There was also a picture of Adam’s mother, with the notation: Photo by Peter Link.

“You got anything to say for yourself?” Lorenzo Niesen demanded angrily.

“When I’ve read the article, I’ll answer you.”

He sat down at one of the tables, spread the paper on the checkered oilcloth and read carefully. It was mostly about his life in Los Angeles, although there were some quotes from Caxton residents.

When he came to the section which recounted his dates with the colored girl, Alice, he tightened; but he did not change his expression.

“What about it?” Carey said.

Adam closed the newspaper. “I’m impressed,” he said, smiling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. I’m impressed with the lengths they’re willing to go to stop us. Apparently we’re a lot more important than we thought!”

“Skip all that,” Niesen said. “Just tell us what this means about you and the nigger girl.”

Adam stared scornfully at the little man, and gave no hint of the wild thoughts that were exploding inside his mind, no hint of the cold terror he was feeling; the immediate, ineluctable sense of urgency.

“Well?”

“Relax, Mr. Niesen,” Adam said. “I’ll be happy to explain the whole thing.”

25

25

Although he had been conscious for several minutes, fully aware of Ruth’s presence and of Ella’s, Tom did not move or speak until he was certain that he was truly himself.

Then, in a quiet but clear voice, he asked: “Am I going to lose the eye?”

This startled Ruth. Her head came up quickly, and she glanced at Ella.

“No,” Tom said. “Don’t call them, yet.”

Ella stopped at the door.

He looked at Ruth. “I’d like to know,” he said. “I’m pretty sure the rest of me will live.”

She took his hand, and said, “It’s badly damaged. But I spoke to Doctor Hill and he said—”

“Tell the truth.”

“He said that there’s a chance—” Ruth bit her lower lip and kept from crying in that way.

“What odds?” Tom asked. He was becoming aware of the pain now. It seemed dull and slight, but he knew that this was because of the drugs. It would get worse every minute. Probably it would be more than he could take. He wasn’t used to pain.

“What odds, honey? Ninety-ten? Sixty-forty?”

“Doctor Hill doesn’t know,” Ruth said.

“But he thinks I’ll lose it? Straight, now. Be honest.”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Okay.” Tom felt a tongue of fire lick suddenly across his head. He reached up and touched the bandages, then touched the other bandages on his face. “They did a thorough job, didn’t they?” he said. “How many stitches?”