Left, left, straight, knock, straight right, right. 

  "Did you awaken the prince?" 

  Never answer.  They don't speak to children. 

  The Sister in all black garb curtsied her head as she stood.  "They'll need a fresh set of sheets."  Footsteps running past the courtyard arch, long-legged boys playing tag, had the priest handing the cup and saucer to the Sister.  Her nerves were vibrating through her hands and the thin china rattled as she forced them together and onto the desk near the phone. 

  The auburn-haired woman took a deep breath in, held it, then blew the labor pain out slowly.  As the priest hurriedly walked towards the courtyard she slightly lifted the long nightgown and her barefeet left sweat marks on the rubbed to polished hallway floor.  "Good morning Sister Barbara." 

  The Sister slumped down into the rolling chair and tucked herself so that the points of her habit were exactly one and a quarter inch from the edge of the desk.  She slightly raised her long black skirt and unsnapped a leather band holding a pistol to her thick cottony stockings.  "Good morning Miss."  The barefeet got close as the woman pulled the shedyule to an angle where she could read it.  Out down from one long arm in sleeve and into her palm came the camel-licked glass of hard salt. The items were exchanged.

  When Sister Barbara waddled away the woman sat in the chair.  "What's the face for?" 

  "At least Rosemary clears a space for me in the file cabinet." 

  "Different kind of secretary." The birds chirping.  Horns on cars and bicycle bells.

  The barefoot nudged my leg.  I whispered into the wristwatch now.

  "Whose this?" 

  "A detective." 

  "What's on his head?" 

  "It's a graduation cap," the man said of the parachute/kite/jockey outfits pie hat.  A whistle blew.  A unicyclist came wheeling by and braked in front of the man's dress shoe.  Two people did a windmill cartwheel stunt across the hallway.  

  Not a scuff mark, the auburn-haired woman left the detective in charge.