I went over that memory three times, polishing and refining it, before thebranch line abruptly ended. One hand groped forward and closed upon nothing.

I had reached the main conduit. For a panicked moment I had feared that it wouldbe concrete or brick or even one of the cedar pipes the city laid down in thenineteenth century, remnants of which still linger here and there beneath thepavement. But by sheer blind luck, the system had been installed during thatnarrow window of time when the pipes were cast iron. I crawled along itsunderside first one way and then the other, searching for the branch line forthe Widow's. There was a lot of crap under the street. Several times I wasblocked by gas lines or by the high-pressure pipes for the fire hydrants and hadto awkwardly clamber around them. At last, I found the line and began thepainful journey out from the street again.

When I emerged in the Widow's basement, I was a nervous wreck. It came to methen that I could no longer remember my father's name. A thing of rags andshreds indeed! I worked my way up the electrical system, searching every roomand unintentionally spying on the family who had bought the house after herdeath. In the kitchen apuffy man stood with his sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep inthe sink, angrily washing dishes by candlelight. A woman who was surely his wifeexpressively smoked a cigarette at his stiff back, drawing in the smoke withbitter intensity and exhaling it in puffs of hatred. On the second floor apreadolescent girl clutched a tortoise-shell cat so tightly it struggled toescape, and cried into its fur. In the next room a younger boy sat on his bed inearphones, Walk-man on his lap, staring sightlessly out the window at theburning transformer. No Widow on either floor.

How, I wondered, could she have endured this entropic oven of a blue-collarrowhouse, forever the voyeur at the banquet, watching the living squander whatshe had already spent? Her trace was everywhere, her presence elusive. I wasbeginning to thing she'd despaired and given herself up to the sky when I foundher in the attic, clutching the wire that led to the antenna. She looked up,amazed by my unexpected appearance.

"Come on," I said. "I know a way out."

Returning, however, I couldn't retrace the route I'd taken in. It wasn't so muchthe difficulty of navigating the twisting maze of pipes under the street, thoughthat was bad enough, as the fact that the Widow wouldn't hazard the passageunless I led her by the hand.

"You don't know how difficult this is for me," I said.

"It's the only way I'd dare." A nervous, humorless laugh. "I have such a lousysense of direction."

So, steeling myself, I seized her hand and plunged through the wall.

It took all my concentration to keep from sliding off the water pipes, I was sodistracted by the violence of her thoughts. We crawled through a hundredmemories, all of her married lover, all alike. Here's one:

Daniel snapped on the car radio. Sad music--something classical--flooded thecar. "That's bullshit, babe. You know how much I have invested in you?" Hejabbed a blunt finger at her dress. "I could buy two good whores for what thatthing cost."

Then why don't you, she thought. Get back on your Metroliner and go home to NewYork City and your wife and your money and your two good whores. Aloud,reasonably, she said, "It's over, Danny, can't you see that?"

"Look, babe. Let's not argue here, okay? Not in the parking lot, with peoplewalking by and everybody listening: Drive us to your place, we can sit down andtalk it over like civilized human beings." She clutched the wheel, staringstraight ahead. "No. We're going to settle this here and now."

"Christ." One-handed, Daniel wrangled a pack of Kents from a jacket pocket andknocked out a cigarette. Took the end in his lips and drew it out. Punched thelighter. "So talk."

A wash of hopelessness swept over her. Married men were supposed to be easy toget rid of. That was the whole point. "Let me go, Danny," she pleaded. Then,lying, "We can still be friends."

He made a disgusted noise.

"I've tried, Danny, I really have. You don't know how hard I've tried. But it'sjust not working."

"All right, I've listened. Now let's go." Reaching over her, Daniel threw thegearshift into reverse. He stepped on her foot, mashing it into the accelerator.

The car leaped backward. She shrieked and in a flurry of panic swung the wheelabout and slammed on the brakes with her free foot.

With a jolt and a crunch, the car stopped. There was the tinkle of brokenplastic. They'd hit a lime-green Hyundai.

"Oh, that's just perfect!" Daniel said. The lighter popped out. He lit hiscigarette and then swung open the door. "I'll check the damage." Over hershoulder, she saw Daniel tug at his trousers knees as he crouched to examine theHyundai. She had a sudden impulse to slew the car around and escape. Step on thegas and never look back. Watch his face, dismayed and dwindling, in therear-view mirror. Eyes flooded with tears, she began quietly to laugh.

Then Daniel was back. "It's all right, let's go."

"I heard something break."

"It was just a tail-light, okay?" He gave her a funny look. "What the hell areyou laughing about?"

She shook her head helplessly, unable to sort out the tears from the laughter.Then somehow they were on the Expressway, the car humming down the indistinctand warping road. She was driving but Daniel was still in control.

We were completely lost now and had been for some time. I had taken what I wascertain had to be a branch line and it had led nowhere. We'd been tracing itstwisty passage for blocks. I stopped and pulled my hand away. I couldn'tconcentrate. Not with the caustics and poisons of the Widow's past churningthrough me. "Listen," I said. "We've got to get something straight between us."

Her voice came out of nowhere, small and wary. "What?"

How to say it? The horror of those memories lay not in their brutality but intheir particularity. They nestled into empty spaces where memories of my ownshould have been. They were as familiar as old shoes. They fit.

"If I could remember any of this crap," I said, "I'd apologize. Hell, I can'tblame you for how you feel. Of course you're angry. But it's gone, can't you seethat, it's over. You've got to let go. You can't hold me accountable for thingsI can't even remember, okay? All that shit happened decades ago. I was young.I've changed." The absurdity of the thing swept over me. I'd have laughed if I'dbeen able. "I'm dead, for pity's sake!"

A long silence. Then, "So you've figured it out."

"You've known all along," I said bitterly. "Ever since I came off thehigh-tension lines in Manayunk."

She didn't deny it. "I suppose I should be flattered that when you were introuble you came to me," she said in a way that indicated she was not.

"Why didn't you tell me then? Why drag it out?"

"Danny--"

"Don't call me that!"

"It's your name. Daniel. Daniel Cobb."

All the emotions I'd been holding back by sheer force of denial closed about me.I flung myself down and clutched the pipe tight, crushing myself against itsunforgiving surface. Trapped in the friendless wastes of night, I weighed myfear of letting go against my fear of holding on. "Cobb?"

I said nothing. The Widow's voice took on an edgy quality. "Cobb, we can't stayhere. You've got to lead me out. I don't have the slightest idea which way togo. I'm lost without your help."

I still could not speak.

"Cobb!" She was close to panic. "I put my own feelings aside. Back in Manayunk.You needed help and I did what I could. Now it's your turn."

Silently, invisibly, I shook my head.

"God damn you, Danny," she said furiously. "I won't let you do this to me again!So you're unhappy with what a jerk you were--that's not my problem. You can'tredeem your manliness on me any more. I am not your fucking salvation. I am notsome kind of cosmic last chance and it's not my job to talk you down from theledge."