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"
Sure
.
"
Tom
moved
slowly
off
.
Douglas
let
himself
down
the
hill
,
walking
in
piles
of
cinder
and
old
paper
and
tin
cans
.
Halfway
down
he
stopped
and
listened
.
He
peered
at
the
multicolored
dimness
,
the
great
landslide
below
.
"
Mme
.
Tarot
?
"
he
almost
whispered
.
"
Mme
.
Tarot
?
"
At
the
bottom
of
the
hill
in
the
moonlight
he
thought
he
saw
her
white
wax
hand
move
.
It
was
a
piece
of
white
paper
blowing
.
But
he
went
toward
it
anyway
.
.
.
The
town
dock
struck
midnight
The
house
Lights
around
were
mostly
turned
out
.
In
the
workshop
garage
the
two
boys
and
the
man
stood
back
from
the
witch
,
who
now
sat
,
rearranged
and
at
peace
,
in
an
old
wicker
chair
before
an
oilcloth
-
covered
card
table
,
upon
which
were
spread
,
in
fantastic
fans
of
popes
and
clowns
and
cardinals
and
deaths
and
suns
and
comets
,
the
tarot
cards
upon
which
one
wax
hand
touched
.
Father
was
speaking
.
"
.
.
.
know
how
it
is
.
When
I
was
a
boy
,
when
the
circus
left
town
I
ran
around
collecting
a
million
posters
.
Later
it
was
breeding
rabbits
,
and
magic
.
I
built
illusions
in
the
attic
and
couldn
’
t
get
them
out
.
"
He
nodded
to
the
witch
.
"
Oh
,
I
remember
she
told
my
fortune
once
,
thirty
years
ago
.
Well
,
clean
her
up
good
,
then
come
in
to
bed
.
We
’
ll
build
her
a
special
case
Saturday
.
"
He
moved
out
the
garage
door
but
stopped
when
Douglas
spoke
softly
.
"
Dad
.
Thanks
.
Thanks
for
the
walk
home
.
Thanks
.
"
"
Heck
,
"
said
Father
,
and
was
gone
.
