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  "Oh, that belt," said Mr. Stoner and he suppressed a nervous laugh. Then seriously he said, "Do you want me to remove it?"

  "Of course not," said Mrs. Winters. "Whatever gave you that idea? Mr. Stoner can put his belts wherever he likes, can't he, Sue Ann? Is your room all right, Mr. Stoner?" She brushed some cheese crumbs from her own new dress. It was gray and flowered with peach blossoms. Mr. Stoner nodded yes.

  "Mr. Stoner?" said Sue Ann. "You make a lot of money? I hear you've already paid the entire summer's rent on that room."

  "Sue Ann! Mr. Stoner is a serious art student. You don't ask a serious art student questions like that."

  "I'm just trying to keep up my part of the conversation, Mama. Mr. Stoner's mighty quiet."

  "You'll have to forgive Sue Ann, Mr. Stoner," said Mrs. Winters. "She may seem rough on the surface but underneath she's pure gold."

  "Is that right?" responded Mr. Stoner and he turned to Sue Ann as though he were seeing her for the first time. Sue Ann returned his stare. His upper front teeth, she noticed, hung down like little chisels.

  "Yes, sir," said Mrs. Winters. "I want the world to know that Sue Ann is one beauty of an unclaimed treasure." Mr. Stoner squinted his eyes, leaned over, and scrutinized Sue Ann section by section. Sue Ann shifted her weight as though preparing to spring.

  Mr. Stoner coughed but finally said, "Beauty is really a matter of shadows and light." He leaned back in his chair and fanned himself with his bowler.

  "That's what I've always thought," mumbled Mrs. Winters. She paused and fumbled with the pendant at her throat, then said, "You are a student of art, Mr. Stoner. I can't tell you how good it is to have a student of art in this house, someone to talk to about things . . . cultural. My late husband had a friend who was an artist. Tell me, Mr. Stoner, don't you think that light is actually defined by shadows?"

  "Yes," said Mr. Stoner, and his voice dropped and eyes shifted from side to side. "And some say that good is defined by the boundaries of evil." The last of

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  his sentence dropped to a whisper. Sue Ann's rapid breathing could be heard throughout the room.

  "Oh, Mr. Stoner," said Mrs. Winters. "That's profound. It's so nice to have a profound man in this house. I wish you could have known my late husband's friend who was a painter. He was so interesting."

  "What made you decide to become an art student?" asked Sue Ann.

  Mr. Stoner raised his sight from the bowler hat in his lap. His smile vanished into a thin, straight line and his eyes, small and dark, bore into her own. "It's . . . it's something I felt called to do."

  "It's what?" asked Sue Ann.

  "He said he was called, Sue Ann. Pay attention. She's a good girl, Mr. Stoner, but sometimes she doesn't catch things like the rest of us."

  "Well, at least I don't have your high blood pressure," said Sue Ann.

  "Mr. Stoner is not interested in my high blood pressure, are you, Mr. Stoner?" Mr. Stoner's pendulum gaze swung from Mrs. Winters to Sue Ann and back and forth again.

  At a pause in the conversation, Mr. Stoner took from his coat pocket a pencil sketch of Sue Ann and handed it to her. "Oh," she said with lowered voice. "Where did you get that?"

  "I drew it. I drew a little of it each night. Keep it. It's for you."

  "That's mighty nice of you," said Mrs. Winters. "Isn't that nice, Sue Ann?"

  "And your picture," Mr. Stoner said as he turned to Mrs. Winters, "will be ready at summer's end. It'll be a full-size portrait. I may need you to pose a bit, but you must not see the picture until it is finished. It will be a surprise."

  "You mean you are going to paint me?" asked Mrs. Winters and a hand went to her breast in weak protest.

  "Yes, you have an interesting essence."

  Mrs. Winters touched her hand to her hair and looked to a ceiling corner and said coyly: "But what if I don't like the painting?"

  "Mama, don't jump the gun," said Sue Ann. "You've only seen one of Mr. Stoner's pictures. How do you know you won't like it?" Then turning her head to Mr. Stoner, she said: "Don't mind her, Mr. Stoner. She jumps to conclusions too much. Draws too many phony conclusions." The two women glared at each other.

  At dinner, Mr. Stoner talked about shadow and light and how a black-and-white portrait could reveal a person's very soul. And he talked about religion. Mrs. Winters shifted uncomfortably, spilling coffee. Sue Ann giggled. Mr. Stoner went on and on about the wisdom in shadow and light. They ate as dusty light sifted through the venetian blinds closed against the day's heat and settled on their lips all slick with lamb. Mrs. Winters sighed heavily.

  The next morning at breakfast the two women discussed the evening before. "I thought he would stare a hole in my bosom," said Mrs. Winters.

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  "It wasn't your bosom he was leering at, Mama, it was that gold K-Mart pendant hanging there," replied Sue Ann through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "And I thought he would wear out that hat of his just by kneading it."

