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and strong, fluttering with a noise like a sail loose in the breeze.
    Christ, I thought. There’s a bird caught somewhere downstairs.
    And not just a bird. It’s a condor, at least. My mind went blank, canceled by the single thought: the feather.
    I took each step slowly, expectantly, descending into the dark vault of my home.

9
    The light wouldn’t go on in the first room I tried. The light switch in the next room worked, but only a carpenter’s lamp flashed on, a shape like a helmet full of light. Furniture loomed under plastic, the plastic glazed with plaster dust.
    I flinched. The rustling of the wings receded before me, a coy presence.
    There is an instinctive sense of size, of girth, of the heft and presence of a large, living creature. That’s what I felt now. There was a creature my size, or slightly smaller, in my house.
    Not every room was being remodeled, not every room was stripped to its ribs. But now every room I entered, in the poor light, was one under repairs, dusty, shrouded. I did not want to speak out loud. It’s terrible when that happens—when the sound of one’s own voice fills a room, puny and unreal. “Show me where you are,” I said, my voice sounding thin.
    Was there a gap in my sense of time? There seemed to be. When I was aware of myself, and the walls around me, the sound of the wings was gone.
    There was nothing.
    I laughed, a sound that made the silence of the place all the worse. So, you see, I told myself. Everything is fine. No need to worry.
    I experimented mentally with a phrase: auditory hallucinations. I reasoned with myself. I could be suffering a delusion of some sort. But why did I feel so wide-awake, so keen?
    Jesus, I thought. What if it’s happening to me?
    But then—someone was there, in the distant hall, in the next room, plaster grit crisp underfoot.
    This was not a winged creature. This was the step of someone human. I recognized this step. But surely, I thought, this is too wonderful to be true.
    But maybe I was wrong. I shrank back against the solid expanse of a wall.
    Real. She was real.
    â€œThat’s exactly where I left you,” she said.
    The light, and the shadow, drifted over her. A small woman, dark, shapely. Anyone else would have been startled to find me in half light, but she smiled and put her arms out and held me.
    â€œWhat happened?” she said. “Strater, you’re trembling.”
    â€œDidn’t you hear me?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I didn’t. I just got here.”
    I kissed her. I held her close to me, and for a long time I did nothing but keep her in my arms.
    Then I gazed into her eyes, hungry for the sight of her. She knew how I felt, and responded, kissing my lips, the lids of my eyes, as though curing me of every doubt I had ever endured.
    She asked, after a long, intimate silence, “What happened with DeVere?”
    â€œNothing.” I did not want to talk about DeVere, or about myself. Our time together was precious. “They haven’t decided yet. About the award. The jury’s still considering.”
    I could not shake the thought that Nona wasn’t really here, that she was an illusion. I ran my fingertips over her face, her lips, the soft feathering of her eyebrows, like a blind man seeking to reassure himself. “They must be blind,” she said. “There’s nothing to think about. Your work is the best.”
    The sound of her voice was medicine. “The airports were a mess?”
    â€œUnbelievable. A strike in one city, and people everywhere are sleeping on airport floors.”
    Her finger had healed. I kissed the place where I had put the Band-Aid.
    â€œThey loved my proposal,” she said. “They loved it, Strater.” She used my nickname with what sounded to me like special affection. “But I couldn’t get any money out of any of them. Children aren’t in fashion.”
    I cupped Nona’s face so I could