appears capable of anything." The woman primly unlocked the gate and the crowd moved back obediently, their eyes following T.S. inside. "She's quite the organizer," she added nastily, leaving no doubt that it was the kindest description of Auntie Lil that she could possibly dredge up.
T.S. followed her through a narrow concrete tunnel into a low basement room reminiscent of the barren cafeteria of a poor school on the wrong side of town. The room stretched out with a dreary sameness: a too low ceiling, harsh fluorescent lighting, scuffed linoleum of a vague brownish tint, rows of long, collapsible tables lined with bright aqua plastic chairs that cracked and sagged and were studded with worn black spots.
Dusty plastic flowers in empty glass jars adorned the center of every table. A handful of earnest young people were quickly setting out cutlery and paper napkins. He had entered a time warp. Both male volunteers had long, frizzy ponytails held back with rubber bands and were wearing tie-dyed T-shirts with faded jeans. The two women wore their long, straight hair parted in the middle in a style not popular since the 1960s. Their long flowered dresses were equally out of date. And, T.S. acknowledged sadly, their concern for the hungry was considered just as old-fashioned by many.
Steam and chatter beckoned him around a far corner where he discovered just how apt the name "Hell's Kitchen" could be. Behind a low counter lined with cafeteria-style rails, Auntie Lil bent over two enormous pots that billowed forth steam above a huge, industrial metal stove. Another woman sniffed at the strange-smelling brew with her. Just then, the grumpy woman who had let T.S. in the gate, elbowed both women aside without apology and withdrew several large pans of corn bread from the oven. It was a domesticated version of the witches' scene from Macbeth, made even more bizarre by the imposing figure of a priest who hovered at Auntie Lil's elbow, peering over her shoulder.
Unseen, T.S. advanced to a few feet of the group and watched with familiar amusement. Auntie Lil was making a major production of tasting the bubbling stew, he knew, and the supporting players had taken the stage.
At eighty-four years old, Auntie Lil had the energy and physical presence of a woman thirty years younger. She had never been slim but neither had she ever been fat. Sturdy was the best way to describe her. She was of German stock, as her strong chin, rounded face and large apple cheeks clearly implied. Her bone structure made heavy wrinkling nearly impossible, but her skin, while pink and glowing with good health, was crisscrossed with fine lines over its rosy surface. Her eyes were clear and a steely blue. They did not twinkle with old lady amusement as some people thought at first, but sparkled instead with a stubborn inner fire (as everyone soon discovered). Her mind was sharp and her physical abilities still impressive. After more than sixty years of working in the fashion industry, Auntie Lil had acquired an innate nimbleness and confidence of movement that defied old age. She believed in acting first and thinking later. Her hands were large and rawboned, yet still skillful enough to thread a needle on her very first try.
Although Auntie Lil had devised patterns for the world's most expensive dresses, she preferred pants suits above all other forms of attire. Today, she was dressed in bright red knit trousers and a matching tunic. She had wrapped a multicolored jungle print scarf around her thick, white hair. After many years of wearing it long, her hair had recently been cut and it escaped from under the scarf in wiry curls to bounce in wild disarray. Brightly painted, carved wooden fish earrings dangled from each ear and her feet were encased in thick white socks and Moroccan leather sandals. As usual, she was a walking United Nations, splashed with enough bright colors to discourage the entire research team of the Eastman Kodak Corporation.
"More chili powder?" the robust priest asked Auntie Lil earnestly. An abundant crop of silver hair curled about his massive head in leonine splendor. His features were strong and authoritative, lacking any hint of meekness or piety, and he was very tall. He was also built like an aging linebacker. His stomach strained out against his priestly garb below a massive bulldog-like chest. He looked like he should have been quaffing quarts of brew in an Irish pub, instead of supervising little old ladies in a