Зима тревоги нашей

           AndIcheckedthetimesothatatfiveminutestonineIhadthefrontdoorsopenandhadjusttakenthefirstdeliberatebroomstrokesatthesidewalk.It’samazinghowmuchdirtaccumulatesoveraweekend,andwhatwiththerain,thedirtwasslush.

           Whatawonderfulprecisioninstrumentisourbank—likemyfather’srailroadwatch.AtfiveminutesofnineMr.BakercameintothewindfromElmStreet.HarryRobbitandEdithAldenmusthavebeenwatching.TheybackedoutoftheForemasterGrillandjoinedhimmidstreet.

           "Morning,Mr.Baker,"Icalled."Morning,Edith.Morning,Harry."

           "Goodmorning,Ethan.You’regoingtoneedahoseforthat!"Theyenteredthebank.

           Ileanedmybroominthestoreentrance,tooktheweightfromthescale,wentbehindthecashregister,openedthedrawer,andwentthroughfastbutdeliberatepantomime.Iwalkedtothestoreroom,hungtheweightonthetoiletchain.Hookedtheskirtofmyapronoverthebellyband,putonmyraincoat,andsteppedtothebackdoorandopeneditacrack.Astheblackminutehandofmywatchcrossedtwelvetheclockbellofthefirehousebeganbonging.Icountedeightstepsacrossthealleyandtheninmymindtwentysteps.Imovedmyhandbutnotmylips—allowedtenseconds,movedmyhandagain.AllthisIsawinmymind—Icountedwhilemyhandsmadecertainmovements—twentysteps,quickbutdeliberate,theneightmoresteps.