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Show THE UPSTAIRS PEOPLE-53 lowered her into the warm satiny water. Betty looked away, embarassed, but she didn't mind when Schilly stayed and held her up, squeezed spongefuls of warm water on her back, rubbed soft lather on her skin smooth as a bride's dress. Later, John came in wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe and watched them. Sometimes Schilly looked at him and puckered her lips to him. In the steam, her hair lifted away from her braids into little curls. The trays were piled to the ceiling in a few places, and she could no longer work at the table in the livingroom, so she began using the kitchen table. The mantis's had stopped coming into the place, and Michael was strangely subdued, a dark shadow against the corners of the bedroom. So she was glad that more and more often Schilly would come down and fetch her, saying, "You must try the carrots, they are so crunchy and sweet," or "come sit with us in the yard and watch the sunset." Early one evening Schilly came to her and said, "Come out to the garden. We have a surprise for you." She put down the scallop shell she had been studying, and wheeled herself out to the yard. John was standing next to the wheelbarrow, wearing the jeans with the holes in the knees, smiling, waiting for her to notice. Betty finally had to ask, "what am I supposed to be seeing?" "The walkway, dummy. John did it for you." Schilly gestured to the brick path that was now wide enough for the wheelchair. John looked away, blushed, but Betty wheeled up to him, leaned forward, clasped her arms around his waist, buried her face in the smells there. Then she wheeled back and forth down the walkway, nodded at the tall beanstalks, the elephant-leafed squash plants, the tomato plants entwined with tall, green bamboo sticks. The smells had reminded her of coffee and cinnamon. |