She moved. The blackbird flew away. She said, "I think it must be like that everywhere. People die because they want to, only it's slower when they have enough to eat."

This was the most she had ever said about the camp. Kate sat wide-eyed and unmoving, trying to realize that the horrors she was calling up were not something on a movie screen, but things that had happened to Erika, who could be bothered by a broken fingernail or an unwashed cup. She put out a timid hand and touched Erika's sleeve, knowing that she was still very far away.

"Then the war was over and we were liberated. I went to a Red Cross camp, a place where they tried to find families for us. But I had no family to find. There was a woman who made me talk, a Missus Campbell, an English Quaker. She made me tell her everything, about Kurt and my mother and Tante Lise, everything. What happened with the soldiers, too. It hurt. But before that, I always had dreams and I was afraid to sleep."

"And now you don't have the dreams."

"No."

Kate looked down at the path in the grass. A fine of black ants tugged and pushed at a broken piece of cone, moving it toward their hill. "I'd tell you if I knew," she said in a small hurt voice.

"You have to tell yourself first," Erika said. She stood up, dusting the seat of her slacks. "Look, it's too nice outdoors to be so serious. Let's go and get some ice cream cones, shall we? And a candy bar."

"Who's the candy bar for?"

"The ants, silly. Think how surprised and happy they will be, so rich suddenly."

CHAPTER 20

This was her life now. To wake when the alarm clock started its disagreeable whirring and to realize, with new comfort and relief every time, that Erika was asleep beside her. To lie for a moment looking at Erika's closed face made Kate feel that she had a proud secret, a store of treasure hidden from everyone else. They almost never had time for more than a married-type good morning kiss, but Erika's presence in her bed was all Kate needed to reassure her for the day.

They were not crowded in the apartment, as they had feared they might be. Both of them were gone all day, and when they were there, they moved with certainty. This was home. The place of every single thing they owned—and they didn't own much. Kate could have cooked a meal in the dark, laying her hands on pans and foodstuffs with sureness. They moved around quickly, washed and dressed and made orange juice out of a frozen concentrate without talking. Erika said it was a morning ballet.

They left for work separately, Kate going first because she had to be at her desk by eight-thirty, Erika going in the opposite direction for her third-period class. In good weather Kate walked. This was almost the best part of the day: neighborhood children starting off to school, old men puttering in their yards as spring came on, women hanging out their wash.