreet’s first name or her husband’s first name. There were at least twenty Greenstreets listed in the telephone area. Since it was the weekend, she wasn’t going in to the office. I realized I might just have to wait until Monday. The thought threw me into a kind of panic. For a while I just stood outside the phone booth staring at the garage. The attendant finally came over to ask me if anything was wrong.

“You don’t know a Mrs. Greenstreet who works for Dr. Turner, do you?”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t think so. I’ve got to get some herbal shampoo,” I muttered. He shook his head at me as I got back into the car. Images of Mrs. Randolph’s smile and nude body flashed continually. I drove in a daze. I didn’t even remember pulling off the correct exit, but suddenly I was in Liberty and I had to park to shop for the things Mrs. Randolph needed. Before I was finished, I went into a liquor store and purchased six new bottles. It was my one act of defiance. I would keep these bottles where she couldn’t get her hands on them, I thought.

I must have appeared quite agitated because all of the store clerks and even some other customers gave me some strange looks. I caught them whispering about me. I knew I hadn’t shaved and my hair was a mess, but I didn’t think that was a big deal. I was wearing a plain short-sleeve white shirt and a pair of gray slacks, so there wasn’t anything peculiar about my clothes. I suppose I was doing a lot of mumbling and cursing under my breath. The liquor store salesman looked as though he thought I was going to stick him up. I could see he was happy when I left.

“Mrs. Randolph is doing all this to me,” I muttered. “Mrs. Randolph.” In fact, I talked to myself all the way home. At times I actually screamed in the car. I know I was driving too fast so I was lucky no state policemen were on this section of the highway. Even so it was nearly two hours before I turned back into our driveway.

I knew something was terribly wrong right away. Miriam was out by the big oak tree in front of our house, and Mrs. Randolph, dressed in a bathrobe, stood beside her with her arm around her shoulders. She was comforting her about something. I parked and got out as quickly as I could. Neither of them looked my way until I called.

“What is it?”

They both turned to me, and Miriam took a few steps in my direction. Her face was streaked with tears, and her hands were folded in little fists. She kept her arms down stiffly, her fists against her thighs. I never saw her look so angry. Her face was flushed. Mrs. Randolph moved right behind her, just out of my view. It looked like she was pushing Miriam forward, whispering words of encouragement to her, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Michael,” Miriam said, “you didn’t do it, did you? Did you do it, Michael?”

“Do what?”

“Because if you did such a thing ...” She shook her head. I leaned to the right so I could see Mrs. Randolph clearly.

“Do what? What is she talking about now?”

Mrs. Randolph stepped forward until she was beside Miriam. She took Miriam’s left arm at the elbow and held her close.

“Lillian’s dog,” Mrs. Randolph said, talking through clenched teeth, “is dead.”

11

I WANTED TO HAVE AN AUTOPSY PERFORMED ON THAT dog. I wanted to have it confirmed that the dog was injected with some lethal drug. This was a golden opportunity to turn Miriam away from Mrs. Randolph. I would present Miriam with the scientific evidence and Mrs. Randolph would be trapped. So confronted, she would leave our house and finally we would be rid of her.

“Dead?” I said. “How did it die?”

“Poisoned,” Miriam said. “Mrs. Randolph knows about things like that.”

“I bet she does,” I said. “What kind of poison?” I started for the back of the house.

“It looks like rat poison,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“We have rat poison in the basement,” Miriam said. Mrs. Randolph nodded sympathetically. I continued on.

The dog, still hooked to its leash, lay on its side by the dog house. Its tongue hung out, a pale pine leathery-looking slice of flesh. Its eyes were opened. They were glassy. Flies were feeding off the mucus, and there were bugs already crawling through the dog’s coat. When some flies emerged from the opened mouth, my stomach began to churn. I turned away for a moment. The dog had to have been dead overnight, I thought. What was probably the remains of contaminated meat was still in its dish.

I considered having the meat analyzed. Most probably it would be confirmed as rat poison, just as Mrs. Randolph said. She had gotten into it and done the deed, I thought. How could I prove to Miriam that it was the nurse who had done it? An autopsy would do no good. The nurse was too clever.

For the first time, I considered why she would do such a thing. What was she trying to accomplish? As I looked down at the pathetic carcass, I wondered whether the nurse had had this planned from the start, even when she had driven me, through Miriam, to get the dog. Was it all part of some grand design?

I decided I would bury the animal. I went back around front to the garage to get a shovel. Miriam and Mrs. Randolph had gone inside, but all the while I felt someone was watching me. I found a soft spot in the backyard and dug a grave. Then I unhooked the dog, holding my breath as best and as long as I could, and dragged its body to the hole. After I had covered it and had put the shovel back, I remembered the things I had left in the car.

The two of them were sitting in the living room when I entered. I was sure they had stopped talking the moment I opened the front door. Both looked at me accusingly.

“These are Mrs. Randolph’s things,” I said setting one bag down on the table. “This bag is mine,” I added embracing the remaining one in my hands, “and no one but me is to touch its contents.” I lifted a bottle out to illustrate what the bag contained.

“It’s your body. Destroy it as you will,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Exactly.”

“What did you do about the poor dog?” Miriam asked.

“I buried it.” She began to cry again. “You were right-—someone killed it with poison. I swear to you, Miriam, it wasn’t me.” She lifted her hands from her face.

“What will we tell Lillian?”

“Tell her it ran away,” I said. “Tell her dogs usually do that and it will come back soon.”

“Why don’t you tell her?” Mrs. Randolph asked. “You know so much about it.”

“That’s right, Michael. You’ll have to tell her.”

“All right, I will. I just want to repeat that I did not kill that dog. I didn’t like it particularly and I was not keen on getting it, but I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Being the dog was tied up all the time,” Mrs. Randolph said, “someone had to bring the poison to it.”

“It wasn’t me.” I stared back at her. Miriam looked from me to Mrs. Randolph and then back at me again.

“Do you think ... maybe someone did it as a practical joke?” Miriam asked. “Or maybe Mr. Gilbert didn’t like its barking?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He could hear it barking, couldn’t he, Michael?”

“He could hear it, but I don’t think he would do such a thing. If it bothered him that much, he would at least call us about it, and as far as I know, he never did, did he?”

“No,” Miriam said. She looked to Mrs. Randolph, but Mrs. Randolph said nothing.

“Couldn’t you have done it by accident?” Mrs. Randolph asked. Miriam’s eyes widened. “Perhaps you had prepared the poison for rats and somehow it got mixed up with the dog’s food.”

“No!”

“We were talking about rats the other day, Michael,” Miriam said. “We always knew field mice and such got into the basement.”

“I couldn’t have made such a mistake.”

“So you did prepare something for rats.”

“No.”

“Then we’ll have to chalk it up to the world of mystery,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Yeah, some mystery,” I said. I looked at Miriam, but she still appeared suspicious of me. I left to put my booze away.

Afterward, I went outside to think. If only there was a way to trap her in this, I thought, now that she has put up such a facade of innocence. Something occurred to me. For my own satisfaction, I went around to the side of the house and entered the basement through our side door. There was a light switch just inside.

The old farmhouse still had its original fieldstone foundation. We never did anything with the basement because it wasn’t much, even though it ran the length and width of the house. I had my hot water heater and oil burner in it, both set on slabs of concrete. The rest of the floor was simply hard-packed earth. There were only two light fixtures: one at the foot of the stairs that led down to the basement from inside the house, and the other just inside the outside side door. Both had been added on years after the house was built.

Originally, the basement had been used to store potatoes and canned goods. There were shelves along the walls. I remembered how hard my mother worked to can tomatoes, pickles, and fruits. My father aged cider in some vats just at the base of the stairway. There was a vat still there, although there was nothing in it. I never liked the cider, so I never cared about it.

There were a number of old trunks, cartons, and boxes still in the basement. My father had put some furniture down here too. He never liked to throw anything away, even though some of it was broken beyond repair. I don’t know why I hadn’t come down here before and just cleaned the place out. Maybe it was because we had put some of Lillian’s old things down here years ago.

I went to the shelves under the stairway where I kept the poisons and the traps. There was an empty space where a can of poison had been. The dust had formed around it. Now there was no question in my mind that the nurse had done it. If only I had a way of proving that to Miriam.

I stood there thinking about it and thinking about it. The dank odor began to annoy me. I thought I saw a snake slither across the floor on the far side, but neither light fixture was really strong enough to give illumination to confirm it. However, an idea came to me when I looked at the dirt floor.

I leaned against the wall almost directly under the light by the stairway and lifted my foot so I could take off my shoe. After I did so, I studied the heel and the sole. Just as I had suspected, the clay-dirt floor stained the bottom of the shoe. If Mrs. Randolph’s shoes still had such a stain ... It was worth a try, I thought. I put my shoe back on, flipped the light switch off, and went back outside.

They were just going into the kitchen for lunch when I reentered. They looked at me as though I were some stranger who had just barged in on them. I looked down at the nurse’s shoes. They were bright white and spotless as usual. There was a good chance, however, that she didn’t wear those shoes when she did the ugly deed.

“Are you hungry?” Miriam asked.

“No.”

“Maybe he’s afraid we’ll put some poison in his food,” the nurse said.

“That’s not funny.”

“Well, we’re going in to eat,” Miriam said. I watched them go, and then as quietly as I could, I walked up the stairway. My fingers were trembling as I turned the knob on Mrs. Randolph’s door. I hesitated, looked back at the stairway, and then entered her room. What I was afraid would happen, happened. For a moment I couldn’t move. It was as though I had entered a forbidden area. I closed my eyes because I was getting dizzy. It took a moment for the vertigo to pass. As soon as it did, I moved to the closet quickly.

I was afraid to touch her clothes. I had the feeling that the moment I did so, something terrible would happen. It was a ridiculous way to behave, I know. I was acting like a child afraid of some witch’s spell. In my mind the nurse had become something supernatural. She knew the moment I walked through that door. I imagined her seated at the table with Miriam. She was aware of my presence in her room. Even now, she was looking up through the ceiling, watching me, getting ready to throw some sort of curse over me.

I chastised myself for the silly behavior and went to my knees at the foot of her closet. There were only two pairs of shoes there: another pair of white ones to go with her uniform, and the dark blue ones she wore the night we had the so-called dinner of celebration. The white ones looked immaculate, so I picked up the dark blue and turned them over.

The heels of each shoe had tiny punctures in them caused by wear and by moving over sidewalks and tiny pebbles. Most of these small holes were filled with rust-colored clay, the clay of my basement floor. I reacted like a man who had found his salvation. My eyes went wide with glee; I laughed with satisfaction. I held the shoes against my body, cherishing them as though they were made of gold. I would go downstairs, I thought, and slam them right on the kitchen table. The proof would be irrefutable. The nurse would be trapped.

Just as I stood up, the door of her room opened and Mrs. Randolph entered. The sight of her was a shock because my childish fears seemed to come true—she had felt my presence in her room; she knew exactly what I was doing. Like a shoplifter who had been caught in the act, I held the shoes behind my back. She smiled when she saw me; she didn’t look at all surprised.

“Well, returning to the scene of your crime?” she said. She closed the door softly behind her.

“More like the scene of your crime,” I said.

“Really?”

“You killed that dog.”

“Still on that. What did you expect to find in here, the rat poison? Or are you planting it? Is that what you’re hiding behind your back? Really, Michael ...”

I brought her shoes out in front of me. She didn’t appear to realize what it meant.

“On the contrary, you went down in my basement and found the poison.”

“Is that right?” she said as though she were humoring me.

“Yes, and this proves it,” I said shaking the shoes.

“Those shoes?” Her wide smile was designed to throw me off and make me feel foolish, but I was determined.

“Yes.” I turned them over. “See the heels. There’s clay in them, clay from my basement floor.” She stared at her shoes for a moment and then walked to the dresser. “Proof,” I said, “that you were down there. Why else would you be down there.” She began to unbutton the blouse of her uniform.

“That’s ridiculous. There’s clay all around this house. I could have stepped in it the night I arrived.”

“You only walked on the lawn and on the sidewalk. There’s no clay there.”

She took off her blouse and turned toward me, smiling again. I thought her bosom looked terribly inhibited by the rather tight bra. The skin of her breasts was pink around the top of the undergarment. She dropped the blouse on the dresser.

“My, we’re turning into a regular Sam Spade. Digging up clay.’’ She laughed at her own pun. She reached around behind her back and unclipped the bra, but she didn’t remove it. She let it linger over the top of her emancipated bosom.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to wash my hair. That’s why I wanted the herbal shampoo. What did you think?” She leaned forward and let the bra straps off her shoulders. “Was there something else you wanted from me?” she asked. Her firm breasts shuddered and then took their nearly perfectly symmetrical shape. But I would not be intimidated. I fought back, pushing the memory away. She turned her shoulder and smiled coquettishly. I hated her more because of what she stirred in me.

“I want you out of here, that’s what I want. When Miriam sees this—”

“Sees what?” she said, her hands on her hips, her back straight. She was like some sort of Amazon, using sex like a weapon, proud, undaunted, eager to do battle and conquer the masculine enemy. “A pair of shoes that you took down to the basement and pressed into the floor?”

“What?”

