knew, and Mary's brothers' children would all be lucky to see thirty without doing time. She wanted to make Billy see that this ceremony was as important as a wedding or a funeral. Billy had lived his life under her protection. He couldn't imagine what he was escaping: all the long hopeless years, men crouched over rusty machines and women muttering into the soup. He didn't know how time hung in rooms. He believed life urged all its children toward good ends.
“One o'clock,” Constantine said. “That's what you wanted, right?”
“Hmm?”
They turned into the Yard, where the commencement ceremony would be held. Rows of folding wooden chairs stood in mute, perfect order, and up ahead, on a platform, a suited man white-haired and hale as success itself discussed particulars of the microphone with a younger man in blue jeans.
“For lunch,” Constantine said. “I made the reservation for one o'clock. That ought to give us plenty of time to find the place.”
“Fine.”
He sighed, and she could hear the phlegmy workings of his lungs. His body was prone to mucus; hers tended to parch. She believed that when they grew old, he'd be thick and viscous and hairy while she'd be thin and dry as a hickory stick. They'd grow deeper into their differences. She worried sometimes about growing old with Constantine but now, right now, she felt she was about to tear through her old caul of doubt into a solid, imperishable future that glittered among the leaves, that sparked and sang along the white drainpipes of these old brick buildings, where great men had once been young.
Constantine said, “We should get over to Billy's place.”
“In a minute,” she answered. “There's still time. I want to walk around the campus a little longer.”
“Pretty, ain't it?” he said.
Mary's forehead burned and a thin film of perspiration popped out along her upper lip. She loved Constantine for everything he felt about Harvard, his pride in its shaded walks and broad stairs, but he was a man who said 'ain't.' He'd earned the money, and he'd stood beside her, and he loved her, in his way. But he would take them this afternoon to the Florios' restaurant, Chez Something-or-other.
“Let's go get Billy,” she said abruptly.
“I thought you wanted to keep walking.”
“We can't. I don't know what I was thinking about, we're late as it is.”
As she would later tell her friends at home, the less said about Billy's apartment, the better. At first, she and Constantine believed they'd gotten the wrong address. The building looked as if it were about to emit one last dusty exhalation and tumble down into the weeds of its yard, leaving only a skeleton of rusty pipes and a crumbling chimney. Mary squinted at the slip of paper on which she'd written the address. “No, this is it,” she said.
“Jesus Christ,” Constantine said. “Wouldn't you know it.”
“Please don't start,” she said. “This is a happy day. There's no need to rain on anyone's parade.”
He nodded grimly. “I hope it's safe in there,” he said. He kept his hand on her elbow as they crossed over the rough boards of the porch and mounted a set of stairs that were not much more than kindling, each painted a different garish color. “Christ,” Constantine muttered. The air was heavy with sweet, feral odors Mary couldn't name. Cats, certainly, and incense—she knew that smell from church. The building had the air of a deconsecrated chapel, a once-sanctified place given over to stray cats and the steady appetites of vermin. “Wouldn't you know,” Constantine said, and Mary, told him to hush.
When they knocked at the battered door Billy called, “It's open.” They walked in and found him wearing patched jeans and a ragged flannel shirt, sitting with Zoe on a sofa that must have come straight from the junkyard. The apartment was, well, indescribable—it might have been the home of a lunatic, someone so lost to the fundamental principles of order and cleanliness that he'd drag any filthy piece of trash up from the street and display it proudly. As Mary and Constantine stepped inside she involuntarily touched one of her earrings with her fingertips.
“Hey, folks,” Billy said. “Welcome to the House of Usher.”
“Christ, will you look at this dump,” Constantine said. He managed a growlish laugh and Mary thought, Fine, they can get through it with banter. They can make this into a rough masculine joke.
“I call it home,” Billy said.
“It's sure colorful.” Mary smiled. To Constantine she added, “I like it. It's