Or sense us, or whatever they do?’
‘You know they did . . . but I don’t think they knew how close we were.’ As they went into the Garfield apartment, Ted took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket.
‘You must have covered up well. Whooo! Hot in here!’
‘What makes you think they didn’t know we were close?’
Ted paused in the act of opening a window, giving Bobby a level look back over his shoulder. ‘If they’d known, that purple car would have been right behind us when we pulled up here.’
‘It wasn’t a car,’ Bobby said, beginning to open windows himself. It didn’t help much; the air that came in, lifting the curtains in listless little flaps, felt almost as hot as the air which had been trapped inside the apartment all day. ‘I don’t know what it was, but it only looked like a car. And what I felt of them — ‘ Even in the heat, Bobby shivered.
Ted got his fan, crossed to the window by Liz’s shelf of knick-knacks, and set it on the sill.
‘They camouflage themselves as best they can, but we still feel them. Even people who don’t know what they are often feel them. A little of what’s under the camouflage seeps through, and what’s underneath is ugly. I hope you never know how ugly.’
Bobby hoped so, too. ‘Where do they come from, Ted?’
‘A dark place.’
Ted knelt, plugged in his fan, flipped it on. The air it pulled into the room was a little cooler, but not so cool as The Corner Pocket had been, or the Criterion.
‘Is it in another world, like in Ring Around the Sun? It is, isn’t it?’
Ted was still on his knees by the electrical plug. He looked as if he were praying. To Bobby he also looked exhausted — done almost to death. How could he run from the low men? He didn’t look as if he could make it as far as Spicer’s Variety Store without stumbling.
‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘They come from another world. Another where and another when.
That’s all I can tell you. It’s not safe for you to know more.’
But Bobby had to ask one other question. ‘Did you come from one of those other worlds?’
Ted looked at him solemnly. ‘I came from Teaneck.’
Bobby gaped at him for a moment, then began to laugh. Ted, still kneeling by the fan, joined him.
‘What did you think of in the cab, Bobby?’ Ted asked when they were finally able to stop.
‘Where did you go when the trouble started?’ He paused. ‘What did you see?’
Bobby thought of Carol at twenty with her toenails painted pink, Carol standing naked with the towel at her feet and steam rising around her. Adults Only. Must Have Driver’s License. No Exceptions.
‘I can’t tell,’ he said at last. ‘Because . . . well . . . ‘
‘Because some things are private. I understand.’ Ted got to his feet. Bobby stepped forward to help him but Ted waved him away. ‘Perhaps you’d like to go out and play for a little while,’
he said. ‘Later on — around six, shall we say? — I’ll put on my dark glasses again and we’ll go around the block, have a bite of dinner at the Colony Diner.’
‘But no beans.’
The corners of Ted’s mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. ‘Absolutely no beans, beans verboten. At ten o’clock I’ll call my friend Len and see how the fight went. Eh?’
‘The low men . . . will they be looking for me now, too?’
‘I’d never let you step out the door if I thought that,’ Te d replied, looking surprised. ‘You’re fine, and I’m going to make sure you stay fine. Go on now. Play some catch or ring-a-levio or whatever it is you like. I have some things to do. Only be back by six so I don’t worry.’
‘Okay.’
Bobby went into his room and dumped the four quarters he’d taken to Bridgeport back into the Bike Fund jar. He looked around his room, seeing things with new eyes: the cowboy bedspread, the picture of his mother on one wall and the signed photo — obtained by saving cereal boxtops — of Clayton Moore in his mask on another, his roller skates (one with a broken strap) in the corner, his desk against the wall. The room looked smaller now — not so much a place to come to as a place to leave. He realized he was growing into his or ange library card, and some bitter voice inside cried out against it. Cried no, no, no.