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humming, he heard the
    radio playing in front of the electrical parts store.
    ‘Shuffle,’ said a voice. ‘Lands, I wish you wouldn’t track the house with
    your muddy shoes.’
    He stopped. He pivoted like a wax figure, turning on its slow, cold axis, in
    the street.
    He heard the voice.
    ‘Ma Perkins’s voice,’ he whispered.
    He listened.
    ‘It’s
her
voice,’ he said. ‘The woman who was at
    our house last night. I’m positive.’
    And yet, late last night, the empty parlor?
    But what about the radio, humming, warm, all alone in the room, and the faint
    faraway voice repeating and repeating, ‘Land sakes, land sakes, land sakes…’?
    He ran into a drugstore and dropped a nickel into the pay telephone slot.
    Three buzzes. A short wait.
    Click.
    ‘Hello, Annie?’ he said gaily.
    ‘No, this is Ma,’ said a voice.
    ‘Oh,’ he said.
    He dropped the phone back onto its hook.
    *    *    *
    He didn’t let himself think of it that
    afternoon. It was an impossible thing, a thing of some subtle and inferior horror. On his way
    home he purchased a bundle of fresh moist pink rosebuds for Anna. He had them in his right hand
    when he opened the door of his apartment. He had almost forgotten about Ma by then.
    He dropped the rosebuds on the floor and did not stoop to retrieve them. He
    only stared and continued to stare at Ma, who was seated in that chair that did not rock,
    rocking.
    Her sweet voice called cheerily. ‘Evenin’, Joe boy! Ain’t you thoughtful,
    fetchin’ home roses!’
    Without a word he dialed a phone number.
    ‘Hello, Ed? Say, Ed, you doing anything this evening?’
    The answer was negative.
    ‘Well, how about dropping up, then, I need your help, Ed.’
    The answer was positive.
    At eight o’clock they were finishing supper and Ma was clearing away the
    dishes. ‘Now for dessert tomorrow,’ she was saying, ‘we’ll have crisscross squash pie—’
    The doorbell rang, and, answering, Joe Tiller almost hauled Ed Leiber out of
    his shoes. ‘Take it easy, Joe,’ said Ed, rubbing his hand.
    ‘Ed,’ said Joe, seating him with a small glass of sherry. ‘You know my wife,
    and this is Ma Perkins.’
    Ed laughed. ‘How are you? Heard you on the radio for years!’
    ‘It’s no laughing matter, Ed,’ said Joe.
    ‘Cut it.’
    ‘I didn’t mean to be facetious, Mrs Perkins,’ said Ed. ‘It’s just that your
    name is so similar to that fictional character—’
    ‘Ed,’ said Joe. ‘This
is
Ma Perkins.’
    ‘That’s right,’ said Ma charmingly, shelling some peas.
    ‘You’re all kidding me,’ said Ed, looking around.
    ‘No,’ said Ma.
    ‘She’s come to stay and I can’t get her out, Ed. Ed, you’re a psychologist,
    what do I do? I want you to talk to Annie, here. It’s all in her mind.’
    Ed cleared his throat. ‘This has gone far enough.’ He walked over to touch
    Ma’s hand. ‘She’s real, not a hallucination.’ He touched Annie. ‘Annie’s real.’ He touched Joe.
    ‘
You’re
real. We’re
all
real. How are
    things at work, Joe?’
    ‘Don’t change the subject, I’m serious. She’s moved in and I want her moved
    out—’
    ‘Well, that’s for the OPA to decide, I guess, or the sheriff’s office, not a
    psychologist—’
    ‘Ed, listen to me, listen, Ed, I know it sounds crazy, but she really is the
original
Ma Perkins.’
    ‘Let me smell your breath, Joe.’
    ‘And I want her to stay on here with me,’ said Annie. ‘I get lonely days. I
    stay home and do the housework and I need company. I won’t have her moved out. She’s mine!’
    Ed slapped his knee and exhaled. ‘There you are, Joe.Looks like you want a divorce lawyer instead of a psychologist.’
    Joe swore. ‘I can’t go off and leave her here in this old witch’s clutches,
    don’t you understand? I love her too much. There’s no telling
what
may happen to her if I leave her alone here for the next year without communicating with the
    outer world!’
    ‘Keep your voice down,