Read His Illegal Self for Free Online Page A

nimbus surrounding him, like a startled fox in a morning meadow.
    Hello, she said. Is that you?
    To her immense surprise he propelled himself toward her, and she, unprepared for six years of solid growth, was winded by the heft of him, the breadth of his chest, the weight of his bones, his dense needy secret life.
    You can’t possibly remember me, she cried, delighted, slipping free of her backpack.
    The boy did not reply, just hugged her like a terrific little animal, grinding his chin against her leg.
    Phoebe Selkirk had perhaps been there all the while, but it took a moment for Dial to become aware of her.
    The visitor made an unsuccessful attempt to separate from her admirer.
    Well—the older woman extended a hand—it appears we once again have the right person for the job.
    She had become old, and Dial, imagining she could feel the skeleton in her grip, released the hand abruptly and smiled too eagerly.
    Phoebe Selkirk seemed less confident, but she was of course still beautiful, with high cheekbones and strong steely gray hair which easily held the superficially simple cut—high on the nape, the long strong hair sweeping toward her perhaps overly determined jaw.
    Now! she said, and at this single command, the boy released his hold and, without looking back at Dial, ran down the hallway.
    Dial found herself saying how very pleased she was to come, realizing, with some astonishment, that she was perfectly sincere.
    The boy appeared again around the back of the bookshelf. The blue one? He smiled at her.
    With the zip, his grandmother said. That one.
    As he disappeared again the old lady extracted a brown paper bag from the bookshelf and pushed it hard at Dial.
    Take, take, Mrs. Selkirk ordered, quickly.
    Inside the bag Dial saw books, a card game, chocolate bars.
    Quick, take it.
    When Dial hesitated Mrs. Selkirk kneeled before the visitor’s backpack and unbuckled it.
    She’ll be late, she said, thrusting everything inside. She was never on time. He’ll need entertaining.
    Dial raised an eyebrow at her.
    Yes, the old lady acknowledged the reprimand. I’m a bully.
    Is this OK? the boy called.
    The sweater, a Cambridge blue, managed to produce an echoing blue among the interstices of his velvety gray eyes.
    You have lovely hair, Dial said, then felt foolish for saying something so fond.
    But he raised his chin at her as if inviting her to touch.
    The grandmother did not exactly smile, but there was that slight wavering of the lips and she combed her brown hands roughly through her own hair. Dial thought, It’s your hair he has. Good genes. The blue sweater was similarly privileged, the dense slightly greasy textures of New Zealand, the memory of many acres contained within its knit.
    Well, shall we go? said Mrs. Selkirk brightly, holding out her hand toward the boy and, at the same time, touching Dial lightly upon the elbow. In this and other small ways, Phoebe Selkirk showed herself to be well disposed toward Dial but it was impossible not to see, in the elevator, in the lobby, that she was suffering in some way. There was a sadness as she touched the boy on the shoulder, on his head, turned back the sleeve of his sweater from his wrists.
    This “play date,” she said, rolling her eyes at the term, is meant to be from twelve to one.
    Yes, I know.
    She’ll be late, so don’t get agitated.
    They said twelve.
    Trust me, she’ll be late. Just be back by two. Two-thirty even, that’s fine. I wish she would just come here, you know. She could have. Nothing would have happened. You tell her that. Hurry, these WALK signs only last a second.
    Dial was surprised to find herself wanting to display sympathy but she felt too indelicate to offer it, too coarse, like a rough mud doll beside something fine.
    She could have come to the apartment, Mrs. Selkirk continued, a little winded by her sprint across Park. The staff would die before they gave her up. They’ve known her all her life.
    This seemed a rather reckless