“That’s hardly advisable,” said the admiral.
The sergeant lifted the mat. “Might make a heck of a chest protector,” he said, sizing it across his stomach. “May I?”
“Go ahead,” said Judith.
The sergeant tucked the edge of the mat into his belt, so it projected like a section of cone from his waist, terminating at chin level. “Hey hey!” he said, beaming.
“We’re off, then,” said the lieutenant, moving aside to let the admiral use the steps. She clasped Judith’s hand in both of hers. “For everything, thanks.” Judith nodded, and the lieutenant turned away.
John and the younger woman had walked the sleepy man out to the curb. The rest of the militia trickled across the yard and bunched around them. Several of them put a hand out to help support the sleepy man, and they began to advance along the pavement. The sleepy man looked conspicuous among them without a hat, Judith thought. She hoped they’d find him one.
She stood and watched them from the porch. Soon they were at the end of the block, just a little black knot headed into the mist. She couldn’t make out the sleepy man, couldn’t distinguish any of them. God help him, she thought, then corrected it to, God help them. But that wasn’t right either. God bless them? God bless us all? Just before they were completely out of sight she narrowed it to a curt God bless, as though someone had only sneezed.
About the Author
JONATHAN LETHEM is the author of six novels, including Motherless Brooklyn, The Fortress of Solitude, and Gun, with Occasional Music. He lives in Brooklyn.