Spring 1954

They were freshmen in harmony and counterpoint. Ned knew they liked him because he made them laugh. In the first class, as always, he said, "Mendelssohn saved Bach from the trash heap for us, and his voice-leading is very nice. As a composer he's an old lady's fart."

The class exploded, and he had to wait before he could say anything else. But he noticed among the jiggling faces one that was stony and pale, eyes glittering angrily at him.

Later in the semester he did a verbal aria of appreciation of the Landini cadence, a peculiar little phrase used to end some old Italian songs, and which he likened to "someone opening a window on the top floor of the house, so that the air in your living room shifts and angles up." They loved it when he did these riffs, they nudged each other and grinned. As he was relishing the effect he'd created, an earnest coed's hand shot up. Ned looked at her, nodded.

"Is that like synaesthesia?"

"No, that's a theological term, which means 'the more you sin the less it hurts.'" He winked at the rest of the class.

"It is not. " The rumble of chuckles died out.

"Perhaps you're right," Ned said. "Theology ain't my long suit. Why don't you tell me what synaesthesia is, then maybe I can — "

"You don't know?" Her voice rose; she was scared.

Ned frowned. Either she's very shy, he thought, or she's got it in for me. He decided to play it straight. "No, I don't. I've heard the word, of course."

"It means the blending or confusion of the senses, like smelling in color, or the 'notes' in perfumes."

Ned opened his eyes wide. "Notes in perfumes?" Only the boys laughed; the girls nodded in recognition. Noticing this, he said, "Must be one of them lady mysteries."

"No it isn't," the student said, gaining confidence, letting Ned know she was not shy, or not any more. "The way you just described the Landini cadence, the feel of it to you, that's synaesthesia."

"Oh. So you're not asking me, you're telling me."

She reddened a little, but her jaw tightened against the smile. "I just wondered... — a while ago you said Mendelssohn was an old lady's — "

Ah, thought Ned. "...well, fart."

This got a knee-jerk laugh from the boys, but it was tense. "Which was comical, of course, but I just wondered — "

"If Elijah really affected me like baked beans for supper, I see." This broke the tension a little, allowed Ned time for the focus to come back to him, while he pretended to think about the question. Of course it wasn't a question, it was a rebuke, and he felt it as such. He resolved to take more seriously not only Mendelssohn, but also this young woman who had just scored one on him. He felt that she was satisfied with that, but his sense of honor required him to acknowledge the hit. "No, that was a stupid joke, and I hereby order you all to strike it from the record. I also wish to publicly thank Miss..."

"Dixon." Now she was smiling, but she held her lips closed, and her eyes said, Don't push it.

"...Dixon, for teaching us all a new word."

"How do you spell it?" someone said.

Ned looked to Miss Dixon, raised his eyebrows. She was blushing fiercely now. "S-Y-N-A-E-S-T-H-E-S-I-A, but I'm not sure about the A-E."

"We'll all look it up tonight, won't we, class?"

"Oh, sure, Mr. Baer," about half of them said, in what had become a ritualized response to his kidding questions. The class was his again. He finished up the Landini cadence without incident, but while he gave the assignment for next time he surreptitiously opened his gradebook, ran his finger down the list of names to "DIXON, Natalie." Natalie. The Birth (of Jesus). Lovely name. He looked at her, bent over notebook, writing earnestly, as she seemed to do everything else. Left-handed, he noticed. Her heavy dark hair had fallen forward, covering half her face. As she stopped writing to tuck it back behind her ear, she suddenly looked up at him and their eyes locked. An icebomb went off in his solar plexus. He jerked his eyes away, but instantly regretted it, and looked back at her immediately. She was writing again, though not, it seemed to him, as earnestly as before.

He began to plan what to say to her after class. He had to have something to say when she came up and apologized for putting him on the spot like that. He expected her to do this because it was what he would do, had done as a student himself. He would protest that he enjoyed their exchange, that it was good for students to challenge teachers, it made the discourse richer, she should never be afraid to speak her mind in his class, and so on.

As he worked up this set piece he recognized what it was: an evasion, a diversionary tactic to throw her off, to subtly put her down, back in her place, make a student out of her again. Mostly he wanted to smooth out the spike in his EKG that marked the moment when she caught him really looking at her, not as a student, but as a human being. As a woman.

He was mobbed at the end of the class, but noted with satisfaction that Natalie Dixon seemed to be hanging back to have her word with him after the others had left. But the last girl in the mob wanted to make sure he wasn't mad at her for missing class last week, and her excuse was getting grotesque. Ned watched with dismay as Natalie slowly headed for the door.

"Natalie!"

She turned, openly surprised.

"Uh...hang on a minute, will you?"

She stood completely still, clutching her books, staring at him. He could barely wrench his eyes away. "Now listen," he interrupted the girl in front of him, glaring at his gradebook in sudden rage. "Don't do it again, whatever it was. You miss class, you miss everything. OK?"

He didn't look up. "OK," she finally said, and he nodded. He listened to her clump out the door and down the hall. Then silence washed into the room.

He was paralyzed. She would have to speak first. But the silence spread out, settled in. Finally the floor creaked, releasing him. He looked over, as if absently. "Oh! Miss Dixon. Were you waiting for me?"

