Joan wondered why a civilization that could build mighty spaceships could not cope with plumbing? Or was it a civilization?
She washed her hands and went out. The bed seemed to have been slept in no more than a couple of nights; she decided it would be presumptuous to change sheets. As she was straightening the bed she noticed lipstick on one pillow—turned it over, (Gigi?) (Might be, Boss, it's her shade. Proves nothing.)
(Now what?) (Work around the edges—don't ever touch Joe's stuff. You can pick up a tube of paint and dust under it... but only if you put it down exactly where you found it.)
The edges kept her busy for a time. It seemed likely that Joe must have noticed her—but he gave no sign. The painting seemed finished but he was still working on it.
The sink was loaded; she found soap powder and got busy.
Once she had dishes washed, dried, and put away, and the sink was sparkling as the dishes, she looked over the larder. (Eunice, did you keep house with so few staples?) (Boss, I didn't keep many perishables on hand—but this is skimpier than I ever kept it. Joe doesn't think about such things. I never let him shop—because he would come back with some new hungry friend, having forgotten the bread and bacon and milk I had sent him for. Try the freezer compartment)
Joan found some Reddypax in freeze—dinners, a carton of vanilla ice cream almost full, spaghetti, pizza of several sorts. There were more of the last, so she decided she could not go wrong offering them pizza. What else? No fresh vegetables— Fruit? Yes, a small can of fruit salad, hardly enough but she could put it over scoops of ice cream, plus wafers if she could find any. Yes, lemon snaps. Not much of a meal but she didn't have much to work with. She started getting things ready.
Set the table for three? Well, she was either going to be accepted—or sent home; she set it for three. (Eunice, there are only two chairs.) (The kitchen stool adjusts in height, Boss.) (I'm stupid.) (Wouldn't have bet you could find your way around a kitchen at all.) (Maybe I wouldn't have learned if Mama had had a daughter. I'll bet I've cooked more meals than you have, sweetheart—not that this is cooking.)
Just as Joan had everything laid out she heard Joe says "Rest, Gigi."
She turned around. "Joe, will you two have supper now? It's ready to flash."
Joe Branca turned at her voice, looked at her—started to speak, and with pitiful suddenness went to pieces.
His features broke, he started to sob, his body slowly collapsed. Joan hurried toward him—and stopped abruptly. (Boss! Don't touch him!) (Oh, God, Eunice!) (Don't make it worse. Gigi has him. Down on the floor, fast! Out Mani Padme Hum.)
Joan dropped into Lotus seat "Om Mani Padme Hum." Gigi had given him a shoulder, eased him down. He sat on the floor with his head against his knees, sobbing, while Gigi knelt by him, her face showing the ages-old concern of a mother for a hurt child. "Om Mani Padme Hum." (Om Mani Padme Hum.) (Can't I help her, Eunice?) "Om Mani Padme Hum." (No, Boss. Ask Gigi to help you.) (How?) "Om Mani Padme Hum." (Ask for a Circle. Om Mani Padme Hum.)
"Gigi! Help me form a Circle. Please!"
The girl looked up, looked very startled as if seeing Joan for the first time.
"Om Mani Padme Hum. Help me, Gigi—help us both."
Gigi slid into Lotus seat by her, knee to knee, reached for Joan's left hand, took Joe's right hand. "Joe! Joe, you must listen! Close the Circle with us. Now!" She started chanting with Joan.
Joe Branca stopped sobbing, looked up, seemed not to believe what he saw. Then slowly he straightened his legs, moved until he filled the third side of the triangle and tried to assume the Padmasana. His paint-smeared shorts were too confining; they got in the way. He looked down, seemed puzzled, then started unfastening them. Gigi let go his hand and Joan's, helped him get them off. Then he settled easily into Lotus, reached for their hands. "Om Mani Padme Hum!"
As the Circle closed Joan felt a shock through her body, somewhat like electricity. She had felt it before, with three, with four, but never so strongly. Then it eased off to a sweet feeling of warmth. "Om Mani Padme Hum."
The prayer rolled around the Circle, rolled back, and was chanted in unison. They were still softly whispering when Joan stopped feeling or hearing anything—other than utter peace.
"Wake. Wake up. Come back."
Joan fluttered her eyelids, felt her eyeballs roll down. "Yes, Winnie? I'm awake."
"You said you had supper ready to flash. Want to do it? Or shall I?"
"Oh." She became aware that the Circle was still closed. "I'll do it. If I may."
Joe looked inquiringly into her face, his own face serene. "You okay? Good vibes?"
"She's okay," Gigi answered. "Go take a pee and we'll get supper on. Wash your hands; I left turpentine in the medicine cabinet."
"Okay." He got up, gave a hand to each of the girls, pulled them to their feet together, turned to do as he was told.
Joan followed Gigi to the kitchen unit, noticed the clock of the flash oven. "Gigi, is that clock right?"
"Near enough. Do you have to leave? I hope not"
"Oh, no, I can stay. But how long did we hold the Circle?"
"An hour, hour and half, maybe longer. Long enough. Does it matter?"
"No." Joan put her arms around the other girl. "Thank you, Gigi."
Gigi put her arms over Joan's, hugged her. "Thank you. This is the first time I've seen Joe truly at one with the All, accepting his karma, at peace with it, since, uh, since—"
"Since Eunice was killed?"
"Yes. He's kept coming back to the crazy notion that, if he hadn't gone to Philly to see his Maw, it wouldn't have happened. He knows that's not so—but now he knows it in his belly, I can tell." (Boss? Say hello to Gigi for me.) (Break cover?) (Oh, hell, we'd better not. I don't think she'd tell Joe—but we can't risk it. And things are okay the way they are.)
"Gigi, I think Eunice would want to thank you. If she could. Things look okay the way they are, now."
"Looks like. Say, what do I call you? I can't say, ‘Hey, you!' But ‘Johann Sebastian Bach Smith' seems like a hell of a name for a girl."
"My name is Joan, now. Uh, my full name is ‘Joan Eunice Smith.' But my middle name is, well, sort of a memorial. Rozzer?"
"Roz. That's nice, I think that's perfect—Joan. Eunice." (I think you're perfect, Boss. You did it! You know why I didn't want to come here? I was scared for Joe...but twice as scared for me.) (I knew, sweetheart. We both were scared. And so was Joe.)
"Gigi, better not use my middle name. Joe might be upset. Bad vibes."
Gigi shook her head. "I don't think so. If I'm wrong, if he needs to soak in the Circle some longer, tonight we've got the right Circle. Might not have, if he found out later."
"All right, Gigi, I'll tell him."
"Yes, but wait until after we eat. A Circle is fine and I can stay in one all day, if needed. But I'm starved. Sandwich about five hours back and I don't eat much breakfast." Gigi pulled her closer, kissed her. "So let's eat."
"Somebody say ‘eat'?"
"In a minute, Joe; we got to talking. And we need a crack at the plumbing, too. First dime is yours, hon; I'll flash the packs."
"Go ahead, Gigi."
"Oh, come along. Joe, you flash the packs."
"—like your ‘Eunice Evans Branca Memorial,' Joe. Because I don't want anyone ever to forget Eunice. Especially me."
Joe Branca nodded soberly. "Is good. Eunice ‘d like."
Suddenly he smiled. "You okay, Joan Eunice." He put down his cup, started stacking dishes, and added, "Getup you had on, same like one Eunice had."
"It was one I had seen her in, Joe, so I had one made like it."
"Good job. Dress, not skin paint. Sign painter, maybe?