Dhalgren

around the Bellona area. Actually my sister lived down here too — well, she did. She's left now. And so has all of Arthur's family. It's quite strange to think of Marianne and June — we named our June after Arthur's mother — and Howard and your Uncle Al not here any more.'

'Oh, I don't know,' Mr Richards said; Kidd saw him preparing to ask how long he'd been here, when Madame Brown asked: 'Are you a student, Kidd?'

'No, ma'am,' realizing it was a question whose answer she probably knew; but liked her for asking. 'I haven't been a student for a while.'

'Where were you in school, then?' Mr Richards asked.

'Lots of places. Columbia. And a community college in Delaware.'

'Columbia University?' Mrs Richards asked. 'In New York?'

'Only for a year.'

'Did you like it? I've spent a lot of time — Arthur and I have both spent a lot of time — thinking about whether the children should go away to school. I'd like for Bobby to go to some place like Columbia. Though State, right here, is very good.'

'Especially the poly-sci department,' Kidd said. Mr Richards and Madame Brown spooned their soup away from them. Mrs Richards, June, and Bobby spooned theirs toward them. One, he remembered, was more correct; but not which. He looked at the ornate silverware handles, diminishing in size either side of his plate, and finally simply sank his spoon straight down in the soup's center.

'And of course it's a lot less expensive.' Mrs Richards sat back, with a constrained laugh. 'Expense is always something you have to think about. Especially today. Here at State—' (Four more spoonfuls, he figured, and the soup would be too low for his compromise technique.) Mrs Richards sat forward again. 'You say, the poly-sci department?' She tipped her soup bowl toward her.

'That's what someone told me,' Kidd said. 'Where's June going to go?'

Mr Richards tipped his away. 'I don't know whether June has thought too much about that.'

Mrs Richards said: 'It would be very nice if June wanted to go to college.'

'June isn't too, what you'd call, well, academic. June's sort of my old-fashioned girl.' Mr Richards, tipping his bowl, apparently couldn't get enough; he picked it up, poured the last drops into his spoon, and set it down. 'Aren't you, honey?'

'Arthur, really…!' Mrs Richards said.

'It's very good, dear,' Mr Richards said. 'Very good.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Kidd said. 'It is,' and put his spoon on his plate. It wasn't.

'I'd like to go to college—' June smiled at her lap—'if I could go someplace like New York.'

'That's silly!' Mr Richards made a disparaging gesture with his soup spoon. 'It was all we could do to keep her in high school!'

'It just wasn't very interesting.' June's bowl — pink melmac — moved, under her spoon, to the plate's rim. She centered it again. 'That's all.'

'You wouldn't like New York,' Mr Richards said. 'You're too much of a sunshine girl. June likes the sun, swimming, outdoor things. You'd wither away in New York or Los Angeles; with all that smog and pollution.'

'Oh, Daddy!'

'I think June ought to apply to the Junior College next term—' Mrs Richards turned in mid-sentence from husband to daughter—'to get some idea if you liked it or not. Your marks weren't that bad. I don't think it would be such a terrible idea to try it out, at the Junior College.'

'Mom!' June looked at her lap, not smiling.

'Your mother went through college,' Mr Richards said, 'I went through college. Bobby's going to go. If nothing else, it's a place to get married in.'

'Bobby reads more than June,' Mrs Richards explained. 'He reads all the time, in fact. And I suppose he is more school-minded.'

'That Junior College is an awful place,' June said. 'I hate everybody who goes there.'

'Dear,' Mrs Richards said, 'you don't know everybody who goes there.'

Kidd, with his middle finger, was exploring the counter sinking about some flathead screw, when Madame Brown said:

'Mary, how close are we to the second course? Arthur up there looks like he's about to eat the bottom of his bowl.'

'Oh, dear me!' Mrs Richards pushed back in her chair. 'I don't know what I'm thinking of. I'll be right in —'

'You want any help, mom?' June said.

'No.' Mrs Richards disappeared into the kitchen. 'Thank you, darling.'

'Pass me your soup plates, everybody,' June said.

Kidd's hand came up from under the tablecloth to join his other on the china plate to pass it — but stopped just below the table lip. Knuckles, fingertips, and two streaks on the back of the hand were smudged black.

He put his hand down between his legs and looked around.

Anyway, people were keeping their plates and just passing their bowls. He passed his with one hand, his other between his knees. Then the other joined it and he tried, without looking, to rub his fingers clean.

Mrs Richards came in with two steaming ceramic bowls. 'I'm afraid we're vegetarian tonight.' She went out, returned with two more. 'But there's nowhere to get any meat that you can trust,' and returned again.

'You do that nice tunafish casserole,' Mr Richards called after her. 'That's very good.'

'Ugh,' Bobby said.

'Bobby!' June said.

'Yes, I know, Arthur.' Mrs Richards returned with a gravy boat, set it on the table, and sat. 'But I just feel so funny about fish. Wasn't it a couple of years back all those people died from some canned tuna that had gone bad? I just feel safer with vegetables. Though Lord knows, they can go bad too.'

'Botulism.' Bobby said.

'Really, Bobby!' Madame Brown laughed, a hand against her sparkling chains.

'Oh, I don't think we're doing so badly. Mashed potatoes, mushrooms, carrots—' Mrs Richards indicated one and another of the bowls—'and some canned eggplant stuff I've never tried before. When I went to that health-food restaurant with Julia — when we were in Los Angeles? — she said they always use mushrooms and eggplants in place of meat. And I've made a sauce.' She turned to her husband, as though to remind him of something. 'Arthur…?'

'What?' Then Mr Richards too seemed to remember. 'Oh, yes… Kidd? Well, we've taken up this little habit of having a glass of wine with our meals.' He reached down beside his chair, brought up a bottle, and set it beside the candle at his end of the table. 'If it isn't something that appeals to you, you're perfectly welcome to have water —'

'I like wine,' Kidd said.

Mrs Richards and Madame Brown had already passed their wine glasses up. So Kidd did too; though the water glass at the head of his knife seemed the better size for wine drinking as he was accustomed to it.

Mr Richards peeled away gold foil, pulled loose the plastic stopper, poured, passed back the glasses.

Kidd sipped; it was almost black in candlelight. At first he thought his mouth was burning — the wine was bubbly as soda pop.

'Sparkling burgundy!' Mr Richards grinned and doffed his glass. 'We haven't tried this one before. 1975. I wonder if that's a good year for sparkling Burgundy?' He sipped. 'Tastes okay to me. Cheers.'

The candle flame staggered, stilled. Above and below the ornate label, green glass flickered.

'I put a little wine in the gravy,' Mrs Richards said. 'In the sauce, I mean — it was left over from last night's bottle. I like to cook with wine. And soy sauce. When we went to Los Angeles two years ago for Arthur's conferences, we stayed with the Harringtons. Michael gave Arthur that shaving soap. Julia Harrington — she's the one who took me to that Health Food restaurant — made absolutely everything with soy sauce! It was very interesting. Oh, thank you, Arthur.'

Mr Richards had helped himself to mashed potatoes and now passed the dish. So had Madame Brown.

Kidd checked his fingers.

The rubbing had not removed any dirt; but it had divided it fairly evenly between both hands; the rough