She shifted her weight, books still smashed against her chest, eyes still upon him.

If she doesn't pick up on this, he thought, I'm gonna blurt out something really stupid.

She took a moment more, apparently gauging the situation. "No," she said finally. Her voice sounded calm.

"Oh, that's right," Ned said, smacking his forehead. "Absent-minded professor, you know." He lay about him furiously for a gambit. "I, uh...I wanted to thank you again. For the new word." He came out from behind the piano, but the long way, putting it between them. "How do you say it again?"

She leaned forward as if she might take a step, but stopped. "Synaesthesia."

"Synaesthesia, yes. The blending of the senses. Notes in perfume."

She merely looked at him. It was unnerving. Then it occurred to him that she really was shy. "I really had never heard of it."

She leaned again, stopped. Now she glanced at the door. "In fact, though," he began, anxious to keep her in the room, "I do experience music sort of — how would you say it? — 'synaesthetically'?"

She nodded a little, and Ned leaned elbows on the piano lid. "That Landini cadence business, that's real for me. The metaphor of the window opening in the attic... well, it isn't perfect, but the feeling I get... that's sort of...." He trailed off, looked at her. That was as obvious an opening as he could come up with.

This time she looked down first. "I'm sorry." He could barely hear it.

"That's all right," he said, ready to go into the set piece. But she looked up, frowning, as if she couldn't figure out what he'd said. He held his breath, dammed up the words ready to tumble out.

"I have to go," she said at last. "I have another class."

Ned's breath came out in a rush. "Of course you do! I'm sorry. Here I am ready to go into a whole thing about — " He broke off. "See you next —"

She was gone.

Ned got into the office files and found out everything he could about DIXON, Natalie Jane: transfer from _________ State Teachers'; Major: Keyboard (Piano) Performance. Audition notes, in L______'s hand, described her playing as technically proficient, but on the light side dynamically. Translation: she plays like a girl. But Ned remembered those glittering eyes defying him in class, and conjectured that L_____ had misread self-control as lack of fire. He also wondered what was behind her transferring: had conservative parents insisted she take the allegedly safe route of Music Education? Had she then rebelled, come here on her own, to go for the real thing?

His advisor Dr. Patterson knew nothing of her, but he wanted to know why Ned wanted to know. "I hope your interest is purely pedagogical, Mr. Baer. I would hate to hear that you'd forgotten the first principle of teaching."

"'Keep your mouth shut when you erase the board'?"

"Same as for priests: 'Fondle Not The Flock.'"

"You speak from experience?"

"Saucy boy. A word to the wise, Nathaniel."

It was the name his mother had called him when he was especially bad. How did Patterson know these things?

Natalie didn't show up for the next three weeks. Ned naturally began to worry. She'd never missed once since the beginning of the term. He was sure he had something to do with it. He was wrong.

§

When Natalie left the room that day, she was preoccupied, but not with thoughts of Ned. Ned's constant wisecracking got on her nerves; she mistakenly judged that he was only interested in making people like him, probably because he didn't have any talent. She knew this was snotty, but he was just a grad student, not a real teacher. He seemed to know his material, but anyone who'd made it through four years of music school would know this stuff. In short, Natalie saw no reason to take him seriously, as a musician, as a teacher, or — after that pathetic attempt to make conversation with her — as a man.

What was on Natalie's mind was getting to the bathroom as quickly as she could. When she'd stood up at the end of class, there was a large smear of blood on the seat. She had to wait until everyone left so that no one would see the wet stain on the back of her skirt. With her handkerchief she wiped up the smear, then sidled through the empty desk chairs towards the door.

Now that she was moving she was amazed she hadn't noticed how wet she was. When Ned called to her she froze, clamping her thighs together so tightly they shook. I'm going to just go, she said to herself, but then the girl Ned was talking to hurried by with tears in her eyes, and Natalie looked at him to see what he'd done to her. She hadn't heard a word.

All Ned wanted to do, it seemed, was chat. Great. Now he liked her. All she needed. She excused herself at the first opportunity, hurried stiff-legged down the hall to the ladies' room. Two girls were standing outside, talking. Tears burned in her eyes, but she fought them down. Maybe they're just standing there, she hoped, just talking.

One of them said, "He's so funny."

The other wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "He can park his shoes under my bed any time he wants."

Then they saw Natalie, who evidently startled them. "Is this the line?" She tried to keep her voice level.

The taller girl rolled her eyes. "Always like this between classes. Men design these buildings, figure it out."

But the other was looking at Natalie with concern. "What's the matter, dear?"

"Nothing, just — a little emergency." She tried to laugh.

The girls looked at each other. A toilet flushed inside. "You go, honey," the short one said. "Unless you need help?"

"No, thanks so much," Natalie said. "I wouldn't do this — I mean — "

"We know, don't think about it, you go on, we can wait," the taller one was all solicitude. But the other nudged her and said, "Let's try the one upstairs, Madge," and pulled her friend away down the hall.

The door opened and a woman Natalie recognized as the organ instructor came out. They exchanged the traditional wry smile of such occasions, and Natalie went inside. She locked the door, entered the stall, locked that door, lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties, and sat down. She quickly took off her shoes. Her panties were dripping with bright red blood. She kicked them off as well, shoved them behind the toilet.