  "And whenever he said anything," added Mrs. Winters, "it was about light and shadows and crosses."

  "Mama, have you ever thought that artists may like gold?" Sue Ann licked the jelly spoon clean. "Have you ever actually known an art student before?"

  "Not personally."

  "Well, I guess we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

  "What conclusions?" asked Mrs. Winters with concern.

  "Oh, I don't know," said Sue Ann tiredly.

  "We'll just leave it at that, then," said Mrs. Winters, whipping up a surge of suds at the sink for the morning dishes. She paused and looked through the little window above the sink. A silver beam of morning light pierced her sight like a dagger. She stared into the relentless glare until her eyes watered and twitched. Finally, she said: "I'll bet my eyeteeth that Mr. Stoner is as honest and reliable as they come."

  "I don't know about his honesty," sighed Sue Ann, "but any man who practically locks his chifforobe doors with a belt to keep out two helpless women seems mighty peculiar to me."

  The two women often watched through the curtains when Mr. Stoner left the premises. They noted the ever-present umbrella. "He's prepared for the afternoon shower," said Mrs. Winters.

  "It's early morning, Mama."

  They noted the constant lack of books or artist paraphernalia. "His is a brilliant mind," said Mrs. Winters.

  "He's a hoax," said Sue Ann. "Maybe he isn't a student at all." They looked at each other, and there was a touch of fear in the glance. With time, Sue Ann's suspicions grew more serious, but Mrs. Winters, though often touched by temporary doubt, never lost real faith. "He's like a son," she said one day, as much to herself as to Sue Ann.

  "Well, he's no brother of mine," Sue Ann shot back. She disliked the man's humming when in his room. But mostly she disliked her mother's waiting to see her completed portrait as though it would be the pinnacle of her life.

  Sue Ann's sister, Ella, was married to a Jacksonville policeman, and Sue Ann decided to make inquiries about Mr. Stoner. So the next Thursday evening she boarded the 7:15 Greyhound to Jacksonville to visit Ella and do a little shopping. The trip was a relatively short one, and Sue Ann made the journey about once a month.

  "What did you say his name was?" asked Ella at the Jacksonville bus station. She was a large, blond woman, almost albino-like.

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  "Carlyle Stoner. He drives a 1950 Hudson."

  "I don't know anybody who drives a 1950 Hudson," said Ella.

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  It was dark when they reached Ella's apartment, and traces of moonbeams stretched through outside branches of hawthorn and splayed across the kitchen floor. "Are we going to play the game?" asked Sue Ann. They drew up chairs and studied the patterns of light while Sue Ann described Mr. Stoner. "What do you see?" Sue Ann asked quietly. The only sound was the distant howl of a dog.

  "I'm calling Howard," said Ella suddenly, getting up and turning on a light. "Something's not right." Howard, her husband, had acces
s to certain police files during his night duty at headquarters.

  "Stoner's not a pervert or anything, is he?" asked Sue Ann. "I'm not going to stay in the same house with a pervert."

  Ella made the call and explained the problem. Then they waited in silence for the return call. "I'm awfully glad Mr. Stoner's gone this week," said Sue Ann. "That's when I decided to come over. He's in Ocala painting orange groves."

  "How do you know?" asked Ella in a low and husky voice. "He may be down at Disney World stealing hubcaps this very minute."

  Sue Ann pondered for a few moments, then said: "Well, that's what the man said. He said, 'I'm going to Ocala,' and he walked out the door carrying a little valise and easel and things."

  They both jumped when the telephone rang. Ella said hello and listened in silence for long minutes, then hung up the receiver. "Well, you and Mama really picked out a beauty for your first roomer," she said. Then her solemnity exploded into laughter which came in waves while she told of Mr. Stoner's obsession with painting widows, his penchant for stolen art trinkets, his total lack of education. "He's a non-student," Ella howled with laughter. "I knew a regular student would do better than a 1950 Hudson."

  "What'll I do?" asked Sue Ann.

  "I wouldn't do anything. The police will catch him in some discount store one of these days loading up that closed umbrella with trinkets, and that'll be the end of your Mr. Stoner. Mama will blush all over. I'll bet that chifforobe's stuffed with junk right now."

  "Are you sure that's all on Mr. Stoner?" asked Sue Ann. "That really isn't very much."

  "That's all they got on him, sweetheart. Good luck with your next roomer. You and Mama just made a mistake." Ella blew over the mouth of her beer bottle until it went "whooo-whoo-whoo."

  "Stop making fun of me," Sue Ann said. She turned her head and peered

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  directly into the whir of the window air conditioner. The cool air blew her loosened hair into waves. "Some days I think Mama wants me and him to be sweet-hearts."

  "You think you want a sweetie?" Ella asked.

  "I don't know. I've never really had a sweetie," said Sue Ann.

  "Well," said Ella. "If you can't reform him, you could always sell cheap jewelry door to door. I won't tell Howard or anybody."

