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I
replayed
the
Margie
scenes
against
the
swimming
spots
on
the
ceiling
,
trying
to
add
no
more
than
was
really
there
.
For
a
long
time
,
maybe
two
years
,
there
had
been
a
Mrs
.
Young
-
Hunt
who
was
a
friend
of
my
wife
,
part
of
the
conversations
I
did
not
listen
to
.
Then
suddenly
Margie
Young
-
Hunt
had
emerged
,
and
then
Margie
.
She
must
have
come
to
the
store
before
Good
Friday
,
but
I
could
not
remember
it
.
On
that
day
it
was
as
though
she
announced
herself
.
Before
that
it
is
possible
that
she
didn
’
t
see
me
any
more
than
I
saw
her
.
But
from
that
time
on
she
was
present
—
a
mover
and
a
shaker
.
What
did
she
want
?
Could
it
be
pure
mischief
of
a
woman
with
too
little
to
do
?
Or
did
she
move
to
a
plan
?
It
did
seem
to
me
that
she
had
announced
herself
to
me
—
made
me
conscious
of
her
and
kept
me
aware
of
her
.
It
seemed
to
me
that
she
started
the
second
fortune
-
telling
in
good
faith
,
intending
it
to
be
the
usual
performance
,
polished
and
professional
.
Then
something
happened
,
something
that
tore
it
up
.
Mary
had
said
nothing
to
cause
her
tension
,
nor
had
I
.
Had
she
really
seen
the
vision
of
the
snake
?
That
would
be
the
simplest
explanation
and
probably
the
true
one
.
Maybe
she
was
truly
intuitive
,
an
intruder
into
the
minds
of
others
.
The
fact
that
she
had
caught
me
midway
in
a
metamorphosis
made
me
likely
to
believe
this
,
but
it
could
have
been
an
accident
.
But
what
made
her
run
to
Montauk
when
she
had
not
intended
to
go
,
join
up
with
the
drummer
,
spill
the
beans
to
Marullo
?
Somehow
I
didn
’
t
believe
she
spilled
things
she
didn
’
t
intend
to
spill
.
Somewhere
in
the
attic
bookcases
there
was
an
account
of
the
life
of
—
was
it
Bering
?
No
,
Baranov
,
Alexander
Baranov
,
the
Russian
governor
somewhere
near
1800
.
Maybe
there
would
be
some
reference
to
Alaska
as
a
prison
for
witches
.
It
was
too
unlikely
a
story
to
be
made
up
.
I
must
look
.
I
thought
maybe
I
could
creep
up
there
now
without
waking
Mary
.
Then
I
heard
a
creak
of
the
old
oak
stair
treads
,
then
a
second
and
a
third
,
so
I
knew
it
was
not
a
settling
of
the
house
from
a
change
of
temperature
.
It
had
to
be
Ellen
walking
in
her
sleep
.
Of
course
I
love
my
daughter
,
but
sometimes
she
frightens
me
for
she
seems
to
have
been
born
clever
,
at
once
jealous
and
loving
.
She
was
always
jealous
of
her
brother
and
often
I
feel
she
is
jealous
of
me
.
It
seemed
to
me
that
her
preoccupation
with
sex
began
very
early
.
Maybe
fathers
always
feel
this
.
When
she
was
a
very
little
girl
,
her
uninhibited
interest
in
male
genitalia
was
embarrassing
.
Then
she
went
into
the
secrecy
of
change
.
Here
was
no
angelic
innocent
girlhood
of
the
magazines
.
The
house
boiled
with
nervousness
,
the
walls
vibrated
with
unease
.
I
’
ve
read
that
in
the
Middle
Ages
pubescent
girls
were
thought
to
be
susceptible
to
witchcraft
and
I
’
m
not
sure
it
is
not
so
.
For
a
time
we
had
what
we
called
as
a
joke
a
poltergeist
.
Pictures
fell
from
their
hangings
,
dishes
crashed
to
the
floor
.
There
were
poundings
in
the
attic
and
thumpings
in
the
cellar
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
caused
it
,
but
I
was
interested
enough
to
keep
my
eye
on
Ellen
,
on
her
secret
comings
and
goings
.
She
was
like
a
night
cat
.
I
satisfied
myself
that
she
was
not
responsible
for
the
fallings
and
crashings
and
thumpings
,
but
also
I
found
they
never
happened
when
she
was
out
of
the
house
.
She
might
be
sitting
staring
into
space
when
the
poltergeist
came
,
but
she
was
always
there
.
As
a
child
I
remember
hearing
that
the
old
Hawley
house
was
haunted
long
ago
by
the
ghost
of
one
of
the
puritan
-
pirate
ancestors
but
,
according
to
accounts
,
he
was
a
decent
ghost
who
walked
and
wandered
and
groaned
as
he
should
.
The
stairs
creaked
under
his
invisible
weight
and
he
rapped
on
the
wall
when
a
death
was
imminent
,
all
proper
and
in
good
taste
.
The
poltergeist
was
something
quite
different
—
malicious
,
malignant
,
and
mischievous
and
vengeful
.
He
never
broke
a
valueless
thing
.
Then
he
went
away
.
I
never
really
believed
in
him
.
He
was
a
family
joke
,
except
that
there
he
was
and
there
were
the
broken
pictures
and
shattered
china
.
When
he
left
,
Ellen
began
walking
in
her
sleep
as
she
was
now
.
I
could
hear
her
slow
but
certain
footsteps
going
downstairs
.
And
at
the
same
time
my
Mary
sighed
deeply
and
murmured
beside
me
.
And
a
breeze
sprang
up
and
moved
the
shadows
of
leafing
limbs
on
the
ceiling
.
I
slipped
quietly
from
bed
and
slid
into
my
bathrobe
,
for
I
,
like
everyone
else
,
believed
that
a
sleepwalker
should
not
be
startled
awake
.
This
sounds
as
though
I
didn
’
t
like
my
daughter
,
but
I
do
.
I
love
her
,
but
I
am
somewhat
in
fear
of
her
because
I
don
’
t
understand
her
.
