Now what, he thought, and shook away the black disturbances, in all the world could be so sweet as this: cursed, prayed to, hated, loved, a leader?

“You put the strength in our arms, boy!”

I’ve got to write to Max, he thought, and walked across the buckling floor.

He turned the knob and went into his room.

It was cave-black, but Adam knew, before he flipped the switch, that someone else was there.

He turned and faced his visitor.

“Hello, Sam,” he said. “When’d you get back?”

22

22

—Afterwards, she had lain on the bed, unmoving, cold as she had never been before. There were no tears left. Deep inside her chest a pain was throbbing, in her head it throbbed, because she could not stop her crying—but the tears were gone.

She did not move.

The bed was rumpled, sodden with the oils that had come rushing from her body, joining his, her sweat, his sweat, together; in the center was a stain, still fresh.

She forced herself to touch it.

She forced herself to bring the smells into her nostrils, breathing deeply, locking them inside forever.

He was here, on top of me, she told herself. He was a stranger, I didn’t like him, he didn’t like me, but when he came on top of me I spread my legs apart and let him do it.

I didn’t have to.

I could have screamed. You say it was terrible, you didn’t like it, but you know that isn’t true. He didn’t rape you. All you had to do was scream.

But you didn’t.

Instead, when he held off, you moved up and down, and you wanted to beg him to come, now, now!

So you’re not cured.

And you can’t blame him, because there was bound to be an Adam Cramer, somewhere, some time. It was bound to happen.

Vy Griffin ran her fingers along her body, which was still moist with perspiration. She clutched her breasts. The nipples were tender. She touched her lips and remembered how she had pressed them against his and locked that memory also.

Don’t forget any of it, she thought.

Not ever.

She moved suddenly, firmly, and switched on the light, and looked at the bed. Then at the robe that lay where it had been thrown, next to the bed.

Then she moved to the mirror.

She stared at the reflection of her naked self.

No; don’t look away, she thought. It’s you, Mrs. Griffin.

It’s what you really are.

She stared for almost a full minute, then turned and went into the bathroom. She ran the water until it was hot, took a bath, dressed in her green dress and packed one medium-sized suitcase, filling it mainly with clothes and items of utility.