On the windowsill, the radio was still going: “… have been other mass murderers—indeed, man has committed atrocities against man, even in this decade, that render the terror here insignificant; yet the concentration of all this violence into a single day, in a single town, coupled with the alleged youth of the assassin—” Sawyers’ voice was interrupted by another, further away: “Oh my God!” Then, louder: “I found it! Hey, I found it, right here!” There were murmurs, whispers, shouts; then, one shout among them: “What you got?” And Whitey’s bawling reply: “I found the—” Bleep!—“baby!” Sawyers’ voice returned in an intense whisper: “Wait a minute … Wait …! I think they’ve found something. Yes. I think they’ve got the … Everyone is running toward the water. I’m moving with the crowd. I’m moving. Fishermen, policemen, and those who are simply curious onlookers are clustered at the water’s edge, crowding onto the docks to see, staring down into the …! What? No, we’re trying to find out for you if he’s all right. Hello? Hey …? Is he all …? One of the orderlies has just pushed by me, making for the ambulance. Now he’s getting out the stretcher. People are making so much noise, you couldn’t hear the sound of a baby crying even if—What’s that …? Two of the policemen now, with grapple-hooks, I can see from here, are reaching down into the—Yes …? Oh my God, folks, the poor thing is …”

The cup of coffee sat in front of Honey-Pie. I thought she was going to pick it up and drink it. But when I walked around the table, I saw there was a ring inside it, half an inch above the liquid, on which gray skin quivered and wrinkled. It was maybe two, three days old.

There was a mattress, folded over on itself once and stained over the narrow blue and white stripes. I went to it and sat down.

Honey-Pie watched me as I hunkered back against the wall. I pulled my sneaker heels back against my ass and wrapped my arms around my knees. One knee was coming through. I was breathing hard, and my belly, pressing again and again against my thighs, felt funny. I shook back hair that was tickling my forehead; it fell again, still wet.