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It had been a long time--several months--since a new man had crossed the porch, antsy with untold secrets and dying for the cure. Women have no demons, thought Louise. Just hurts and regrets. Women don't howl with the things they've done, but keep their heads low from the things done to them. Or at least that's what it seemed to Louise, after watching so many of them enter The House of Gentle Men under cover of darkness. Louise opened her eyes suddenly. She hadn't left the soldier any soap and towels. And this dedication to her duty and the curiosity that she felt in his presence made her decide to leave her bed, ascend the stairs and knock on his door once again, a towel under one arm and a bar of soap in her hand. No answer. "Hello," she called. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. She gasped. His dangling feet. The Cot
| The Lantern | The Chair
| The Noose |
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Now Louise stared at the ceiling and considered
the things that had made up the night. The new arrival. The clean
porch. Her brother's stomping feet. The dirty room. The eyes of
the soldier in the unambitious light of a kerosene lamp.