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dd； of course； was not on hand； though Maxine was there as his representative。 Jerry took the opportunity to ask her how much longer she thought the stalker business would be going on for。 Were the police trying to catch this woman； and prosecute her； or was poor Todd just going to have to sit it out？ Maxine said she didn't know。 She wouldn't be dealing with Todd's affairs for very much longer； she told him： it was a waste of time and energy。
The conversation； the tiny； disinterested congregation； the coffin and the thought of its unviewable contents； all sent Jerry back home to his apartment in a blacker mood than usual。 But even so； even on a day when it seemed that all decency and all hope had gone from the world； he found it impossible to take his stash of pills and finish the business。
Why； for God's sake？ Something nagged at him； that was all he knew。 Something told him： wait； just a little longer。
〃It's not over；〃 the opera…queens of his acquaintance used to say； 〃'til the fat lady sings。〃
Well； somewhere deep in his soul； he knew that the fat woman still had an aria up her sleeve。
So he kept on living； which was often a wearisome business； all the while waiting for whatever it was that was nagging at him to make itself apparent。
Finally； on the night of March 31st； it did。
The circumstances were peculiar： he had a dream so powerful that it woke him。 This in itself was odd； because he usually went to bed with a couple of scotches to wash down his sleeping pills； and as a consequence seldom woke。
But he woke tonight； and the dream he'd dreamed was crystal clear。
He had dreamed that he was sitting on the toilet； of all places； in a state of agonizing constipation （which was in his waking life a consequence of the pain…killers his doctor prescribed）。 As he sat there he realized that there were wooden boards on the floor of his toilet； not tiles as there were in life； and the cracks between the boards were so wide that he could see right down into the apartment below。 Except that it wasn't another apartment； it was…in the strange logic of this dream…another house。 Nor was it just any house。 It was Katya's dream palace that was spread below him。 And as he realized this； the gaps between the boards grew wider； so that he dropped down between them； slowly； as though he were feather…light。
And there he was； in Katya's house； in Coldheart Canyon。 He pulled up his pants and looked around。
The dream palace was in a state of considerable disrepair。 The windows were broken； and birds flew in and out； shitting on the fancy furniture。 A coyote skulked around in the kitchen； looking for scraps。 And outside in the tree there were dozens of little red…and…black…striped monkeys； chattering and screeching。 This was not so fanciful a detail as it might have seemed to someone who'd not known the house； as he had； in its heyday。 There had been monkeys there…escapees from Katya's private menagerie； and for a while it seemed the climate suited them and they would proliferate； but after a year or two some virus had decimated them。
Something about the place in its present condition made him want to leave。 He knew； however； that he couldn't。 Not without paying his respects to the lady of the house。 So rather than wait for her to show herself； he went to look for her； figuring that the sooner he found her the sooner he'd be released from this dream。 He started up the stairs。 There were flies crawling on the ground beneath his feet； so densely assembled and so sluggish that they refused to move as he ascended； obliging him to crush them under his bare feet as he climbed。
The door to the master bedroom was open。 He stepped inside； somewhat tentatively。 He had only been into the room once before。 He remembered it as being large； but here in his dream it was immense。 The drapes were partially drawn； and the sunlight that streamed between them was a curious color； almost lilac。
There was an enormous； but extremely plain； bed in the room。 And sitting on the bed was the only woman； besides his mother； whom Jerry had loved： Katya。 She was naked； or…more correctly stated…unclothed。 Ninety percent of her body's surface was covered with large snails； the mon tortoiseshell variety that every gardener curses。 They were moving all over her skin。 They were on her face； on her breasts and belly； on her thighs and shins。 Her hair was matted with their silvery trails； and thirty or forty of them were arranged on her head like a grotesque crown。 Her legs were open； and they were also investigating the crevice between her thighs。 As is so often the case in dreams he saw all this with horrid particularity。 Saw the way their boneless grey…green bodies extended from their shells as they moved over Katya's skin； their horns extending tentatively as they advanced； then retracting as they encountered an obstacle…a nipple； an ear； the knuckle of her thumb…only to stretch out again when they were certain there was no danger in the encounter。
Without speaking； Katya looked down and very delicately plucked one of the creatures off her breast。 Then she spread her legs a little wider； so that Jerry had an even more intimate view of her private parts。 He was no connoisseur； but even he could see that there was a certain prettiness to the configuration of her labia； she had the pussy of a young girl。 Putting her hands down between her legs she spread her lips and delicately applied the snail she'd taken from her breast the flesh there。
Jerry watched with a kind of appalled fascination as it responded to its new perch； expanding its horns and investigating her。
Katya sighed。 Her eyes fluttered closed。 Then； suddenly； they opened again。 When they did they were fixed on him； with startling fierceness。
〃There you are； Jerry；〃 she said； her voice full of the music he remembered from his childhood： the kind of bitter…sweet music by which he had judged the voice of every woman he'd met since。
Later he'd learned that silent movie stars had been notorious for having voices that precluded them from careers in the sound cinema： but Katya had been one of the exceptions to that rule。 She had the slightest foreign inflection （nothing recognizable； just enough to add a certain poignancy to her sentences）； otherwise she spoke with a beguiling elegance。
〃I need help；〃 she said to him。 〃Jerry； will you e to the house？ Please。 I am alone here。 Utterly alone。〃
〃What happened to Todd？〃 he said to her。
〃He walked out on me。〃
〃I can't believe that。〃
〃Well it's true。 He did。 Are you going to choose between him and me？〃
〃No； of course not。〃
〃He was just another empty shell； Jerry。 There was no substance to him。 And now I'm alone； and it's worse than death。〃
His dream…self was about to get clever and ask her how she could possibly know what death felt like； but then he thought better of asking her。 Perhaps she did indeed know。 It wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility。 He'd never understood exactly how her life had worked； up there in the house in the Canyon； but he suspected there were terrible secrets in that place。
〃What do you want me to do？〃 he asked her。
〃e back up to the Canyon；〃 she s