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The man with the beard, the driver of the truck, rolled down his window, leaned out, and in a thick southern accent said, “Miss? I don’t mean to frighten you, but this is not the safest part of Memphis.”

“I’ll be okay,” Graciella said, and kept walking.

The truck kept pace. “All due respect, miss, I don’t think you will.”

It could have been a threat but didn’t really sound like one.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’d love to believe that and go on about my business,” the driver said. “But I’d love more to get you to someplace where I don’t have to spend the rest of the night worrying what happened, and thinking I shoulda done something.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you!” Graciella raged suddenly. “I’ve already had like eight guys ask me. I’m not a hooker. I’m not a prostitute! I’m a musician! I’m a songwriter!”

She had stopped long enough to say that, to scream it really.

The man with the beard was annoyed and rolled up his window and drove off. But he stopped after fifty feet and cam

e back. “Miss, my Bible says . . . well, you tell it, Perry. Matthew twenty-five, verse thirty-four and just keep going till I tell you to stop.”

Perry was the youngest of the three and after biting his lip to aid his memory, began to recite. “Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungry, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungry, and fed thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? Or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

“That’ll do,” the father said proudly. “My boy Perry. He has the gift of memory, almost photographic, if you can believe that.”

“Good grief,” Haarm muttered. “She can’t be such a fool as to be taken in by Bible-thumping rustics.”

But Graciella had stopped walking. She was listening. Exhaustion showed in every small movement she made.

“So, here’s what I propose to do,” the man with the beard said. “I know of a mission that takes in kids and runaways. It’s about, oh, maybe three miles from here. They’ll feed you, they’ll let you take a shower, and they’ll give you a clean bed for the night.”

“I’m fine,” Graciella said, but she was weakening.

“We’re about to see a rape,” Haarm said. Was he being calm and detached about it? Or was he too calm and detached?

“Now, miss, you could come sit up here and Josh could go in the back, he likes it there, but I reckon that would get your back up a little. So how about you climb in the back, and I promise I’ll drive nice and slow. Sound like a deal?”

Graciella had no more will to resist. She nodded wordlessly, and climbed into the bed of the pickup truck.

They drove away slowly and we followed, three voyeurs expecting the worst. I was clenched against it, gritting my teeth, wondering how much of what was to come had to be observed by me. I had already seen a younger Graciella with her demon father, I did not want to see more.

But to my amazement the pickup truck drove slowly through nearly abandoned streets until it reached a church. There the bearded man helped Graciella down and walked her to a side door.

An elderly black woman with a bird’s nest of gray hair and the wiry energy of healthy old age shook the man’s hand and guided Graciella inside. The man with the beard slipped the old woman a twenty-dollar bill, the only contents of his wallet.

By the time Graciella had turned in the doorway to thank them, they were tooling away down the street.

“Okay, I admit, I am surprised,” Haarm said.

“Christians behaving like Christians,” I said.

“Probably decided they’d get caught,” Haarm said, and his tone was condescending, as though I were younger than he and foolish to boot.

“It does not do to become cynical,” Messenger said.

“How can you not, given what we see?” Haarm shot back. I was shocked at the easy way he had of challenging Messenger. I half expected Messenger to deliver a smack down.

“If there is no good in the world, then there is no hope and we are accomplishing nothing,” Messenger said. “If we lose sight of good, we are lost.”

Haarm rolled his eyes, but at me, with a conspiratorial wink, as though I would join him in laughing at Messenger.