Kate said in a smothered voice, "I can't stand it.”

Erika smiled. "I have to go out this afternoon," she said. "I have to go to a concert with my students, and they will wiggle and giggle and I'll not be able to hear the music. Promise me you will eat something and go to bed."

"All right."

She waited, wanting to ask, "When will I see you again?" but not daring to.

"Leave the door unlocked," Erika said. "No one will bother you. I’ll come to see you when I get back."

CHAPTER 6

As though Erika’s coming had changed everything, the bathroom was empty and the landlady was sending up some heat for a change. Kate sat in the tub soaking for a long time, forgetting to notice the mixed odors of scouring powder and shaving lotion.

Soaping, she examined her own body critically. Still slim, the breasts full but firm, the front nice and flat. She ran a wet hand over her hips and found them satisfactory. Neither alcohol nor hunger had done any great damage—yet. She was aware of a hunger and need she hadn't felt for quite a while, not since the thing between Connie and herself was new and full of promise.

She got sleepily into pajamas, drank some canned soup and crawled back into bed, meaning to think for a while. She fell asleep almost at once.

She woke two or three times during the late afternoon and looked sleepily around the dim room. The last time, the pecking of sleet against the window made her anxious for Erika. Where was she? How would she get home?

It was the first time she had worried about anyone, since her early days with Connie.

She dozed off again, and dreamed. This time the dream wasn't about the farm, or the dirt road down which she'd stumbled her lost way so many nights. This time a little girl of twelve walked along a street piled with rubble, against the charred debris of burning buildings. She was skinny and long-legged, and her long braids hung down carelessly from a knitted cap. A plane droned in the clear blue sky. Kate, watching, felt herself stiffen with fright as the child neared the corner. Don't turn it, don't turn it! But her feet were fastened to the ground, and when she opened her mouth no sound came out.

She wakened and sat up, sweating. For a second she could still see the child, basket on her arm, walking wide-eyed into the death trap. Then her eyes and, after a panicked moment, her mind took in the familiar ugly wallpaper and the lighted lamp. Her heart thumped wildly under the pajama jacket. Calm down, she told herself, it was only a dream. But her hands were shaking. She reached under the edge of the bed for a cigarette, and found that her palms were wet with sweat.

She looked at the clock. Almost seven. She had been asleep, off and on, for almost five hours. The restlessness was coming alive in her. She moved uneasily. I could go out, she thought.