“That’s what you did. You wanted to blame me for something you did so you took my shoes down there and put that clay on them. How would I have known the poison was in the basement? Besides, I didn’t hate the dog, you did. You were always complaining about it. Miriam knows that. Whom do you think she will believe when it comes right down to it?”

I didn’t say anything. I stood there with my mouth open, my arms still out holding the shoes before me.

She unzipped the skirt of her uniform and stepped out of it, smiling all the while. Then she dropped the slip. When she started toward me, I backed up almost to the window.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “What do you want?”

“I want to wash my hair. I told you that already.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Honestly,” she said taking her robe from the closet, “you look very silly standing there with my shoes in your hands.” She put the robe on, watching me all the while. “Oh, I almost forgot. Miriam says you should get Lillian into her wheelchair. She thinks you should take her for a walk since this is your day off. I would help you, but I’ve got to wash my hair.” She started to leave.

“I want you out of here,” I whispered. “I want you out of here,” I repeated in full voice. She opened the door and then turned back to smile. “Out of here!” I shouted. She closed the door in the middle of my scream.

I stood there shaking with the shoes still in my hands. I looked down at them, and then I heaved them with all my might at the closet floor. They bounced against her suitcase and settled on their sides, the heels pointing back at me defiantly. I felt tremendous rage and frustration, but all I could do was charge out of her room.

Out in the hall, I heard the water running in the bathroom. Lillian’s door was wide open, and the wheelchair had been pushed into full view. I held my left hand out, palm up, toward it and slid along the far wall until I reached the top of the stairway.

“Michael?” Miriam called from down in the kitchen.

“No,” I whispered. I thought I saw the wheel of the chair move a few inches out of the doorway. The illusion chased me down the stairs.

“Michael? Is that you?”

“I’ll be back!” I screamed, and I ran out of the house. I had to get out; I felt as though I were choking in there. Once down the porch steps, I moved first toward the car and then toward the road. I was in a confused frenzy. I really didn’t know what to do or where to go. Without any real thought, I started down the road, babbling to myself and walking as quickly as I could.

It wasn’t until I saw Max Gilbert’s house come into view that I slowed down. The possibility of meeting someone brought me back to full awareness. I stopped and stared into the woods. There was movement in the bushes, and a white-tailed deer appeared. When it saw me, it froze. It stood so still I could understand how hunters might walk right past one without realizing it. Its large sad eyes studied me with considerable interest. After a while I was unnerved by it so I raised my arm quickly and the deer turned and jumped over a bush. It glided into the woods and became one with the foliage.

Just after I turned to start back to my house, I heard the truck behind me. I knew the sound of that old pickup’s engine, so I wasn’t surprised when I next heard the brakes squeak and turned to see Max Gilbert leaning out the window.

For me Max Gilbert had always been the ideal neighbor. He liked to keep to himself. He was usually a man of few words, satisfied with a simple, “Hello, how are you?” or a quick wave. I estimated him to be a man in his early seventies now. He wasn’t really a contemporary of my father’s, but they were cut of the same mold. He grew corn and raised chickens. At one time he had nearly fifteen thousand chickens on his farm. There weren’t more than a couple of dozen chickens there now, producing eggs for him and his wife. He still raised corn and sold it to the groceries in the nearby towns.

I always had the feeling that he didn’t like me much. I think he distrusted me because I didn’t like farmwork. My father once told me that Max Gilbert thought I was adopted. I don’t know if Max ever really said that. I think my father was just trying to make a point.

“Anything wrong?”

“No, just taking a walk. Nice day,” I said. “Saw a deer over there just now,” I added and pointed. It was a stupid thing to say to him. He must have seen hundreds of deer that way. It made me sound like some kind of tourist. He grunted, but he didn’t pull away.

“Glad to see you got some life back into your house,” he said. “My missus says it’s a good thing; good way to cure deep pain.”

“What are you talking about, the nurse?” I couldn’t believe that somehow, from a distance, she had charmed him too.

“Nurse? No. Don’t mean to pry, but what’dja do, adopt?”

“Adopt? Adopt what?”

“That little girl.”

“What little girl?” He looked at me in a most peculiar way and shifted into first. I heard the gears grind. “The one I saw in the upstairs window. None of my business,” he said when I didn’t respond, “but we wish you luck.” He started away.

“Wait,” I said. “Wait.” He didn’t hear me or didn’t want to continue the conversation.

I felt awfully cold all of a sudden. The sun was beating down on me and I felt so cold. I embraced myself. I was actually shivering. His truck disappeared around a turn and I was alone again. I looked for the deer, but there was nothing. The woods seemed so desolate and dark. It was so quiet. I could barely hear the sound of Max Gilbert’s truck as it continued down the road. His words lingered around me. I started to hear them again, first from the right; then from the left. They were behind me, above me, everywhere: “That little girl.”

“That little girl.”

“That little girl.”

I was running now, running back to the house, running as hard and as fast as I could. What was this about? What was Gilbert saying? Only the nurse knew. I was sure, only the nurse had the answers. Max Gilbert’s words stayed with me; they chased me up the road. I spun around once, just before I got home.

“What little girl?” I screamed. “Lillian’s dead. She’s dead.” Oh God, I thought, Lillian’s dead.

I felt myself grow nauseated. A sharp pain in my left side crumpled me to my knees. I held myself and dry heaved at the side of the road. It exhausted me, and I sat on the macadam for a while. The sun-warmed pavement felt good. It helped me end my shivering so I was able to get up and continue on. When I reached the house, I saw Miriam sitting on the porch. The way she was staring ahead led me to believe she was in a daze. She didn’t appear to notice my approach. I stopped on the sidewalk and looked up at her.

“What’s wrong now?” She didn’t respond. She blinked and wiped a tear from under her right eye. “Miriam?” She turned to me slowly. When she saw me, her face changed to a look of disdain.

“Mrs. Randolph had to tell Lillian about her dog. I thought you were going to do it.”

“She was sleeping when I went up there,” I said. With every lie I told, my grip on reality slipped. The last six months had been a mad high-wire balancing act. When Mrs. Randolph came, I thought I would become steadier; but instead, I had fallen. Now I hung by my fingers. I could feel the wire tearing through my flesh. I dangled hopelessly. “I didn’t want to wake her to give her bad news.”

“She kept calling for her dog so Mrs. Randolph had to tell her.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, it’s true. Lillian took it very badly. Mrs. Randolph says it’s a setback, a definite setback.”

“Miriam,” I began, but she raised her voice.

“Lillian doesn’t want to get up; she doesn’t want to go in her wheelchair. She’s just lying there staring up at the ceiling, doing what she did before Mrs. Randolph first arrived.”

I moved to the foot of the porch steps.

“It’s not true. None of that is true. Mrs. Randolph is making it up. Believe me, Miriam.”

“Why would she do such a thing?”

“Because she killed the dog.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know why you would say such a thing.” She turned away from me.

“It does make sense,” I responded eagerly. I had a surge of energy and determination. Mrs. Randolph had given me an opportunity, and I had to drive it home. I started up the steps. “Listen, listen. She killed the dog just so she could tell you that Lillian suffered a setback. Don’t you see? This makes her stay here more important. She wants to be more and more important to us so we will be completely dependent on her.” She looked at me again.

“I don’t believe it,” she said, but there was just a twinkle of credulity in her eyes. I was encouraged.

“Miriam, I wouldn’t kill that dog. You know I never have killed anything. Did I ever go hunting with my father’s friends during deer season? Have I ever used the rifles? They’re rusting away in the attic. Didn’t I post all our land to prohibit hunting after Pop died?”

“Mrs. Randolph says you’re becoming unreasonably jealous because Lillian is so fond of her. She says you deliberately messed up at the bank so that you could be around here more.”

“That couldn’t be true. You don’t believe any of that now, do you?”

“Lillian is so upset,” she said ignoring the question. “She won’t even sit up in bed. Mrs. Randolph says if we don’t get her out of her depression, we might have to take her to a hospital. I don’t want to ever go back to the hospital,” she added, her lips trembling, her eyes widening with fear.

“There will be no hospital. Believe me, Miriam, no hospital.”

“Because I couldn’t stand that,” she said. She started to cry.

“Miriam.” I went to her and took her hand. “Try to listen to me. Try to understand what I’m saying. Mrs. Randolph is not a nice person. She’s doing terrible things to us. She’s—”

“Miriam,“ Mrs. Randolph called from Lillian’s window above the porch. I stepped further in under the roof. “Are you out there?”

“Yes.”

“Lillian says she’ll have the tea and toast now.”

“Oh, good,” Miriam said, obviously grateful for little things. She stood up, taking her hand out of mine.

“Miriam,” I whispered, “don’t listen to her.”

“She says you should come up by yourself. She doesn’t want to see her father just yet. She says he told her the dog was no good and he was going to get rid of it.”

“I never—”

Miriam turned to me, her eyes filled with such fire. I had never seen her so blazed with anger. It made me step back. I shook my head, but she didn’t change her expression.

“No, it’s a lie.”

“Are you coming up?” Mrs. Randolph asked.

“Yes, right away,” Miriam said. “Michael, how could you?”

“I didn’t. I swear it. Mrs. Randolph is making it up.”

Miriam shook her head and went into the house. I stepped off the porch quickly and looked up at the window of Lillian’s room. The curtain had been drawn, but I thought the nurse was peering out at me through the narrow slit.

“Liar!” I screamed. There was no response. I felt sure she was laughing at me.

I don’t know why, but I went around the back again to look at the doghouse. It was as if I wanted continuous proof that all this was really happening. I was a man sinking deeper and deeper into quicksand. Every movement I made hastened the descent rather than inhibited it. I was at a loss for the right action. Whatever I did contributed to my own demise.

Like a man with a head wound, I wandered about in dizzy circles. Every direction was frightening. I started and stopped; hesitated and started again. I began mumbling, speaking incoherent half-sentences. I shook my fist at the sky, sobbed, and cursed. Finally, I decided to go into the house to get a drink. Whiskey was the only thing holding a promise of relief. I was able to make a decision and move forward.

They were both upstairs now. I took a bottle and a tumbler and went into the living room. Sitting in my favorite chair, I consumed one drink after another. It warmed and steadied me. I was able to sit back and close my eyes. I almost fell asleep, but Mrs. Randolph surprised and interrupted me. She was standing before me in her aseptic white uniform, her hair glistening from the wash and blow dry. Her face was as immaculate as usual, her skin nearly transparent. For a moment all I could do was stare at the tiny blue veins that ran along her temples. If I could dig my fingers into her skin and tear them out ...

“That won’t solve your problem,” she said.

“What?”

“The booze.” Her tone of voice changed and became as reasonable as Dr. Turner’s. “Why don’t you tell Miriam that you killed the dog? Tell her you’re sorry. You made a mistake. You’ll get another dog. It would mean a great deal to her.”

“I didn’t kill the dog. You killed it.”

“The dog is dead and Lillian is terribly upset. You’ve got to do something.”

“You’re vicious and evil.” Her face changed; her eyes became small again.

“And you’re pathetic. Don’t you think I know why you hate me so much and why you want Miriam to remain as she is, half catatonic?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” She took a step closer, and I thought she grew right before my eyes. Her body loomed above me. She towered threateningly. “Tell me about the accident,” she said. I shook my head. “Tell me the details.”

“No. Leave me alone.”

“It’ll be good for you to talk about it. You’ll cleanse yourself and you won’t think these mad thoughts.”

“They’re not mad thoughts. You’re the one who is mad.”

“You were driving the car,” she said. “You were going too fast.”

“No.”

“The police said you were. You couldn’t negotiate that turn. But you should have known about the turn. You had driven that road so many times before.”

“No, it’s not true.” I cringed in my chair.

“Lillian should have been wearing a seatbelt. If the child were sitting in the front, she should have been wearing the seatbelt. You didn’t insist that she wear it, but you wore one. You saved yourself by wearing it.”

“It’s a lie.”

“What’s a lie? You weren’t wearing a seatbelt? Miriam said you were. She knows you were. You think she forgot these details, but I’ve gotten her to remember them. She told Lillian to put it on, didn’t she? But Lillian started to cry and you said it would be all right if she didn’t. Isn’t that true? Is Miriam lying? Talk about it. Talk about it like Miriam did.”

“No, no. Get away from me. Get out of my house. Leave us alone.” I was crying now. I could feel the tears moving down my face.

“Miriam says Lillian would be all right now if she were wearing that seatbelt. Some policeman told her that. Why were you in such a rush?”

“Stop it.”

“You told Miriam I killed the dog. You told her I was crazy.”

“You are.”

“Don’t tell her that again.” Her face was aflame with rage. My back was pressing so hard against the seat, I thought I would merge with it. Her shoulders and back rose. She looked like a hawk about to launch itself on a helpless rabbit or chicken.

Then, as quickly as she had become infuriated, she retreated. Her body deflated. Her eyes became normal, and her mouth softened into a wry smile. She took a step back, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and I couldn’t move a muscle.

“Just a seatbelt,” she said, “and the child’s head wouldn’t have smashed into the windshield.”

I covered my face with my hands. I couldn’t control the sobbing. When I lifted them away, the nurse was gone, but I couldn’t stand being alone. I wiped my face with the sleeves of my shirt and went to the hallway.

