"You're going to have to tell me. Tell me medically," I say. "Did you examine some kids?"

"Yes."

"How about this pair?"

"No, but I think they're all right."

"The others?"

"Yes, the others."

"Lucy, how many children did you examine?" She wants me to ask questions. She seems to be having trouble concentrating.

"Ah, about six. Yes, six." Again she falls silent.

"You shouldn't drink regular Sprite because it has sugar," says Margaret.

"Lucy, tell me about the examinations," I say patiently. "Tell me medically. Now. Do you hear me? Now."

"It was easy, since I had to do fecal smears for salmonella."

"I understand."

Silence.

"Well," I say.

She is gripping the wheel tightly, sighting the road, chin up, like a novice driver. Her voice is not steady.

"Well, it was in a sort of rec room that had a bathroom. I examined them in the bathroom. There was a Mrs. Cheney there, and a spooky couple named Brunette came in later. And somebody they called Coach, an oafish type with a whistle who looked as though he'd gone to summer camp for ten years and finally made counselor."

"The children, Lucy?"

"Yes, the children. I examined six children."

"A perineal examination, Lucy?"

"Yes, because I was taking smears for salmonella."

"I understand. Your findings?"

"Yes. Two girls, perhaps ten and twelve. One with recent hymeneal rupture, the other with marital introitus. You understand?"

"Yes. Any histories?"

"No time for histories."

"The boys?"

"Two had anal lesions. One, a recent laceration; the other, a fissure of some duration."

"I see."

"History?"

"No histories there either, but-"

"Yes?" Lucy's voice is more focused. She is using her doctoring to catch hold.

"There were two behavioral items." She has found her medical voice.

"Yes?"

"One of the girls made an oral advance to me."

"Oral to oral?"

"No."

"I see."

"It was as if she thought it was expected of her-in the bathroom, that is."

"I understand. And the other item?"

"One of the boys gave an unmistakable pelvic response to my digital examination, from the knee-chest position. It was quite startling. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Lucy looks at me for the first time. "Tom, they were lined up. They wanted to be examined. I could have examined twenty."

"I see."

"Tom, do you know what they reminded me of ?"

"No."

"Do you remember that scene in the Alexandria Quartet where the child prostitutes were all reaching for him, clinging?"

"Yes."

We are silent. The road runs through a loess cut, twilit, worn deep as the Natchez Trace.

I look down at Margaret and Tommy. They are picking at each other and seem fine, Margaret her prim prissy self, Tommy pesky normal.

"Lucy, do you have any idea who was-culpable?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Brunette, who just happened to come in, seemed very agitated. They left, and then Coach What's-his-name came in-"

"Coach Matthews," says Margaret.

"Right," says Lucy. "I think the Brunettes called Coach Matthews to come over. He too seemed nervous."

"How do you like Belle Ame?" I ask the children.

"It's all right," says Tommy. "I like the horses but not treat-a-treat."

"Why don't you like treat-a-treat?"

"They play too hard."

"Who?"

"Coach. And I don't like sardines."

"What's wrong with sardines?"

"They play it wrong."

"How do they play it wrong?"

"When you're it and then somebody finds you in the attic, they're not supposed to close off the place with a trunk."

"Who closed off the place?"

"Mrs. Brunette."

"Did they do that to you?"

"No, I wasn't it. But Claude told me."

"What did you do?"

"I told Uncle Van."

"Uncle Van? What did Uncle Van say?"

"He said it was okay, that was the rule."

"Was Claude it?"

"Once, but he wouldn't play anymore."

"I see."

"What's treat-a-treat?" asks Lucy.

"You know," says Margaret. "First you go treat-a-treat on your knee, then gallop-a-trot, then hobbledehoy. It's all right for little kids, but later on it's dumb."

Lucy looks at me.

I explain. "You hold a kid on your knee and say, This is the way the ladies ride, treat-a-treat, starting off easy."

"I see," says Lucy.

Margaret cranes up to whisper something to me. She whispers the way children whisper, cupping my ear with her hand and not gauging her breath correctly. "They play it wrong. When you come to hobbledehoy you're not supposed to take off your panties, are you? That's dumb."

"Yes, it is. Did you do that?"

"No way, Jose!"

"Who wanted to play treat-a-treat that way?"

"Coach, Mr. Brunette, Mrs. Cheney."

"I see." After a moment I ask her, "Meg, where did you get your water when you wanted a drink?"

"Oh, Belle Ame has a deep well, Tom," says Lucy, quite herself now.

"I know that, but I was still wondering."

"You just get it out of the faucets, except in the rec room," says Margaret, losing interest.

"Where do you get it in the rec room?"

"They have a big upside-down bottle we have to drink from."

"Why do you have to drink from that bottle?"

"It's not from the bottle. The bottle is upside down and there is a little faucet."

"I understand, but why do you have to drink that water?"

"To get our Olympic vitamins."

"Sure," says Margaret, little Miss Smart. "The concentrated vitamins are up on the second floor with a little tube coming down. I've seen them change the bottles and put in a little from the tube."

"I see." I feel Lucy's eyes on my face.

We're at Popeyes. I back in under the live oak next to my Caprice.

Lucy and I look at each other. "Well?" says Lucy.

"Let's do this," I tell her. "Would you take the kids in and feed them. They're hungry. Meanwhile, may I use your cellular phone right here? I want to call Chandra to come pick up Tommy and Margaret."

"Yay!" says Margaret.

"Sure," says Lucy briskly. "Then we've got to get back to Pantherburn, remember?"