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As soon as it got light, Bet woke him and dressed him, and then she walked him over to the table and tried to make him eat a little cereal. He wouldn’t, though. He could tell something was up. She pressed the edge of the spoon against his lips till she heard it click on his teeth, but he just looked off at a corner of the ceiling — a knobby child with great glassy eyes and her own fair hair. Like any other nine-year-old, he wore a striped shirt and jeans, but the shirt was too neat and the jeans too blue, unpatched and unfaded, and would stay that way till he outgrew them. And his face was elderly — pinched, strained, tired — though it should have looked as unused as his jeans. He hardly ever changed his expression.

She left him in his chair and went to make the beds. Then she raised the yellowed shade, rinsed a few spoons in the bathroom sink, picked up some bits of magazines he’d torn the night before. This was a rented room in an ancient, crumbling house, and nothing you could do to it would lighten its cluttered look. There was always that feeling of too many lives layered over other lives, like the layers of brownish wallpaper her child had peeled away in the corner by his bed.

She slipped her feet into flat-heeled loafers and absently patted the front of her dress, a worn beige knit she usually saved for Sundays. Maybe she should take it in a little; it hung from her shoulders like a sack. She felt too slight and frail, too wispy for all she had to do today. But she reached for her coat anyhow, and put it on and tied a blue kerchief under her chin. Then she went over to the table and slowly spun, modeling the coat. “See, Arnold?” she said. “We’re going out.”

Arnold went on looking at the ceiling, but his gaze turned wild and she knew he’d heard.

She fetched his jacket from the closet — brown corduroy, with a hood. It had set her back half a week’s salary. But Arnold didn’t like it; he always wanted his old one, a little red duffel coat he’d long ago outgrown. When she came toward him, he started moaning and rocking and shaking his head. She had to struggle to stuff his arms in the sleeves. Small though he was, he was strong, wiry; he was getting to be too much for her. He shook free of her hands and ran over to his bed. The jacket was on, though. It wasn’t buttoned, the collar was askew, but never mind; that just made him look more real. She always felt bad at how he stood inside his clothes, separate from them, passive, unaware of all the buttons and snaps she’d fastened as carefully as she would a doll’s.

She gave a last look around the room, checked to make sure the hot plate was off, and then picked up her purse and Arnold’s suitcase. “Come along, Arnold,” she said.

He came, dragging out every step. He looked at the suitcase suspiciously, but only because it was new. It didn’t have any meaning for him. “See?” she said. “It’s yours. It’s Arnold’s. It’s going on the train with us.”

But her voice was all wrong. He would pick it up, for sure. She paused in the middle of locking the door and glanced over at him fearfully. Anything could set him off nowadays. He hadn’t noticed, though. He was too busy staring around the hallway, goggling at a freckled, walnut-framed mirror as if he’d never seen it before. She touched his shoulder. “Come, Arnold,” she said.

They went down the stairs slowly, both of them clinging to the sticky mahogany railing. The suitcase banged against her shins. In the entrance hall, old Mrs. Puckett stood waiting outside her door — a huge, soft lady in a black crepe dress and orthopedic shoes. She was holding a plastic bag of peanut butter cookies, Arnold’s favorites. There were tears in her eyes. “Here, Arnold,” she said, quavering. Maybe she felt to blame that he was going. But she’d done the best she could: baby-sat him all these years and only given up when he’d grown too strong and wild to manage. Bet wished Arnold would give the old lady some sign — hug her, make his little crowing noise, just take the cookies, even. But he was too excited. He raced on out the front door, and it was Bet who had to take them. “Well, thank you, Mrs. Puckett,” she said. “I know he’ll enjoy them later.”

“Oh, no…” said Mrs. Puckett, and she flapped her large hands and gave up, sobbing.

They were lucky and caught a bus first thing. Arnold sat by the window. He must have thought he was going to work with her; when they passed the red-and-gold Kresge’s sign, he jabbered and tried to stand up. “No, honey,” she said, and took hold of his arm. He settled down then and let his hand stay curled in hers awhile. He had very small, cool fingers, and nails as smooth as thumbtack heads.