“Miriam,” I called. It was more of a cry. “Miriam.” I wanted her with me. I needed her softness, her quiet voice, her gentle smile. I would sit by her feet and press my face against her legs. Maybe she would stroke my hair and sing to me. “Miriam.”

“Be quiet.” The nurse was at the top of the stairs.

“I want Miriam.”

“She’s with Lillian. We’re finally getting her to sleep. Go away for a while. Go get another dog or buy some toys. Do something to make up for your horrible acts.”

“Please,” I said walking to the stairway. I was embracing myself. “I need Miriam.” The nurse looked down at me disdainfully. I couldn’t look up at her. I could only hold myself and sob.

“Get yourself together,” the nurse said. She moved forward to position herself at the top of the stairs like some immovable, fanatical guard. I was afraid to put my foot on the first step. “Take another drink. Take a nap or a ride, and later I’ll help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” I said backing away.

“You will,” she said. “Sooner or later, you will come to me. I can help you, but only if you are cooperative.” She was smiling again, that phony warm smile. I continued to back away. “Sooner or later,” she repeated.

I went back into the living room and got my bottle. Then I went outside. I was actually fleeing my own house. I didn’t get into the car. Instead, plodding through the tall grass, I walked down to the old cow barn. Lillian used to like to play in it. My father would take her there and tell her all about the cows and what was done to make the place a farm. After he died, I went there with her and watched her pretend she was a farmer. She was a great mimic and captured some of my father’s sayings right down to the intonation of his voice and the accent. Even now as I approached the barn, I could hear her tiny voice and laughter. I could see her dancing about, feeding and watering imaginary animals.

I stopped at the door and sat where I would always sit atop a section of old telephone pole. For a moment I just stared out at the fields watching the breeze stroke the tall weeds. There was almost a definite rhythm to the way they leaned and straightened, leaned and straightened. Then I took a long swallow of my whiskey and gazed back at the house.

I sat there until twilight, listening to the insects in the grass, watching an occasional car go by on our road. I saw old man Gilbert returning home in his truck, and I thought again about the crazy thing he said to me. I drank slowly but continuously until the bottle was nearly empty. Once in a while I thought I heard something in the barn.

“It’s just Lillian,” I said to myself, and I laughed the way I did when she was alive and I was here with her. Eventually, though, my laughter turned to tears. My sides ached, and my head felt heavier and heavier. Finally, I fell asleep with my back against the door of the barn, my legs draped over the pole.

When I awoke, it was very dark. The house was lit up and loomed before me like a setting for a dream. The light from the windows cast pools of pale yellow illumination about. They hovered in the darkness, glimmering like the surrealistic strokes of an artist driven mad by reality. Very groggy, I stood up, bracing myself against the barn.

The wind had grown stronger, and the night sky was overcast. Loose sections of the barn tapped out a percussion with frightening regularity. The farm was coming alive around me, waking from a great sleep, angry that it had been so neglected. A raccoon screamed not a thousand yards away. I stepped away from the barn quickly. I envisioned it softening and melting around and over me, consuming me and digesting me within. I was being attacked by nightmares.

I fought to get my senses back, but they remained sluggish. The world was out of focus. Sounds became elongated and then cut short. I realized I still held the whiskey bottle in my right hand so I heaved it off to the right into the tall grass. I didn’t hear it fall.

Growing more frightened every moment, I began my haphazard, clumsy walk back to the house. It grew larger and wider as I drew nearer. The trees around me were animated. Their branches turned into tentacles, stretching threateningly in my direction. I ran in one direction and then another, avoiding even the reach of their shadows.

Before I reached the house, I had to stop to rest and catch my breath. When I did so, I looked up at the front of the house. Lillian’s room was all lit up, and someone was in the window looking out at me. I wiped my eyes and looked again. Whoever it was was gone.

I fought for clear thoughts. It hadn’t been Miriam and it hadn’t been Mrs. Randolph. It was too small a figure.

Who was it? Was I awake?

I moved forward like one drawn by destiny, struggling in vain against the forward motion of my legs. Some voice within me was screaming “No, stop,” but I was unable to restrain myself. I had an appointment with terror and all my childhood fears. They had been born on this farm, and they lingered here in the shadows just waiting for this night. I could no longer run from them. I walked on.

12

THE MUSIC WAS PLAYING. IT WAS THE WAY I REMEMBERED it to be years ago when my father was alive and the four of us would sit in the living room. I would be reading a book; Miriam would be knitting and watching my father play checkers with little Lillian. He would always almost beat her and then let her win. The records we listened to were his records, my mother’s records. They were brittle and breakable 78’s, rare recordings of old German folksongs. Whenever “Wooden Heart” would come on, my father would stop whatever he was doing and say, “This was your mother’s favorite. She hummed it all the time.”

Miriam would smile as though she remembered my mother too. Invariably, my father’s reverie would stimulate Lillian’s imaginative questions.

“Is nanny humming in heaven? Will she ever come back to see us? Can we go to see her?”

“When people die,” my father said, “they never come back. It’s like going through a door that opens only one way.”

“Is nanny afraid then? Is she crying?”

My father looked to me. He didn’t like making death into a fantasy. He was cold and realistic about it. I knew he wanted to say nanny was gone and lost forever; she was nothing anymore. But my facial expression tempered him. He did a grandfather’s duty.

“No. When people die, they have no fears and they never have to cry. There’s no reason to cry. They feel sorry for people who are alive and have to cry. It’s your move. Be careful or I’ll beat you this time.”

I could almost hear him saying those things now as I hovered on the porch, embracing the beam with my right arm to steady myself. I was falling through time. Had all of it happened, or had I gotten drunk down by the barn and dreamt nightmares? When I walked into the house, would I find my father and Lillian at the checkerboard and Miriam on the couch? If only that could be, I thought. If only I could have one more chance.

I went to the front door and straightened up as I opened it. The house was warm and well lit. I was eager to shut the door behind me and enter. There was a feeling of relief. The darkness and distorted night was gone. I was home again. My heart lightened. The morbid pall that had been draped over me was gone for the moment. Encouraged, I walked quickly to the living room. But I stopped abruptly in the doorway.

Who told her about the records and the checkerboard? Why would Miriam do such a thing? The checkerboard wasn’t just set up; it was being played. Checkers were kinged and jumped. The chairs were pulled up to the table as though two people were seated there studying their possible moves. The lamp beside the table was turned on.

I looked to the other side of the room. Miriam was seated on the couch, her legs crossed, her elbows tucked in as she knitted. Mrs. Randolph was in my chair, her feet up on the hassock. She was reading the book I had been reading. Neither of them looked up at me or in any way acknowledged my presence.

Wiping my face, I stood in the doorway and tried to comprehend it all. The record that was playing finished and the new record dropped. It was “Wooden Heart.” Miriam looked up from her knitting and smiled as though my father were there and had just said something about my mother. Her gaze was so intense that I actually looked to his chair.

“What are you doing? What’s going on here?” I asked. Neither of them spoke or looked my way. It was as though neither of them had heard me. Was I there? Was I part of this world? “Miriam!”

She looked down at her knitting again, the smile frozen on her face. Mrs. Randolph returned to the book. I stepped further into the room. I know I didn’t look too well. My shirt was open, my pants were smeared with dirt and grass, and my hair was wild. When I caught sight of myself in the reflection of a window, I didn’t recognize my image. For a moment I thought I was looking at a total stranger. I wiped my eyes and then went for the phonograph.

When I shut it off, they both looked up at me. The record ground to a halt, the voice distorting until it stopped. Miriam lowered her knitting to her lap. Mrs. Randolph’s eyebrows rose, and she closed the book.

“I want some answers,” I said. I was still unsteady and felt myself sway, so I pressed my palm against the wall.

“You’re a mess,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“Really, Michael, you should see yourself.”

“I saw myself, I saw myself. What are you doing?” I looked about the room. “What’s going on in here?”

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Mrs. Randolph said. “We’re trying to relax now that the child has calmed down some.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said.

“Michael!” Miriam didn’t look frightened; she looked angry.

“Why are you blaming everything on me?” I held out my hands pleadingly. Mrs. Randolph sat up straight, taking her feet off the hassock. Her face tightened, the eyes growing small, the cheeks becoming smooth. Her lips were thin and blue with anger.

“My advice to you is to go wash up and then, after you put on some clean clothes, go into your daughter’s room and apologize to her. Tell her one of your stories, or promise her something.”

“She’s right, Michael. You’ve got to do something.”

“But I’m not guilty,” I whined. “I didn’t do it.”

Mrs. Randolph looked at Miriam. Something passed between them. Then she picked up the book again and placed her feet back on the hassock. Miriam returned to her knitting. I stood there wavering.

“We were enjoying the records, Michael,” Miriam said without lifting her eyes from the knitting.

“Don’t you hear me? Don’t you hear what I’m saying?” There was no response. “Miriam!”

She looked up at me slowly. There was such anger in her eyes, such hate. I had to stumble back and take hold of the table upon which the phonograph was set.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, pronouncing each word slowly and emphatically, “until you do what Mrs. Randolph tells you to do. You go up and apologize to our daughter.”

“She’s twisting things around, Miriam. I didn’t do it.” Miriam looked at me a moment, shook her head, and then went back to her knitting again. Mrs. Randolph didn’t raise her eyes from the pages of my book. I ran my fingers through my hair and looked around the room.

What I had just thought was warm and well lit looked too bright and too hot now. Everything seemed threatening and frightening. I wanted to attack the place: smash that checkerboard and send the black and red discs flying about, turn off the lamp, and smash the chairs against the wall. I wanted to break my father’s records. Most of all, I wanted to snatch my book from Mrs. Randolph’s hands and slap her across her arrogant and vicious face. But I did nothing of the sort.

Instead, I stumbled back across the room and to the doorway. I steadied myself against the doorjamb and straightened up again. The light above the stairway was on. The scene had been set for my dramatic mock apology. If I didn’t go up there and do it, I thought, Mrs. Randolph would drive Miriam even further away from me. I wasn’t in any condition to think about alternatives. I couldn’t fight her at that moment.

“All right, Miriam,” I said, “I didn’t do it, but I’ll go up to talk to Lillian and make her feel better.”

“Very good,” Mrs. Randolph said.

“I was talking to Miriam.”

“I think you’re doing the right thing, Michael,” Miriam said. “When you come back down, I’ll make you something warm to eat.”

I shuffled to the stairway and hesitated at the bottom step. Suddenly my stairway looked formidable, like a steep hillside. It stretched before my eyes. I thought it would take me forever to get to the top. My sweaty palm slipped on the bannister. I envisioned myself falling backward and rolling head over heels to the floor.

I wiped my eyes and shook my head in a desperate effort to get hold of myself. I could go up there and pretend I was going into Lillian’s room, I thought; but if I knew that nurse, she would be watching and waiting for me to do something just like that. In fact, she was probably hoping I would do something like that. She could use it to convince Miriam I was no good.

There was only one thing to do: go upstairs and into Lillian’s room and sit there for ten minutes. Then I would come down and say, “Lillian is fine. She wasn’t that upset. She knows I wouldn’t have hurt her dog.”

In fact, I thought, I could do what the nurse was doing. Why not? Why not fight fire with fire? I would stand before both of them and say, “Lillian can’t understand why Mrs. Randolph is carrying on so much. She says Mrs. Randolph is getting her upset. She wanted me to ask Mrs. Randolph to stop talking about the dog.”

That would shut her up and stop her in her tracks. Miriam would believe it. If Lillian could say things to Mrs. Randolph, why couldn’t she say things to me? I was encouraged and filled with renewed hope. The stairway looked less formidable. I turned, looked back at the living room, smiled, and walked up quickly.

The door was shut. I was surprised about that. Maybe that was going to be Mrs. Randolph’s way of testing whether or not I really went into Lillian’s room. They could both be at the foot of the stairs now, listening. All right, I thought, I’ll play the game her way and beat her at it. I opened the door and, turning toward the stairway, said loudly, “Hi, Lillian. It’s Daddy. What’s this about your being upset?” I waited a moment and then walked into the room.

There was no light on, so the room was pitch dark. With the heavy overcast sky, there was no moonlight. The window was practically indistinguishable from the wall. At first I was comfortable with the darkness. Then I thought if I didn’t turn on the lights, Mrs. Randolph might say I wasn’t having any conversation with Lillian. I didn’t want to give her any opportunity to challenge my statements later on. So I went to the light switch.

In the first few moments, I didn’t recognize what it was. It was more like an illusion that had crystallized right before my eyes. The shock of it tore away at the last vestiges of my sanity. I began to choke on my own scream. A great trembling began in my shoulders and arms. It traveled down my body and into my legs.

For the rest of my life, I will often pause to think about that moment. I will recall the electricity in the air, the way my body froze, the sensation of heat that washed over me and scorched my face and neck. My jaw locked and I struggled with all my might to get my mouth open so I could release the scream.

When I could finally control the movement in my arms, I waved them in front of me wildly. The large doll was placed in a sitting position at the edge of the bed, its arms extended toward me. In my mind’s eye, the doll moved. Its hands opened and closed. Its lips quivered. I even thought it called, “Daddy.” All of that sounds ridiculous, I know, but even now I am sure that the nurse found a way to make it happen.