By now her breath was coming in little gasps and she shivered as if freezing. She fixed her eyes on the long red streaks on her thighs, from which, now that she was sitting, hairline trickles were forming at right angles. She put her hand to her mouth and bit down on the muscle between thumb and forefinger.

Then she felt a cramp, high up inside, like a blade going in. At just the moment when she was going to cry out, the cramp released, and something fell out of her vagina into the bowl.

§

Julie, the shorter girl, had hung back when the pale girl went in. She heard the girl lock herself in, which really worried her, so she stole back and listened at the door, heard panting. Then she noticed the little trail of blood leading up to the door from the direction the girl had come. When she pounded and called she heard nothing.

Madge returned. Fortunately the hinge pins were on the outside, otherwise they'd have had to chop the door down with the fire ax. The organ instructor reappeared and helped lift the door off its hinges, then, once inside, Julie slithered under the metal partition and shot back the bolt on the stall door.

The girl had fallen forward over her knees, and apparently banged her nose — there was blood everywhere. They tried to prop her up, but she was completely limp, and showed no signs of reviving.

"Is she dead, Miss Detwiler?"

"No, I think she just fainted. Do you have a hanky? Cold water, I think." She stopped the girl's nosebleed by sticking a tiny wad of toilet paper under the upper lip. Then she sent Madge to call an ambulance. "A bad period, that's all," was what she said. "She'll be all right." She flushed the toilet.

The girl came to in the emergency room. Miss Detwiler had had to return to the school, but Julie and Madge stayed. The girl seemed to recognize Julie at least.

"You were... at the — " she slurred, her eyes unfocused.

"That's right, honey, at the ladies' room."

"Yeah, there's always a line," said Madge. "Always after class.... " She trailed off.

"This is Madge, I'm Julie."

"Oh."

Julie waited another moment. "What's your name, dear?" The girl was still trying to focus on Julie's face. "Water."

"Water?"

"Go get her some water, Madge."

"I don't know where to go."

"Ask someone."

"Who?"

"Anyone. She's thirsty."

"OK." Madge drew back the curtain, peeked out.

"Go!" Julie shoved Madge out of the cubicle. "And tell them she's awake!" She turned back to the girl. "How do you feel?" The girl's eyes were rolling up and out.

"Nurse!"

The curtain was whipped aside and a burly woman with nearly white eyes bore down on Julie. Madge stood behind her.

Julie backed up. "She needs some water. She's lost a lot of blood."

The nurse moved in, gently bumping Julie aside. A hand like a cornish hen came down on the girl's forehead, a fat thumb pried up one eyelid, then the other. The girl waved her arms weakly, trying the push the hand away.

The nurse nodded in Madge's direction. "Water." Madge evaporated.

"What is it, a heavy period?" Julie asked.

"I doubt it." There was a dead pause. Then Julie ventured, "What — "

The pale eyes fixed on her, and held her, until Julie understood that there's nothing to stop the worst thing you can imagine from coming to pass. Anytime.

Madge returned with a paper cone full of water, which the nurse poured into the girl's mouth. Then she straightened, crushing the cup in her hand. "She'll live," she pronounced, and waddled crabwise around to the foot of the bed. "I'll send an aide to clean her up." She left.

"But shouldn't a doctor — ?" Julie called after the broad back, but got no reply. She looked down at the girl, who was struggling to swallow the last of the water.

"Well now, well now, well now, what have we here?" A haggard but handsome intern came in, gently brushed the hair back from the girl's forehead, gazing at her kindly. Madge just stood there gaping.

"She fainted in the ladies' room," Julie said, "she was bleeding — ... you know.... "

"Let's just have a look, shall we?" He herded them out of the cubicle. "What's her name?" he asked Julie in a whisper.

"We don't know," she whispered back. "The nurse took her bag — "

"Don't go away, will you?" The girls nodded. Madge's mouth was still open. The intern pulled the curtain closed. They could hear him murmuring as he moved around the bed, and the girl croaking in reply. He stuck his head out. "Could one of you girls go to the nurse's station and bring back a pitcher of water? The nurse will give it to you." His head disappeared again.

"Go on, Madge."

"You go this time. That nurse scares me."

"She won't hurt you."

"She looks so mean."

"She is, but she won't hurt you."

"Why'n't you go?"

"Because she doesn't care about you. Now go, will you?" She gave Madge a shove, none too gently. Madge slunk off.

Julie heard the girl gasp, then the intern's soothing voice. "I'm sorry, Natalie, but I have to have a look. I'll try not to hurt you. Pull your feet up, that'll help. That's it." She heard him moving, and Natalie grunting softly. "Mmhm. Mmhm. Does that hurt? How about that? Good, good."

He stuck his head out again. "How we doing on that water?" Julie could only shrug. "Could you see what's happened to it?"

Just then she heard a rattling sound, and Madge appeared, walking as if on a tightrope. The cut glass pitcher was full to the brim, clacking with ice cubes. The intern gave an exasperated smile and said, "I don't suppose you have a cup, do you?" Madge gestured with her eyes to the pocket of her blouse. Julie pulled out the quarter-circle of paper and opened it up. Madge's tongue appeared in the corner of her mouth as she readied to pour, but the intern took both pitcher and cup and spun deftly around the curtain into the cubicle.

