“She doesn’t even see it; it’s not a consideration,” said Blaine. He sat with both arms extended on the top of the couch and managed to sneak a look at his new Timex Indiglo.

At last, Walter appeared at the top of the stairs. He was a huge man, balding, with a six-week beard. He cinched the tie on his white terry-cloth bathrobe. He held a worn Bible in his hand and looked crazed. Zona followed him as he grabbed the railing and worked his way down the steps.

“Hi, Dad. Hi, Freddy,” Walter said meekly. He paused on the third step from the bottom and looked down at the two men.

“Walter wants some breakfast,” Zona said. “Or should we have lunch? It’s getting late. Would you guys like to eat?”

“We were just talking about that,” Freddy said. “Eggs. Protein. Whole-wheat toast. Tomato juice. I’m a nervous fucking wreck. I look like hell. At least Walter looks like a human being. I’m just a skeleton in a bag of skin. And I don’t have AIDS and I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re all thinking—so you can quit boiling the silverware.”

Walter stared awkwardly at the two men and then raised his left hand like an Indian. “I would like to read something. A prayer.”

“Read?” Blaine said.

“Great,” Freddy said. “I’m going to piss my pants, but first a prayer.”

Walter fumbled through his Bible. At first it seemed that he was okay, and then it appeared that the effort was almost too much for him to bear. He had to grab the banister to steady himself. His lips were dry, and he kept running his tongue over them. Large beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead. The onionskin pages of his Bible were sticking together. He flipped through them, stopping occasionally to study the text. From the look on his face, it seemed that he was trying to decipher an incomprehensible language. The Bible began to wobble in his huge hands like a divining rod. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Geez! Are you guys hot? Is it hot down here?”

“It’s just hotter than a motherfucker,” Freddy said. “Africa hot! The Libyan desert at high noon!”

“It’s warm,” Zona said. “Air conditioner or no. But you’re sweating because of the lithium, and Freddy has a fever. Don’t indulge yourselves with symptomatic lingo. It just makes everything worse.”

“You’re right, baby,” Walter said. He opened the Bible again and, leaning against the wall, studied the page, while Blaine, Zona, and Freddy waited expectantly. At last Walter was ready. A gleam came to his eye. He was running with sweat. He pulled the Bible up close to his face, as if he were severely nearsighted. He read at an infuriatingly slow pace, but his audience watched with rapt attention:

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High,