The shops had put on their Christmas masks. Tinsel and silver trees with scarlet balls. Santas in grottos bribing howling toddlers, charming white bears and mice in Santa hats costing only five pounds with purchases of twenty pounds or more.

They had tea in a store. Ruth drank the tea but did not want a cake. She seldom ate more than a salad for her lunch. Food had lessened its grip on her.

She bought chemist items and hid them in a bag, and then a black velour top with a bronze-buttoned epaulette on one shoulder. The top cost thirty pounds and as Malach paid for it, they were offered a fat white mouse.

Ruth looked at the mouse. "I had a bear once."

"Lovely for the kiddies," said the saleslady.

"Which kiddies are they?" said Malach. "Do you want it?"

Ruth took the mouse and stared at it in a sort of incredulity.

Malach bought the mouse, which Ruth then carried out of the store.

On the pavement outside, harassed shoppers ran about in the rain. A child in a pushchair glared at them.

"Emma never let me have a pushchair," said Ruth abruptly. "It's bad for the spine."

The child saw the mouse and pointed and began to cry with a terrible impassioned affront.

The mother looked helplessly down.

"Oh, dear. Stop it, Harry."

Ruth leaned over and put the mouse into the child's arms. It clasped the toy fiercely, possessively, and the crying ceased.

"Oh, no—" said the woman, blushing. "No, really."

Ruth said, "I'm too old for it."

"No, but—he mustn't—I mean—"

"It's good," said Malach, "to learn that if you cry out you may be answered."

"Pardon?" said the woman.

"Please keep the toy," said Malach.

They walked on.

"That was clever, Ruth."

"Was it? Why was it?"

"Some things belong to some people by right. A gift. A caress. Or even death."

"Yes," she said.

"But you must learn which. You mustn't bluff."

"Malach," she said.

"What is it?"

"I wish I'd kept the mouse."

"No you don't."

"I do."

Enki pushed his head up under her hand.

"Enki is your mouse."

Ruth laughed.

In the park, as they crossed it, the sun came out in daggers.

"Look at the sun," said Malach. "One day it will go out."

"Not yet?"

"You know not yet."

"You don't mind the sun," said Ruth.

"How do you know?"

"They used to hide from it, at the house."

"They were more vulnerable, Ruth, than you or I."

"What do you mean?"

"We draw our personal darkness around us to keep us safe from the sun."

They were in the middle of the park, under the hill. The bare trees rose bravely against a future of gales and snow. Now a light glinted on their wetness, optimistic, clean. Far off, the city showed in riven lines, the streets and peaks, the high roofs that the day turned suddenly to gold and brass.