He must have poured six times, and in between Natalie downed the water in four loud gulps. "Careful, you'll get a headache," they heard him say, but she didn't slow down. Finally she gave a loud sigh and the intern drew the curtain aside. "She'll be OK in a little bit. Stay with her. I'll be back." He went around the corner into another cubicle. "Well now, well now, well now, what have we here?"

Natalie looked much better. "I don't know how to thank you," she began.

"No, no, dear, don't think about it. You'd have done the same if it had happened to us."

"What did happen?" Madge said.

"Madge — "

"I just wanted to know — "

Julie watched the terrible event reform behind Natalie's eyes, and almost stomped on Madge's instep.

"Don't think about it honey, it's over now." Julie leaned over Natalie, stroked her forehead, her cheek. The intern had wiped the blood off Natalie's face. Julie glanced down at Natalie's legs. The shins were still shiny from the damp cloth.

§

Madge became worried about missing her lesson, so Julie told her to go on back. Natalie drank more water and listened gratefully to Julie chatter and gossip about people at the school. The nurse walked by once, glancing in with those frozen eyes, then disappeared without breaking stride. They could hear the intern's "Well now, well now, well now!" as he made his tour of the cubicles.

Long moments would pass, while they gazed at the by now familiar bright equipment and crisp linen. Then Julie would draw a breath, and Natalie would hold hers, sure that this time Julie was going to say, "I really must be going...." But she never said that, or betrayed the slightest restlessness or impatience. It was, "Madge is a sweetheart, but not real quick on the draw," or "I was in an emergency room once back home, my mother has asthma, I'll probably get it too... " and a run-on sentence would ensue, pages long, until.... Natalie began to doze.

She was back in the classroom, writing down the assignment in her notebook. She knew Ned was looking daggers at her for calling him on that childish Mendelssohn business. She tucked her hair behind her ear, waited a moment, then looked right back at him. Predictably, this startled him and he looked away. She gave a little snort and crossed her legs.

It was then that she felt the cold spot on her bottom. When she slid out and stood up she saw the smear on the seat. She rummaged in her purse for her hanky. The whole thing replayed in every detail: heading for the door, Ned's catching her, then babbling on and on while she tried to fight down the feeling of a small but swelling creature crawling up from beneath her heart. Then the long hall, the girls in the distance outside the ladies' room. Natalie started to hurry, then broke into a run as the monster within rounded and fattened, pushing her organs aside, ballooning with blood, oozing, ready to burst. Harder and harder she ran, but the girls were still yards and yards away, only now they'd seen her, and they rolled their eyes and snickered. She yelled, "Who are you — who are you — "

"Honey, honey! It's OK, it's OK!"

Natalie's eyes popped open. Julie's round face hung above her like the full moon. "Who are you — ?" Natalie managed, then shook her head, confused.

"I'm Julie, remember? You dropped off for a second, must've been dreaming."

Natalie stared at her. "Not. Not. Not...who are you ..., who are you... talking about?"

Julie looked at her for several seconds, uncomprehending. Then, "Oh! Mr. Baer, the theory teacher. Have you had him yet?"

The phrase puzzled her. "Had him?"

"What year are you?"

"What year?"

"You must've had him. Graduate student? Big? With the voice?"

"Baer. I was in his class. He wouldn't let me go — " she was getting distressed again.

"It's OK, it's OK, I'm here, you got away from him." Julie began to smile. "Though if I were in your place..."

Natalie stared at her.

"He gave a recital last night. What a dreamboat! He can park his shoes under my bed — "

"You said that."

"What?"

"That's what you said when I came up. I didn't know you were talking about him."

The way she said it made Julie's eyebrows go up.

"I think he's a jerk." Natalie hadn't meant to say that. She was sure Julie would be offended.

But Julie just smiled. "You haven't heard him sing, then."

"Well...no."

"Just wait."

"He's good?" Natalie was dubious.

"Just wait." Another long silence followed.

The intern came back with an older doctor in a long white coat. In a moment the nurse joined them at the foot of the bed, and the three of them just looked at Natalie for some moments. The intern glanced quickly at the doctor once or twice. The nurse's pale eyes didn't move from Natalie's face.

"What's the patient's name?" said the doctor. Natalie wasn't sure she was supposed to answer, so she said nothing. The intern looked at Julie, who finally got it and put a hand on Natalie's arm.

"Tell him your name, dear."

"Natalie." A pause. "Natalie Dixon." Another pause. "I'm a pianist."

The intern glanced at the doctor again, made a little face at Julie.

She smiled but covered her mouth and cleared her throat.

The doctor finally drew a long whistling breath in through his nose, then sighed heavily. After a dead pause he said, "I have a daughter her age." Everyone stared at him. Who was he talking to?

The intern coughed. "Evacuation seems to be complete. But you should examine her yourself — "

"Which I would do in any case. It's unlikely the patient's interests would be served should you prove wrong. Speculum." It seemed he had been talking to the intern all along. The nurse grabbed Julie's arm and dragged her out, drew the curtain. The intern opened a drawer in the cubicle, handed the doctor the contraption. "Hold her."

