The Servants of Twilight

"I wish you didn't see it that way," Wilford said.

"How the hell else am I supposed to see it?"

He sighed." We'll call you with the case number." Then he turned away from the door, away from her and Joey, and moved stiffly down the walkway.

After a moment, she hurried in his wake, caught up with him, put a hand on his shoulder." Please."

He stopped, turned to her. His face was hard, his eyes cold.

She said, "I'm sorry. I really am. I'm just distraught. I don't know what to think. All of a sudden I don't know where to turn."

"I understand," he said, as he had said a couple of times before, but there was no understanding in his granite face.

Glancing back to make sure Joey was still in the doorway, still too far away to hear, she said, "I'm sorry I flew off the handle at you. And I guess you're right about watching my language around Joey. Most of the time I do watch it, believe me, but today I'm not thinking straight.

That crazy woman told me that my little boy had to die. That's what she said. He k got to die, she said. And now the dog's dead, poor old fur-face. God, I liked that mutt a lot. He's dead and gone, and Joey saw a face at the window in the middle of the night, and all of a sudden the world's turned upside-down, and I'm scared, really scared, because I think somehow that crazy woman followed us, and I think she's going to do it, or at least try to do it, try to kill my little boy. I don't know why. There can't be a reason. Not a reason that makes any sense.

But that doesn't make any difference, does it? Not these days. These days, the newspapers are full of stories about punks and child molesters and lunatics of all kinds who don't need a reason to do what they do."

Wilford said, "Mrs. Scavello, please, you've got to keep control of yourself. You're being melodramatic. I won't say hysterical, but definitely melodramatic. It's not as bad as you're making out. We'll get to work on this, just like I told you. Meanwhile, you put your trust in God, and you'll be all right, you and your boy."

She couldn't reach this man. Not ever. Not in a million years.

She couldn't make him feel her terror, couldn't make him understand what it would mean to her if she lost Joey. It was hopeless, after all.

She could barely remain on her feet. All the strength went out of her.

He said, "I sure am glad, though, to hear you say you'll watch your language around the boy. The last couple generations in this country, we've been raising anti-social, know — it-all snots who have no respect for anything. If we're ever going to have us a good, peaceful, God-loving and God-fearing society, then we got to raise 'em up by the right example."

She said nothing. She felt as if she were standing here with someone from another country-maybe even from another planet-who not only didn't speak her language but who had no capacity to learn. There was no way he could ever grasp her problems, appreciate her concerns. In every way that counted, they were thousands of miles apart, and there was no road between them.

Wilford's flinty eyes sparked with the passion of a true believer as he said: "And I also recommend you don't go around without a bra in front of the boy, the way you are now. A woman built like you, even wearing a loose blouse like that, certain ways you turn or stretch. it's bound to be.

arousing."

She stared at him in disbelief. Several cutting remarks came to mind, any one of which would have stopped him dead, but for some reason she couldn't seem to summon the words to her lips. Of course, her reticence was in part the result of having had a mother who would have made General George Patton look soft-hearted, a mother who had insisted on good manners and unfailing politeness. There were also the lessons of the Church, deeply ingrained in her, which said you were supposed to turn the other cheek. She told herself she had broken loose from all of that, had left it far behind, but now her inability to put Wilford in his place was indisputable proof that, to her dismay, she was still to some degree a prisoner of her past.

Wilford went right on babbling, oblivious of her fury." Maybe the boy doesn't even notice now, but in a couple of years he'll notice for sure, and a boy shouldn't be having those kinds of

thoughts about his own mother. You'd be leading him in the way of the devil."

If she hadn't been so weak, if she hadn't been weighed down by the terrible awareness of her and Joey's helplessness, Christine would have laughed in his face. But right now there was no laughter in her.

Wilford said, "Well, okay then. I'll be talking to you. Trust in God, Mrs. Scavello. Trust in God."

She wondered what he'd say if she told him it wasn't Mrs. Scavello. What would he do if she told him Joey had been born out of wedlock, a bastard child? Would he work on the case a little less eagerly? Would he be at all concerned about preserving the life of an illegitimate little boy?

God damn all hypocrites.