Raphael was unused to fear, and it made him sick and angry. In the days that followed he became wary. He had to go out; hunger alone drove him from the safety of his room. He took care, however, always to go in the daylight and at times when the streets were most crowded.
In time it became intolerable. He realized that even his room was not an absolute sanctuary. It was, after all, on the ground floor and in the back. The front door of the building was not that secure, and his window faced on an unlighted alley. The night was filled with noises-small sounds he had not heard before and that now seemed unspeakably menacing. He slept fitfully and dreamed of the feel of the knives going in. It was not pain that he feared, since for Raphael pain was no longer relevant. It was the indignity of being defenseless, of being forced to submit to violation simply because he would not be able to protect himself that he feared.
It could not go on. He could not continue to let this fear so dominate him that it became the overriding consideration of his life, And so he decided to move, to take himself out of the battle zone, to flee even as Christian had fled from the City of Dreadful Night. And ultimately it was for much the same reason-to save his soul.
There were apartments to be had; the want ads were full of them. He bought a city map and rode the busses, seeking a location, a neighborhood that could offer both convenience and greater security. The newer apartment houses were all too expensive. The insurance settlement and his disability income from Social Security and the policy his father had tamed for him provided him with enough to live on if he was careful with his money, but there was not really enough for extravagance. He began to concentrate his search on the north side, beyond the churning turbulence of the river, as if that barrier might somehow hold off the predators who roamed the downtown streets.
It was luck, really, when he found it. The apartment was not listed in the paper, but there was a discreet sign in a downstairs window. The bus he customarily rode had passed it a half-dozen times before he realized that the sign was there. He got off at the next stop and went back, his paces long and measured, and his crutches creaking with each stride.
The building had been a store at one time, wooden-framed, and with living quarters for the owner upstairs. There was a large screened porch across the front of the second floor and five mailboxes beside the bayed-in downstairs door that had at one time been the entrance to the business. The entire structure was somewhat bigger than a large house, and it sat on a corner facing two quiet streets with older houses and bare trees poking up stiffly at the gray winter sky. The roof was flat, and there was a small building up there, windowed on three sides.
“I saw your sign,” Raphael said to the T-shirted man who came in answer to his ring. “Do you suppose I could look at the apartment?”
The man scratched his chin doubtfully, looking at the crutches and the single leg. “I don’t know, buddy. It’s that place up on the roof. Those stairs might give you a problem.”
“One way to find out,” Raphael said to him.
“You working?” the man asked, and then went on quickly: “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to be a shithead, but if you got behind in your rent, I’d look like a real son of a bitch if I tried to kick you out. I had a woman on welfare in here last year who stopped paying her rent. Took me six months to get her out. I had social workers all over me like a rug-called me every dirty name in the book.”
“I’ve got an income,” Raphael replied patiently. “Social Security and disability from an insurance policy. They bring in enough to get me by. Could I look at it?” He had decided not to mention the railroad settlement to strangers.
The man shrugged. “I’ll get the key. The stairway’s around on the side.”
The stairway was covered, a kind of long, slanting hallway attached to the side of the house. There was a solid handrail, and Raphael went up easily.
“You get around pretty good,” the man in the T-shirt commented as he came up and unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.
“Practice.” Raphael shrugged.
“It’s not much of an apartment,” the man apologized, leading the way across the roof to a structure that looked much like a small, square cottage. “There sure as hell ain’t room in there for more than one guy.”
“That much less to take care of.”
It was small and musty, and the dust lay thick everywhere. There was a moderate-sized living-room/dining-room combination and a Pullman kitchen in the back with a sink, small stove, and tiny refrigerator. Beside the door sat a table with two chairs. A long sofa sat against the front wall, and an armchair angled back against one of the side walls. There were the usual end table and lamps, and solid-looking but somewhat rough bookcases under the windows.
“The bedroom and bath are through there,” the man in the T-shirt said, pointing at a door beside the kitchen.
Raphael crutched to the door and looked in. There was a three-quarter-size bed, a chair, and a freestanding wardrobe in the bedroom. The bathroom was small but fairly clean.
“Hotter’n a bitch up here in the summer,” the man warned him.
“Do all these windows open?” Raphael asked.
“You might have to take a screwdriver to some of them, but they’re all supposed to open. It’s got baseboard electric heat-you pay your own utilities.” He quoted a number that was actually twenty-five dollars a month less than what Raphael had been paying at the Barton. “You’ll roast your ass off up here in July, though.”
Raphael, however, was looking out the window at the top of the stairs. The slanting enclosure that protected the stairs had a solid-looking door at the top. “Is there a key to that door?” he asked.
“Sure.” The man seemed to have some second thoughts. “This won’t work for you,” he declared. “You got those stairs, and what the hell are you gonna do when it snows and you gotta wade your way to the top of the stairway?”
“I’ll manage,” Raphael said, looking around at the dusty furniture and the dirty curtains over the windows. “This is what I’ve been looking for. It’ll do just fine. I’ll write you a check.”
ii
The landlord’s name was Ferguson, and Raphael made arrangements with him to have someone come in and clean the apartment and wash the dusty windows. He also asked Ferguson to get in touch with the phone company for him. Telephones are absolute necessities for the disabled. Back at his hotel he sat down and drew up a careful list of the things he would need-sheets, blankets, towels, dishes, silverware. He estimated the cost and checked the balance in his checkbook. There was enough to carry him through until the first of the month when his checks would begin to arrive from home. Then he went to the pay phone down the hall, called his uncle in Port Angeles to ask him to ship his things to his new address.
“You doing all right, Rafe?” Harry Taylor asked him.
“Fine,” Raphael replied, trying to sound convincing. “This downtown area’s a little grubby and depressing, but the new place is in a lot nicer neighborhood. How’s Mom?”
“About the same.”
“Look, Uncle Harry, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a lot of things to take care of before I move. You know how that goes.”
“Lord yes.” Harry Taylor laughed. “I’d rather take a beating than move. Take care of yourself, Rafe.”
“You too, Uncle Harry.”
The last few nights in the hotel were not so bad. At least he was getting away. The scanner did-not seem as menacing now. There was a kind of excitement about it all, and he felt a sense of genuine anticipation for the first time in months.
He moved on a Friday and stopped only briefly at the apartment to have the cabdriver carry up his bags and turn on the heat. Then he had the cab take him to the shopping center at Shadle Park, where there were a number of stores, a branch of his bank, and a supermarket.
The shopping was tiring, but he went at it methodically, leaving packages with his name on them at each store. His last stop was at the supermarket, where he bought such food as he thought he would need to last him out the month. The prices shocked him a bit, but he reasoned that in the long run it would be cheaper than eating in restaurants.