When Lillian was five years old, we bought her a doll that was four feet tall. It was called Baby Walk-Along. Lillian could hold its hand and urge it forward. The doll’s legs would swing out into little steps, and Lillian could walk slowly through the house with her imaginary companion. She gave it a name and then changed it every week or so.

After something happened to the mechanism in the hips, the legs wouldn’t work and Lillian lost interest in the big doll. We got her other dolls, ones that looked more like babies, and she took to them quickly. Eventually we put the big doll in the attic with some of Lillian’s other discarded things. I had forgotten all about it.

Miriam hadn’t forgotten, or else the nurse had discovered it. What she did was dress it in one of Lillian’s old outfits. The doll’s hair was just a shade darker than Lillian’s. It was one of the reasons we had bought it so quickly.

The scream that had begun in the depths of my soul tore through my paralysis and thundered over my vocal cords. When sound did emerge, it was a long, high-pitched “Nooooooo” that drove me back against the wall. Then, as if light were my enemy, I fumbled over the wall to get my fingers on the switch.

Miriam and Mrs. Randolph must have been at the bottom of the stairway all the while. When I came out into the hall, they were coming up the steps. The nurse was yelling at me, and Miriam was crying and following her. I cringed against the wall, unable to express my surprise and shock. The nurse was coming at me fast.

“What a terrible thing to do! Horrible. What did I tell you,” she said turning to Miriam, “he was drunk, right? What did you do to that child?” she shouted back at me.

“Oh, Michael,” Miriam cried. I was in awe of them both. Never in my life had I been in such a state of confusion. I couldn’t explain anything; I couldn’t speak intelligently. I was babbling and crying myself.

They charged past me into Lillian’s room. When the light went back on, I moved further away, toward the stairs. I heard Mrs. Randolph offering words of comfort. Miriam was supporting her with her own soothing words. Supposedly, they were calming down an hysterical child. As I listened to them, images of the big doll flashed across my mind and mixed and merged with the images of Lillian. It was maddening. Did I hear a child’s cry? Was it Lillian’s voice?

“Shut that door,” Mrs. Randolph commanded, “before he comes back in here.”

Miriam slammed it closed. I embraced myself protectively and leaned against the bannister. Their muffled voices grew lower and less excited. I stepped off the top step and let my downward momentum carry me to the bottom, moving like one in a dream who had no control of his direction and purpose.

I stumbled into the living room. The records were still playing. There were far fewer checkers on the board, as if the game had been continued and was nearing completion. Retreating to the couch, I shook my head at everything and muttered my “no’s,” but only when I closed my eyes did I find any comfort. The darkness of my own mind was the safest darkness.

I curled up in Miriam’s fetal position, my body moving in spasmodic jerks. I needed sleep; I needed escape. Everything was closing in around me. I was terribly afraid, more afraid than I could ever remember. I don’t know how long I was like that before the nurse came down, but the records had stopped. I was on the periphery of a deep sleep when she appeared.

Her presence was so strong it tore through any barriers my mind had set up protectively. Her body radiated authority and demanded attention. She was truly magnetic, reaching through or around anything that stood between us. My eyelids flickered, straining to remain closed to keep me safe, but they couldn’t resist her demands. My vision was blurred at first, but as I gazed up at her standing in the doorway, she focused in sharply.

She looked larger than ever. Light emanated from her white uniform. She was a power, a force, an emissary from Hell, a supernatural being. I couldn’t look away. My eyes were locked, my body frozen. She had cast a spell and seized me in her grip. As I waited for her to do with me what she would, I began to shiver. But I seemed unable to do anything to warm myself.

“Now you’ve done it,” she said. Even though I could recognize her voice, it was different. She spoke from new heights. Her voice was filled with more tightness and control. I didn’t just hear her words; I was consumed by them. They penetrated my entire being and vibrated throughout my body. She was literally transmitting through me. I had become a pliable and obedient receiver. She took a step toward me. I brought my knees up against my stomach as tightly as I could.

“You’ve ruined all my work,” she said, “and brought us back to the very beginning. You’re responsible for this. You deliberately destroyed everything that was good. You tore the scab off the wound and exposed the bare flesh. She’s bleeding again.”

“Please,” I began. It didn’t even sound like me. It was as if someone within me was talking. I felt like a third party, an observer of the whole scene.

She was practically standing over me by now. I had my hands pressed against my chest so hard I began to feel pain. I couldn’t look at her. The light around her shoulders was blinding.

“I must insist that you stay away from Miriam. Tonight you’ll sleep someplace else. She might have to take Lillian into bed with her anyway. If I were you, I wouldn’t move from where you are,” she added, and with that she turned and walked to the doorway. She turned back to flick off the lamp and the lights, leaving me in darkness. I shuddered, but felt grateful that she was gone. I didn’t move for fear she would hear me and come back.

I fell asleep wrapped up in myself, but a few times during the night I awoke to the sound of a child’s cry. I heard movement in the rooms above. I saw lights go on and off. I must have been hallucinating, too, because I thought the lights went on in the hall, and I saw Miriam walking with the big doll in her arms. One time I thought the records went back on and “Wooden Heart” was played. For me it was a night of terror, filled with sounds from the past and agony of the present.

When I awoke to the sunlight coming through the windows, I felt as though I hadn’t slept at all. I was so exhausted, I could barely turn on the couch. My first moments of consciousness were dominated by confusion. I had forgotten where I was or why I was there. It was difficult to work it all back into some semblance of order. The chronology of the night before was jumbled.

The pain in my head reminded me that I had drunk quite a bit of whiskey. The images began to fall into place, taking their positions like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I remembered the music and the anger, the darkness and the doll’s appearance, but everything was vague after that.

I sat up. The house was quiet, except for a continuous smooth sound of something rubbing. After a moment I realized it was the phonograph. A record had ended and not rejected. The needle was caught in the clear area, and the monotonous sound was amplified through the speakers.

I stood up too fast, grew terribly dizzy, and had to sit down again. I had to have the worst hangover of my life. My mouth was so dry that my tongue felt like burnt toast. Finally I was able to stand up and steady myself sufficiently to navigate to the phonograph. I turned it off, noting that the stuck record was “Wooden Heart.”

I looked about the room. As the reality of what had happened the night before sunk in, I became more and more enraged. She had gone too far; she had gone berserk. I had to do something about it. I forced myself to think clearly. It was Monday. Perhaps Dr. Turner would be back in his office. If he weren’t, at least Mrs. Greenstreet would be there and I wouldn’t have to deal with that impersonal answering service.

Of course, I didn’t trust Mrs. Greenstreet. I was sure she didn’t like me, and I didn’t want to have to explain things to her. Who was she anyway? She wasn’t a doctor. As I stood there thinking and planning, something else occurred to me. Maybe Dr. Turner never left. Maybe nothing was wrong with his brother. Maybe he and the nurse had concocted that story about his dying brother as a way of keeping me off their backs. He did sound somewhat annoyed the last time I spoke to him. If I got Mrs. Greenstreet on the phone, would she tell me the truth? Obviously not. I couldn’t just call her. I had to go down there and see for myself.

I looked at my watch. It was half past six, which was of course too early for doctor’s hours or the office to be opened, but I didn’t want to remain around the house and wait. I didn’t trust Mrs. Randolph. Who knew what else she was planning and what else she could do, especially if she had any inkling that I was going off to do something about her.

I listened hard. There wasn’t a sound from above. The both of them were asleep. Why not, after the torment they put me through all night? I thought. Bending over like a thief, I walked softly to the doorway of the living room and listened again. Nothing. Just the dripping from the faucet in the kitchen. As quietly as I could, I went to the front door, waited and listened again, and then opened it carefully, making only the slightest noise.

In an instant I was out of the house. I paused on the steps. She could be looking out the front window, I thought. I pressed myself against the front of the porch and slid down to the side of the house, keeping my body from the view of anyone above. Then, after another pause, I charged forward, weaving in and out of some bushes to get to the car. I knelt down behind it and peered up at the front windows.

All of them were dark and empty. I knew she could be peeking out the side of a curtain, but as far as I could tell, she wasn’t there. I slipped into the car from the passenger’s side and got behind the wheel. I realized they might hear the sound of the engine starting, but by then it would be too late for them to stop me. Mrs. Randolph couldn’t use Miriam or Lillian or anything to get in my way. I’d be gone.

As soon as the engine started, I looked up at the windows again. But again, I saw no one. I smiled to myself. It was OK; everything was going to be all right. I put the car into gear and slowly eased it out of the driveway and onto the highway. I looked back only once when I pulled away from the house. The building appeared asleep, quiet, caught in the morning mist, stuck in time like an old picture postcard. The sight of it filled me with sadness, but I hurried on to Dr. Turner’s office and what I hoped would be a solution.

Fortunately, there was very little traffic on the highway that morning. I wasn’t concentrating properly on my driving because I was in a daze. I was remembering old times. But the sequences and the images became confused and absurd. I saw myself as a boy playing with Lillian. And even though I never knew Miriam when she was that young, I recalled her when she was Lillian’s age. I kept moving in and out of these wild daydreams. When I finally saw Dr. Turner’s office building ahead of me, I breathed with relief.

There wasn’t a car in the parking lot yet. I started to pull in there and then thought that if either Mrs. Greenstreet or Dr. Turner saw my car they might not go in. It wasn’t a very logical idea, I know, but nevertheless I didn’t want to take a single chance. I drove around to the street behind the building and parked my car there. I got out and walked over on the sidewalk.

It was nearly seven thirty now, and more of the world was waking up. There was a great deal more traffic and more people. It seemed to me that just about everyone looked my way. Some people in passing cars actually stared with very curious and surprised faces. It wasn’t until I caught my reflection in a storefront window that I realized why. I looked terrible.

My hair was wild. My shirt was ripped. I had no idea how that had happened. My arms were smeared with dirt from when I was down by the cow barn, and my pants were terribly creased and dirty. My face was streaked, too. I had no idea how I would clean up and I didn’t want to take the chance of missing Mrs. Greenstreet’s or Dr. Turner’s arrival, so I cleaned myself the best I could with my handkerchief and then took a position behind a large hedge at the front of Dr. Turner’s building. I squatted there and waited for a little more than an hour before Mrs. Greenstreet finally arrived.

I watched her get out of her car. She was so damn precise about everything: the way she smoothed down her skirt, the way she rolled up the windows, and the way she locked all the doors. She stood back to study the vehicle as though it were about to undergo some sort of inspection. I saw how careful she was about putting it just right in the parking spot.

In the daylight, without the heavy desk around her and the papers and intercom, Mrs. Greenstreet looked a great deal more vulnerable. It made me wonder why I was so timid with this woman. She looked so thin and fragile. The sunlight on her face emphasized the bones of her skull. I had a vision of her stopping on the sidewalk and then crumpling to the ground as her skin slid off her bones. Before she was halfway to the door, I popped out at her.

She took one look at me, gasped, and brought her hands to her throat. For a moment I thought she wouldn’t recognize who I was and would either scream or start running down the street. Her pocketbook dangled in front of her like a shield, and she looked back at me with wide, frightened eyes.

“Mr. Oberman?” she said.

“Yes, yes.”

“I nearly didn’t recognize you. What ... what are you doing here? Where were you standing just now?”

“I was waiting for you or Dr. Turner. Right behind this hedge,” I said pointing behind me. She looked at it as though she had never seen it before. Then she looked back at me, her face still registering a greal deal of confusion and fear.

“Why?”

“I wanted to see you and I didn’t want any excuses.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where’s Dr. Turner?”

“He’s not here. He won’t be here for a few more days. His brother passed away last night. What’s happened to you?” she asked, taking her usual strong, cold posture again. She lowered her pocketbook and stiffened up. “You look at though you were sleeping behind that hedge all night as well.”

“I’ve been having a bad time, Mrs. Greenstreet, a bad time. I have to talk to the doctor.”

“That’s not possible just yet.”

“It’s got to be possible,” I said raising my voice some. She studied me a moment, blinking rapidly.

“Perhaps we can call someone else: Dr. Wasserman or Dr.—”

“No. Let’s go upstairs,” I demanded, “to your office.”

She hesitated. I saw her look to the side for some avenue of escape. She turned slightly to gaze back at her car, but she had locked the doors. Running back to it would be no good. She could wait for someone else to pull into the parking lot, I thought, but I wouldn’t stand for it and she knew better.

“What for?”

“I need some information. You’ll help me.”

“I don’t know what I can do. I’m just manning the office, Mr. Oberman.”

“Let’s go,” I said. I jerked my head toward the front door and stepped back. “Upstairs.” It came out like a loud whisper, which had the effect of making it sound more threatening. She shuddered and then moved to the front door. I waited right behind her as she unlocked it. I knew she was taking her time, still hoping someone else would arrive. But no one did. In a few moments we were inside walking up that short stairway. I followed just a few feet behind her, listening to the click of her heels echo down the clean, smooth corridors.

“Dr. Turner is going to be very upset with you, Mr. Oberman,” she said, turning back to me before she opened the office door.

“I’m very upset with him ... going away and leaving me there with Mrs. Randolph. You don’t know what’s been going on.”

“I can imagine,” she said, and she opened the office door. I followed her in. “Dr. Turner isn’t away on a holiday, you know,” she said hanging up her coat quickly. “It isn’t that he deliberately deserted you.” She moved to the security of her damn large desk, but she didn’t sit down. “What is it you want from me so early in the morning?”

