Sunday was an Indian summer day, the sun was strong, my window was open,and I heard voices on the fire escape. Holly and Mag were sprawled there on ablanket, the cat between them. Their hair, newly washed, hung lankly. They werebusy, Holly varnishing her toenails, Mag knitting on a sweater. Mag was speaking.

"If you ask me, I think youre l-l-lucky. At least theres one thing you can say forRusty. Hes an American."

"Bully for him."

"Sugar. Theres a war on."

"And when its over, youve seen the last of me, boy."

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