“In Rome when Claudius lived there a lot of people were upset because of the emperor, who could not do anything about it. The emperor was a young guy named Caligula. In this book about him, Claudius, who was the uncle of Caligula, by Robert Graves, who was an English author, there are a lot of evidences of meaning, most of them coming from Claudius, who is telling his own story. His story is very revealing. Like in the first chapter.” Ronny set out to write and was soon done.

He revised as he typed so the paper would look a little messy. The typewriter hummed and clacked, a thump at each carriage return. When he used Wite-Out to make a correction he drew little hills of white on the lines of type. It was like art, in a way, to produce such a fake. By the time he had done half the typing he realized he was starving, he’d eaten last when he bought the Hector’s hot dogs the night before. Some of the Graves text was sitting in his head as he walked. When he came back from grabbing a sandwich on Franklin Street, Jamal and a girl were standing in the living room of the house.

“How’s it going?” Jamal waved at Ronny with a copy of The Tar Heel in his hand. “You feeling all at home?”

“It’s quiet around here. This is going to work great.”

“I know. A lot of the guys who live here don’t stay in the rooms that much over the summer, but they want to keep them, so they pay the rent. That’s the way it was last summer, anyway.”

“You’ll be around, I guess?”

He nodded. Arm around the girl, loosely, at the waist, a comfortable movement. “Ronny, this is my girlfriend, Sheila.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, and put out her hand. She had a long, sharp, bladelike nose dominating the center of her face so that she looked like a blonde crow. Her eyes were soft and luminous, green, with long, curved lashes. Her smile had a real sweetness and she spoke with a small-town drawl that made Ronny feel at home. “You guys just have the cutest house here. I love what you’ve done with it.”

“Don’t you?” Ronny agreed. “I crocheted all these doilies myself, you know. I get the good yellowy thread imported direct from Europe.”

“All this hard work,” Sheila said. “I so admire you.”

“It’s ruining my eyes but it’s worth it. I want to leave a legacy.”

“You guys should hush before Mrs. Delacy hears you making fun of her living room.”

“She’s out back in the yard, I think,” Ronny said. “And I need to go anyway, I’m typing this paper for a guy.”

Jamal grinned. “I thought you were writing something in there when I heard the typewriter.”

“I hope it’s not too loud.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.”

He found himself watching Sheila and thinking that she gave off a nice feeling; but she caught him staring and cocked her head a bit. “You’re looking at my nose, aren’t you?”