They all waved vaguely at his back and said bye quietly. but there was no denying he was walking away from them as fast as he could. Zora turned to her mother and opened her eyes wide. 'What the hell? Rubens!'

'Nice boy: said Kiki sadly.

'Let's get in the car: said Levi.

'Not bad-looking either. huh?' said Kiki and watched Carl's retreating figure tum a comer. Howard stood on the other side of the road. one hand on the open mini-van door. the other sweeping from the ground to the sky. ushering his family inside.

The Saturday ofthe Belsey' party arrived. The twelve hours before a Belsey party were a time of domestic anxiety and activity; a watertight excuse was required to escape the house for the duration.

Luckily for Levi, his parents had provided him with one. Hadn't they gone on and on about his getting a Saturday job? And so he had got one, and so he was going to it. End ofdiscussion. With joy in his heart he left Zora and Jerome polishing doorknobs and set off for his sales associate position in a Boston music mega-store.

The job itself was no occasion for joy: he hated the corny baseball cap he had to wear and the bad pop music he was compelled to sell; the tragic loser of a floor manager who imagined he was the king of Levi; the moms who couldn't remember the name of the artist or the single, and so leaned over the counter to tunelessly hum a little bit of the verse. All it was good for was giving him a reason to get out of the toy-town that was Wellington and a bit of money to spend in Boston once he got there. Every Saturday morning he caught a bus to the nearest T-stop and then the subway into the only city he had ever really known. It was not New York, sure, but it was the only city he had, and Levi treasured the urban the same way previous generations worshipped the pastoral; ifhe could have written an ode he would have. But he had no ability in 'that area (he used to try -notebook after notebook filled with false, cringing rhymes). He had learned to leave it to the fast-talking guys in his earphones, the present-day American poets, the rappers.

Levi's shift finished at four. He left the city reluctantly, as always.

He got back on the subway and then the bus. He looked out with dread at Wellington as it began to manifest itself outside the grimy windows. The pristine white spires of the college seemed to him like the watchtowers of a prison to which he was returning. He sloped towards home, walking up the final hill, listening to his music. The fate of the young man in his earphones, who faced a jail cell that very night, did not seem such a world away from his own predicament: an anniversary party full of academics.

Walking up Redwood Avenue with its tunnel of cemuous willows, Levi found he had lost the will even to nod his head, usually an involuntary habit with him when music was playing. Halfway down the avenue he noticed with irritation that he was being watched. A very old black lady sitting on her porch was eyeing him like there was no other news in town. He tried to shame her by staring her out in tum. She just kept right on staring. Framed by rwo yellow-leaved trees on each side of her house, she sat on her porch in this bright red dress and stared like she was being paid to do it. Man oh man, but didn't she look old and papery. Her hair was really not tied back properly. Like she wasn't being taken care of. Hair every which way. Levi hated to see that right there, old people not taken care of. Her clothes were crazy too. This red dress she had on didn't have a waist; it just went straight down like a queen's gown in a children's book and was held together at the throat by one big brooch in the shape of a golden palm leaf. Boxes all around her on that porch filled with clothes and cups and plates... like a bag lady, only with a house. She sure could eyeball, though... Jesus. Isn't there anything on TV, lady? Maybe he should buy a T-shirt that just had on it YO -I'M NOT GOING TO RAPE you . He could use a T-shirt like that. Maybe like three times each day while on his travels that T-shirt would come in handy. There was always some old lady who needed to be reassured on that point. And check it out... now she's struggling to get out of the chair -her legs like toothpicks in sandals. She's gorma say something. Aw, shit.