Natalie clamped her legs together. "Wait!" She grabbed at the sheet. "What's your name?"

"Now Natalie, don't be afraid — " the intern came toward her.

She pointed at the doctor, screamed, "What's his name!?"

The nurse reappeared with a hypodermic.

§

Julie saw inside for just a second when the nurse went in. The intern was up on the bed behind Natalie, pinning her arms down. With their faces together like that they looked like Dick Powell and Myrna Loy in one of those old college musicals her mother used to drag her to on Saturdays. Only Dick's blazing smile was a grimace, and Myrna wasn't singing, she was screaming.

The curtain closed, and Julie just stood there, numb with knowledge.

The doctor wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but Natalie, fighting off the sedative and swearing like a sailor, refused to be admitted.

Julie parried every attempt the nurse made to get more information out of her. She said she was Natalie's older cousin, and that she would take responsibility for telling the proper people what had happened. She promised to take Natalie home and make her rest.

Finally the nurse went off shift, and Julie practically carried Natalie, whose verbal abuse of the nurse had turned anatomical, out of the hospital. She flagged a taxi and had the cabbie drive them around until Natalie settled down, then directed him to the boarding house where she and Madge lived. By now it was almost nine o'clock, the hour when Mrs. Dougherty locked the door and sat up sentry in the front parlor until all her girls were in or at least accounted for.

Who knew what Madge had told the dear old widow? Or the other girls? Who knew what Madge knew? Natalie was now curled up in a corner of the back seat, muttering, eyes still wide, so finding out where she lived would probably not be easy. Besides, Julie said to herself, I can't leave her now. Not for anything. Not ever.

The cabbie pulled over to the curb, then turned around in his seat and gazed sadly at Natalie, who now had her thumb in her mouth.

Julie stirred the few coins in her change purse, realizing she could never pay the fare. "How much?" she squeaked, unable to look at him.

"I never, I mean never, heard nobody curse like that. Not even my boss, and he was in both wars," he said. Then he turned his watery eyes on Julie. "He's gonna love it when I tell 'im."

Julie cleared her throat. "Um...how much is the fare?"

The cabbie smiled. "No charge, ladies. I couldn't get them curses out of a book." He swiveled again, opened his door. "Here, let's get her in."

As they struggled up the steps with Natalie between them, the front door opened and there stood Mrs. Dougherty, her face stony with disapproval. Madge peeped over her shoulder, and behind Madge was a double row of faces all the way up the inside stairs.

§

Mrs. Dougherty was not pleased. Julie hadn't shown up for supper, so she'd asked Madge why. Madge was apparently bursting to tell, which she did, at the dinner table.

The girls, Mrs. Dougherty thought, were enjoying the lurid details entirely too much. And Madge — who was rarely the center of attention in this group — was obviously embellishing here and there to keep that attention as long as she could.

On the other hand, it was a good story, better even than Madge or the others could possibly know. The nameless young woman that Madge and Julie had rescued was clearly in trouble, as the phrase had it in Mrs. Dougherty's day. Her girls might benefit from a little contact, albeit as spectators only, with the real world. Words of admonition were never enough: they needed to see the price the world exacts for frivolous behavior.

Knowing her girls, she expected that Julie would bring the unfortunate creature home with her, as one would do a bird with a broken wing. Good. The lesson could commence immediately.

When she gauged that Madge was about to start repeating herself, Mrs. Dougherty pronounced the whole subject unfit to be discussed at the table, and forbade the girls to speak another word about it. This had the desired effect of banking the coals, and she noted with satisfaction that after the meal they all gathered, as if casually, in the front parlor so that they could keep watch for Julie's return. Madge sat in the big armchair, whispering to the others clustered around her. Mrs. Dougherty herself remained in the dining room, playing solitaire.

An eruption of shushing, followed by abrupt silence, told her that Julie had arrived. Outside, a car door slammed, then another, confirming this conjecture. Mrs. Dougherty remained in her chair, turned a card, snapped it down. Mildred, the youngest — "Silly Millie," the other girls called her — appeared in the doorway.

Mrs. Dougherty scowled at her, daring her to speak. The girl froze with her mouth open. "Julie has returned," Mrs. Dougherty said. It was not a question. Mildred's eyes widened. Everything amazed Mildred. "Tell the girls not to mob our Good Samaritan when she comes in." Then Mrs. Dougherty rose majestically. "Better yet, I will greet her at the door."

The girls scattered before her. She put her hand on the doorknob, waited until she heard footfalls on the three wooden steps leading up to the stoop. She had already put on her sternest expression when she opened the door smartly, startling the newcomers as she had intended.

Julie on the left, the cabbie on the right, and in between, supported by the arms, a thin girl with a pale face and blazing eyes.

The two groups stared at each other across the threshold; the only movement was the strange girl's wobbling head. Finally Mrs. Dougherty thought it time for her to speak.

"What's your name, child?"

The head stopped nodding. "Who the hell are you, the fucking Queen of England?"

§

Natalie remembered little of what happened in the next few days. Faces swam into her field of vision, swam away. Voices murmured steadily in the background, as if she'd lain down beside a stream and been bound by some enchantment to lie there, unable to move, until her Rescuer came.

