Specimen Days Read Online Free PDF Page A

the moment she said it.
    He said, "I promise." What exactly was he meant for? He couldn't bring himself to ask.
    "It's hard," she said.
    "And you? Were you all right at work today?"
    "I was. I sewed and sewed. It was a relief, really, to work."
    "Were you…"
    She waited. What did he mean to ask her?
    He asked, "Were you careful?"
    She laughed. His face burned. Had it been a ridiculous question? She seemed always so available to harm, as if someone as kind as she, as sweet-smelling, could only be hurt, either now or later.
    "I was," she said. "Do you worry about me?"
    "Yes," he said. He hoped it was not a foolish assertion. He waited nervously to see if she'd laugh again.
    "You mustn't," she said. "You must think only of yourself. Promise me."
    He said, "Every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."
    "Thank you, my dear," she answered, and she said no more.
    He took her to her door, on Fifth Street. They stood together on the stoop that was specked with brightness.
    "You will go home now," she said, "and have your supper."
    "May I ask you something?" he said.
    "Ask me anything."
    "I wonder what it is I'm making at the works."
    "Well, the works produces many things, I think."
    "What things?"
    "Parts of larger things. Gears and bolts and… other parts."
    "They told me I make housings."
    "There you are, then. That's what you make."
    "I see," he said. He didn't see, but it seemed better to let the subject pass. It seemed better to be someone who knew what a housing was.
    Catherine looked at him tenderly. Would she kiss him again?
    She said, "I want to give you something."
    He trembled. He kept his jaws clamped shut. He would not speak, not as the book or as himself.
    She unfastened the collar of her dress and reached inside. She drew out the locket. She pulled its chain up over her head, held locket and chain in her palm.
    She said, "I want you to wear this."
    "I can't," he said.
    "It has a lock of your brother's hair inside."
    "I know. I know that."
    "Do you know," she said, "that Simon wore its twin, with my picture inside?"
    "Yes."
    "I was not allowed to see him," she said.
    "None of us was."
    "But the undertaker told me the locket was with him still. He said Simon wore it in his casket."
    Simon had Catherine with him, then. He had something of Catherine in the box across the river. Did that make her an honorary member of the dead?
    Catherine said, "I'll feel better if you wear it when you go to the works."
    "It's yours," he said.
    "Call it ours. Yours and mine. Will you do it, to please me?"
    He couldn't protest, then. How could he refuse to do anything that would please her?
    He said, "If you like."
    She put the chain over his head. The locket hung on his chest, a little golden orb. She had worn it next to her skin.
    "Good night," she said. "Have your supper and go straight to bed."
    "Goodnight."
    She kissed him then, not on his lips but on his cheek. She turned away, put her key in the lock. He felt the kiss still on his skin after she'd withdrawn.
    "Good night," he said. "Good night, good night."
    "Go," she commanded him. "Do what you must for your mother and father, and rest."
    He said, "I ascend from the moon… I ascend from the night."
    She glanced at him from her doorway. She had been someone who laughed easily, who was always the first to dance. She looked at him now with such sorrow. Had he disappointed her? Had he deepened her sadness? He stood helplessly, pinned by her gaze. She turned and went inside.
* * *
    At home, he fixed what supper he could for himself and his father. There were bits, still, from what had been brought for after the burial. A scrap of fatty ham, a jelly, the last of the bread. He laid it before his father, who blinked, said, "Thank you," and ate. Between mouthfuls, he breathed from the machine.
    Lucas's mother was still in bed. How would they manage about food if she didn't rise soon?
    As his father ate and breathed, Lucas went to his parents' bedroom. Softly, uncertainly, he pushed