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"I see a man with one leg," announced Duncan Garp, searching the streets and windows of Manhattan for all the crippled and misarranged--a task that could take years.
"Please stop it, Duncan," Garp said to him.
"If you really want to go, Garp," Roberta Muldoon whispered to him, "you'll have to go in drag."
"If it's all that tough for a man to get in," Garp snapped at Roberta, "you better hope they don't have a chromosome check at the door." He felt instantly sorry he'd said that; he saw Roberta wince as if he'd slapped her and he took both her big hands in his and held them until he felt her squeeze him back. "Sorry," he whispered. "If I've got to go in drag, it's a good thing you're here to help me dress up. I mean, you're an old hand at that, right?"
"Right," Roberta said.
"This is ridiculous," John Wolf said.
"If some of those women recognize you," Roberta told Garp, "they'll tear you limb from limb. At the very least, they won't let you in the door."
Helen came back in the office with Jenny Garp squawking on her hip.
"I've called Dean Bodger," she told Garp. "I asked him to try to reach Daddy. It's just not like him, to be nowhere."
Garp shook his head.
"We should just go to the airport now," Helen told him. "Rent a car in Boston, drive to Steering. Let the children rest," she said. "Then if you want to run back to New York on some crusade, you can do it."
"You go," Garp said. "I'll take a plane and rent my own car later."
"That's silly," Helen said.
"And needlessly expensive," Roberta said.
"I have a lot of money now," Garp said; his wry smile to John Wolf was not returned.
John Wolf volunteered to take Helen and the kids to the airport.
"One man with one arm, one man with one leg, two people who limped," said Duncan, "and someone without any nose."
"You should wait awhile and get a look at your father," Roberta Muldoon said.
Garp thought of himself: a grieving ex-wrestler, in drag for his mother's memorial service. He kissed Helen and the children, and even John Wolf. "Don't worry about your dad," Garp told Helen.
"And don't worry about Garp," Roberta told Helen. "I'm going to disguise him so that everyone will leave him alone."
"I wish you'd try to leave everyone alone," Helen told Garp.
There was suddenly another woman in John Wolf's crowded office; no one had noticed her, but she had been trying to get John Wolf's attention. When she spoke, she spoke out in a single, clear moment of silence and everyone looked at her.
"Mr. Wolf?" the woman said. She was old and brown-black-gray, and her feet appeared to be killing her; she wore an electrical extension cord, wrapped twice around her thick waist.
"Yes, Jillsy?" John Wolf said, and Garp stared at the woman. It was Jillsy Sloper, of course; John Wolf should have known that writers remember names.
"I was wonderin'," Jillsy said, "if I could get off early this afternoon--if you'd say a word for me, because I want to go to that funeral." She spoke with her chin down, a stiff mutter of bitten words--as few as possible. She did not like to open her mouth around strangers; also, she recognized Garp and she didn't want to be introduced to him--not ever.
"Yes, of course you can," John Wolf said, quickly. He didn't want to introduce Jillsy Sloper to Garp any more than she wanted it.
"Just a minute," Garp said. Jillsy Sloper and John Wolf froze. "Are you Jillsy Sloper?" Garp asked her.
"No!" John Wolf blurted. Garp glared at him.
"How do you do?" Jillsy said to Garp; she would not look at him.
"How do you do?" Garp said. He could see at a glance that this sorrowful woman had not, as John Wolf said, "loved" his book.
