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a pregnant woman before. Two doors opened across the hall, and a moment later, there was the sound of running feet on the stairs above, and Mrs. Weissman was putting damp cloths on Jean's head, as the boy backed slowly away and then hurried down the stairs. All he wanted to do was get out of the stifling little building. Jean was moaning by then, and Mrs. Weissman and two other ladies were leading her to the couch where she slept now. It was the same couch where the baby had been conceived, where she had lain and made love with Andy … Andy … Andy.… “We regret to inform you … your husband died in the service of his country … killed in action at Guadalcanal … in action … in action…” her head was reeling and she couldn't see the faces.
    “Jean … ? Jean.…” They kept calling her name, and there was something cold on her face, as they looked at her and at each other. Helen Weissman had read the telegram, and had quickly shown it to the others. “Jean.…” She came around slowly, barely able to breathe, and they helped her to sit and forced her to drink a little water. She looked blankly at Mrs. Weiss-man, and then suddenly she remembered, and the sobs strangled her more than the heat, and she couldn't catch her breath anymore, all she could do was cry and cling to the old woman who held her … he was dead … just like the others … like Mommy and Daddy and Ruthie … gone … he was gone … she would never see him again … she whimpered almost like a small child, feeling a weight in her heart that she had never felt before, even for the others. “It's all right, dear, it's all right.…” But they all knew that it wasn't, and never would be again, not for poor Andy.
    The others went back to their apartments a little while later, but Helen Weissman stayed. She didn't like the glazed look in the girl's eyes, the way she sat and stared and then suddenly began to sob, or the terrible endless crying she heard that night when she finally left Jean for a little while, and then returned to open the unlocked door and check on her again as she had all day. She had even called Jean's doctor before he left his office, and he had told Mrs. Weissman to tell Jean how sorry he was to hear the news, and warned her that Jean could go into labor from the shock, which was exactly what she was afraid of, and it was exactly what she suspected when she saw Jean press her fists into her back several times later that evening, and walk restlessly around the tiny apartment, as though it had grown too small for her in the past few hours. Her entire world had shattered around her, and there was nowhere left to go. There wasn't even a body to send home … just the memory of a tall, handsome blond boy … and the baby in her belly.
    “Are you all right?” Helen Weissman's accent made Jean smile. She had been in the country for forty years, but she still spoke with a heavy German accent. She was a wise, warm woman, and she was fond of Jean. She had lost her own husband thirty years before, and she had never remarried. She had three children in New York, who visited her from time to time, mostly to drop their respective children off so she could baby-sit, and a son who had a good job in Chicago. “You have pains?” Her eyes searched Jean's, and Jean started to shake her head. Her whole body ached after the day of crying, and yet inside she felt numb. She didn't know what she felt, just achy and hot and restless. She arched her back as though to stretch it.
    “I'm all right. Why don't you get some sleep, Mrs. Weissman?” Her voice was hoarse after the long day of crying. She glanced at the kitchen clock and registered the fact that it had been fifteen hours since she had gotten the telegram telling her about Andy … fifteen hours, it felt like fifteen years … a thousand years … she walked around the room again as Helen Weissman watched her.
    “You want to go for a walk outside?” The train whizzed past nearby and