FOUR: Rain Makes Men Late (2)
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the rain crashed down on the roof. I tried not to think of Genevieve, but her face manifested itself on every young woman I saw rushing away through the rain. She would be happier if she were one of them, and I took comfort in the fact that soon she would be able to be.


I reached the door of a large, white brick house, with a garden of plentiful leaves made all the more beautiful as shimmering drops of rain adopted their green tint before sliding down the central curve and splitting in two as they fell.

 I heard the sound of a television inside; some sort of horrible game show. I interrupted it with three loud knocks. The sound of footsteps was followed by the swing of the door, and before me crouched an elderly lady wrapped in a knitted, caramel shawl. She looked at my face, then do...

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