in the slightest. When was the last time he had felt this good? Maybe not since the morning he'd awakened in that barn somewhere between Derry, Maine, and Poughkeepsie, New York, amazed by the conflicting rays of light-thousands of them, it had seemed-which crisscrossed the warm, sweet-smelling place where he lay.
Or maybe never.
Yes, or maybe never.
He spied Mrs. Perrine coming up the street, probably returning from A Safe Place, the combination soup-kitchen and homeless shelter down by the Canal. Ralph once again found himself fascinated by her strange, gliding walk, which she achieved without the aid of a cane and seemingly without any side-to-side movement of her hips.
Her hair, still more black than gray, was now held-or perhaps subdued was the word-by the hairnet she wore on the serving line.
Thick support hose the color of cotton candy rose from her spotless white nurse's shoes... not that Ralph could see much of either them or the legs they covered; this evening Mrs. Perrine wore a man's wool overcoat, and the hem came almost to her ankles. She seemed to depend almost entirely on her upper legs to move her along-a sign of some chronic back problem, Ralph guessed-and this mode of locomotion, coupled with the overcoat, gave Esther Perrine a somewhat surreal aspect as she approached. She looked like the black queen on a chessboard, a piece that was either being guided by an invisible hand or moving all by itself.
As she neared the place where Ralph sat-still wearing the ripped shirt and now eating his supper directly from the pot in the bargain-the auras began to steal back into the world again. The streetlights had already come on, and now Ralph saw delicate lavender arcs hung over each. He could also see a red haze hovering above some roofs, a yellow haze above others, a pale cerise abox,e still others. in the east, where night was now gathering itself, the horizon flocked with dim green speckles.
Closer to hand, he watched as Mrs. Perrine's aura sprang to life around her-that firm gray that reminded him of a West Point cadet's uniform. A few darker spots, like phantom buttons, shimmered above her bosom (Ralph assumed there was a bosom hidden somewhere beneath the overcoat). He was not sure, but thought these might be signs of impending ill health.
"Good evening, Mrs. Perrine," he said politely, and watched(!
LIS the words rose in front of his eyes in snowflake shapes.
She gave him a penetrating glance, flicking her eyes up and down, seeming to simultaneously sum him up and dismiss him in a single look.
"I see you're still wearing that same shirt, Roberts," she said.
What she didn't say-but what Ralph was sure she was thinking was I also see you sitting there an eating beans right out of the tin, like some ragged street-person who never learned any better...
"I have a habit of remembering what I see, Roberts.
"So I am," Ralph said. "I guess I forgot to change it."
"Hmmp," said Mrs. Perrine, and now he thought it was his underwear she was considering. When was the last time it occurred to you to change that? I shudder to think, Roberts.
"Lovely evening, isn't it, Mrs. Perrine?"
Another of those quick, birdlike glances, this time up at the sky.
Then back to Ralph. "It's going to turn cold."
"Do you think so?"
"Oh, yes-Indian summer's over. My back isn't good for much besides weather forecasting these days, but at that it does very well."
She paused. "I believe that's Bill McGovern's sweater."
"I guess it is," Ralph agreed, wondering if she would ask him next if Bill knew he had it. He wouldn't have put it past her.
Instead, she told him. to button it up. "You don't want to be a candidate for pneumonia, do you?" she asked, and the tucked set of her mouth added, As well as for the nuthouse?
"Absolutely not," Ralph said. He set the pot aside, reached for the sweater-buttons, then stopped. He was still wearing a quilted stove-glove on his left hand. He hadn't noticed it until now.
"It will be easier if you take that off," Mrs. Perrine said.
There might have been the faintest gleam in her eyes.
"I suppose so," Ralph said humbly. He shook off the glove and buttoned McGovern's sweater.
"My offer holds good, Roberts."
"Beg your pardon?"
"My offer to mend your shirt. If you can bring yourself to part with it for a day or so, that is." She paused. "You do have another shirt, I assume? One you could wear while I mend the one you have