was there, and Atropos was there, too, wearing a hat cocked back on his head and looking like a wiseacre news reporter in a 1950s B-picture-something directed by Ida Lupino, perhaps. Only this time it wasn't a Panama with a bite gone from the brim; this time it was a Boston Red Sox cap and it was too small even for Atropos because the adjustable band in the back had been pulled all the way over to the last hole. It had to be, in order to fit the head of the little girl who owned it.
All we need now is Pete the paperboy and the show would be perfect, Ralph thought. The final scene of Insomnia, or, Short-Time Life on Harris Avenue, a Tragi-Comedy in Three Acts. Everyone takes a how and then exits stage right.
This dog was afraid of Atropos, just as Rosalie #1 had been, and the main reason the little bald doc hadn't seen Ralph and Lois was that he was trying to keep her from running off before he was ready.
And here came Nat, headed down the sidewalk toward her favorite dog in the whole world, Ralph and Lois's Rosie. Her jumprope (three-six-nine lion the goose drank wine) was slung over her arm.
She looked impossibly beautiful and impossibly fragile in her sailor shirt and bine shorts. Her pigtails bounced. fast, Ralph thought. Everything Is happening it's happening too much too fast.
[Not at all, Ralph! You did splendidly five 'wears ago,-'you'll do splendidly now.] it sounded like Clotho, but there was no time to look.
A green car was coming slowly down Harris Avenue from the direction of the airport, moving with the sort of agonized care which usually meant a driver who was very old or very young. Agonized care or not, it was unquestionably the car; a dirty membrane hung I over it like a shroud.
Life is a wheel, Ralph thought, and it occurred to him that this was not the first time the idea had occurred to him. Sooner or later everything you thought you'd left behind comes around again ' n-Forgood or ill, it comes around again -n. ortive lunge for freedom, and as Atropos Rosie made another ah yanked her back, losing his hat, Nat knelt before her and patted her "Are you lost, girl? Did you get out by yourself? That's okay, ' I'll take you home." She gave Rosie a hug, her small arms passing through Atropos's arms, her small, beautiful face only inches from his ugly, grinning one. Then she got up. "Come on, Rosie! Come on, sugarpie."
Rosalie started down the sidewalk at Nat's heel, looking back once at the grinning little man and whining uneasily. On the other side of Harris Avenue, Helen came out of the Red Apple, and the last condition of the vision Atropos had shown Ralph was fulfilled. Helen had a loaf of bread in one hand. Her Red Sox hat was on her head.
Ralph swept Lois into his arms and kissed her fiercely. "I love you with all my heart," he said. "Remember that, Lois."
"I know you do," she said calmly. "And I love you. That's why I can't let you do it."
She seized him around the neck, her arms like bands of iron, and he felt her breasts push against him hard as she drew in all the breath her lungs would hold.
"Go away, you rotten bastard." she screamed. "I can't see you, but I know you're there." Go away." Go away and leave us alone." Natalie stopped dead in her tracks and looked at Lois with wide-eyed surprise. Rosalie stopped beside her, ears pricking.
"Don't go into the street, Nat." Lois screamed at her.
"Don'tThen her hands, which had been laced together at the back of Ralph's neck, were holding nothing; her arms, which had been locked about his shoulders in a deathgrip, were empty.
He was gone like smoke.
Atropos looked toward the cry of alarm and saw Ralph and Lois standing on the other side of Harris Avenue. More important, he saw Ralph seeing him. His eyes widened; his lips parted in a hateful snarl. One hand flew to his bald pate-it was crisscrossed with old scars, the remnants of wounds made with his own scalpel-in an instinctive gesture of defense that was five years too late.
[Fuck you, Shorts This little bitch is mine.] Ralph saw Nat, looking at Lois with uncertainty and surprise. He heard Lois shrieking at her, telling her not to go into the street.