On my way into the kitchen for a cup of tea I heard him retching and then the toilet flush.

The bathroom door opened and Douglas emerged, looking amazingly healthy.

“Hey, geisha girl,” he said.

I pretended to be fascinated by a conversation in the nurses’ station.

“You do have beautiful hair,” he said. “Satin. Is it like that on the rest of you?” He came up slyly beside me and pressed his nose into the crown of my head. “Mmm. Smells good too.”

“Get away from me.”

“Don’t be so skittish.” He yanked at my braid and tears popped into my eyes. “Come on, I want to show you something.” Still holding my hair, he dragged me along the hall a few feet into the recess where the phone was. We called it a booth, though it didn’t have a door. He let go of my braid and turned me around so that I was facing him, and then he kissed me. I could feel the soft squishiness of his belly, surprisingly comforting, and also between his thighs where I was afraid to lean into. His lips were chapped. He twisted my head around to insert his tongue and despite his having been sick, his saliva was still as sweet as a child’s from the candy, although I could taste the other too at the back of my throat.

He said into my ear: “I’ve always wondered about what they say about Oriental women. Is it true, Sally? Tell me, is it true? Are their cunts, you know, slanted?”

“Fuck you.”

“Leave her alone.”

It was Mel, coming down the back stairs.

“Ah, don’t worry, she’s not my type anyway. Too skinny.” He released me.

Mel said: “Touch her again and I’ll kill you.”

“Christ, she let me do it.”

I ducked into the bathroom without asking the MH on duty like I was supposed to. The faint stench of Douglas’s half-digested dinner still clouded the air. I could report him, get him into a heap of trouble, but I knew I wasn’t going to. I took a piece of toilet paper and scrubbed at the corners of my mouth, which were stained a carnival red from the licorice juice, like the little-girl lipsticks Aunty Mabel used to give Marty and me for Christmas.

In group Mel told us that when he was little his older cousins had locked him in the garage and pulled down his pants and tortured him by sticking pins into his buttocks. It was a kind of game, he said.

“How old were you?” the MH asked.

“I’d just learned to walk,” Mel said tersely, not looking at anyone.

“Two?”

“Something like that.”

“How often did this happen?”

“Every single Saturday.”

“Did you tell your parents?”

What a stupid question, I thought.

“No,” said Mel. “I couldn’t talk very well.”

“But they must have wondered about the scars.”

Mel shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Hi, Ma. I got your messages.”

“How are you? How is your health?”

“I’m okay. They’re taking care of me.”

“Enough to eat?”

“Yeah, there’s plenty to eat. Ma, my group thinks it’s better if you don’t call me anymore.”

“Ah? What’s this? Who says this?”

“They think it’s better if we have less contact.”

“I don’t understand this at all, Sal-lee. This is not clear thinking.”

“Yeah, well, you can talk to them yourself if you want.”

“I leave you alone the first two days, because Valeric says let her adjust.”

“I know, Ma. Thank you.”

“So what’s this? They want to keep me away from my daughter?”

“They think it would be better if I didn’t have any outside influences.”

“Your mother is not outside. Next Tuesday I’m coming. They told me to come, for family night.”

“Family therapy. That’s right.”

“You want me bring anything?”

“No, Ma, that’s okay.”

“How about clothes?”

“No, Ma, I’m fine, they have a laundry room here and everything.”

“Valeric says there’s tennis courts there too.”

“Yes, Ma, but it’s too cold to play tennis.”

“Valeric says it’s a very prestigious place.” I wanted to laugh. Was Ma going to brag about me being in here? But then she continued: “You know your sister call me from south of France.”

“Really?”

“She’s having great time. She says maybe go to Africa on safari next. You sure you don’t want me bring anything? Those plum candies you like so much?”

“Yes, Ma, I’m sure.”

From my place on the window seat, I spotted Valeric right away, lanky in her big black coat, hair tied back in a fuchsia scarf, striding up the walk. There was a flurry in the nurses’ station when she asked for me.

And then there she was, in the dayroom doorway, holding the battered brown briefcase full of legal pads she used to take notes. I was never so glad to see anyone in my life.

“Well,” she said. “You look better. Your color has come back.”

We had our session in my bedroom, she sitting in the visitor’s chair while I lay on the bed. She leafed through the file folder that contained my chart. “I see you’re still on suicide precautions.”

“Yes.”

“Is that necessary?”

“No.”

“You don’t have any more thoughts about killing yourself?”

“Not in the near future.”

“Sally, this isn’t a game.”

“I’m not going to commit suicide.”

“I see. So, what I understand, is that you’re not contemplating suicide anymore, but you’re not exactly jumping up and down at the prospect of living either.”

“You got it.” I couldn’t figure how she’d done that, I’d thought I was fine, but now I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t let her see that she’d made me cry.

“I’m going to have them ease up on the Stelazine. So you’ll feel something, even if it is pain. Your appetite?”

“Okay.”

She frowned, peering at something.

“It says here you’ve been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares?”

“I wake up a lot. But that’s nothing new.”

The unit was full of rustlings, and my bedroom door stayed ajar, so I heard all of it. The back and forth to the bathroom, the shivery emergency shrill of the phone in the nurses’ station, staff pouring a cup of coffee or getting stuff out of the refrigerator in the kitchenette.

“Are you still seeing ghosts?”

I’d told Valeric about my father—what happened when I was eight, how I had learned to forget and not forget, how he’d started reappearing on the streets of Manhattan.

“He’s not here,” I told her.

“Have you talked about it in group?”

“Him. Not the ghost.”

“I see,” she said.

“When am I going to get out of here?” I asked.

“When I’m convinced you can act like a responsible human being.”

I sighed. On the far wall I noticed faint tape marks where some other patient had once put up a poster. Was it possible that someone desperate enough to be on Status One would care that much about their surroundings?

After our session, I walked Valeric out to the foyer. In the mirror frame over the sign-out book was tucked a note telling Douglas to phone his mother.

“I’ll see you next week, sweetie,” Valeric said, laying her hand lightly on the side of my face. “Remember, we’re cutting down on the meds. Let me know how it goes.”

A little while later, when Pajama Man and I were eating our lunches, Douglas meandered into the dayroom, kicking at the door frame with his sneaker. “Sheeet,” he muttered, and collapsed into one of the TV armchairs beside Pajama Man. The Young and the Restless was on. One of the older female characters had on a crescent-shaped gold necklace and matching earrings that I found gaudy but I knew Lillith would like.

“Don’t forget to call your mother,” I said to Douglas.

He turned around and gave me a level look. “You are such a fake, Sally Wang.”

“Exactly what do you mean by that?”

He groaned and yawned, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I can see straight through that goody-goody act of yours. You pretend to be so fucking sweet, but actually you’re wondering what the hell you’re doing in here with all the loonies. You think you’re so much better than the rest of us.”