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newspaper.
    “Beds,” said Marian. “Beds for Lyle and his friend.”
    “I don’t know,” said John. He finally put the paper down. “What do you mean, what should you do?”
    “I mean,” said Marian, “are they sleeping together? Should I make up one bed or two?”
    “Two,” said John. “And leave it to them.” He returned to his lair.
    “In different rooms?”
    “I don’t know,” said John. “No. The same room should be fine. Put them in the yellow room.”
    Marian watched him for a moment, and then said, “He never called me back.”
    “Perhaps he’s been out all day. What time is it?”
    “It’s ten,” said Marian. “Twenty past. Maybe I’ll try him again.”
    John did not respond.
    “Do you feel all right?” asked Marian.
    “Yes. I feel fine.” He didn’t lower the paper but peered around one side. “Tired.”
    “I don’t,” said Marian. “My stomach feels odd. I wonder if it was the fish.”
    “Come here,” said John. He patted the couch beside him. “Lie down.”
    Marian went over and lay on the couch with her head on John’s lap. He was wearing a pair of shorts that smelled of sweat and the garden. His face was once again hidden by an awning of newspaper.
    “Put the paper down,” Marian said. “Please.”
    “Just let me finish this,” said John.
    Marian waited. Finally he folded the newspaper and tossed it on the floor. He turned out the light. He stroked the hair off Marian’s face, gathering it into a tight coil. “You’re upset,” he said, as if he could feel it through her hair.
    “Yes,” said Marian.
    “Things are bound to change with Lyle.”
    “I know,” said Marian.
    “You shouldn’t let it upset you,” said John.
    “It’s not a matter of letting,” said Marian.
    John dropped the coil. Marian felt her scalp relax. She reached up into the dark for John’s hands, and found one. She held it with both of hers, felt it, as if it were an object she was trying to identify. Then she placed it on her forehead.
    “I’m worried about something else, too,” she said.
    After a moment John asked what. It was a strange suspended moment, a moment like skidding in a car, the world turning around and around slowly and quickly all at once, the horizon losing its grip. But John’s What stopped it.
    “I’m worried about Roland.”
    “The doctor says not to worry,” said John.
    “Doctors can be wrong,” said Marian.
    “Yes,” said John.
    “I shouldn’t have had a midwife,” said Marian.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I should have had him properly, in a hospital.”
    “Why?” asked John. “It was fine. Everything went fine.”
    “No,” said Marian. “I don’t think he got oxygen quickly enough. He was turning blue.”
    “She said that was normal.”
    “I think she was lying.”
    “I don’t think we should let ourselves think like this. The doctor would know, Marian, if anything was wrong. She would know, and tell us. The more you worry, the worse it seems, and gets. You’ve got to relax with him. He was very funny with me at bedtime.”
    “Was he?” asked Marian. She sat up. “How funny?”
    “He didn’t want me to put his pajamas on. He was kicking his feet and laughing.”
    “Was he really laughing?”
    “Yes,” said John.
    “You should have called me,” said Marian.
    “I know this sounds weird,” said John, “but I understand him in a way. I mean, I think he’s fine. I do. He’s just shy. He’s reserved, like his father.”
    “I can’t bear it,” said Marian. “All these reserved men.”
    “Well, Lyle is coming tomorrow,” said John. “That should liven things up.”
     
     
    “I’m going,” said Marian. She was standing by the garden fence. John, who was on his hands and knees, weeding, didn’t respond. She repeated herself, more loudly.
    John looked up suddenly and said, “What?”
    “I’m going to pick up Lyle. Do you want me to leave Roland with you or take him?”
    “Why don’t you take him?”
    “All