Death - 16

“I said, how old do you think I am?”

“Fifteen?” he hazarded.

“I’m sixteen,” she wailed. “And do you know how long I’ve been sixteen for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t under—”

“No, you wouldn’t. No one would.” She blew her nose again, and despite her shaking hands nevertheless carefully tucked the rather damp hanky back up her sleeve.

“You’re allowed out,” she said. “You haven’t been here long enough to notice. Time stands still here, haven’t you noticed? Oh, something passes, but it’s not real time. He can’t create real time.”

“Oh.”

When she spoke again it was in the thin, careful and above all brave voice of someone who has pulled themselves together despite overwhelming odds but might let go again at any moment.

“I’ve been sixteen for thirty-five years.”

“Oh?”

“It was bad enough the first year.”

***

Mort p94