it so prosaic a thing as hope?-began inside.
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Was it about the person, the man who, they thought, had looked in the window last night, the
one who had been prowling around the woods the last couple of days? (His existence in her
mind was absolute enough.) Was it about the Adams coming home? Something new? Was it
about letting her go?
Freedom? (Oh-my-god!)
The freedom. Freedom, so abruptly taken away from her, so persistently denied, returned like a
chord of grand music (Ravel? Tchaikovsky? Wagner?) sounding through her head, a chord
struck by a thousand piece orchestra accompanied by choirs, cannon, and rockets. She was
engulfed in the great A-major majesty of it. It was just plain silly in her situation to feel so
momentarily free, and yet the sound echoed on. For a moment the strength in her returned
until she felt she could simply fling her hands upward, snapping rope like thread. Freedom!
Characteristically Barbara's thought of freedom-its nearness momentarily believed in--<lid not
come trailing any feelings of revenge. What she would do to and about the kids, seemed lost in
an unimportant and somewhat irrelevant part of her brain. Instead-wholly instead-the flash of
imagining herself free made her feel charitable, outgoing, philanthropic. It made her feel quite
close to guilty. She had never been understanding enough, sympathetic enough, free enough
with her warmth. What she would do when she was free again!
Let me go, Barbara said, just let me go and I'll .... The thought evaporated off into a rather
splendid bath of emotion. Let her go, and she would do some deed-or deeds-so fine and
unselfish that. ... Oh, damn it, Barbara said, if I could just remember this afterward. But she
knew she wouldn't-not entirely.
It was already fading.
Gently, irresistibly, the whole feeling dwindled until it was only a background glow against the
influx of a
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new, quite cool caution, a caution of particulars. Caution, after all, was what Barbara
needed now; caution was temporarily better. Grand deeds another day.
When they let her go-if they let her go-but if and before they let her go, they did some
bargaining with her, made her promise certain things to do and not do, she would. That
was caution; that was sense. Oh, yes, she would; she would, indeed. The power and
authority over children that were hers in the outside world, might be passing back into her
hands-in sixty hours, it would be hers, no matter what-but then, those remaining sixty
hours or so were real time, Freedom Five time. This, she had no wish of experiencing; to
anything they set forth, she would agree.
Yes," I will, Barbara said, and listened but only heard the distant, indistinguishable mingle
of voices. There were no words. It was maddening: it was like listening to water. Not yet.
Release was not yet, but it might be coming. Thus, by silent turns, her emotion went from
illusion to reality to caution to a mild fear.
Normally Barbara was no more superstitious than she was open to overwhelming
emotional floods. Her world ran level and loving. Nonetheless the gates were now open. As
she had been saintly and exalted a moment or so ago, now she became tribal, deep,
mystic. It seemed that if she anticipated too much, wanted too much, ached too much-
particularly, right here toward the end-then somehow, it would not happen. Do not show
Fate the face of your longing; you will be disappointed.
Be good. Be undaring and cheerful. But above all, be good.
When the children finally did come down then, when they undid and redid her, when they
hobbled her and stood her on her own two legs, she went willingly. Willingly up the stairs
with no trouble, willingly to the bathroom, willingly to the toilet, and willingly thereafter to
the wash basin. The day before they had broken her, and today they could measure, if they
wished, the results of their work.
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From the bathroom, however, they led her back down the stairs. Where she bad felt herself
at the edge of reprieve, she was instead resentenced to the basement room. They led her
to the workbench and put down a lunch-her first food in thirty-six hours-and left. All except
Cindy.
There was a white chicken sandwich again one-and a paper cup of some Cola. With her one
hand free from the waist, Barbara ate; indeed, she gobbled. She lifted up the plate and
awkwardly licked the crumbs and smearings, and then she drank.
"Can I have any more?" She was entirely used to begging for things from the children now.
Her stomach hurt worse than her pride. "Can I have another sandwich?"
"You only got that because Bobby wanted you to," Cindy said. In spite of the fact that
Dianne oversaw her and tried to keep her neat, Cindy had let her hair go. In the humidity of
the weather and the brackishness of the creek and river, it had reverted to its wonted
state; it curled, and the curls took curls, and the very ends went into spirals. She was frizzy
and bright and unable to keep secrets.
"Bobby?" Barbara said. "It's all low residue." "Low residue?"
"Bobby says you have to have something on your stomach when .... "
"Something on my stomach, when, what?" "Well," Cindy said importantly, "if you have a lot
in your stomach and you're hurt or scared, you mess yourself. You go poo-peee." Cindy
giggled. "But if you have just enough at the right time, you don't, and .nobody knows the
difference."
"Who's nobody?"
"The coroners." A bright smile. "Coroners!"
"That's what Bobby says."
"What do coroners have to do with it?" "They're doctors who .... "
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"I know!"
"Well"-this delicious piece of knowledge, Cindy slipped out 'word by word-"they're going to
kill you, and you have to look like everything was OK before."
"They," Barbara said very quietly. "Well, us," Cindy said.
Barbara stiffened and looked at the empty, tongue-licked plate, the last offering. Then she
opened her mouth and began screaming. Every ounce of her being was concentrated in
every scream, and forth the screams came, sound after sound.
Freedom Five came down the stairs almost wearily. They knew their Cindy, and they were
not surprised.
John took Barbara's hair and jerked her head back until she could not close her mouth.
Dianne put the rag down in the hole from which the sound was coming, and Paul and
Bobby taped the lips and jaws. Afterward there was only a moaning sound. They did not
look at each other very much, and they could not seem to look at Barbara. Instead they put
Paul on watch and took Cindy with them back up into the house.
As they had done earlier in the day, Freedom Five looked at the sky and frowned. Above
them it was silky blue with summer puff clouds here and there, but to the west--out toward
the county road-it was brass colored and, still beyond that, there was a dim shadow just
over the tree line. The sun had lost its blinding light-you could look almost right at it
through the gathering haze-and its blistering edges bad become indistinct and pale; they