Her lack of spare time was an anesthesia; the work gave her no time to think of what she was doing. But Matthew began to walk and to understand what it meant when she put on her washed-out work clothes. He followed her down the hall in the mornings, yowling. She heard him sometimes until she got over the levee. Whenever she had a close call on the river, she thought of him, wondered who would read to him, teach him about music. And there had been several close calls. Twice she had almost been run down by crew boats. Many times, she had nearly tipped over while working a line in a stiff current or alongside a driftwood raft. One time, a twelve-foot alligator followed a big catfish she was drawing in on her line. She was tired, paying attention only to the fish until a long crown of fangs flashed at her hand, and then the suitcase-size head came up for her. The animal had one scaly leg in the listing boat before she pulled the starter rope and skidded away, a big claw riding the rail and raking out a crab trap before slipping off the stern.