That seemed no crazier than talking to a doll. “All right,” he said.
“And I won’t have to bother you. I’m really not very good at doing things for myself. I couldn’t have turned on the water like you did.”
He nodded.
“Well, I can do things
He asked, “Can you tell me how a doll can talk?”
“Because I’m built that way. It’s my insides.” She patted her middle again. “But I can’t add or subtract or spell or any of that other stuff. I haven’t been to school.”
He nodded again.
“I’d like some nice clothes. Have you got any?”
“Not that would fit you,” he told her.
“I’d like a ball gown, just to start. And a vanity set, so I can do my hair.”
“It’s too late tonight,” he told her. “I’ll get you some things tomorrow.” He was confident that tomorrow she would be gone, or at least inanimate and silent.
“And I’d like a bra and panties. I’d like two of each, so I can wear one and wash one.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“One pair could be fawn, and the other pair could be ginger. That way we could tell which I’d worn last. And a nightie. Can I sleep with you?”
“If you don’t snore,” he told her.
“I don’t. You can’t even hear me breathing.” She threw out her chest as though to prove she did indeed breathe, tiny, conical breasts pushing impatiently against the metallic fabric of her smock. “Tomorrow night I’ll put up my hair, if you get me rollers. It would be better if you carried me, remember?”
He asked, “What if you want some tea in the middle of the night?”
“I won’t,” Tina chirped. “But if I did, I could come out and get it without waking you up. You wouldn’t have to worry about stepping on me then. Besides, I can move faster now.”
He picked her up and replaced her on his shoulder. “Is that what you work on? Tea?”
“Sometimes silly children want us to drink more tea than we can hold.”
“I won’t do that,” he promised. He recalled something a bartender had once told him, and added, “If you don’t want it, don’t drink it.”
“I like you. We’re going to have a lot of fun.”
“Not now,” he said. “Right now I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to bed.”
“I could have a bath in the washbowl while you’re taking your shower.”
“All right.”
“All you have to do is turn on the water for me. Not very hard. Not very hot, either.”
“All right,” he said again. He pulled up the chrome handle that stoppered the bowl, and adjusted the hot and cold knobs to produce a thin stream of tepid water.
Tina hopped from his shoulder. “Can I use your soap?”
“Sure.” He took off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper as he always did. Tina had skinned out of her metallic green smock; she had no pubic hair, but her breasts were tipped with minute pink nipples.
He turned his back to remove his trousers, and when he went into the bedroom to hang them up and get his pajamas, he debated putting on the bottoms before he returned to the bathroom. It would be useless, since he would have had to take them off again immediately.
Tina had worked up a fine lather in the washbowl. He asked if the water was too hot.
“No, it’s fine. Could you give me a drop of shampoo?”
He did, tilting the bottle just enough to pour a single emerald drop into her cupped hands.
As soon as he closed the shower door, he felt certain she would be gone when he came out. Perhaps the basin would be full of water; perhaps not. He made the spray colder and revolved beneath it, grunting because he wanted to shout.
“I’m going to use one of these little towels, okay?”
“Sure.” His next appointment with Dr. Nilson was Tuesday. Five days. He wondered whether he should call her now; she had given him her home number, though he had never used it. As he thought about that, the memory of a disheveled man in hospital pajamas playing an out-of-tune piano returned with such force that he seemed to see and hear it, seemed to feel the unyielding wood of the bench upon which he had once sat.
Tina was singing as she dried herself, singing in a voice sweet and yet so high that at times it soared beyond