One face appeared more frequently than the others, a round face framed by a blunt cut of blonde hair, with light blue eyes set wide on either side of a tiny turned-up nose. It both comforted and distressed Natalie every time she saw this face again. On the one hand it was a reference point, because of its familiarity, a place to return to, or rather to realize she had returned to, after drifting helplessly for she didn't know how long through vague and troubling dreams.

But the face was also both scared and sad: scared of worse to come; sad with the certainty that the worst will come. And yet, Natalie perceived, this fear and sorrow "belonged" mostly to the face and not to herself, so that Natalie's distress "went out" to it. She wanted to hold this face in her hands, to calm and soothe it, but she couldn't move; she was under an evil spell.

And then the face swam away again, disappearing into the watery babble of the enchanted stream, and once more Natalie came unmoored, sailing through billowing mists of time.

When she awoke she saw a fuzzy dark pink rose about the size of her hand floating in a light pink sky. She blinked, and realized that only one eye was open, the other being held closed by a pillow which was pressed against the right side of her face.

No: the right side of her face was pressed against the pillow. She turned her head slightly and the other eye opened, doubling the image of the rose, quadrupling it, multiplying it many times. Natalie blinked again, and the roses resolved into pairs that gradually drew together and came into focus: pink wallpaper with a texture of raised dusky roses.

She held her eyes closed for a moment, trying to determine the cardinal points of her body's compass. This was not easy; the entire right side of her body was nearly numb, and it was hard to tell exactly where it was. She would have to move.

She turned her head farther away from the pillow and immediately lost her balance. The turn became a falling spin which she tried to halt by raising her shoulder toward her ear, but then she landed heavily on her back, gulping desperately for air. Even after she hit she seemed to still be spinning. She recognized the feeling from the last time she'd been falling-down — no, already fallen-down — drunk, and also remembered the remedy: keep your eyes open and fixed on one spot, and repeat over and over, "Jesus son of Mary have mercy on me."

The view had changed considerably. She seemed to be before a doorway cut through incredibly thick walls, looking at another wall in the distance. This wall was also textured with a repeating geometric pattern.

Then she felt slight rumbling in the wall she was backed against, and for a moment she thought she must be in an extremely narrow closet. But suddenly her sense of orientation flipped ninety degrees, and she realized where she was: lying on the floor between two beds, staring up at a pressed tin ceiling.

The rumbling resolved into footsteps — more than one pair — pounding up the stairs apparently just outside the room. Then two faces appeared before — that is, above — her: an older one with rimless glasses and dark gray hair frizzing out beside the ears; and behind that face a younger one, the one from her dreams, the one she recognized and loved. And pitied. She smiled.

"Natalie," the younger face said. More rumbling against her back, more faces crowded the opening. Natalie frowned, trying to remember where she'd seen this image before — but there was something wrong with it, something out of place.

The chattering stream of human voices burst into life again, and only then did Natalie realize that it had been silent since she woke up, until this moment. The faces loomed closer, she was pulled by the arms through the door — lifted from between the beds — into the room — no, she was being raised to a sitting position. Hands were pressed against her back, thrust behind her legs, pushing — no, lifting — now spinning her to the left until her backside bumped against what had to be the mattress. Now her legs were swung back the other way and she was raised and dropped against the mattress again.

Vertigo overcame her, her head lolled and bounced against a woman's breast. She sought it with her mouth, waving her arms; her hands opened and closed. An arm slid behind her head, drew her face against the breast again. Her eyes rolled back; the Rescuer had come, and taken her up, and now carried her away from the babel of voices, into the dark silent forest where she could finally sleep, afraid no more.

§

Mrs. Dougherty sat on the edge of the bed with Natalie cradled across her lap. She was rocking and weeping in a way that Julie had never seen or heard before. And yet it was familiar, this abandonment to grief — for that's what this must be, Julie realized — grief as great as if Natalie were Mrs. Dougherty's own child, who had just died in her mother's arms, or worse, whatever that might be.

Julie quickly herded the other girls out of the room.

"What happened?"

"She fell out of bed is all. That means she's getting better." She knew this sounded stupid. She also knew it was right.

"But what's wrong with Mrs. Dougherty?"

"Nothing."

"She's crying."

"She is not."

"I saw her."

"She's not crying."

"I can hear her."

"That's Natalie. Mrs. Dougherty's just rocking her to sleep."

And so on, fiercely denying everything that they'd just seen, pushing it down, pushing it away. Making it not.

Madge and Millie kept it up the longest, because they hadn't really perceived, let alone understood, what was happening in there, they were too young. Too young or too dumb; their curiosity was childish, automatic, almost bored. Some of the others were spooked as much by Julie as by what they saw, and soon joined her in denial, interposed themselves, drove Madge and Millie from the door, down the stairs, away.

Julie closed the door on the scene behind her, but then her legs went weak and she had to lean against the door frame. There was a chair in the corner by the window, but she didn't want it somehow, so she just slid down slowly, her legs crossing under her, to the floor. She waited.

After a time Mrs. Dougherty's weeping stilled to a little gasp now and then, and finally stopped. There was silence for a moment, and then Julie heard the creak of the bedsprings as Mrs. Dougherty rearranged Natalie and tucked her in. Julie tried to stand and get away, but only managed to get to her feet before the door opened.

