had nothing , and throughout the dream I felt so morally bankrupt , so deprived of hope .
I awoke in a cold sweat calling out to Eduardo , the man to whom I owed my debts , then I quickly clamped my mouth shut in fear that I might somehow summon him into my presence .
I needed to understand the mark , though libraries and even the old botanica by the pier offered no help . I figured my father would know something , so I wrote to him . It was the first letter I sent since I was a child , when my messages would go unanswered and my mind would invent endless reasons why he didn ’ t want to see me . I asked how he dealt with Mr . Rutherfurd , about the old man ’ s age , and how many years he thought the miserable old soul could cling to meat . My questions about the flaying and curse went ignored until they were the only subject of my letters .
In spring , my father finally agreed to speak in person . We met at the old pub in town . I was delighted to see him after so long … and slightly hurt when he didn ’ t wave back . “ Damn Maggie for opening her mouth ,” he finally said when we settled into our beers . “ You can ’ t talk about it anymore .”
“ You saw the face , too , then ?”
His body tensed , as if he meant to hit me . “ Stop . Forget what you heard .”
“ I work with that man six days a week . I live in the house . I need to know if I ’ m in any sort of trouble .”
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