At the train station, she bought the tickets and then a pack of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum. Arnold stood gaping at the vaulted ceiling, with his head flopped back and his arms hanging limp at his sides. People stared at him. She would have liked to push their faces in. “Over here, honey,” she said, and she nudged him toward the gate, straightening his collar as they walked.

He hadn’t been on a train before and acted a little nervous, bouncing up and down in his seat and flipping the lid of his ashtray and craning forward to see the man ahead of them. When the train started moving, he crowed and pulled at her sleeve. “That’s right, Arnold. Train. We’re taking a trip,” Bet said. She unwrapped a stick of chewing gum and gave it to him. He loved gum. If she didn’t watch him closely, he sometimes swallowed it — which worried her a little because she’d heard it clogged your kidneys; but at least it would keep him busy. She looked down at the top of his head. Through the blond prickles of his hair, cut short for practical reasons, she could see his skull bones moving as he chewed. He was so thin-skinned, almost transparent; sometimes she imagined she could see the blood traveling in his veins.

When the train reached a steady speed, he grew calmer, and after a while he nodded over against her and let his hands sag on his knees. She watched his eyelashes slowly drooping — two colorless, fringed crescents, heavier and heavier, every now and then flying up as he tried to fight off sleep. He had never slept well, not ever, not even as a baby. Even before they’d noticed anything wrong, they’d wondered at his jittery, jerky catnaps, his tiny hands clutching tight and springing open, his strange single wail sailing out while he went right on sleeping. Avery said it gave him the chills. And after the doctor talked to them Avery wouldn’t have anything to do with Arnold anymore — just walked in wide circles around the crib, looking stunned and sick. A few weeks later, he left. She wasn’t surprised. She even knew how he felt, more or less. Halfway, he blamed her; halfway, he blamed himself. You can’t believe a thing like this will just fall on you out of nowhere.

She’d had moments herself of picturing some kind of evil gene in her husband’s ordinary, stocky body — a dark little egg like a black jelly bean, she imagined it. All his fault. But other times she was sure the gene was hers. It seemed so natural; she never could do anything as well as most people. And then other times she blamed their marriage. They’d married too young, against her parents’ wishes. All she’d wanted was to get away from home. Now she couldn’t remember why. What was wrong with home? She thought of her parents’ humped green trailer, perched on cinder blocks near a forest of masts in Salt Spray, Maryland. At this distance (parents dead, trailer rusted to bits, even Salt Spray changed past recognition), it seemed to her that her old life had been beautifully free and spacious. She closed her eyes and saw wide gray skies. Everything had been ruled by the sea. Her father (who’d run a fishing boat for tourists) couldn’t arrange his day till he’d heard the marine forecast — the wind, the tides, the small-craft warnings, the height of average waves in unprotected waters. He loved to fish, offshore and on, and he swam every chance he could get. He’d tried to teach her to body surf, but it hadn’t worked out. There was something about the breakers: She just gritted her teeth and stood staunch and let them slam into her. As if standing staunch were a virtue, really. She couldn’t explain it. Her father thought she was scared, but it wasn’t that at all.

She’d married Avery against their wishes and been sorry ever since — sorry to move so far from home, sorrier when her parents died within a year of each other, sorriest of all when the marriage turned grim and cranky. But she never would have thought of leaving him. It was Avery who left; she would have stayed forever. In fact, she did stay on in their apartment for months after he’d gone, though the rent was far too high. It wasn’t that she expected him back. She just took some comfort from enduring.

Arnold’s head snapped up. He looked around him and made a gurgling sound. His chewing gum fell onto the front of his jacket. “Here, honey,” she told him. She put the gum in her ashtray. “Look out the window. See the cows?”

He wouldn’t look. He began bouncing in his seat, rubbing his hands together rapidly.

“Arnold? Want a cookie?”

