Think of a Number

Prologue

“Where were you?” said the old woman in the bed. “I had to pee, and no one came.”

Unruffled by her nasty tone, the young man stood at the foot of the bed, beaming.

“I had to pee,” she repeated, more vaguely, as if she were now unsure what the words meant.

“I have good news, Mother,” said the man. “Soon everything will be all right. Everything will be taken care of.”

“Where do you go when you leave me?” Her voice again was sharp, querulous.

“Not far, Mother. You know very well I never go far.”

“I don’t like to be alone.”

His smile broadened, was almost beatific. “Very soon everything will be all right. Everything will be the way it was supposed to be. You can trust me, Mother. I found a way to fix everything. What he took he will give, when he gets what he gave.”

“You write such beautiful poetry.”

There were no windows in the room. The sideways light from the bedside lamp-the sole source of illumination-emphasized the thick scar on the woman’s throat and the shadows in her son’s eyes.

“Will we go dancing?” she asked, staring past him and past the dark wall behind him to a brighter vision.

“Of course, Mother. Everything will be perfect.”

“Where’s my little Dickie Duck?”

“Right here, Mother.”

“Will Dickie Duck come to bed?”

“To beddy-bye, to beddy-bye, to beddy-bye.”

“I have to pee,” she said, almost coquettishly.