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"Yes?" Fat Stew asked, worriedly, and Garp could imagine frail and brainless Midge sitting up in bed beside him, as nervous as a cornered hen.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Garp said. "I didn't realize it was so late." Helen shook her head and walked abruptly out of the kitchen. Jenny appeared in the kitchen doorway; on her face was the kind of critical look only a mother can give a son. That is a look with more disappointment in it than the usual anger.

"Who the hell is this?" Stewart Percy said.

"This is Garp, sir," Garp said, a little boy again, apologizing for his genes.

"Holy shit," said Fat Stew. "What do you want?"

Jenny had neglected to tell Garp that Cushie Percy had died months ago; Garp thought he was offering condolences on a fresh disaster. Thus he faltered.

"I'm sorry, very sorry," Garp said.

"You said so, you said so," Stewart said.

"I just heard about it," Garp said, "and I wanted to tell you and Mrs. Percy how truly sorry I was. I may not have demonstrated it, to you, sir, but I was really very fond of--"

"You little swine!" said Stewart Percy. "You mother humper, you Jap ball of shit!" He hung up the phone.

Even Garp was unprepared for this much loathing. But he misunderstood the situation. It would be years before he realized the circumstances of his phone call. Poor Pooh Percy, batty Bainbridge, would one day explain it to Jenny. When Garp called, Cushie had been dead for so long that Stewart did not realize Garp was commiserating with him on Cushie's loss. When Garp called, it was the midnight of the dark day when the black beast, Bonkers, had finally expired. Stewart Percy thought that Garp's call was a cruel joke--false condolences for the dog Garp had always hated.

And now, when Garp's phone rang, Garp was conscious of Helen's grip emerging instinctively from her sleep. When he picked up the phone, Helen had his leg clamped fast between her knees--as if she were holding tight to the life and safety that his body was to her. Garp's mind ran through the odds. Walt was home asleep. And so was Duncan; he was not at Ralph's.

Helen thought: It is my father; it's his heart. Sometimes she thought: They've finally found and identified my mother. In a morgue.

And Garp thought: They have murdered Mom. Or they are holding her for ransom--men who will accept nothing less than the public rape of forty virgins before releasing the famous feminist, unharmed. And they'll also demand the lives of my children, and so forth.

It was Roberta Muldoon on the phone, and that only convinced Garp that the victim was Jenny Fields. But the victim was Roberta.

"He's left me," Roberta said, her huge voice swollen with tears. "He's thrown me over. Me! Can you believe it?"

"Jesus, Roberta," Garp said.

"Oh, I never knew what shits men were until I became a woman," Roberta said.

"It's Roberta," Garp whispered to Helen, so that she could relax. "Her lover's flown the coop." Helen sighed, released Garp's leg, rolled over.

"You don't even care, do you?" Roberta asked Garp, testily.

"Please, Roberta," Garp said.

"I'm sorry," Roberta said. "But I thought it was too late to call your mother." Garp found this logic astonishing, since he knew that Jenny stayed up later than he did; but he also liked Roberta, very much, and she had certainly had a hard time.

"He said I wasn't enough of a woman, that I confused him, sexually--that I was confused sexually!" Roberta cried. "Oh, God, that prick. All he wanted was the novelty of it. He was just showing off for his friends."

"I'll bet you could have taken him, Roberta," Garp said. "Why didn't you beat the shit out of him?"

"You don't understand," Roberta said. "I don't feel like beating the shit out of anyone, anymore. I'm a woman!"

"Don't women ever feel like beating the shit out of someone?" Garp asked. Helen reached over to him and pulled his cock.

"I don't know what women feel like," Roberta wailed. "I don't know what they're supposed to feel like, anyway. I just know what I feel like."

"What's that?" Garp asked, knowing she wanted to tell him.

"I feel like beating the shit out of him now," Roberta confessed, "but when he was dumping all over me, I just sat there and took it. I even cried. I've been crying all day!" she cried, "and he even called me up and told me that if I was still crying I was faking myself."

"The hell with him," Garp said.