“Get out my wife’s file,” I commanded. “I want to see the resumé on Mrs. Randolph, and I want the telephone number of the agency that sent her to me.”

“Dr. Turner isn’t going to like this.”

“I don’t give a damn!” I said. I leaned over the desk, my face inches from hers. “Don’t you understand what I’ve been going through? I want her out of my house, and if he won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. Get the information.”

She moved quickly to the file cabinet. I watched her search through the drawer. When she lifted a folder out, I went over to her and snatched it from her hands.

“OK,” I said seeing what I wanted. “Go back to your work.” She returned to the desk and sat down, but instead of doing any of the things she was supposed to do, she stared at me continuously.

The resumé on Mrs. Randolph listed her past jobs. I saw that she had worked in a sanitarium. There were recommendations attached and I perused a few. I noted that on a couple of them there was a comment concerning her tendency to overstep her authority. On one letter, it was underlined. I thought, perhaps, Dr. Turner had done it. The rest of the letters and comments were all laudable, filled with hyperboles.

“I hope they make my comments part of her resumé some day,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. I want to use Dr. Turner’s office. I have to call this agency.” I spoke with authority. It was what Mrs. Greenstreet was used to. I could see that now. She ate timid people for breakfast. “Is that door locked?”

“Of course. I can’t let you in there. I ...”

What she saw in my face must have been enough. I didn’t raise my voice; I didn’t threaten her with any violent gesture. I did take a few steps toward her, but my arms were down, my hands still holding the file. She said nothing else. She opened the top drawer of her desk, took out a set of keys, and walked to Dr. Turner’s inner office door. I waited right behind her as she unlocked it. I was so close I could get a strong whiff of her perfumed hair spray. It was nauseating.

“I just want to use the phone in there,” I said. “After that, I’ll leave you be.”

She stepped back, her bony hands clenched into tiny fists and held against her hips. Her skin was white around her lips.

“I want you to know that all of this is highly irregular and reprehensible behavior. I’ll have to report every detail of it to Dr. Turner when he calls in.”

“That’s fine.”

I walked past her and into the office. I didn’t hesitate even though there was something sacrosanct about his desk and his chair. The books, the papers, the tape recorder, all of his paraphernalia, were the icons of the new religion: psychoanalysis. But I felt betrayed by it all, and I was determined to strike back. I dialed Mrs. Randolph’s agency to speak to the man who signed the cover letter on her. Fortunately, he had just come into his office. His secretary put me on hold, and I sat in Dr. Turner’s chair. The feel of the soft leather imbued me with a sense of confidence. I could do this, I thought; I could be as strong and as professional as any doctor.

When the man got on the phone, I introduced myself. He knew our case immediately, so I could go right to describing some of the terrible things Mrs. Randolph had done. In the beginning he sounded incredulous, but as I went on and on, that reaction changed. I told him I wanted her out of my house immediately. I explained about Dr. Turner’s absence and my need to speak to him directly. He listened, he apologized, and he promised to take quick action.

I gave him my phone number so he could call Mrs. Randolph directly and order her to leave my house. He said he would do it. I told him I would mail him the check for the amount we owed to date, and he became even more cooperative. I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t do the things I asked him to do, but just to be sure, I went back out to Mrs. Greenstreet and had her call him to confirm that I was in the doctor’s office and that I was upset. She did so in her usual detached and efficient manner. After she hung up, I returned the file.

“Now that it’s over, I can apologize to you,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I had to do things this way. Afterward, when Dr. Turner learns about everything, you’ll understand why I was so demanding.”

“For your sake and for your poor wife’s sake, I hope you’re right,” she said. That woman wouldn’t give a crumb to her starving grandmother, I thought.

But I was satisfied. I had come down to Dr. Turner’s office to demand action of him. That being impossible, I did the next best thing: I took action myself. I was feeling rather proud of myself as I left that office. I thought I had finally fought back the way a man should fight back. Mrs. Randolph would be defeated. She would have to leave my house and answer to her superiors. After Dr. Turner returned and discovered all of the terrible things she had done and how she had botched up poor Miriam, he would add to the furor. Maybe the agency would cut her from their rolls. Maybe she would be brought up on some charges.

I expected that by the time I reached home it would be over. She would be packed and a taxi would have been ordered. I would say nothing to her. Miriam would be upset, of course, but once Mrs. Randolph left the house, I would take things back into control and make her understand why it was for the best. Afterward, we’d start anew and treat her in a sensible and medically correct manner. I was sure of it.

When I got back into my car, I intended to go straight home. But along the way, I thought about the old music, Lillian’s big doll, and the tinkle of her chimes in the darkness. I thought about what had been done to my daughter’s memory, and I felt terribly sad and alone. The ultimate conclusion was that Miriam was still sick and Lillian was still gone. Mrs. Randolph had distorted all of it, but she hadn’t changed any of it. I decided to do something I hadn’t done for months. I turned off the main highway and headed up to the cemetery to visit Lillian’s grave.

13

LILLIAN’S GRAVE WAS IN THE SAME CEMETERY AS MY mother’s and father’s. My father had always been very practical about such things. He purchased the equivalent of ten plots. I never took any interest in it and I ignored it, but when the need came up, I was grateful that he had done it. I think he did it more for my mother’s sake than anything else. It was very important to her that everyone be together. “You can’t hold hands six feet under,” he once said, but she chastised him so badly for that sacrilege that he never mentioned anything about it again.

The cemetery belonged to the old Mountaindale synagogue. My father wasn’t much of a member, but he made significant contributions, and he was sure to attend services on the High Holy Days. Because of his farm work, he was rarely called upon to help fill out a minyan, the ten men needed to conduct services of any kind. He did go up to the cemetery a number of times to clear off the unused portion with his tractor-mower. I can remember going with him only once. I didn’t like riding on the tractor, and I had a terrible fear of the mower. My mother once told me about a little boy who was hiding in the tall grass. His father unknowingly cut him in half, she said. I think it was a story designed to keep me out of my father’s way, but nevertheless it had a tremendous impact.

The founders of the synagogue couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful spot for their cemetery. It was off a side road about two miles from the hamlet of Mountaindale. They located it at the top of a hill. Standing at the gate of the cemetery, I could see well off across the Shwangunk Mountain range. The blue ridges went on endlessly to the horizon. Some people claimed that on a very clear day they could see northwest into Pennsylvania. There was a forest of cool pine trees behind the cemetery and clear, but overgrown fields below it.

I stopped at the foot of the hill. There was a clearing used for parking there, and it was just a short walk up the gravel road to the cemetery itself. The morning dew hadn’t yet dried so the tall grass still had a sheen in the sunlight. All of the leaves were at their peak rich green. The quiet setting, the gradually warming air, the clean, fresh odors, all contributed toward a calming of my spirit. For the moment at least, the turmoil was behind me, left within the hubbub of traffic, telephones, and concrete. Here in the sanctity of Nature, I could kneel beside Lillian’s tombstone and truly communicate with her. There would be none of the nurse’s insanity; there would be only the merging of our spirits. I would sense her and she would sense me.

I passed through the gate and gazed at familiar names. The cemetery was well manicured, the gravesites trim. Many tombstones were topped by small rocks indicating the number of visitations by relatives and loved ones. The sight of that made me feel somewhat guilty about my infrequent visits. I turned down the path that led to our family’s section. My gaze was on the ground before me; I had a mind cleared of thoughts. As I drew closer, however, I began to tremble because my sorrow was awakening.

I saw my mother and father’s stone first. They shared a large one and had separate footstones delineating their dates of death and Jewish names. Then I looked to Lillian’s stone, a smaller stone, and stopped dead in my tracks.

There, draped over the small monument, was a white cloth hiding Lillian’s name and dates. The cloth, in the form of a large sock, covered all the information and made the stone look blank. The sight of it put me into such a shock that I could barely move. It took a few moments for me to realize what Mrs. Randolph had done.

She had come up here one day when I was at work, probably, and covered the monument. She had done it either to torment me further or to continue the illusion that Lillian was not dead. Maybe she thought I would bring Miriam up here eventually to reinforce the reality of Lillian’s passing. I knew she did it, and I knew I could confirm it by checking with the taxi cab companies to find out which one had brought her here.

When the initial surprise ended, I charged forward in a rage and pulled the material off the stone. I crushed it into a ball in my hands and then stomped on it. Screaming, I kicked it and kicked it until it was smeared with dirt then flung it away. I stroked the stone soothingly, muttering softly to Lillian. In my mind the nurse had terrorized her even in death. I imagined that the stone was a link with the world of light, that the dead had contact with the living through it, and that the nurse had blinded my Lillian and left her in total darkness when she put that sheet over the stone.

I spoke to Lillian the same way I had when she suffered a nightmare. I imagined her crying, her little tears streaming down her cheeks. I felt her tiny hands clasp my neck and her face press against mine. I kissed her eyes and her hair and filled her with strength and happiness again. I told her I would be here more often now and I would never leave her alone so long again. I told her that the bad woman who had done this terrible thing was soon to be gone forever.

I felt the fear and unhappiness leave her. She was calm again and able to sleep comfortably. For a while I simply lay there over her grave, my head against the stone. When I sensed her slipping away, back to her place of rest, I stood up. I looked over at the damn sheet again and cursed. Then I kissed the stone and headed back down the path. I was very eager to get back to the house and be sure that Mrs. Randolph was leaving. I was determined to throw her out physically if I had to. Nothing else crossed my mind all the way home.

As I pulled into the driveway, I thought the house was deceptively peaceful looking. But when I parked the car, I noticed that the window of Lillian’s room was closed and the curtains drawn tightly the way they were before Mrs. Randolph came. For a moment I wondered if the taxi had already come and Mrs. Randolph had left. Inwardly, I hoped that was so. Despite my anger and desire to tell her what I really thought of her, I would rather there were no major confrontation.

The moment I entered the house, I knew she was still there. Her suitcases were at the foot of the stairway. I closed the door and Miriam came from the kitchen quickly.

“Oh, Michael,” she said, “Michael. Something terrible has happened. You’ve got to do something. Mrs. Randolph’s agency called and told her to return. She has to leave right away.’’

“Where is she?”

“Up in her room. Lillian will be heartbroken.”

“No, Miriam, she won’t,” I said looking at her as intensely as I could. She paid no attention to me.

“Please, Michael, call Dr. Turner. He can do something about it, I’m sure.”

“Dr. Turner’s not here. His brother died last night. He won’t be back for a few days.”

“Oh no, Michael. What will we do?”

“We’ll get along without her, dear, just as we did before.”

“But Lillian ...”

“Lillian will be all right.”

“Oh, Michael.” She began to cry. I embraced her and kissed her softly as I led her to the living room.

“Just rest for a few minutes, dear. I’m going upstairs to have a few final words with Mrs. Randolph. Did she call herself a cab?”

“Not yet. I told her to wait until you returned. Where were you?” she asked sitting down. “Why weren’t you here when that agency man called? You could have said something.”

“I had to get some things in town.”

She considered me for the first time since I came in. “You look terrible.”

“I slept in these clothes, Miriam. Don’t you remember what happened last night?”

“Lillian was terribly afraid. I remember that. I had to let her sleep with me.”

“Oh no.”

“Mrs. Randolph said it was OK.”

“I’d expect that. I’ll be right back,” I said. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Please, Michael, do something.”

I nodded and left her sitting there. To keep myself strong as I walked up those steps, I concentrated on all the terrible things the nurse had done to us during her stay here. I thought about the way she had gained control of us, ordering me about by using Miriam and our love for Lillian. I thought about the stupidity of hooking up that television set and getting that dog. I remembered the horror I felt when I first saw the wheelchair. I recalled the night she pretended to be Lillian in Lillian’s room and how I had pleaded with her to end it. I realized how close to madness I had come because of the eerie and ghastly things she had done with the doll and the wheelchair.

And then I thought about sex and how she had used it as a weapon to defeat and manipulate me. She used our weaknesses against us, escalating her attacks on us every day until she thought she had us completely within her control. Thank God I had realized it all in time and taken action, I thought. Thank God it was all going to end.

When I reached the top of the stairway, I started toward her room. But out of the corner of my eye, I caught her standing to my right. I spun around and confronted her in Lillian’s doorway. She was still dressed in her immaculate nurse’s uniform, and she was smiling. Her look of confidence and calm caused me to pause. I had hoped that after she had been chastised by the agency director and ordered out of my house she would look more humble and defeated. I expected her to be angry, but not strong.

“Looking for me, Michael?” she asked.

“I was hoping you would be gone by the time I returned.”

“I bet you were.”

“I just came from the cemetery,” I said. I paused to see if that would bring a reaction in her, but she didn’t change expression. “They don’t know how sick you are. They don’t know the half of it, but they will. I promise you that.”

“I wonder who really is the sick one here.”

“I don’t want to discuss it. I just want you to leave this house like you’re supposed to.”

“I’ll leave, but not before Miriam learns the truth about you and what you’ve done to her.”

“What are you talking about now? What truth?”

“The truth about this childlike, half-catatonic state you’ve kept her in all this time. I was planning to bring her out of it my way, slowly and carefully, but you’ve ruined that. Somehow,” she said nodding, “I knew you would. So now, I’m going to have to do it abruptly. I owe it to her, you see,” she added, smiling wider. “I can’t leave her here with a madman and just walk out and forget about her.”

