“I don’t know, Tobe.”
And then Tobe bowed his face into his gnarled hands and began to cry.
Raphael gently laid his hand on the little man’s shaking shoulder, and then, because there was nothing else he could do, he turned and started toward the street.
Patch stood at the corner in the twilight watching him, his dark face set in that impenetrable expression of stony melancholy.
Raphael looked at the solitary figure for a moment and then crutched slowly across the street to his apartment house.
By the time he reached the roof, Patch was gone.
vii
Frankie’s tan was progressing nicely, and she seemed quite proud of it.
“You’re beginning to look like an old saddle,” Raphael told her as she came out on the roof.
“Thinking about taking a ride?” she asked archly.
“Knock it off, Frankie. That sort of remark makes you sound like a hooker.”
“You’re the one who started all the cute stuff. I can be just as tough as you can, Raphael. I know all sorts of dirty words in Italian.”
“I’ll bet. Am I in trouble again?”
“Not that I know of. Have you been naughty lately?”
“That’s why you usually come by-to chew me out for something.”
“That’s not altogether true, Raphael.” She sat on the little bench. “Sometimes I come by just to visit-and to get away from all those losers I have to deal with day in and day out.”
Her use of the word startled him. As closely as he could remember, he had never discussed his theory with her.
“You’re one of my few successes,” she went on moodily. “And you did it all by yourself. You didn’t enroll in any programs, you didn’t go to vocational rehab, you don’t have a support group, and you haven’t once cried on my shoulder. You cheated, Raphael. You’re a dirty rotten cheater. According to all the statistics, you should be a basket case by now. Do you have any idea how many hours I spent studying statistics in school? I hated that course. I passed it, though. You have to if you want your degree.”
“Anomalies, Frankie. Your course didn’t teach you about anomalies-probably because they shoot statistical theory in the butt.”
“Explain.”
“An anomaly is an unpredictable event.”
“I know what it means.”
“Groovy-or is that gravy? We’re way ahead then. Statistics are used to predict things. Your profession is almost totally dependent on an ability to predict what’s going to happen to people, isn’t it?”
“Well-sort of.”
“I’m not a basket case because I’m an anomaly. I beat the odds.”
“But the question is how. If I could find out how you did it, maybe I could use it to help other people.”
“How does sheer, pigheaded stubbornness grab you?”
“That depends on what you’re being stubborn about. I like a certain amount of persistence.” She rolled her eyes wickedly.
“Never mind that. It’s too hot right now.” He thought of something then. He hadn’t really intended to tell anybody about it-not Flood certainly-but Frankie was a professional, and professionally she was one of the enemy. He liked her, though, and he felt that she deserved a sporting chance. It wouldn’t really be sportsmanlike to potshoot Frankie off a fence rail when she wasn’t looking. “I met a girl,” he told her.
“Are you being unfaithful to me, Raphael?”
“No. You more than satisfy my lust, twinkie butt.”
“Twinkie-butt?” she objected.
“You’ve got an adorable fanny.”
She stood up, thrust out her bottom, and looked back over her shoulder at it. “Do you really like it?” she asked, actually sounding pleased.
“It’s dandy. Anyhow, there’s this girl-”
“A relationship?”
“That’s bullshit, Frankie. Say what you mean. Don’t babble about people having a `relationship.’ Use the right term. They’re shacking up.”
“That’s crude.”
“Isn’t that what they’re really doing?”
“Well-yes, I suppose so, but it’s still a crude way to put it.”
“So beat me.”
“You want me to? Really?”
“Quit. I met a girl and she’s pregnant-without benefit of clergy. She’s right on the verge of going down to your office to apply for welfare.”
Frankie took out her notebook. “What’s her name?” She was suddenly all business.
“Jane Doe.”
She almost started to write it down. “Raphael, this is serious. Don’t kid around.”
“I’m not kidding, Frankie. I’m dead serious about it. I won’t tell you her name, and I won’t tell you where she lives.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going to let you ruin her life.”
“She needs us, Raphael.”
“Statistically? I’m going to make another anomaly out of her, Frankie. I’m going to train her to make it on her own-without you.”
She threw her notebook across the roof, jumped to her feet, and began yelling at him in snarling, spitting Italian, waving her arms and shaking her fingers in his face. It was fairly obvious that she was not talking about the weather.
He sat grinning impudently at her.
“You dirty, rotten, miserable son of a bitch!”
“Why, Francesca,” he said, “I’m shocked at you. Don’t you love me anymore?”
She stormed across the roof, picked up her notebook, and bolted down the stairs, slamming the door behind her.
He didn’t even think. The fact that his crutches were leaning against the railing fifteen feet away did not even cross his mind. He had meant to irritate Frankie-to make her think. He had not meant to hurt her.
It was the most natural thing in the world to do. He stood up, intending to follow her, to call her back.
And of course he fell.
His stomach suddenly constricted in a moment of icy terror. He was completely alone on this roof. It might be days before anyone came up those stairs.
“Frankie! Help me!” His voice had that shrill note of panic in it that more than anything else strikes at the ears of others.
He heard her running back up the stairs. “Raphael!” She was there then, kneeling beside him, turning him over. She was surprisingly strong. “Are you all right?”
“A little scared is all. I have nightmares about this.”
“You idiot! What the hell were you thinking?” She cradled his head in her arms, pulled his face tightly against her breast, and rocked back and forth with him. If there had ever been any doubts, they vanished. Frankie was definitely a girl. She exuded an almost overpowering girlness.
Raphael began to feel very uncomfortable. “I’m all right, Frankie,” he assured her, his words muffled by her body. “I just panicked, that’s all. I could have managed-crawled inside to the phone or something.”
“What the hell were you doing? You know you can’t get around without your crutches.”
“Maybe I was hoping for a miracle-spontaneous regeneration or something.” He wished that she would let him take his face away from her body. He laughed a muffled little laugh. “I just didn’t think, Frankie,” he admitted. “Would you believe that I actually forgot that I don’t have a left leg anymore? What a dumb thing.”
“What did you think you were going to do?”
“I was going after you. I got cute and hurt your feelings. I had to try to fix that.”
She pulled him tighter and nestled her cheek in his hair. Then he felt the quiver of a strange little laugh run through her.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ve really got you now, Raphael.” Her voice was strangely vibrant. “You’re completely helpless, do you know that? I can do anything to you I want to do-and you’ve got no idea of the kinds of things I’d like to do to you.”
“Quit kidding around, Frankie.”
“Who’s kidding?” Then she sighed and let him come up for air. “I’m sorry, Raphael,” she apologized. “That was a rotten thing to say, wasn’t it? Here.” She pulled his chair closer and helped him into it. Then she went after his crutches. “Are you all right now?” she asked him.
“Yes. Thanks, Frankie.”
“Good.” Then her eyes narrowed. “I’m still pissed off at you, Raphael. Don’t start thinking that you’re off the hook just because my hormones got the best of me there for a minute.” She stormed back to the door and opened it. Then she slammed it shut. Then she slammed it again. And again. “I get a kick out of doing that,” she said in an almost clinical tone. Then she gave him an impish little grin. “See ya,” she said, went through the door, and slammed it behind her.
viii
And then, early one evening, there was a crashing, gutter-flooding thunderstorm, and the heat wave was broken. For several days the storm fronts that had stacked up in the western Pacific crossed in successive waves. The sky glowered and dripped, and the burned grass began to turn green again.
Flood came by one afternoon, still moving stiffly from the tape on his ribs and with his forehead still bandaged. Raphael had not seen him since the night of the brawl in Hillyard. “What are you up to?” he asked, coming into Raphael’s apartment.