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equidistance, their taut, stretched-out suggestion of wicked peering— No, of course not. How could they be? What would eyes be doing in here, and—and whose would they be anyway, and— Just don’t let them be; don’t think they are; if you think they aren’t, they won’t be. Only light glinting from the wetted projection of two small roughnesses, two unevennesses in the stonework, side by side, that was all.
    It had sidled back to the rearward now, as her feet continued to do their duty, like soldiers who continue to carry out previously received orders long past the ability of the commanding officer to issue or even be able to think up new ones. She didn’t dare turn to look back, once the continuity of her line of vision had been broken; she was afraid her carefully patched explanation couldn’t stand the confirmation of a second look, might fall to pieces at it.
    A few short steps more, and the night sky had opened around her again. Look, a star. Another. Oh, the beautiful openness of night. Space to run in. Even the darkness a lesser darkness, with color beneath its surface: sooted white and submerged green and blue. The gourds of her measured tread became the rattle of her flying feet, one end of her rebozo winging out behind her.
    She only stopped again when the silvery pallor of the store, falling in a fan across the ground, lay just ahead, around a turn in the crooked byway. How beautif4il it seemed, with its bedraggled fringe of paper strung across the front of it, limp from many rains, and with the colors it had once been dyed transferred to streaks down the stucco wall. How friendly that dissonant jangle of the bell cord attached to the door sounded as she pushed her way in. What a lovely place to be in, with its smell of hemp and cordage and kerosene.
    The old Basque who ran it came out of the back, still smacking his lips from his own meal, beret left on his head even while he ate. He knew her by sight. “Ah, Teresita.” He shook his head as he weighed out the charcoal. “They shouldn’t send you out alone so late, hijita .”
    She was brave, now that she was safe again. She wasn’t going to admit how frightened she’d been herself just now. She fluttered her fingers in rotation on the edge of his counter. “What can happen to me? This is Ciudad Real.”
    “Many things can happen,” he said enigmatically.
    They exchanged a look of complete mutual understanding. But they didn’t say what they meant. It wasn’t necessary to. So he’d heard about it too. She knew what he was referring to. And he knew that she knew.
    She tried to prolong the trivial little transaction all she could. Because while it lasted it spelled safety, light, another’s company. Afterwards would come darkness, fear, solitude again.
    “Will it hold that way?”
    “Yes, just hold it up straight; hold the two corners together like this.”
    “Oh, what a pretty cat!”
    “You’ve seen him before. Don’t you remember? I’ve always had him.”
    “Yes, that’s right, too. I guess I have.” She gave a brief look at the door behind her, as she put down her money on the counter.
    “They didn’t give you enough. It’s gone up.”
    “I’ll bring it next time. Will you trust me? I live in the Pasaje del Diablo, over on the other side of the viaduct—”
    “Never fear. Next time you come in.” The poor don’t cheat one another, they’re all poor together.
    “Well—good night, senor.” She seemed to have to wrench it out of her throat, it clung so.
    “Good night, Teresita. Better get back, don’t linger on the way.”
    The bellpull jangled once more, and she was out in the dark again. What dismal forlorn sound it had this time, though; a sort of farewell.
    The fan of light on the ground behind her slowly closed, wheeled around the other way, as the byway made its turn around. She moved along at a normal gait until the turn had completed itself and she had. come in sight of that black arched causeway maw again.