“Don’t you go near her anymore. You’ve done enough damage.”

“I don’t think I was the one who did the damage. Let’s go back to the accident. She has to remember it in detail now, and the one detail she has to be made to recall was that Lillian’s head went smashing into that windshield. She was killed instantly, and there is no longer any time to pretend anything else.”

“No,” I said.

“Oh yes, thanks to you. And now you might wonder how I am going to bring this reality home to her. How can I convince her of something in a few moments when her mind has spent months refusing to admit it?”

She paused. Her eyes widened with excitement, and she clasped her hands and then rubbed the palms against each other as she went on.

“Here’s where I’ve been brilliant,” she said, “not that you would ever appreciate me. How carefully I’ve been drawing her deeper and deeper into her own illusion, using it to direct her this way and that.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Yes, but what you don’t know is I have always had things planned out, mapped to perfection. Take the wheelchair, for example, that was an ingenious stroke. Because of it, I could get Lillian out of this confining room. I could strengthen Miriam’s link with her fantasy and make Lillian do real things. We took her on walks. That’s where the doll came into it. One of your friends almost ruined that when his wife rode by and saw us, but you were so gullible, so easy to fool. I couldn’t trust you with the truth. You wouldn’t have understood. But it was a brilliant touch, wasn’t it? It was, after all, something Miriam associated closely with Lillian. Her doll, a doll you purchased because it reminded you of her. What irony!” She laughed.

“You’re despicable. I might just go to the police and press charges against you.”

“For what? Come on now, we both know that what I did would have helped Miriam if you would have stayed out of it. You were never really interested in helping her.”

I thought I would strike her. My fists were clenched, and my teeth were pressed hard against each other. She kept up that self-satisfied smile and stood there in Lillian’s doorway.

“But back to the problem,” she said. “How am I going to get Miriam to face up to the fact that Lillian is dead? Simple. I’m going to kill the doll. She’s transformed Lillian into the doll. She even slept with it last night.”

“What do you mean, kill the doll?”

“Well, how did Lillian die, Michael? Where was the fatal blow? Now you’re speechless?” The smile left her face. She stepped to the side to permit me to look into Lillian’s room.

If there was any doubt in my mind that she was a vicious human being, that doubt was immediately wiped away. She had placed Baby Walk-Along on Lillian’s bed and dressed it in clothing similar to the clothing Lillian wore on the day of the accident. I was amazed at her attention to detail and how much information she had drawn from Miriam. She must have spent hours talking to her, making mental notes, and making Miriam relive minutiae.

I took a few steps to the doorway, drawn by a morbid curiosity to see what she had done with that doll. When it came fully into view, I gasped. She had smashed in the doll’s forehead and smeared the head and face with red liquid that looked like blood. It was so realistic that for a few moments I was thrown back to the accident. I had to bring my hands to my face.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she said, that insane tone of pride in her voice. “It’ll work. I tapped it once with this sledgehammer of yours I found in the basement,” she added pointing to the tool against the wall just inside the door. “It’s important to be realistic,” she said in a maddeningly happy sounding voice. “And now, it’s time for me to do what I was sent here to do—cure Miriam.”

“No,” I said, barely louder than a whisper.

“Miriam,’’ she shouted.

“No, don’t do this. It’s not curing her; it’s killing her.”

“You should have thought of that before you interfered with me. Miriam.”

“No, don’t—”

“Are you calling me, Mrs. Randolph?”

Miriam was at the foot of the stairs. I began to panic. I stepped out with the intention of telling her to go away, to go back into the living room, but the nurse went to Lillian’s bed and lifted the doll into her arms. She held it like one might hold a dead little girl. She pressed it to her body. The dye smeared the front of her uniform and the doll’s arms dangled freely. I moved back toward her.

“I won’t let you do this.”

“Miriam. I want to show you something.”

“You want me upstairs, Mrs. Randolph?”

“Just wait there. Michael, we’ve got to show her,” she added moving toward me. I wanted to remain in that doorway to block her and keep her in that room, but when she held the doll out toward me and I saw the blood-streaked hair, images of Lillian’s limp body passed before me. I was in a frenzy, clawing at my own face. I felt my fingernails tear into my skin. “Here,” she said, “take Lillian out to Miriam to show her.”

“No.”

“Michael?” Miriam was on the first step.

I couldn’t help it though; I stepped away from the bloodied head, and the nurse walked past me. I was determined not to have that doll touch me. She left me standing just inside the doorway. When I realized she had gone out and was moving toward Miriam, I screamed, “Stop!” Of course, she didn’t. She was at the head of the stairs, and Miriam was looking up.

“Miriam, you have to face the truth now,” Mrs. Randolph said. “This is what happened that night in the car,” she went on. “You have lived with a lie too long, and Michael hasn’t helped you.”

I felt helpless until I saw the sledgehammer. From behind the nurse was vulnerable. There were no intimidating eyes, no smiles of disdain. I gripped the tool firmly and moved out into the hall, inching closer to her. She was talking slowly, describing the accident from the beginning. I caught just one glimpse of Miriam shaking her head and stepping back with every step Mrs. Randolph took forward.

“Leave her alone!” I screamed. “I’m warning you. Leave her be!”

The nurse didn’t hesitate. The doll dangled from her arms. One of its shoes had fallen off, just as one of Lillian’s shoes had that night. I raised the sledgehammer, not even aware of its weight. The nurse kept talking and talking.

“Noooo!” I screamed as my arms drove the tool forward. I swung it against everything I have ever hated. I swung it against all my nightmares and sorrows. I didn’t see the nurse’s head; I saw my father ridiculing me for being too weak or too lazy. I saw my mother being lowered into her grave. I saw the frightening darkness filled with the eyes of wild animals around the house. I heard the howling and the screams. All of the terrifying sounds of my life merged into a cacophony. Mostly, I heard the screech of tires and Miriam’s scream. Then I saw Lillian’s body rise off the front seat. I saw her glance toward me in an instant, and helplessly, I watched her head smash against the glass.

The sledgehammer slammed into the back of Mrs. Randolph’s head. I felt it crush the bone and meet soft matter. The momentum of my blow carried me forward, too. Mrs. Randolph flew forward and then crumpled to the steps, dropping the broken doll before her. I took hold of the bannister to prevent myself from following her down. The doll bounced over the steps and landed before Miriam. She screamed and turned away, running into the living room as Mrs. Randolph’s body tottered and then went over and over. The nurse ended at the foot of the stairs, beside the doll, looking as loose and as broken. Both their heads bled.

Mrs. Randolph’s head was back against the bottom step. She was gaping up at me in death, her eyes wide, still terrifying, still intimidating. I held on to the bannister for dear life and tried to catch my breath. The sledge-hammer fell over but didn’t slide down the stairs. Mrs. Randolph’s arms were twisted back. Her legs were spread apart and her feet turned in.

Slowly, I lowered myself to the step and sat down. I could hear Miriam crying in the living room. I shook my head. I was going to vomit. I could feel it coming, so I lowered my head to my knees and sat there for as long as I could without moving. The nausea was relieved, but when I looked up again and saw Mrs. Randolph still staring at me, I grew dizzy. I turned away, sprawling over the top steps of the stairway. I must have remained like that for a full five minutes. My heartbeat slowed down, and my breathing became regular. When I turned back again, I felt a definite change come over me.

Mrs. Randolph is finally leaving, I thought. The idea took stronger and stronger hold of me. Mrs. Randolph is going and we’ll be able to have things the way they were. That’s good; that’s what we both wanted. Even Mrs. Randolph wanted it, although she wouldn’t admit it. Yes, I thought, and I stood up.

“So you’re leaving,” I said aloud, gaining even more strength from the sound of my own voice. “Well, then, it’s time to say goodbye.” I took a step downward toward the body. “So you’re leaving,” I repeated. I took another step and another. When I got to the body, I stepped over it, avoiding looking down at her. I remained there thinking for a moment until an idea came to me. It cheered me up. I was definitely stronger now. I was in control because Mrs. Randolph was leaving. Things were rapidly returning to the way they were. I felt I could handle anything, any problem, any situation.

“She has to leave,” I said. I picked up her two suitcases that had been left at the bottom of the stairway and carried them out to the back porch. I had to go through the kitchen and through the pantry. When I got to the porch, I set the suitcases down.

“Mrs. Randolph is going,” I told the trees and the now empty doghouse. I turned abruptly and went back through the pantry and through the kitchen. The body was still at the bottom of the stairway, the head still back on a step, the eyes still open and looking up. But I was no longer at the top of the stairs. I was down where she couldn’t see me to stop me.

I lifted her legs carefully, holding them at my hips and pulling. Her head bounced on the floor, but she didn’t blink and her eyes didn’t stop looking up. Not a very dignified way to go out, I thought. Her skirt was up to her thighs. I nearly laughed.

“This doesn’t look so good, Mrs. Randolph,” I said. “This is not like you.”

As soon as I began to drag her, the blood poured profusely from the wound in her head. A rather large circle of it had formed where she fell. I made a mental note to clean that up, as well as the streak I was now leaving.

“Very messy, Mrs. Randolph,” I said. “Very inconsiderate.”

Her head bounced slightly as we moved over the rougher kitchen floor and pantry. When I got her out on the small back porch, I placed her beside the suitcases. “Wait here for your taxi,” I said. “It should arrive any moment.”

I stood there thinking. I had one more thing to do, but I had to do it differently. I went back into the pantry and got a tablecloth. Then I walked back through the kitchen to the stairway. There, without actually looking down at it, I dropped the tablecloth over the big doll. I knelt down and wrapped it around as tightly as I could. As I lifted it in my arms, I turned my head away. When I stood up again, I paused. Miriam was still sobbing.

“I’ll be right there, dear,” I called. “I just have to see Mrs. Randolph off. She needs some help with her suitcases. It’s only polite. I won’t be long.” Her sobbing stopped. I smiled and walked on through the kitchen and pantry to the back porch where Mrs. Randolph waited.

“Well,” I said. “I see the cab has arrived. It’s time to go then.”

I set the wrapped doll beside Mrs. Randolph and went around the house to get my shovel.

Aside from the fact that the earth was softest in that area, there was something poetically just about digging the nurse’s grave next to the dog’s. Of course, I had to go deeper. It was the most physical work I had done in years. My father should see me now, I thought. He’d be so proud. “You do have muscles on those thin bones,” he would say and laugh.

I took a great deal of care digging the grave. It was almost as though I thought the nurse might complain if it weren’t just right. I dug a nearly perfect rectangle, cutting the corners sharply. I hit rocks a number of times. There was one big one I couldn’t get around, so I had to pause and go into the house to get the sledge-hammer. I was happy it happened because I had completely forgotten that I left the tool on the stairs. I decided to leave the sledgehammer in the grave with Mrs. Randolph. When I finished digging, I laid that in first.

Then I went back to the porch and got the suitcases. I stood there for a moment, a suitcase in each hand, looking out over the fields. Even though I was physically tired, I felt good. I felt invigorated. I took deep breaths and closed my eyes. The sun was behind the house now, but the rays were still very warm and soothing.

“Beautiful day, Mrs. Randolph. Too bad you never really enjoyed it up here. Some beautiful country, especially in the fall. Well, it’s time to go,” I said, and I marched out to the grave. I dropped the suitcases in, just the way a cab driver would put them into the trunk of his taxi.

“Hey,” I said remembering the cab driver who had originally brought her to the house, “you drew this assignment again, eh? Well, don’t worry. She’s changed since you first met her. She won’t complain about anything, not a thing. Although,” I whispered, “I’d better tip you in advance. Why take a chance.” I laughed as he would laugh. “I’ll get her now,” I said. I walked back to the porch.

“Time’s come, Mrs. Randolph. I know you’re eager to go.”

First I thought I might just lift her and carry her the way she had carried the doll, but I could barely get her body off the floor of the porch, and my back felt as though it would rip out. “Sorry. Looks like you’ll have to go the last few feet the same way you came out here.”

I took her legs by the ankles and pulled her off the porch. Her head bounced on every step and hit the earth solidly. The blood must have dried over the wound though, because the trip didn’t leave that much behind. It was much easier dragging her over the lawn. I lined her up beside the grave and then knelt down, avoiding her eyes, and turned her hard. She spilled over and into the hole. It was a snug fit. The grave wasn’t as wide as I had envisioned. I had to sit on the edge and push her down with my feet, leaving my footprints on the front of that once immaculate uniform.

“Sorry,” I said and stood up. I started for the shovel when I remembered the doll. I stood there looking back at it on the porch. The mummified little mannequin sent a shiver up my spine. “Got to do it all,” I said and walked back to the porch. I brought the doll to the grave and dropped it in on top of Mrs. Randolph. I found the best way not to think about it was to work hard and fast with the shovel.

After I was finished, I stood there leaning on the shovel and admiring my work. I would have to get some grass seed tomorrow, I thought. The two graves stood out clearly in the midst of the back lawn. I’d get some rye grass, and in a few weeks no one would be able to tell what was there. I wiped my forehead with my handkerchief, closed my eyes, and imagined I heard the sound of a taxi cab as it pulled away from the house. I could even see it disappearing down the country road as it went around the far turn.

