She smiled, perhaps at my use of the name she had selected. “For them to. . . I mean, don’t you have to talk to them? So you can. . .”
“Oh. I understand what you mean now. There is no set rule. Sometimes it takes several weeks for the entire arrangements to be worked out.”
“What’s the shortest time it ever took?”
“Nine days,” I answered without thinking. Immediately, I began to berate myself internally for my foolishness. The answer I gave the child was an honest one, but it would not be as reassuring as I had hoped.
“But this will probably take longer, won’t it?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” I told her, grateful that she was not going to fixate on a nine-day period and become anxious if it were exceeded.
“You’re hard to draw,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“Your face keeps. . . shifting. I don’t know, I’m not sure. You have to draw the skull.”
“The skull?”
“The skull beneath the skin. You have to draw that first. That’s the part that stays the same.”
“I’m not sure I follow you exactly,” I told her. “May I have a look?”
“No!” she replied, the first hint of sharpness in her voice since I had captured her. “I don’t like anyone to see my drawing until I’m done. Sometimes I don’t get it right, and I have to keep doing it. So I don’t like anyone to see it until it’s true. Please?”
“Certainly,” I assured her. “Every artist must work in his or her own way.”
She smiled gratefully and went back to work.
On her first night, I asked the child her normal bedtime, but she was vague in response. Offered a choice of evening meals, however, she became animated. When I told her that, yes, she could mix several of the meals I had planned, incorporating components as she wished, she clapped her hands in delight. After great deliberation, she chose spaghetti, spinach, and liver.
“Do you think that’s gross?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, I think it is quite creative,” I told her. “I believe I’ll have the same.”
The child helped with the cooking. She ate her meal with relish, but watched me anxiously until I assured her that, indeed, her mixed selection was delicious.
“And very good for you too,” she added.
Realizing that, for whatever reason, she was not going to be precise about her normal bedtime, I told her that she could, while she was staying with me, go to bed anytime she wished. After all, there would be no school for her in the morning.
“Are you going to do it?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Teach me. I have a friend. Jeanne Ellen. She’s home-schooled. Do you know what that is?”
“Certainly. Some states permit—”
“Are you going to do it?” she interrupted.
“Do. . . what?”
“Home-school me,” she replied, as though I were a bit slow.
“Well, I. . .”
“I have most all of my books with me,” she said, a pleading undertone to her voice. “And you have *lots* of books here too, the ones you got for me, I mean.”
I began to protest that I was not familiar with her coursework, but quickly self-edited. After all, how complex could a fifth-grade curriculum be, especially given the abysmal state of American education generally?
“All right,” I agreed. “But you had better get ready for bed, just in case you fall asleep.”
“I don’t have any pajamas.”
“My apologies. I showed you the books, but not the clothes. Over there in the chest of drawers. Take a look. It’s all new, of course. I had to guess at your sizes, but I believe I was quite accurate.”
The child immediately ran over to where I had indicated and began pawing through the clothing. It was all of good quality, but not up to her usual standard, I assumed.
“Can I keep all this?” she asked, surprising me. After all, if she was not permitted an excess of books, why. . .? Still, I did not pursue the issue.
“Of course,” I said. “But now go put on your pajamas, all right? You can use the bathroom.”
She trotted off without a word, emerging in about fifteen minutes. I had no anxiety about the time lapse —escape from the bathroom was impossible and it was devoid of potential weaponry.
“I brushed my teeth,” she announced when she emerged, wrapped in the pink terry-cloth bathrobe I had purchased in anticipation of a little girl’s natural modesty in the presence of a stranger.
I made up the bed for her, and sat down to read. I left the television on. In the past, that had always