  "If I get me an honest-to-goodness sweetie," said Sue Ann, "I want him to be somebody who can take me away from things. Free me. Show me the world."

  Sue Ann's week was up Thursday and she repacked her travel bag. Ella said: "All you bought with all that shopping was that silly rhinestone pendant. Mr. Stoner making you arty?"

  "It's all I can afford," said Sue Ann. "But I think it looks good on me. Adds class."

  The bus arrived late at Sue Ann's station, and the blue neon sign buzzed angrily over the darkened sidewalk. Mr. Mooney lifted Sue Ann's bag into the trunk of his cab and climbed wearily behind the wheel of the Plymouth.

  Sue Ann noticed with mild interest that Mr. Stoner's car was not parked in its usual place. Maybe he's still gone, she thought.

  "Wait 'til Mama comes to the door," she said to the silent Mr. Mooney as he set her bag on the sidewalk. "Mama, I'm home," she called as she opened the screen door and crossed the tiles speckled with streetlight. "Mama, I'm here," she called more loudly as she opened the white, wooden door and entered the dark living room. "Mama, why don't you turn on at least one light in the house when you are expecting someone from out of town? Even you can afford that."

  She flicked on the overhead chandelier. "Mama, where the hell are you?" She went from room to room, turning on lights and looking behind doors like it might be some sort of a game. The house smelled musty and cat-like. "Mama, have you gone off somewhere?" she asked in a much quieter voice. She moved slowly down the short, dim hall that led to Mr. Stoner's room. "Mr. Stoner," she called in a whisper as she knocked on the door. "Mr. Stoner, you got your shoes on?"

  The door swung open, and the cat, wild with hunger and now horribly experienced, fled past like an evil shadow. Sue Ann turned on the ceiling light. Mrs. Winters lay on the floor, scrutinizing the thirty-watt light bulb in the ceiling. An eyelid had gone to the long-starved cat. The chifforobe door stood open, the belt now cut and on the floor, an unfinished portrait within. "Mama, are you all right?" Sue Ann asked. But when she bent over and looked into the vacant eye, she realized that all was over, that the first and final stroke had come.

  She turned to the chifforobe. The picture inside was of frozen stars; a heart-shaped moon locked in ice; and light bulbs, streetlights, leaves, and birds all connected by thin wires. From the darkest umbra came Mrs. Winters, naked,

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  clutching a church collection plate. From it spilled trinkets like bits from a shattered rainbow. Sue Ann and her broom hovered over it all like a tornado's threatening funnel. "Mama . . ." whispered Sue Ann. Then she heard Mr. Mooney's horn.

  She strode down the hall with long, deliberate steps. She would tell Mr. Mooney what had happened with a voice so calm, so sure, that he would have to believe. But when she waved from the front porch, Mr. Mooney pulled heavily on his cigar and drove off down the street.

  "Mr. Mooney!" called Sue Ann. "Mr. Mooney! Come back!" She ran into the street, but he did not hear. The cab disappeared around the corner at the end of the block, and outside the streetlight glow all was dark. But from far down the street came a new, single, yellow light, rumbling and lurching. It was Mr. Stoner's Hudson. "Mr. Mooney!" Sue Ann called. But then she caught herself and said more quietly, "I mean . . . Mr. Stoner Mr. Stoner?" He came towards her but paused under the streetlight. Her breath was sharp and fast. "You're just what I thought you were,'' she said in a whispery voice.

  "No, I'm not," he answered in his own vapory voice.

  "Yes you are. You're a pervert. You painted my mama to death. Only a pervert could do that." Mr. Stoner wouldn't believe until Sue Ann showed him the scene. This time she noticed a collection of trinkets on the chifforobe floor Mr. Stoner quickly threw his largest suitcase on the bed and frantically started packing. "Where are you going?" asked Sue Ann. "You can't leave me here," she said. "The police might come and ask me things."

  "Like what?" asked Mr. Stoner His eyes were large and restless. The sweat on his face gleamed in the dull light.

  "Like . . . why don't I like making your bed. I understand they can get real personal." The room resounded only with their breathing. "If you leave me here all alone," she said, "I'll . . . I'll tell them that you have a police record in Jacksonville." Mr. Stoner held his bowler hat in front of himself as though in supplication.

  The Hudson wouldn't start, so Mr. Stoner placed Sue Ann behind the wheel and explained what she must do. Then, from the rear, he pushed. She released the clutch, and the engine fired into action. The car moved forward with a roar. She did not know how to stop or to shift gears, so the machine whined and vibrated in its first gear, gaining speed, leaving Mr. Stoner running behind in smoke.

  Where the street ended at the campus, Sue Ann rounded the corner onto University Boulevard. She did not know how to turn on the one working headlight, so she drove by the glow from streetlights and the moon. Her initial terror subsided once she had made the turn, and she felt a sense of pride. "Look, Mama, look here," she said to passing reflections on the dashboard's dark chrome. "I'm doing something you can't do."