If only she’d brought a picture book. She’d meant to and then forgot. She wondered if the train people sold magazines. If she let him get too bored, he’d go into one of his tantrums, and then she wouldn’t be able to handle him. The doctor had given her pills just in case, but she was always afraid that while he was screaming he would choke on them. She looked around the car. “Arnold,” she said, “see the… see the hat with feathers on? Isn’t it pretty? See the red suitcase? See the, um…”

The car door opened with a rush of clattering wheels and the Conductor burst in, singing “Girl of my dreams, I love you.” He lurched down the aisle, plucking pink tickets from the back of each seat. Just across from Bet and Arnold, he stopped. He was looking down at a tiny black lady in a purple coat, with a fox fur piece biting its own tail around her neck. “You!” he said.

The lady stared straight ahead.

“You, I saw you. You’re the one in the washroom.”

A little muscle twitched in her cheek.

“You got on this train in Beulah, didn’t you. Snuck in the washroom. Darted back like you thought you could put something over on me. I saw that bit of purple! Where’s your ticket gone to?”

She started fumbling in a blue cloth purse. The fumbling went on and on. The conductor shifted his weight.

“Why!” she said finally. “I must’ve left it back in my other seat.”

“What other seat?”

“Oh, the one back…” She waved a spidery hand.

The conductor sighed. “Lady,” he said, “you owe me money.”

“I do no such thing!” she said. “Viper! Monger! Hitler!” Her voice screeched up all at once; she sounded like a parrot. Bet winced and felt herself flushing, as if she were the one. But then at her shoulder she heard a sudden, rusty clang, and she turned and saw that Arnold was laughing. He had his mouth wide open and his tongue curled, the way he did when he watched “Sesame Street.” Even after the scene had worn itself out, and the lady had paid and the conductor had moved on, Arnold went on chortling and la-la-ing and Bet looked gratefully at the little black lady, who was settling her fur piece fussily and muttering under her breath.

From the Parkinsville Railroad Station, which they seemed to be tearing down or else remodeling — she couldn’t tell which — they took a taxicab to Parkins State Hospital. “Oh, I been out there many and many a time,” said the driver. “Went out there just the other – ”

But she couldn’t stop herself; she had to tell him before she forgot. “Listen,” she said, “I want you to wait for me right in the driveway. I don’t want you to go on, away.”

“Well, fine,” he said.

“Can you do that? I want you to be sitting right by the porch or the steps or whatever, right where I come out of, ready to take me back to the station. Don’t just go off and — ”

“I got you, I got you,” he said.

She sank back. She hoped he understood.

Arnold wanted a peanut butter cookie. He was reaching and whimpering. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to give him anything he asked for, anything; but he’d get it all over his face and arrive not looking his best. She couldn’t stand it if they thought he was just ordinary and unattractive. She wanted them to see how small and neat he was, how somebody cherished him.

But it would be awful if he went into one of his rages. She broke off a little piece of cookie from the bag. “Here,” she told him. “Don’t mess, now.”

He flung himself back in the corner and ate it, keeping one hand flattened across his mouth while he chewed.

The hospital looked like someone’s great, pillared mansion, with square brick buildings all around it. “Here we are,” the driver said.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now you wait here, please. Just wait till I get — ”

“Lady,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

She opened the door and nudged Arnold out ahead of her. Lugging the suitcase, she started toward the steps. “Come on, Arnold,” she said.

He hung back.

“Arnold?”

Maybe he wouldn’t allow it, and they would go on home and never think of this again.

But he came, finally, climbing the steps in his little hobbled way. His face was clean, but there were a few cookie crumbs on his jacket. She set down the suitcase to brush them off. Then she buttoned all his buttons and smoothed his shirt collar over his jacket collar before she pushed open the door.

In the admitting office, a lady behind a wooden counter showed her what papers to sign.

Secretaries were clacketing typewriters all around. Bet thought Arnold might like that, but instead he got lost in the lights — chilly, hanging ice-cube-tray lights with a little flicker to them. He gazed upward, looking astonished. Finally a flat-fronted nurse came in and touched his elbow. “Come along, Arnold. Come, Mommy. We’ll show you where Arnold is staying,” she said.

They walked back across the entrance hall, then up wide marble steps with hollows worn in them. Arnold clung to the banister. There was a smell Bet hated, pine-oil disinfectant, but Arnold didn’t seem to notice. You never knew; sometimes smells could just put him in a state.

