How to Fall by Edith Pearlman Page B

dormitory? It’s just a few blocks away.”
    â€œNo, thank you.”

    Donna had to take Michelle aside. “I think perhaps—if you’re just nearby, like an old tree, she’ll eventually come to you.”
    â€œShe’s so lonely,” wailed Michelle.
    â€œLittle Cassandra would love to build a block tower.”
    â€œCassandra’s no challenge.”
    â€œYes, well, but,” murmured Donna. “Okay?”
    When Rhea did play she played by herself: arranged the doll house, or drew elaborate diagrams that looked like plans for lace tablecloths. Meanwhile Signe actually did crochet, her hands and hook converting a ball of wheat-colored thread into a long loose fabric. The ball of thread lay in a canvas sack, and the fabric she made dropped slowly into the sack too, and so none of the staff knew whether Signe was making afghan strips or dresser scarves or just yards of trimmings. The woman was as silent and as absorbed as her daughter. Once in awhile, though, when one of the toddlers became difficult, she would put down her crocheting, rise from the chair, and pick up the whining or bawling or flailing child. The child grew instantly quiet, either borrowing Signe’s composure or becoming paralyzed with terror. After a few minutes Signe set the youngster down and returned to her work, her scar glistening like the trail of a tear.
    Â 
    The winter wore on. There were two fist fights. There was a fight with knives; the police had to be called. Concepta was caught drinking in the bathroom and was barred for a week. An elderly guest was found dead in her rented room. Another was found almost dead in an alley. Pam began to lead after-lunch discussions on subjects like Self-Esteem and Expectations. Cassandra and her
mother stopped coming to the Ladle. Over dessert one afternoon Donna wondered aloud what had become of them. Her table erupted with answers.
    â€œThey went South.”
    â€œThey went to New York.”
    â€œThe gran took them back.”
    â€œShe married that sonofabitch.”
    Donna was impressed by this group confabulation. She lit a rare cigarette. Cassandra and her mother would return. Or else they would not.
    â€œBut all those explanations can’t be true,” said Michelle to Donna as she took away the dishes.
    â€œSure they can. Seriatim. It’s not our business, toots.”
    â€œWhose business is it?”
    â€œThe parole officer’s. You’ve got to take some things as you find them, Michelle.”
    Michelle wheeled furiously away. She deposited her stack of dishes in the pass-through. Noisily scraping a chair, she sat down beside a guest who had once practiced law. Donna heard the girl enthusiastically propose that the former lawyer write down some of her experiences. The delighted guest understood this as an invitation to dictate her autobiography. “I am born,” she began.
    Donna considered rescuing her acolyte, thought better of it, took refuge in the Children’s Room. Within a few minutes she was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Ricky Mendozo was sniffling in her lap. Nathaniel and Elijah were lining up trucks, squabbling lightly. Bitsy lounged in the doorway, a teddy bear under her arm.
    â€œThe sauce on the fish was funny today,” said Bitsy. “Did you make it, Donna?”

    â€œJosie made it.”
    â€œThe volunteer that looks like a parrot?”
    â€œShe has red hair and dresses colorfully,” Donna sidestepped.
    â€œWhat’s in that sauce, huh?”
    â€œYoghurt and mayonnaise.”
    â€œWhere’s my Nathaniel!” said Nathaniel’s mother, bursting past Bitsy.
    â€œI prefer lemon butter,” said Bitsy.
    â€œYou, Nathaniel. Ain’t you ready?”
    Nathaniel ran toward Donna. Ricky, still in Donna’s lap, gave him a feeble kick. Nathaniel yelled and punched Ricky. Nathaniel’s mother slapped Nathaniel. Elijah threw a truck at Bitsy.
    The trouble