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Show 11 "She was a very generous woman," I emphasize, but I see that distorted pictures are forming in Luel's mind. She spins around, paces through the bedroom, surveys the bed, the bathroom, the tops of the bookcases, the bureau, the chest of drawers. There is a small bronze bowl on the top of the bureau, not very far from the bed. I know what is in it: an emerald brooch, several silver bracelets from Elsa, two more of Sadie's rings. Luel stops; almost without motion she picks one of the rings up from the bowl. It is one of the diamonds, the smallest one. She studies it, turns it over, looks at the setting and the inscription, returns it to the bowl. I watch her face: it is like watching the face of someone playing chess or doing a puzzle: you can see exactly when they find something that fits. Luel stares into the bowl; then, in sudden haste, she picks up the other ring, stuffs it conspicuously into her pocket, rushes out through the living room, grabs her purse, and leaves. I follow her quickly to the door, but as I reach the door I see her streaming, running down the street, not looking back. And then I see what she has just seen: up the gradual incline to my front door creeps Elsa, an enormous, ancient, soft old woman, dressed in the silly housecoats of the nursing home, picking her slow way with a cane. When Elsa sees me, she smiles. I stop; I lose sight of Luel as she turns the corner. I step back to welcome Elsa in. She is precisely on time. "Hello, Cleopatra," I say, and Elsa smiles happily at my joke. * * * |