Free Indigo by Richard Wiley

tall. She had an open and beautiful face and eyes that seemed to scan Jerry quickly, ignoring his principal’s facade and looking directly at the man underneath. She was delightful. “Good of you to see me,” she said.
    Jerry opened the door to the inner office and waited while the woman walked through. She moved like an American and he quickly thought of the comatose minister’s secretary again. Once inside the room he turned and shook the woman’s hand. “How do you do?” he said.
    He felt foolish, a little nervous to have such a beautiful woman so close, but he nevertheless sat down on the same side of his desk as she did. It then occurred to him that perhaps he’d picked up a virus in that cell; he was flushed and suddenly so nervous he thought he might be ill.
    â€œWould you like some coffee?” he asked. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”
    â€œNo,” the woman said. “I have only come to pay my respects. I promised I would do so, so here I am.”
    Jerry didn’t understand but he pressed forward, asking, “How is your family? I trust everyone is well.” Now, if she chose to, she could tell him the truth. Though she had said barely a word Jerry was hopeful that he’d found someone he could trust. Perhaps this woman would be his friend, someone familiar with the enemy camp.
    But the woman seemed surprised and said only, “Actually they are in the east and I have not yet had time to look in on them.”
    Good, thought Jerry. Nurudeen was not in school because he was in the east. Already this conversation was proving to be beneficial.
    â€œI am very glad that you have come,” he said. “Now, at least, we will be able to clear up some of the confusion.”
    The woman smiled. “I am very happy to be here,” she said, “but I am beginning to think we are talking at cross-purposes. I am Pamela…? I left a message before. I was under the impression that you were expecting me.”
    Jerry tried to remember Nurudeen’s family name. He wanted to address the woman formally, to tell her that he admired her courage, he wanted to take her hand. “You aren’t Nurudeen’s stepmother, are you?” he asked.
    â€œGoodness, no,” said Pamela. “I am Marge’s friend, the chiropractor. Didn’t she write you that I would come?”
    Jerry was stunned and then he actually did, for an instant, touch the woman’s hand. He remembered Marge’s letter and reached into his pocket, fishing around until he found one of her spinal-column name cards.
    â€œYes, yes,” he said, “forgive me. I’ve been under such strain. I’m afraid I’ve been acting like a fool.”
    But Pamela put her hand up. “I know,” she said, “I’ve been reading the papers. I didn’t want to bother you, but I did want to fulfill my promise to Marge.”
    Jerry had no clear idea why, but he felt downright light-hearted, glad to have Nurudeen out of the picture, happy to have someone new around. He smiled and smiled. “It’s good to meet you,” he said. “How is Marge? Please, tell me everything that’s new.”
    But Pamela didn’t want to talk about Marge. She saw that Jerry was on the verge of some kind of breakdown and she gave him a careful look. “You really are a wreck,” she said. “And what an awful situation.”
    Jerry was hunched up in his chair, looking at her out of a crooked head. “It’s a terrible situation,” he said. “I still have no idea what I will do.”
    Pamela nodded and then stood up and began clearing the papers and other items from the broad expanse of Jerry’s desk. “This is not proper,” she said, “but it will have to do.” She then slipped out of her shoes and ordered him up onto his desk, telling him to lie down along the desk’s near edge. The expression on her face was one of