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reached across him and snapped off his radio, then crawled into her own bed. His shoes, huddled together at his bedside, brought tears to her eyes. Like all his clothes, they were made to his measure and sent from England.
    He’ll have to buy his clothes in stores for the duration, thought Helen.
    It was her last thought before she fell asleep.
    The living room was dark, yet everything Clare saw wore a skin of light. The grand piano. The sofa, on which Cinnamon Monkeyshines was stretched at full length, purring, dreaming that the fire was awake in the fireplace.
    In the dining room, behind the glass doors of the three china cabinets, the rims of plates and cups and saucers shone like planets.
    Everything was shining in its own radiance, humming in its own dance.
    You might want to try the piano , said the Ancestress.
    I beg your pardon? said Clare.
    Or the cat. The cat would be easy for your first time.
    My first time for what? asked Clare.
    On the other hand, if you try the piano, you’ll know for certain. Either it plays or it does not play.
    First time for what? asked Clare again.
    For finding new rooms , said the Ancestress. New houses. Watch.
    And she brushed up against the piano and disappeared, leaving a deep silence in her wake. To Clare’s astonishment, the keys depressed themselves and the piano began to play.
    Do you know this one? asked the piano. It spoke in the voice of the Ancestress.
    Clare was silent.
    The piano played a few more bars.
    Now I recognize it, said Clare. It’s “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.”
    Suddenly the Ancestress passed through the wood, as if the piano were no more than a shadow of itself.
    Try the cat, urged the Ancestress. Nudge right up to him, as if he were your own body.
    Clare drew close to Cinnamon Monkeyshines. Nothing happened.
    It’s as easy as walking on water , said the Ancestress. Don’t think about how you do it. Just do it.
    The exact moment when she entered the cat Clare did not know; it was as if a strong wind filled her and blew all her senses clean. Her ears gathered the sigh of a moth’s wing outside the window and the breath of a mouse behind the wainscot, and she knew these sounds as if she’d known them always. She smelled the flesh under the mouse’s fur and the sour smell of its fear. A dust ball under the radiator shifted and she spied it. An ember broke into ashes in the fireplace and she heard it. A squirrel muttered in its sleep, huddled in the eaves outside, and she was overcome with a desire to set the universe right, to sweep it clean and quiet as a bone, to rid it of all small quick moving things except herself.
    Who are you? asked the Ancestress.
    I am Clare , answered the cat.
    Can you move the body you have entered, as I moved the keys on the piano?
    Clare sent herself into every muscle and nerve. Cinnamon Monkeyshines stood up.
    Not paralyzed, I see, observed the Ancestress.
    The cat scampered across the room and exclaimed, It feels wonderful!
    Time to go back, said the Ancestress.
    I don’t want to go back , said the cat.
    Go back out of kindness to your body, Clare. Such a faithful friend your body has been to you. Think how lonely it feels now. That’s a good girl.
    When Clare glanced back at Cinnamon Monkeyshines, he blinked at her twice, jumped up to his spot on the sofa, and went on sleeping where he’d left off.

5
Everybody Should Learn to Swim
    W HEN CLARE WOKE UP , her legs disappointed her. A hard frost still separated them from the rest of her body. Nothing had changed.
    After breakfast a large nurse with a ruddy complexion and short blond hair strode briskly into the room, pushing an empty wheelchair.
    “I’m Mrs. Thatcher. This morning you’re going to get some exercise, Clare.”
    Mrs. Thatcher cranked the bed down, helped Clare into the new pink quilted bathrobe her mother had brought, and handed Clare a comb and a mirror.
    “Don’t worry about the bruise on your forehead. In a week it’ll turn yellow instead of blue,