He performed a spirited little breakneck ballet on the icy stairs while carrying in the things, but managed not to fall. By the time the last carton was on the floor she had wiped down the bureau drawers with disinfectant and was lining them with butcher paper. “There’s just the one dresser,” she said. “Does it matter which drawers I put your things in?”

“Suit yourself,” he said, suddenly happier. “I want to clear the ice from those steps.”

“Great idea,” she said, making him proud to be such a responsible householder.

When he came back into the house, cold but triumphant over the forces of nature, she stopped him from removing his coat.

“We’re going to need sheets for the bed,” she said.

So he went to Jordan’s, where briefly he was haunted by the questions of white or colored, plain or contoured. Finally he plunged, settling on beige and contoured and buying four, two to use and two for the laundry.

When he opened the door he found her on her hands and knees, scrubbing.

“Stay close to the wall, darling,” she said. “I left a space for you to walk on.”

He circumnavigated the room. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Well, the floors in the john and the kitchenette still have to be washed,” she said. “You can scrub in there while I wax in here.”

“Is that absolutely necessary?” he asked a bit faintly.

“We can’t live in a place without cleaning it first,” she said, shocked.

So he took the plastic bucket and threw out the used water and rinsed it and made new suds and got down on his hands and knees and scrubbed. The two floors were bigger when you got down to them but he sang at his work.

By the time he was through it was dark outside and they were both hungry. He left her waxing the bathroom floor and although he was sweating profusely he allowed gravity to carry his rubbery legs down the cold, windy north side of Beacon Hill to the roast beef stand next to the Charles Street Jail, where he ordered sandwiches and root beers to go and had the distinct feeling that the man behind the counter knew he was bringing the food next door to a prisoner.

When they had eaten he was ready for the locker room but she asked him to wash the kitchenette cupboards while she cleaned the closets and the bathroom fixtures.

This time he didn’t sing. Toward the end each of them labored with mechanical grimness. She finished first and while she showered he waited in the wicker chair, too weary to do anything but breathe. When she came out in her robe he went in and soaked under the fine hot spray until it began getting cool fast and he entered a race with the dropping temperature, soaping and rinsing off one split second before the water was unbearably cold.