“Well,” I said, “she’s gone.”

I turned back to the house and to Miriam. I thrust the shovel under the back porch, kicked the dirt off my shoes, and went inside. I remembered the thin streak of blood over the pantry floor, the kitchen floor, and the floor by the stairway, so I filled a pail with hot water and one of those miracle cleansers and began scrubbing away. It came off easily everywhere but by the stairs. I worked hard at it, but when I stood up and looked down, I thought I could still see slight shades of a red streak in the wood. I was tired and decided that I would work on it again tomorrow.

I put everything away and went upstairs to take a shower and change my clothes. All the while Miriam remained in the living room waiting. That was a good sign; it meant she was in control of herself and she was being obedient. I put on one of the shirts I knew she liked me to wear, brushed my hair neatly, dabbed cologne over my neck, and went down to her.

I was happy to see she had gone back to her knitting. She was seated on the couch and looked up from her work only after I had been standing in the doorway for a good minute. Her face was still a little flushed, but her eyes were dry. I saw that the checkerboard was gone from the table and the chairs had been put back in place. My hassock and easy chair were also back in their original place. The living room looked like it did before Mrs. Randolph had arrived. I nodded with satisfaction.

“So,” I said coming in to take my seat, “Mrs. Randolph has finally gone.”

“Has she?”

“Yes.”

We stared at each other for a moment. Her face looked as fragile and as soft as ever. Her eyes were warm and tender, revealing her vulnerability. My heart went out to her. I smiled so she would feel more relaxed and comfortable.

“I guess you were right after all, Michael. We didn’t need her.”

“Oh no, we didn’t need her. And despite whatever she did and said, Lillian never liked her.”

“I know. We just had a little talk about that. I thought Lillian might become terribly upset when she learned that Mrs. Randolph was gone. But she wasn’t. She told me the nurse often frightened her.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

I picked up my book, the one Mrs. Randolph had taken, and pulled the bookmark out from between the pages. I didn’t believe she had read that far anyway. She put the marker that far in just to make me feel inadequate.

“What do you think of the wheelchair?” Miriam asked. “Do you think we should continue with it?”

“No. I’ll call the company in the morning and have them pick it up.”

“We shouldn’t do anything different unless Dr. Turner tells us to, right, Michael?”

“Yes, dear, that’s right.”

“We ought to be able to sue that agency for sending such a person to us.”

“I don’t think we should spend any more of our time thinking about her,” I said. “She’s not worth it. I would rather we forgot about her and Lillian forgot about her.”

“Yes. That’s very good, Michael.” She started to knit again and then stopped to look up at me. “Should I play some music?”

“Not the old records again.”

“No. I put them away and took out the Carmina Burana.”

“Good.” I watched her go to the phonograph and start the recording.

“I’m going to make you one of your favorite meals tonight,” she said, “chicken and peapods in the wok.”

“I look forward to that, dear.”

She smiled and I looked down at the book. The music played. Miriam continued knitting, her simple, Mona Lisa smile returning. I looked back toward the stairway and Lillian’s room, listening hard for a moment. All seemed calm; all seemed well again.

I took a deep breath and began to read, thinking how wonderful it was now that Mrs. Randolph had finally gone.

14

NOTHING HAD CHANGED WHEN MORNING CAME. As I expected, our lives began all over again. Miriam settled into taking care of Lillian, and I did my chores around the house and looked after her. Two days later, I remembered to call Mr. Kasofsky at the bank. From his tone of voice, I could tell that he was surprised I hadn’t called earlier. I was glad I hadn’t. I wanted to show him how disdainfully I looked at the job and him now.

“I have been quite busy here,” I said, “because our nurse left.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She couldn’t hack the country life. Too quiet for her nervous system, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you getting someone else?”

“Not for the time being. That’s why I have decided to continue my sabbatical.”

“I understand,” he said with obvious relief in his voice.

“Not that I agree with you that I wasn’t ready to come back.”

“Well ...”

“On the contrary, I wish to participate more fully in my business affairs. I’ve neglected them too long. Consequently, I will be coming into the bank in a day or so to withdraw a major portion of my account.”

“Withdraw?”

“Yes. I intend to work on other investments. Good day, Mr. K.,” I said, and I laughed to myself after I hung up. I could imagine the expression on his face. How the chatter would fly in the bank!

Later that day I received a phone call from Dr. Turner. I had just finished cleaning what had been Mrs. Randolph’s room. I didn’t want the slightest trace of her to remain. I vacuumed the rug; I searched the dresser and chairs for any hair that might have fallen from her head. I opened the windows wide to air out any odor that was reminiscent of her. Of course, I stripped down the bedding and scrubbed the headboard. I worked fast, but meticulously.

I wasn’t surprised when Dr. Turner called. I had been expecting it. I had thought that he would sound more angry. After all, Mrs. Greenstreet must have described my visit to his office in great detail. But he was his same old calm and controlled self. I even felt he was nauseatingly solicitous.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me, Michael,” he began, “but you know of my tragedy.”

“Yes. You have our sympathies. I waited as long as I could before taking action. I apologize if I was rude to Mrs. Greenstreet.”

“She did tell me how perturbed you were.”

“I had good reason to be, as I was trying to tell you before you left.”

“I’d like to hear more about it. Perhaps I should also speak with Mrs. Randolph. Is she there?”

“Here? Of course not. Didn’t Mrs. Greenstreet tell you that I called her agency from your office?” He was quiet for a long moment. I thought we might have been cut off. “Dr. Turner?”

“Yes.”

“I made it very clear that Mrs. Randolph had to go. The agency director was very sympathetic. I had the suspicion that mine wasn’t the first complaint about her.”

“I see. Michael, do you think it would be all right if I took a ride to talk to you?”

“Now?”

“I would like to learn some of the details.”

“It’s awfully close to dinner.”

“I don’t expect to stay long.”

“I suppose it’s OK.”

“Fine,” he said quickly. “I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up and went down to tell Miriam. Even she was quite surprised that Dr. Turner would make a special trip.

“Maybe he feels guilty for neglecting us in our time of greatest need,” I said.

“Should I make something?” She started to get up.

“No. He simply wants to learn about Mrs. Randolph ... why she was so bad.”

“Oh.”

“You let me do the talking. I know how difficult it is for you to say bad things about people. Even when they’re justified.”

“All right, Michael. Is he going to go up to talk to Lillian?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” I added quickly.

“Well, maybe I should warn her anyway. Just in case,” she said rising. I watched her walk out of the room. Then I sat down and tried to read, but my eyes wouldn’t stay with the pages. I kept looking at the clock. His impending arrival made me very nervous. I would have rather we discussed it all in his office. I didn’t want to talk about Mrs. Randolph in this house. It would be eerie, I thought. It would be as though she still had a presence here.

I got up and walked about the house. Nothing seemed right. The house was closing in on me just because Dr. Turner was coming to talk about her. Goodness knows, I thought, I might start speaking extra softly just out of habit, forgetting she was gone.

Finally, I poured myself a stiff drink. For a while that helped, but as the hands of the clock moved forward, I paced more and more and had to have another drink. I kept looking out the front window, expecting his car. It was certainly taking him longer than it should. Where was he?

Miriam came back downstairs, and I sat down again. She looked much calmer than I felt. I sipped my drink and watched her go back to her knitting.

“How’s Lillian?”

“She’s all right, but she doesn’t want to talk about Mrs. Randolph. She hopes the doctor won’t come up. I told her not to worry. We wouldn’t let him.”

“He doesn’t have to talk to her,” I said. “He doesn’t have to talk to anyone but me. I know everything in detail.”

“That’s what I told her.”

The sound of the door buzzer shocked me. I hadn’t seen Dr. Turner’s car come into our driveway, and I had a clear view of it through the front windows.

“That’s Turner. Remember what I told you about letting me do the talking,” I said getting up.

I thought he looked remarkably robust for someone who had just lost his brother. He wasn’t pale with mourning; he didn’t look tired. He looked as though he had just returned from a convention, not a funeral. He was dressed in a light sports coat and slacks with a shirt opened at the collar. I realized that I had never seen him out in the daylight before. His beard looked grayer on the sides, but his red mustache was brighter. He was still a physically formidable person. Even more so out of the confines of his office.

“Beautiful out here,” he said stepping in. “How much of this land is yours?”

“Down to the turn on the left and all the way to Max Gilbert’s place on the right. We go back to the foot of the mountain.”

“Gorgeous.”

He was talking to me, but he was gazing everywhere. With obviously deep curiosity, he looked at everything intensely. I didn’t trust his smile. I didn’t tell him on the phone, and I didn’t say anything to Miriam about it, but I was quite upset with him not only for not being there when we needed him but because he was primarily responsible for bringing Mrs. Randolph to this house. I had trusted him. As far as I was concerned, he had betrayed us. He had more allegiance to his precious medical community than he did to us.

“How is Miriam?”

“She’s calmer now, but it wasn’t so good three days ago.” I looked him right in the eye. I wanted him to feel my anger. If he did, he didn’t reveal it. He wore that professional “psychiatric face.” He was an expert at looking neutral. I knew that was designed to put patients at ease so that they would spill their insides before him. Then he would pluck away at these defenseless souls. I wasn’t sure I wanted Miriam to continue with him.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“I’m not a psychiatrist,” I said hitting my consonants so hard I sounded like someone with a speech impediment, “but it might be wise to go easy on any references to Mrs. Randolph.”

“Of course.”

There was an embarrassing pause because I made no effort to make him welcome and we were still standing in the entrance way. I was tempted to see how long he could maintain that phony friendly smile, but finally I stepped back.

“She’s in the living room, first door on the left.”

“Hello, Miriam,” he said. I was right behind him. She put her knitting down and rose, her smile so wide and happy it brought tears to my eyes. How trusting and loving Miriam could be and how people took advantage of that. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t right. I had to do a better job of protecting her.

“Dr. Turner, it’s so nice that you came out here.” Her smile changed so drastically and with such obvious contrivance it made her look like a child playing at pretending. She took on a look of sorrow. “We are sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t we all sit down,” I said. I wanted to sit next to Miriam, but he did. I took my chair. Nearly three days had passed since the nurse was gone, but I still hadn’t gotten the feel of her out of that chair. Whenever I sat in it, images of her invading my space flashed before me. I no longer put my feet on the hassock because it was something she liked to do and it reminded me too much of her.

“One of the worse things for me was not being able to deal directly with my patients,” he said. He took Miriam’s hand. She gave it most willingly.

“Fortunately, some of us get stronger as the need arises,” I said. He nodded, and I mumbled, “Physician, heal thyself,” but I didn’t think he heard me. At least he didn’t show that he had.

“I thought I had left my affairs in capable hands,” he said. I simply grunted. Miriam continued to smile dotingly at him. “Do you think you might want to consider someone new?” he asked. Miriam looked to me quickly.

“I think not.” I had my hands clasped before me on my lap. He nodded again.

“So how are you feeling, Miriam?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Michael is helping me again, and things are going as well as can be expected. He’s not working anymore, you know.”

“You had gone back?”

“I thought since we had someone with us who was supposedly so capable, I might be able to go back, but as that didn’t prove true ...”

“This is a big house to maintain,” he said looking around as though he could see through the walls and ceiling.

“And with Lillian ...” Miriam said.

“Yes, and with Lillian. Well,” he said slapping his knees, “maybe Michael can show me around a bit. I’ve always been intrigued by these old farmhouses. People keep them so nice, and builders don’t construct houses like this anymore. My wife wanted me to buy one up in Greenfield Park.”

“Lillian is sleeping,” I said quickly. He continued to stare at me, his face frozen in that smile. I was beginning to despise it.

“You can show him the rest of the house, Michael.”

“All right.” I stood up quickly to indicate that I was growing impatient with his damn interference.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be right back.” We walked out, but before we got to the dining room, he took my arm. “I just wanted to talk to you privately,” he said.

“I gathered that. Let’s go into the kitchen.” I leaned against the counter, and he sat at the table. “I told you about the things she was making me do. I told you about the television set and the dog. Do you know that she killed the dog? She poisoned it and tried to blame it on me. She was trying to turn Miriam against me.”

“Incredible.”

“Not so incredible when you got to know her. She was a vicious, hateful, arrogant person. She even tried to get me to be unfaithful to Miriam. I know she was going to use that against me later on. She was planning on blackmailing me.”

“This is terrible. I don’t know what to say.” He shook his head. If he were playing at being sympathetic, he was doing a good job of it. I thought he might be sincere, so I went on.

“She changed the living room around to suit herself. She took my chair,” I added pointing back toward the living room. I knew my face and neck were getting red. I could feel the heat.

“Reprehensible behavior.”

“Exactly. Then she started tormenting me, imitating Lillian. And then there was that wheelchair! You didn’t know about the wheelchair. I had it taken away. I’m not saying it was a totally ridiculous idea without any merit. It might have worked for someone who had honest purposes, but she used it to embarrass me in front of my friends. If I let things go on, she would have had me pushing it about the place. I don’t have many neighbors, as you can see, but people do drive up here.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I kept calling your office. I know you had your troubles, but that damn answering service, and Mrs. Greenstreet! She might be a very efficient employee, but if you ask me, she can be terribly insensitive at times.”

