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Cocking its head one way and then the other； looking slightly wary； the dog watched him as if it thought he had gone mad。 He had。 Months ago。 But he was all better now。
He put down the Coors and wiped tears out of his eyes with the backs of his hands。 He said； 〃e here； fur face。〃
The retriever hesitated； then came to him。
He ruffled and stroked its coat； scratched behind its ears。 〃You amaze me and scare me。 I can't figure where you came from or how you got to be what you are； but you couldn't have e where you're more needed。 A question mark； huh？ Jesus。 All right。 You want to know why I felt life had no purpose or joy for me？ I'll tell you。 I will； by God； I'll sit right here and have another beer and tell it to a dog。 But first 。 。 。 I'm going to name you。〃
The retriever blew air out of its nostrils； as if to say； Well； it's about time。
Holding the dog's head； looking straight into its eyes； Travis said； 〃Einstein。 From now on； fur face； your name is Einstein。〃
4
Streck called again at ten minutes past nine。
Nora snatched up the phone on the first ring； fiercely determined to tell him off and make him leave her alone。 But for some reason she clenched up again and was unable to speak。
In a repulsively intimate tone of voice； he said； 〃You miss me； prettiness？ Hmmmm？ Do you wish I'd e to you； be a man for you？〃
She hung up。
What's wrong with me？ she wondered。 Why can't I tell him to go away and stop bothering me？
Maybe her speechlessness grew from a secret desire to hear a man…any man； even a disgusting specimen like Streck…call her pretty。 Although he was not the kind who would be capable of tenderness or affection； she could listen to him and imagine what it would be like to have a good man say sweet things to her。
〃Well； you're not pretty；〃 she told herself； 〃and you never ever will be； so stop mooning around。 Next time he calls； tell him off。〃
She got out of bed and went down the hall to the bathroom； where there was a mirror。 Following Violet Devon's example； Nora did not have mirrors anywhere in the house except the bathrooms。 She did not like to look at herself because what she saw was saddening。
This one night； however； she wanted to take a look at herself because Streck's flattery； though cold and calculated； had stirred her curiosity。 Not that she hoped to see some fine quality that she had never seen before。 No。 From duckling to swan overnight 。 。 。 that was a frivolous； hopeless dream。 Rather； she wanted to confirm that she was undesirable。 Streck's unwanted interest rattled Nora because she was fortable in her homeliness and solitude； and she wanted to reassure herself that he was mocking her； that he would not act upon his threats； that her peaceful solitude would endure。 Or so she told herself as she stepped into the bathroom and switched on the light。
The narrow chamber had pale…blue tile from floor to ceiling with a white…tile border。 A huge claw…foot tub。 White porcelain and brass fixtures。 The large mirror was somewhat streaked with age。
She looked at her hair； which Streck said was beautiful； dark； glossy。 But it was of one shade； without natural highlights； to her； it wasn't glossy but oily； although she had washed it that morning。
She looked quickly at her brow； cheekbones； nose； jaw line； lips； and chin。 She tentatively traced her features with one hand； but she saw nothing to intrigue a man。
M last； reluctantly； she stared into her eyes； which Streck had called lovely。 They were a dreary； lusterless shade of gray。 She could not bear to meet her own gaze for more than a few seconds。 Her eyes confirmed her low opinion of her appearance。 But also 。 。 。 well； in her own eyes she saw a smoldering anger that disturbed her； that was not like her； an anger at what she had let
herself bee。 Of course； that made no sense whatsoever because she was what nature had made her…a mouse…and she could do nothing about that。
Turning from the mottled mirror； she felt a pang of disappointment that her self…inspection had not resulted in a single surprise or reevaluation。 Immediately； however； she was shocked and appalled by that disappointment。 She stood in the bathroom doorway； shaking her head； amazed by her own befuddled thought processes。
Did she want to be appealing to Streck？ Of course not。 He was weird； sick； dangerous。 The very last thing she wanted was to appeal to him。 Maybe she wouldn't mind if another man looked on her with favor； but not Streck。 She should get on her knees and thank God for creating her as she was； because if she were at all attractive； Streck would make good on his threats。 He'd e here； and he'd rape her 。 。 。 maybe murder her。 Who knew about a man like that？ Who knew what his limits were？ She wasn't being a nervous old maid when she worried about murder； not these days： the newspapers were full of it。
She realized that she was defenseless； and she hurried back to the bedroom； where she had left the butcher's knife。
5
Most people believe psychoanalysis is a cure for unhappiness。 They are sure they could overe all their problems and achieve peace of mind if only they could understand their own psychology； understand the reasons for their negative moods and self…destructive behavior。 But Travis had learned this was not the case。 For years； he engaged in unsparing self…analysis； and long ago he figured out why he had bee a loner who was unable to make friends。 However； in spite of that understanding； he had not been able to change。
Now； as midnight approached； he sat in the kitchen； drank another Coors； and told Einstein about his self…imposed emotional isolation。 Einstein sat before him； unmoving； never yawning； as if intently interested in his tale。
〃I was a loner as a kid； right from the start； though I wasn't entirely without friends。 It was just that I always preferred my own pany。 I guess it's my nature。 I mean； when I was a kid； I hadn't yet decided that my being friends with someone was a danger to him。〃
Travis's mother had died giving birth to him； and he knew all about that from an early age。 In time her death would seem like an omen of what was to e； and it would take on a terrible importance； but that was later。 As a kid； he wasn't yet burdened with guilt。
Not until he was ten。 That was when his brother Harry died。 Harry was twelve； two years older than Travis。 One Monday morning in June； Harry talked Travis into walking three blocks to the beach； although their father had expressly forbidden them to go swimming without him。 It was a private
cove without a public lifeguard； and they were the only two swimmers in sight。
〃Harry got caught in an undertow；〃 Travis told Einstein。 〃We were in the water together no more than ten feet apart； and the damn undertow got him； sucked him away； but it didn't get me。 I even went after him； tried to save him； so I should've swum straight into the same current； but I guess it changed course just after it snatched Harry away； 'cause I came out of the water alive。〃 He stared at the top of the kitchen table for a long moment； seeing not the red Formica but the rolling； treacherous； blue…green sea。 〃I loved my big brother more than anyone in the world。