Mrs. Dougherty did not look surprised to see her there. "She's asleep, poor thing. I think the fever's broken. She looks so peaceful now, you can really tell the difference."

"Can I look at her?"

"Of course."

The two women stood at the foot of the bed in silence.

"Yes," Julie said. "She'll be all right now."

§

Three weeks after his first attempt to talk to Natalie, there appeared at Ned's office door a short round-faced girl he recognized from last year's theory class. What was her name? Janet? Ruth? Something like that.

He smiled warmly, beckoned her in. "Come in, come in! How are you?" He liked her, he remembered, but the name still didn't come.

"Hi, Mr. Baer," she said, blushing deeply.

Now he remembered that he liked her a lot. "You survived my theory class, you're entitled to call me Ned. What brings you back?" Damn! What was her name?

"My roommate, Natalie Dixon. She's dropping the class."

Ned frowned. He felt suddenly guilty, couldn't figure out why. "Oh?"

"Yeah." She didn't seem able to keep her eyes on his for long. "She's missed too much, she says. She'll start over in the fall."

"Oh." June. The girl's name was June. Wasn't it? "She doesn't have to drop the class. I could work with her, help her catch up. It's only been what, a week or so?"

"Over a month, actually." She wasn't telling him something. "She'd rather start over."

"It's me, isn't it?" He gave her the eye. "I have bad breath, right?"

She took a moment to get it. Not like her, as Ned remembered. "No," she said with a half-hearted laugh. "It's not you."

Julie! That's it. "Julie." His face was serious now. "Is anything wrong?"

She paled as if he'd stabbed her. "Wrong? No." She was lying. "Well, she was sick for a while, but she'll be better soon." That, too, was not entirely true, or not the entire truth. "She's just got so far behind...."

"Tell her I understand. Tell her I'm sorry. She really is getting better now?"

"Yes." She was smiling again, faintly flustered.

"I didn't know she was your roommate."

"She wasn't. It just happened." She didn't want to go on.

Hm. Story here, Ned thought. "Well then, tell her I'll see her in the fall."

"OK."

"Want to go for coffee?"

"I can't, I've got a class."

"Rain check?"

That deep blush again. God, he loved women. "Sure." He held out his hand. "It was really terrific to see you again." Her skin was cool, smooth as talcum.

"Nice to see you too." She pulled her hand away, backed out quickly. "Bye."

"See you." I will, too. And you'll tell me about Natalie. And then I'll see her. Ned's ears were hot. He was doing something bad. What was it? Making Julie blush like that? Possibly. But he flirted with girls all the time. He liked girls. He liked Julie.

Yeah, but he wasn't flirting with Julie, he realized. He was setting his hook in her so he could get to Natalie. That's why his ears were hot.

Ned decided to give his Master's recital in the chapel. There was to be no electric light: in the late afternoon the chancel would be flooded with colored sunlight through the stained glass windows, and the "house" would be bathed in the warm reflection from the white dome of the apse. If it were overcast, a candelabra would stand ready upon an embroidered shawl covering the piano lid; if necessary, the accompanist could switch on a modest little lamp cleverly concealed in the music rack. There were to be no printed programs: Ned planned to announce each selection himself.

Patterson was amused by what he called Ned's theatricality. "Hoping the audience will be so smitten with our atmospherics it will fail to note the mediocrity of our singing?"

"You're saying I'm a mediocre singer?"

"I'm saying this elaborate preparation is irrelevant to your singing. Some will say it's pretentious."

"You're saying I'm pretentious?"

"I'm saying some will say that this... spectacle is pretentious."

"Are you one of the some?"

"Personally, I wouldn't care if you did this damn recital in the nude from the steps of City Hall. All I care about is that you don't embarrass me with your singing."

"Should I do it in the nude?"

"'Create, Artist: Do not talk!'" Patterson said, slamming into the first chords of Ned's opening number.

Atmospherics aside, the real difference between Ned Baer's Master's Recital and everyone else's that year was his motivation. This recital was to be a serenade for Natalie Dixon. He'd been pursuing her without success ever since she'd challenged him in class on that Mendelssohn business. He couldn't figure out why none of his usual ploys worked — her roommate Julie fell for every one of them, much to his chagrin. But he could hardly ask Julie why Natalie didn't like him.

What he could do was get Julie to bring Natalie to his recital. It was going to be his last play. If Natalie remained unmoved by a programme of all love songs, all directed right at her, then he would have to give up.

Having resolved this, Ned became calm. In fact as the day approached, he began to feel that in a way it didn't matter if Natalie showed up at all. Her response — or lack of one — was totally beyond his control. It was the first time that everything in his life had been so perfectly aligned. His talent and skill had found a purpose to which he could dedicate them: making his declaration of love. Like a medieval knight, he thought. For the love of my lady. His daily vocalises and rehearsals were like fasting and prayer for him.

§

"Are you coming with me or not?" Julie asked, on her way out the door.

Natalie was noodling at the keyboard, not really practicing, not really playing, either. "Where am I deciding to go?"

"Ned Baer's recital."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Just because."

Julie pursed her lips. "I want a real reason."

"He's a total jerk."

"No he's not."