“It’s partly my fault. I don’t like her getting involved with my patients and cases. You don’t know how emotionally draining that can be.”

“But this was different! When she took that doll down from the attic ...”

“Doll?”

“One of Lillian’s dolls ... a large doll. She dressed it in Lillian’s clothing. I ... I made her take it with her.”

“The doll?”

“Yes. She killed it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She smashed its head in, for god’s sake. Don’t you understand what I’m talking about?” His eyes got smaller, and he nodded slowly.

“So you put it in the cab with her?”

“Yes. I tipped the cabby before they left. She wouldn’t tip him. I think she looked down on working people.”

“She was supposed to stop at my office to drop off a report,” he said quickly, looking directly at me.

“She didn’t mention it. It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t put any value in that.”

“Her agency phoned today.”

“Well, if they want me to give them more details ...”

“No. Mrs. Randolph hasn’t reported to them either. No one seems to be able to locate her.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. Nothing about her surprises me.”

“What time did she leave?”

“Time? It was in the late afternoon. I didn’t tell you about the cemetery,” I said, “and what she did.” I could still see that covered tombstone before me. “She had gone up there. Can you believe that?”

“You told the cab driver to take her to the bus station?”

“I didn’t tell him where to take her. I just put her bags in the car.”

“And the doll you said.”

“Yes, the doll. Let her have it. I didn’t want it in this house. I wouldn’t even let her say goodbye to Miriam. She’s gone,” I said. “Let’s be thankful for that.”

“We don’t know where she’s gone.”

“Why should we care?”

“It’s odd, don’t you think?” he asked in that damn calm voice of his.

“What’s so odd about it? I told you, she was a vicious person. Why should we care about her? We’ve got to care about Miriam.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to think about her anymore. I don’t want to talk about her.”

I turned away. My head was spinning, and I didn’t want him to see it. Knowing him, he’d think something was wrong with me, and he’d question my ability to take care of Miriam.

“I understand how you feel, Michael,” he said in that damn, understanding, soft voice of his.

“No, you don’t!” I spun around. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. You medical people are all alike. You care only about yourselves, protecting yourselves. You’re afraid of malpractice suits. Well, let me tell you something. I gave that some thought. That woman should never have been sent here. It was malpractice to send her. You don’t know what she tried to do. What she might have done if I hadn’t stopped her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I bet you are. You and that Mrs. Greenstreet.”

“What did she try to do?” he asked. He looked dumbfounded, innocent on the basis of plain stupidity.

“She tried to kill Lillian,” I said. “She tried to blame it on me in front of Miriam. It wasn’t my fault. The child would cry whenever Miriam would tell her to put on the seatbelt. What could I do? Miriam would say, ‘Just drive slowly, Michael.’ I did drive slowly, but sometimes you’re not thinking about it and you drive a little faster.”

“Of course.”

“Mrs. Randolph wanted me to suffer. She wanted us all to suffer. She had that doll in her arms,” lowering my voice to nearly a whisper. “Don’t you see? And its head ... there was blood.”

“Where was this?”

“On the stairs.”

“What did you do?”

“I couldn’t let her go on with it. Miriam was standing right there. Her face ... you should have seen it. She was crumpling before my eyes.”

“How terrible.”

“So I stopped her.”

“How?”

“I hit her. I had to. Afterward, she understood that she had to go. I carried her bags out and—”

“Where, Michael? Where did you put her bags?”

For a moment I simply stared at him. I could see the cab in my memory. It was parked in front of the house, and the driver was standing by it watching. He had his arm folded like a cigar store Indian’s.

“I put the hammer in, too. I didn’t want it around here; I didn’t want anything around that would remind us of her. Why, I just finished cleaning her room before you called. I scrubbed it down so hard that no one could tell she was ever in there. I’ve got to get Miriam to forget her completely. I’ve got to.”

“Where did you put the hammer, Michael?” He was standing beside me now.

“It was hard to pick up the doll. I had to throw a tablecloth over it. She had it dressed in Lillia’s clothing. You understand why I used the tablecloth.”

“Of course.” He took my arm. “Sit down for a moment, Michael. Would you like a glass of water?”

“No, no.”

He went to the sink anyway and began to fill a glass. As he did so, he looked out the window. The glass filled, but he didn’t turn the water off.

“Michael ... the clearing in the backyard.” He turned quickly.

“Clearing?”

“What is it?”

“Oh, yes,” I said remembering. “The dog. I had to bury the dog.”

“Just the dog?” He looked out again. “Such a large grave for a dog.”

“It was her fault. All of it.” He stared at me again. I didn’t like it. “Are you giving me a glass of water or what?”

“Oh, yes.” He handed it to me and sat down across from me. “It must have been terrible for you,” he said.

“You can’t begin to imagine.”

“I’m really sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me, but the last time we spoke—”

“I guess you had your problems.” I did feel sorry for him now. We both turned as Miriam came to the kitchen door.

“Oh,” she said, “I thought you two had gone upstairs. I heard noise. It must be that Lillian’s calling. I’ll go see what she wants.”

“I can do it,” I said.

“No, it’s all right.” She smiled and left us.

“Miriam is really a very warm and loving person,” Dr. Turner said. “I know that anything you did, you did to protect her.”

“I’ll always protect her.”

His eyes were warm and sincere. I felt he really understood, and I could see why Miriam trusted him so much.

“Michael,” he said, “Mrs. Randolph is still on your land, isn’t she?”

“No, no, she left in the cab. I put the suitcase in myself.”

“If she were still here, you would want her taken away, wouldn’t you?”

“Damn right.”

“Well, I think we’d better check to be sure. It has to be done.”

I stared at him. There was something in his face that reminded me of my father when I was very little. He was telling me as nicely and as softly as he could that I had to do something I might not like to do. It was something I knew was right to do but didn’t want to admit was right to do. Like taking a bitter-tasting medicine I had to take or doing a chore for my mother that I didn’t like to do. Behind the look in his face was all the authority and power of the adult world. I couldn’t oppose it.

“OK,” I said.

“Good.” He reached over the table and patted my hand. “Everything’s going to be all right now. I realize I was remiss, but I’m back and I’m going to take charge the way I should, the way you expect me to. Why don’t you go see how Miriam is and relax in the living room with her? I’ll make a few important phone calls.”

I nodded and stood up. I felt my eyes filling with tears. He smiled and nodded at me. It was sincere, and it gave me a sense of reassurance.

“You don’t know how it was,” I said, “or you’d understand.”

“I understand. Believe me.”

I did believe him then. Maybe he was using good psychiatric techniques on me and maybe he wasn’t, but at that moment, I felt I could confide in him. I believed Miriam and I did have a friend and we were safe. Of course, later on I found out he was a liar.

I did what he said. I went upstairs and I found Miriam sitting by Lillian’s bed. She was stroking the blanket softly, rhythmically, and humming the Hungarian lullabye. I stood by her side quietly, not wanting to interrupt her. She was at such peace then, and she was unaware of my presence in the room. Finally, I touched her shoulder. She stopped her song and looked up at me. I smiled and she put her hand on mine. Then she pressed her cheek against my hand. For a moment we were both so still. The slight tinkle of the chimes was all that interrupted our silence. I know I was crying.

“Look how she sleeps,” she said. “So peacefully. Remember when she was an infant and we would sit here by the crib and watch her breathing and her little eyelids flutter.”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes I wished she would be a baby forever and we could keep her snug and warm.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair to her.”

“No, but it would have been always a happy time.”

“We’ll still be happy,” I said. She didn’t say anything. “Dr. Turner says we should go downstairs and relax in the living room. He’s making important calls about Mrs. Randolph. He wants us to wait until he’s finished.”

Miriam nodded obediently. She stood up, and I put my arm around her. She leaned her head against my shoulder as we turned and walked out of Lillian’s room together. I had a terrible feeling of foreboding then, but I tried not to let Miriam sense it.

When we returned to the living room, I went back to my book and she continued her knitting. We put the records on again, and we sat there contentedly, almost frozen in time. I saw the police car pull up to the house, but I didn’t go to the door. Dr. Turner took care of them. He saw to it that we weren’t disturbed very much. They kept their voices down. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell that the policemen were listening carefully to everything Dr. Turner told them.

I heard them go outside and saw them go around back. I still felt secure so I was able to concentrate on my reading. Dr. Turner came in a few times to tell us that it was all going well and it wouldn’t be much longer. Miriam thanked him and I nodded.

More phone calls were made. Another police car arrived and then an ambulance. I started to feel nervous but kept good control of myself for Miriam’s sake. When I saw them carry a stretcher around back, it became impossible for me to concentrate on what I was reading. Not long afterward, I saw them return to the ambulance. Mrs. Randolph was covered, but I knew it was she because I saw those ugly white shoes. I didn’t see them carry out the doll.

I got up and went to the window. Outside, Dr. Turner stood talking with a gathering of policemen. Every once in a while, one of them would look my way, but when I stared back, he turned to the doctor again. Finally, he shook a few hands and the little powwow broke up.

Dr. Turner remained out there until the ambulance left. Only one of the patrol cars followed. The others remained behind. Two policemen from one of those cars joined him, and they all turned to the house. When it was obvious they were coming in, I went back to my seat. Miriam looked up quizzically.

“Is something wrong, Michael?”

“No. Everything’s fine.” She smiled.

We heard Dr. Turner and the two policemen come in. The policemen waited in the hall as Dr. Turner came into the living room. He sat down beside Miriam.

“Well,” he said, “it’s all over now.”

“That’s good.”

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Miriam asked.

“No, thank you. Actually, we’ve all got to be going.”

“I appreciate your coming up here to help us,” Miriam said. “And Michael appreciates it, too, don’t you, Michael?”

“Of course.”

“Yes, well, when I said we’ve all got to be going, I meant you too, you and Michael. Michael has to see some people, and we don’t want you left alone.”

“I can wait for him. I’ve waited for him before. I’m not afraid to stay here.”

“It could be a long time before he comes back.”

“What do you mean? How long?”

“More than a few hours,” I said quickly. Dr. Turner appreciated my aid.

“But what about Lillian?” she asked. There was a long moment of silence, and then Dr. Turner took Miriam’s hand in his.

“I’ve thought of that,” he said. “I didn’t want to alarm either of you, but I’ve sent for another ambulance to take Lillian to the hospital.”

“Oh no, why?”

“She needs some additional treatments. Now you wouldn’t want her to get very sick, would you?” he added quickly.

“No,” Miriam said. She looked down. Her voice was so small. I had to turn away.

“You’ll be there with her,” he said. “In the next room. You’ll even be able to sleep there.”

“I will?” She brightened considerably.

“Sure.”

“But ... what about Michael?”

“He’ll come to see you as soon as he can.”

Miriam looked at me for confirmation. I stared at Dr. Turner. He made an almost indistinguishable nod toward the two policemen waiting in the hall.

“That’s right, Miriam.”

“Then I’ve got to go up and pack some of her things.”

“OK,” Dr. Turner said. “I’ll wait for you. I’m going to take you there myself in my car.”

“What about Michael?”

“Michael has to go with these policemen.”

“Why?” She looked out at them as though she had noticed them for the first time. They didn’t smile; they didn’t move. They looked the most frightened of all. I nearly laughed.

“They want to talk to me about Mrs. Randolph,” I said. I wanted to show Dr. Turner I knew everything.

“That’s right.”

“Oh,” Miriam said. She put her knitting down softly and stood up. “I won’t be long.”

“Do you need any help?” I asked her.

“No, that’s all right.” She started for the door. The two policemen stepped back and out of view. I stood up.

“Miriam!”

“Yes, Michael?”

I went to her and took her hand. I brought it to my cheek and held it there with my eyes closed.

“What is it, Michael?”

“I love you,” I said. She smiled.

“I know that, Michael.”

I released her hand, and she started out again.

Dr. Turner stepped up beside me and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked at the two policemen in the hall. To me they looked embarrassed now, and I actually felt sorry for them. I turned to watch Miriam go up the stairs. When she was gone, I said, “OK, let’s get started. The quicker we get this over with, the better for everyone.”

“That’s the right attitude, Michael. Don’t worry about Miriam. I’ll see to her needs.”

“This time there better not be any Mrs. Randolphs,” I said. I made my eyes as small and as threatening as she used to make hers. He got the point.

They followed me as I walked out of the house. It was twilight now, a beautiful time of day at the farm. The lingering rays of the sun wove in and out of the trees, making the forest mysterious and dreamlike. With the light within them, some of the leaves looked illuminated. Thousands of emeralds dangled before me.

I stopped at the top of the porch steps. For a moment I felt like a little boy again. I had just finished supper. My mother was washing the dishes, and my father had remained in the kitchen to discuss business with her. I could hear their murmuring voices behind me, trapped in the house.

Now I was free, and if I wanted to I could run down the porch steps and into the forest while there was still some light. I could press my ear against a large maple or oak and listen for the earth’s heartbeat. It was a childhood theory of mine. I told no one about it, not even Miriam. But sometimes ... sometimes I was sure that I heard it: a faint thump, thump, thump. I kept it as my secret. I knew something about the world that no one else knew.

I wanted to tell Lillian so she might do it too when she was alone and no one could laugh at her.

But I had never told her, and I suddenly realized that of all the things I had failed to do in my life, that was the one I regretted the most.

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