He felt a crawling behind his head. A spider delicately climbed down the front of his coat, legs prodding and lifting the edge of his hip pocket where it lay rucked up in his lap. The thing disappeared into the pocket, legs folding as it entered. The bulge it made was barely noticeable.

His legs stopped tingling. With some effort, Reuben stood, wobbling back and forth uncertainly. He checked himself over and found no injuries, no blood or evidence of abrasions, and only a few tender bruises. When his hand went toward his pocket, he thought better of it—or rather, something else urged caution—and slowly withdrew his arm. Hand held idly out, shivering and puzzled, Reuben looked around the alley for more of the spiders. They were gone.

The mouse lay still beside the dumpster. Reuben was allowed to kneel and examine the tiny carcass.

It had been neatly dissected, its purple, brown, and pink shiny organs laid out to one side, incisions made here and there, as if samples had been taken.

"I have to go home," Reuben said to nobody or nothing in particular.

He was allowed to finish his walk home.

Chapter 32

32

Arthur was delayed three days unexpectedly in Las Vegas to speak informally with three congressmen from the House Judiciary Committee. His first evening back home, back with his family and the river and the forest, he sat on the living room throw rug, legs curled into a lotus. Francine and Marty sat on the couch behind him. Marty had laid the fire in the grate all by himself, fighting the carefully placed tinder with a long match.

"Here's what's happening, really, as much as I know," he said, raising himself on his arms and sweeping his locked legs around to face them. And he told them.

The heater came on at midnight and blew warm air over Arthur and Francine as they lay in bed in each other's arms. Francine's head rested on his shoulder. He could feel her eye movements as she stared into darkness. They had just made love and it had been very good, and against all his intellectual persuasions, he felt good, at home, at rest. Not a word had been said between them for fifteen minutes.

She lifted her head. "Marty—"

The phone rang.

"Oh, Christ." She rolled out of his way. He reached across her to pick up the phone.

"Arthur, Chris Riley here. I'm sorry I woke you up—"

"We're awake," Arthur said.

"Yes. This is a bit of an emergency, I think. There are some guys in Hawaii who'd like to talk with you. They heard I knew your home number. You can call them now or I—"

"I'd like to be incommunicado, Chris, at least for a couple of days."

"I think this could be very important, Arthur."

"All right, what is it."