emotion or comprehension, an automatic echo reverberating from her subconscious. Her hand moved slowly up to her face as if on its own and stroked the birthmark.
“I brought you some food,” I said, even though I didn’t think she realized who I was or even that I was there at all. I grabbed the blanket and pulled her out.
She stared at me without any indication of recognition. “I have the Mark,” she whispered hoarsely. “The Mark.”
I sat on the transmission housing and opened a can of soup. Then I knelt next to her and tried to get her to drink it right from the can. It ran down the side of her face, but some of it went in her mouth, and I saw her throat pulse as she swallowed. I looked around, found the aspirin, poured out four, and pushed them into her mouth. Then, very slowly, I fed her the entire can of soup and returned to the transmission.
I watched her for awhile, but she seemed to be asleep. She was wearing the robe under the blanket. The dress was crumpled in a back corner of the box. I shoved all the cans of soup except one into the box next to the dress. I then went through the awkward ritual of returning Pauline to the box, opened the remaining can, and placed it with the opener next to her head in the box.
As I was leaving the courtyard, I saw an old milk jug. On an impulse I took it to the front of the shop where I found a water hose. I cleaned out the jug as best I could, filled it with water, and left it next to the box.
“Good-bye, Pauline,” I whispered, and left.
When I returned Monday afternoon, Pauline was still asleep. An empty soup can lay outside the box, and the jug was half empty. I put socks on her feet, opened another can of soup, and left. I couldn’t stay gone long on a weekday. This process was repeated for the rest of the week, supplemented with more soup from M’s pantry. Each time I came, Pauline was there, asleep or semiconscious. Sometimes she would repeat my name when I said hello.
Friday I went downtown a little before sunset, Mom under the impression I would be playing with M until after dark. When I emerged from the gap, I saw Pauline sitting on the transmission. She was wearing the dress, the faded red blanket draped over her shoulders. I stopped abruptly, surprised to see her up. At the noise of my feet scraping the gravel, her head jerked toward me. She squinted at me and whispered, “The Mark.”
“Hi,” I called from the edge of the gap. “You’re up.” I looked down to see the Bible was in her lap. “You’re Pauline Jordan, aren’t you?”
She didn’t acknowledge my comment. “Yer the Mark.” Her green eyes burned weakly, but burned all the same, with the light I had seen the first time we met.
“Well, people usually just call me Mark, not ‘The Mark,’” I joked lamely.
“Yer the one what’s been bringin’ me food,” she said, looking at the soup can in my hand. “And this dress,” she said, looking down at the skirt.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“What’s yer game?”
It had been months since I had first heard this question. This time I was ready for it. “No game. Don’t have one.”
“What do yer want?” She jerked her face back up at me, eyes turning hard. Her face had more color, the birthmark no longer as starkly contrasted against it.
I looked directly into her eyes. “At first I wanted to know about you, but now I guess the main thing that I want is to know you’re going to be OK.”
She dropped her eyes to her hands and said nothing, leaning her head so that her hair hung over the birthmark. Suddenly she grabbed the Bible, pulled the blanket around her, and shuffled to the box, crawling in. “I’m goin’ to be OK,” she whispered huskily from the darkness of the box.
I came forward and sat on the transmission, facing the box. “I brought you another can of soup,” I leaned forward and placed it on the edge of the cardboard. She was sitting cross-legged just inside the opening, looking down, her hair
“I brought you some food,” I said, even though I didn’t think she realized who I was or even that I was there at all. I grabbed the blanket and pulled her out.
She stared at me without any indication of recognition. “I have the Mark,” she whispered hoarsely. “The Mark.”
I sat on the transmission housing and opened a can of soup. Then I knelt next to her and tried to get her to drink it right from the can. It ran down the side of her face, but some of it went in her mouth, and I saw her throat pulse as she swallowed. I looked around, found the aspirin, poured out four, and pushed them into her mouth. Then, very slowly, I fed her the entire can of soup and returned to the transmission.
I watched her for awhile, but she seemed to be asleep. She was wearing the robe under the blanket. The dress was crumpled in a back corner of the box. I shoved all the cans of soup except one into the box next to the dress. I then went through the awkward ritual of returning Pauline to the box, opened the remaining can, and placed it with the opener next to her head in the box.
As I was leaving the courtyard, I saw an old milk jug. On an impulse I took it to the front of the shop where I found a water hose. I cleaned out the jug as best I could, filled it with water, and left it next to the box.
“Good-bye, Pauline,” I whispered, and left.
When I returned Monday afternoon, Pauline was still asleep. An empty soup can lay outside the box, and the jug was half empty. I put socks on her feet, opened another can of soup, and left. I couldn’t stay gone long on a weekday. This process was repeated for the rest of the week, supplemented with more soup from M’s pantry. Each time I came, Pauline was there, asleep or semiconscious. Sometimes she would repeat my name when I said hello.
Friday I went downtown a little before sunset, Mom under the impression I would be playing with M until after dark. When I emerged from the gap, I saw Pauline sitting on the transmission. She was wearing the dress, the faded red blanket draped over her shoulders. I stopped abruptly, surprised to see her up. At the noise of my feet scraping the gravel, her head jerked toward me. She squinted at me and whispered, “The Mark.”
“Hi,” I called from the edge of the gap. “You’re up.” I looked down to see the Bible was in her lap. “You’re Pauline Jordan, aren’t you?”
She didn’t acknowledge my comment. “Yer the Mark.” Her green eyes burned weakly, but burned all the same, with the light I had seen the first time we met.
“Well, people usually just call me Mark, not ‘The Mark,’” I joked lamely.
“Yer the one what’s been bringin’ me food,” she said, looking at the soup can in my hand. “And this dress,” she said, looking down at the skirt.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“What’s yer game?”
It had been months since I had first heard this question. This time I was ready for it. “No game. Don’t have one.”
“What do yer want?” She jerked her face back up at me, eyes turning hard. Her face had more color, the birthmark no longer as starkly contrasted against it.
I looked directly into her eyes. “At first I wanted to know about you, but now I guess the main thing that I want is to know you’re going to be OK.”
She dropped her eyes to her hands and said nothing, leaning her head so that her hair hung over the birthmark. Suddenly she grabbed the Bible, pulled the blanket around her, and shuffled to the box, crawling in. “I’m goin’ to be OK,” she whispered huskily from the darkness of the box.
I came forward and sat on the transmission, facing the box. “I brought you another can of soup,” I leaned forward and placed it on the edge of the cardboard. She was sitting cross-legged just inside the opening, looking down, her hair
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