The white enamel arabesques of a sagging bed chalk-lined a spotted paperbag-tan wall, and nomadic disorder gave the room an appearance of a tent which at a moment's notice could be folded and transported. A white hand basin with cold and lukewarm water taps hung to the wall under a threatening sign warning against wastage of water and light. And, in the sticking bottom drawer of the cheap warping bureau, a cockroach feasted on cracker crumbs.
Mae Claudel, nee Welland, sat in a low spindly rocker, crescented over sewing. In the diffuse light her hair resembled a ball of fuzz gathered under the misshapen bed. The sickly light exaggerated her waning prettiness, magnifying into valleys the dimples of her marshmallow cheeks. A pretty, nondescript face requiring makeup to restore character to indefinite lips and eyebrows. Her small pointed chin seemed in danger of melting into the thin neck from the downward pressure while sewing. At thirty-four her concave seamstress's body was uneven in contour from work. Her demeanor was of a woman slowly dehydrating from some vital lack, a demeanor concealing singleminded purposeful love for her daughter.
The needle rested against her pricked thorny thumb as her feather grey eyes crinkled with a wan soft greeting. "How was the movie, dearest?"
Lucy kicked off her patent leather slippers and sat crosslegged on the bed.
"All right. Douglas Fairbanks looks wonderful in tights but I don't think those old-fashioned wigs look good on women." She yawned with luxurious abandon. "That Frank, he's an awful kid. All he wants to do is pet. I made him buy me a soda."
Mae smiled indulgently at her darling growing up so fast. Lucy, she thought modestly, looked like Charles. Blond, handsome Charles Claudel from New Orleans, who had swooped her up from Congress, Nebraska, like a tornado twister, and, depositing her on the chilly edge of Salt Lake City, had gone and come so many times that at last she prayed he would leave her and their child in peace. Since his last departure five years ago, and no word from or news of him in all that time, her wedding ring had become loose. She would have taken it off but for Lucy. People might think … Besides, it was protection against other men. She neither had need nor desire for men, except of course as employers. The pleasure of Charles' lovemaking had been slight compared to Lucy's companionship. She marveled at the girl's good sense and trusted her im-
