The Face without Pain or Fear or Guilt

           Thesilenceofherapartmentandthemotionlessperfectionofobjectsthathadremainedjustasshehadleftthemamonthbefore,struckherwithasenseofreliefanddesolationtogether,whensheenteredherlivingroom.Thesilencegaveheranillusionofprivacyandownership;thesightoftheobjectsremindedherthattheywerepreservingamomentshecouldnotrecapture,asshecouldnotundotheeventsthathadhappenedsince.

           Therewasstillaremnantofdaylightbeyondthewindows.Shehadlefttheofficeearlierthan,sheintended,unabletosummontheeffortforanytaskthatcouldbepostponedtillmorning.Thiswasnewtoher—anditwasnewthatsheshouldnowfeelmoreathomeinherapartmentthaninheroffice.

           Shetookashower,andstoodforlong,blankminutes,lettingthewaterrunoverherbody,butsteppedouthastilywhensherealizedthatwhatshewantedtowashoffwasnotthedustofthedrivefromthecountry,butthefeeloftheoffice.

           Shedressed,lightedacigaretteandwalkedintothelivingroom,tostandatthewindow,lookingatthecity,asshehadstoodlookingatthecountrysideatthestartofthisday.

           Shehadsaidshewouldgiveherlifeforonemoreyearontherailroad.Shewasback;butthiswasnotthejoyofworking;itwasonlytheclear,coldpeaceofadecisionreached—andthestillnessofunadmittedpain.

           Cloudshadwrappedtheskyandhaddescendedasfogtowrapthestreetsbelow,asiftheskywereengulfingthecity.