"And I know you're an artist."

I spotted Lillith sitting alone on the bleachers. She was watching us.

A few minutes later the MH said: "I saw that drawing of yours they put up in the cafeteria."

"My abstract period."

"No kidding, you're very good."

"Mmmhmm."

"Professional?"

"I was in school, but I dropped out."

"You should go back," he said.

Who are you to give me advice, I thought.

When the dance was over I thanked the MH and then I climbed up the bleachers and sat down next to Lillith. She looked exhausted and a little crabby.

"You're the fucking belle of the ball," she said.

"Right."

Then she leaned up against me so that I could smell the rankness of her unwashed hair and whispered, "You ever do it with a girl?"

"What did you say?"

"You heard." I was staring straight ahead, but I could feel her fingertips slide between the buttons of my cardigan. They were so cold I had to suppress a shiver. "You and your sister never. . .?"

I looked down. Her crossed feet in dirty white ballet slippers were so tiny I knew I could crush one with my hand.

"No."

"But you have the look."

"What look is that?"

"Hungry. Like you'd do it with anyone."

"It's exactly the opposite. I never do it at all."

"It's not so bad, you know. It's actually pretty nice. More subtle than with a boy, if you know what I mean."

I wanted her to continue and I didn't.

"Quit it."

Slowly, her fingers withdrew. When I looked at her again she was back behind her own eyes, unreadable. As I watched she began to scratch herself viciously again, this time on the palm.

Back at the unit, I went straight upstairs to get ready for bed. I was on the way to the bathroom to brush my teeth when someone called up the stairs that there was a phone call for me.

I couldn't imagine who it would be. I went down in my bathrobe.

"Hello?"

"Oh God, it is you."

"Carey."

"I kept getting switched. There's another Wang in that hospital."

I knew who it wasa"a seedy adolescent who gave me the eye in the cafeteria. Thank God he hadn't been at the dance tonight.

"Ma told me you'd called."

"Yeah, well, you know she's not a very good liar. I got hold of Fran and she told me where you were." A pause. "So. I guess you went off the deep end."

I pictured my lanky ex-husband sitting at his desk, pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose, something he did when he was nervous.

"I guess I did."

"So what happened? You could have called me, you know."

"I know."

"Are you okay now?"

"I'm better."

"Sally. . . listen, I hope it wasn't because of what happened with us. The divorce, I mean."

"So that's the reason you called? Because you feel guilty?"

"I called because I care about you, Sally."

"Right."

"Look, do you want a visitor?"

"No," I said. "I don't think I do."

"Well, you can call me anytime you want. For anything, to talk, whatever. I have a new number. That's why I was trying to reach you in the first place."

"You moved?"

"Yeah. You have something to write with?"

I exhaled. "No. Wait a sec."

The door to the nurses' station was closed for the shift-change meeting. I peeked into the dayroom and Mel was sitting placidly in an armchair reading a paperback. I wondered if they were still giving him Thorazine.

"Do you have a pen?"

"Here." He handed me a pencil stub and tore out a leaf from his book. I was surprised to see that it was the title page of a poetry anthology.

Carey gave me the number and said: "During the day is the best time to reach me."

"So you're living with someone." I felt very calm and very cold, like I did sometimes when I was painting well.

"Um. Well. Yes."

"I'm happy for you."

"Listen, when you get out of there, we should have dinner."

"All right," I said. "Thanks for calling."

"Sally, I still love you."

"Good-bye, Carey."

I went back to the dayroom. "Thanks," I said to Mel, returning the pencil.

"Anytime. Hey, are you all right? You don't look so good."

"Ex-husband."

"Rough." He picked up a pack of Marlboros and offered me one. I shook my head and watched him light it, and then the way he smoked, snatching the cigarette away from his lips after each drag. I had never noticed before how sexy it was.

"What're you reading?" I asked.

He picked up the book. "Yeats. Listen to this: There is a queen in China, or maybe it's in Spain,

And birthdays and holidays such praises can be heard

Of her unblemished lineaments, a whiteness with no stain,

That she might be that sprightly girl trodden by a bird;

And there's a score of duchesses, surpassing womankind,

Or who have found a painter to make them so for pay

And smooth out stain and blemish with the elegance of his mind:

I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.

"It kind of reminds me of you," he said.

I felt my face get hot. Not because of the poem but because of the way he was looking at me. It reminded me of someonea"not Carey, or the movie-star MH, or Lillith, but someone from much longer ago, at that moment I couldn't remember who.

6.

Dream: I am in a rowboat on a river. I row under a bridge into a very dark glassy lake. Black water. In my hands I have a book, but the print on its pages is indecipherable. I get the idea it's mirror writing, and hold the open book over the water, looking down to read.

What I see is too dreadful to take in.

I hadn't seen my mother in three weeks. She refused to come to family therapy. "Too busy" was her excuse. Staff was working on her.

"Your mother loves you," one of the MHs told me. "She'll come when she realizes how important it is to your recovery."

As a reward for talking in group, I was moved up to Status Three, which meant I could go anywhere on the grounds with staff or a Status Four person. Mel was taken off house arrest. The only one who got worse was Lillith.

It turned out she thought she was Joan of Arc. The scratching had become constant: palms, elbows, and finally the underside of her chin, leaving garish pink welts, I asked her if she had a rash, and she turned to me with a cynical expression.

"Can't you see. Burned at the stake."

"Who?"

"Who did it? Grindel Grundelwald. The dragon."

"Dragon?"

Exasperated sigh. "Look, I'm going to take up arms. Despite what that fat-assed genitalic general says. And I don't speak French! I'm not French, that was all a big lie!"

In group she stretched her stick arms out in front of her and pronounced: "The molecules are singing."