100
PARTISAN REVIEW
elbows on the handle and gazed off in the darkness.
I went upstairs and lay on my bed. Eventually I heard my father
come upstairs and the usual sounds as he got ready for bed: Rhoda's
voice, his answering murmurs, water rushing through the pipes, the creak
of the floorboards. After a while [ heard l"ticky come in and go to his
room. Then all was still. I changed into my nightgown and went to the
bathroom.
My father and Rhoda had their own bathroom. It had been re–
modeled and had two sinks, a modern shower, and a bath. Ricky and I
shared the second bathroom, at the end of the hall. Our bathroom was
long and narrow, not much wider than a closet, with a porcelain tub,
like the one in Jeanie 's yard: no showers here, like we were used to at
home . At the far end of the room was a small window, propped open
with a metal bar. Through it I could see Jeanie 's house, almost close
enough to touch, and could hear the radio playing, a slow song, ac–
companied by a woman's low, moaning voice. Something black flut–
tered near the roof, and for a second I thought, bats, but it was only the
cat, scrabbling along the gutter.
[ tried not to see myself in the mirror. When [ did, [ hated what I
saw: the pinched, sallow face, the large lips, the dark eyes sunken under
the wide forehead. At home my hair curled neatly at the base of my
neck, but here, in the heat and humidity, it frizzed out from my head in
untamed waves like a steel wool pad. [ could hardly get a brush through
it and I'd almost given up trying.
On my way back to my room I stopped by Ricky's door. "Ricky,"
[ hissed into the darkness. "Are you awake?"
"Yeah."
He was lying on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. [ sat
near his feet. For a minute I was still, listening to his slow and regular
breathing, then [ said, "Where do you think they are now?"
"Who?"
"Mom. And Ethan."
"I don't know."
"Maybe they're in Spain." I tried to remember the itinerary I'd seen
on my mother's desk before we'd left, but I'd lost track of the days .
"What day is it?"
"Friday."
"No, [ mean, what day?"
"What difference does it make?" Ricky sighed, rolled over onto his
side. "Get out of here . Go to bed."
[ stood up. As I reached the door I heard his voice, I11umed by the
pillow. " Forty-two days," he said. "Forty-two more, and then we go
hon1e."