"He's been taking you out for coffee." Julie's pale skin was like a lie detector. Right now her earlobes were beginning to darken.

"Irrelevant. He's not after me."

"You're sure."

The slightest hesitation. "I'm sure." Julie blinked first. "Come on. Don't be an old maid."

Why "old maid"? Natalie wondered. "What is it with you and this guy?"

"It has nothing to do with me. You need to hear him sing."

"Why?"

"It will change your life."

Natalie rolled her eyes.

"You know I like him, but that's not why I want you to come," Julie said.

"I wouldn't mind watching him go down in flames."

"Come, then. There's a good chance he will. He is a total jerk, right?" She grabbed Natalie's elbow, pulled her out the door.

Natalie hated allowing herself to be talked into anything, and her instincts in this case told her to stay out of whatever was going on between Ned and her roommate Julie. Even if — especially if — nothing really was going on, except in Julie's mind.

But something else was bothering her. Lately, music bored her, as if it had become merely an organization — a bureaucracy — of sounds. She thought maybe she just needed a break: day in and day out she was swamped by noise from the practice rooms, had to sit still through (or worse, accompany) all those timid, too-careful performances in repertoire class, practice all those pointless exercises — it was bound to get on a person's nerves. But she was also dimly certain that this explanation missed the point somehow.

Now, as she sat in the pew next to Julie, waiting for that total jerk Ned Baer to make his entrance, the answer seemed almost within reach. She'd been brooding about it for weeks, as if pressing on a swollen gland. What if music had forsaken her? What would she do? What could she do?

The door in the side of the chancel opened, and Ned Baer appeared. He was dressed too casually for this, in a suit and tie instead of the expected tuxedo. His face wore that smug look she really hated, the one he always got just before saying something he thought was really clever, like Mendelssohn was an old lady's fart. Julie had insisted on fourth row center, where they could hear best. And of course no one was in front of them, so there Natalie sat, like any other adoring fan, exposing herself to that self-satisfied mug of his!

Ned walked to his spot in the curve of the piano. Now he was smirking at Julie. Natalie could tell by that look that he didn't give a shit about her. She glared.

But then his glance landed on Natalie herself and she quailed, lowered her eyes to her lap. It was the face of her executioner, asking her forgiveness before he raised his axe.

Ned, his face laid against Natalie's breast, murmured contentedly, their breathing going shallower, slowing. "What am I doing?" she whispered, suddenly chilled. Whatever she said next, however she tried to account for her brazen behavior — he wouldn't get it, he didn't deserve it, he was still a total jerk. Besides, he hardly seemed inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Ned hummed again, said something softly, but she knew he was nearly asleep. His bulk all but covered her, and it was a little hard to breathe, but she wanted to think, to analyze the situation, figure out where to go from here. And if she tried to roll him off, or wriggle out from under him, he might wake up and want to talk, and she didn't think she could handle that, not yet.

She'd hardly planned it this way, although, once the sexual gears engaged, it was easy enough to know what to do next. The first thing she figured she'd have to do was to get ready for some kind of life with this — well, stranger — that she realized, to her utter exasperation, she was now in love with. What was most galling was that Julie had been entirely right: hearing Ned sing had changed her life. But not in the way Julie — sweet, innocent Julie — would ever be able to imagine.

Two songs into his recital, it was obvious to Natalie what Ned was up to, and it made her furious — she was sure everyone in the place could see it too. But when she looked around, no one else, including Julie, seemed to be doing anything but listening to the pretty music, indulging in the solace of art, or somesuch pointless bullshit. Or else sucking up to their teacher, as all the youngsters in the front pews with her were surely doing.

Ned himself seemed completely focused on her, and bore down on her with that voice of his. The very first note he sang drove into her, like a harpoon under the sternum. She couldn't move, except to wriggle a little if he happened to glance at his accompanist between songs. Then he'd pin her against the back of the pew again.

She tore out of there as soon as he took his first bow, to a thunderclap of applause she barely noticed. She had to at least try to get away, the son of a bitch was a vampire, sucking the will to resist right out of her, though she knew it was probably too late already. But even if she did manage to escape — for example, if she just kept running, left town for good — that voice would continue to ring like a gong hung from the roof of her skull, and she'd never, ever, have any music of her own again.

She had to get to a piano, and the nearest one in the direction she was headed was in the parlor of the two-room flat she shared with Julie. She stormed in and took over the keyboard, tried to wrest it to her will, make it make music. But the poor little spinet was built for a more decorous sensibility than what was roiling through Natalie at the moment, and the most she could get out of it was what amounted to an hour of genteel calisthenics.

She needed a much stronger instrument, one that could stand up to her, could absorb the storm of rage ramping up in that part of her now suddenly fighting for its life. She needed to get at the concert grand in the chapel that Ned's accompanist had fingered with such propriety earlier today. And, failing that — for the chapel would surely be locked by now — she needed to get at Ned.

Because Natalie intended to take up the gauntlet Ned had cast down oh-so-artistically at her feet, and she was going to smack him right across the face with it. If he wanted her, he'd get her all right, but he'd get all of her, and no backsies.

She hoped, now that the spark had caught between them, that it wouldn't roast them both to cinders. But in fact she really didn't care that much. She knew where she belonged, at last.