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promise. Unless you're out before then. If you are, call
me."
"I haven't used a telephone since I was six years
old," he admitted. Looking down at him in the laundry
room, I felt so sorry for him. He seemed small and
alone now, trapped by his own insecurities. "But," he
added, smiling, "if I do get out, I'll call you." "Good."
"Get going . . quickly," he said. "Remember,
look natural."
He turned and walked away. I stood up, took a
deep breath, and started away from the building.
When I was no more than a dozen or so feet from it, I
looked back and caught sight of someone on the third
floor standing in the window. A cloud moved over the
sun and the subsequent shade made it possible for me
to see beyond the glint of the glass.
It was Uncle Jean!
He looked down at me and then raised his hand
slowly. I could just make out the smile on his face. I
waved back and then I turned and ran as hard and as
fast as I could for the trees, not looking back until I
had arrived. The building and the grounds behind me
remained calm. I heard no shouting, saw no one
running after me. I had slipped away, thanks to Lyle. I
focused one more time on the window of Uncle Jean's
room, but I couldn't see him anymore. Then I turned
and marched through the woods to the highway. I went south as Lyle had directed and reached
the bus station which was just a small quick stop with
gas pumps, candies and cakes, homemade pralines
and soda. Fortunately, I had to wait only twenty minutes for the next bus to New Orleans. I bought my ticket from the young lady behind the counter and waited inside the store, thumbing through magazines and finally buying one just so I wouldn't be visible outside in case the institute had discovered I was