The nurse unlocked a double door that had chicken-wired windows. They walked through a corridor, passing several fat, ugly women in shapeless gray dresses and ankle socks. “Ha!” one of the women said, and fell giggling into the arms of a friend. The nurse said, “Here we are.” She led them into an enormous hallway lined with little white cots. Nobody else was in it; there wasn’t a sign that children lived here except for a tiny cardboard clown picture hanging on one vacant wall. “This one is your bed, Arnold,” said the nurse. Bet laid the suitcase on it. It was made up so neatly, the sheets might have been painted on. A steely-gray blanket was folded across the foot. She looked over at Arnold, but he was pivoting back and forth to hear how his new sneakers squeaked on the linoleum.

“Usually,” said the nurse, “we like to give new residents six months before the family visits. That way they settle in quicker, don’t you see.” She turned away and adjusted the clown picture, though as far as Bet could tell it was fine the way it was. Over her shoulder, the nurse said, “You can tell him goodbye now, if you like.”

“Oh,” Bet said. “All right.” She set her hands on Arnold’s shoulders. Then she laid her face against his hair, which felt warm and fuzzy. “Honey,” she said. But he went on pivoting. She straightened and told the nurse, “I brought his special blanket.”

“Oh, fine,” said the nurse, turning toward her again. “We’ll see that he gets it.”

“He always likes to sleep with it; he has ever since he was little.”

“All right.”

“Don’t wash it. He hates if you wash it.”

“Yes. Say goodbye to Mommy now, Arnold.”

“A lot of times he’ll surprise you. I mean there’s a whole lot to him. He’s not just—”

“We’ll take very good care of him, Mrs. Blevins, don’t worry.”

“Well,” she said. “‘Bye, Arnold.”

She left the ward with the nurse and went down the corridor. As the nurse was unlocking the doors for her, she heard a single, terrible scream, but the nurse only patted her shoulder and pushed her gently on through.

In the taxi, Bet said, “Now, I’ve just got fifteen minutes to get to the station. I wonder if you could hurry?”

“Sure thing,” the driver said.

She folded her hands and looked straight ahead. Tears seemed to be coming down her face in sheets.

Once she’d reached the station, she went to the ticket window. “Am I in time for the twelve thirty-two?” she asked.

“Easily,” said the man. “It’s twenty minutes late.”

“What?”

“Got held up in Norton somehow.”

“But you can’t!” she said. The man looked startled. She must be a sight, all swollen-eyed and wet-cheeked. “Look,” she said, in a lower voice. “I figured this on purpose. I chose the one train from Beulah that would let me catch another one back without waiting. I do not want to sit and wait in this station.”

“Twenty minutes, lady. That’s all it is.”

“What am I going to do?” she asked him.

He turned back to his ledgers.

She went over to a bench and sat down. Ladders and scaffolding towered above her, and only ten or twelve passengers were dotted through the rest of the station. The place looked bombed out — nothing but a shell. “Twenty minutes!” she said aloud, “What am I going to do?”

Through the double glass doors at the far end of the station, a procession of gray-suited men arrived with briefcases. More men came behind them, dressed in work clothes, carrying folding chairs, black trunklike boxes with silver hinges, microphones, a wooden lectern, and an armload of bunting. They set the lectern down in the center of the floor, not six feet from Bet. They draped the bunting across it – an arc of red, white, and blue. Wires were connected, floodlights were lit. A microphone screeched. One of the workmen said, “Try her, Mayor.” He held the microphone out to a fat man in a suit, who cleared his throat and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, on the occasion of the expansion of this fine old railway station—”

“Sure do get an echo here,” the workman said. “Keep on going.”

The mayor cleared his throat again. “If I may,” he said, “I’d like to take about twenty minutes of your time, friends.”

He straightened his tie. Bet blew her nose, and then she wiped her eyes and smiled. They had come just for her sake, you might think. They were putting on a sort of private play. From now on, all the world was going to be like that — just something on a stage, for her to sit back and watch.