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By Root 2657 0

old mirror in a rosewood frame; nothing remarkable, they’d got it at a yard sale, but it was the first thing one saw when one stepped inside and now even more conspicuous because it was cracked—a dramatic splatter that radiated from the center like a spider’s web. How that had happened was such a funny story that Charles had to tell it twice, though it was his re-enactment of it that was funny, really—spring housecleaning, sneezing and miserable with dust, sneezing himself right off his stepladder and landing on the mirror, which had just been washed and was on the floor.

“What I don’t understand,” said Henry, “is how you got it back up again without the glass falling out.”

“It was a miracle. I wouldn’t touch it now. Don’t you think it looks kind of wonderful?”

Which it did, there was no denying it, the spotty dark glass shattered like a kaleidoscope and refracting the room into a hundred pieces.

Not until it was time to leave did I discover, quite by accident, how the mirror had actually been broken. I was standing on the hearth, my hand resting on the mantel, when I happened to look into the fireplace. The fireplace did not work. It had a screen and a pair of andirons, but the logs that lay across them were furry with dust. But now, glancing down, I saw something else: silver sparkles, bright-needled splinters from the broken mirror, mixed with large, unmistakable shards of a gold-rimmed highball glass, the twin of the one in my own hand. They were heavy old glasses, an inch thick at the bottom. Someone had thrown this one hard, with a pretty good arm, from across the room, hard enough to break it to pieces and to shatter the looking-glass behind my head.

Two nights later, I was woken again by a knock at my door. Confused, in a foul temper, I switched on the lamp and reached blinking for my watch. It was three o’clock. “Who’s there?” I said.

“Henry,” came the surprising reply.

I let him in, somewhat reluctantly. He didn’t sit down. “Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is very important. I have a favor to ask of you.”

His tone was quick and businesslike. It alarmed me. I sat down on the edge of my bed.

“Are you listening to me?”

“What is it?” I said.

“About fifteen minutes ago I got a call from the police. Charles is in jail. He has been arrested for drunk driving. I want you to go down and get him out.”

A prickle rose on the nape of my neck. “What?” I said.

“He was driving my car. They got my name from the registration sticker. I have no idea what kind of condition he’s in.” He reached into his pocket and handed me an unsealed envelope. “I expect it’s going to cost something to get him out, I don’t know what.”

I opened the envelope. Inside was a check, blank except for Henry’s signature, and a twenty-dollar bill.

“I already told the police that I lent him the car,” said Henry.

“If there’s any question about that, have them call me.” He was standing by the window, looking out. “In the morning I’ll get in touch with a lawyer. All I want you to do is get him out of there as soon as you can.”

It took a moment or two for this to sink in.

“What about the money?” I said at last.

“Pay them whatever it costs.”

“I mean this twenty dollars.”

“You’ll have to take a taxi. I took one over here. It’s waiting downstairs.”

There was a long silence. I still wasn’t awake. I was sitting there in just an undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts.

While I dressed, he stood at the window looking out at the dark meadow, hands clasped behind his back, oblivious to the jangle of clothes-hangers and my clumsy, sleep-dazed fumbling through the bureau drawers—serene, preoccupied; lost, apparently, in his own abstract concerns.

It wasn’t until I’d dropped Henry off and was being driven, at a rapid clip, towards the dark center of town that I realized how poorly I had been apprised of the situation I was heading into. Henry hadn’t told me a thing. Had there been an accident? Was anyone hurt? Besides, if this was such a big deal—and it was Henry’s car, after all—why wasn’t he coming, too?

A lone traffic light