"I can't accept these," Laura said. "They must be valu- able. It's conflict of interest." Laura picked them up and stood, reaching over the desk.

"This is the modern age, Mrs. Webster. Gene-spliced bacte- ria can make drugs by the ton. Friends of ours can make them for thirty cents each." Reverend Morgan rose to her feet.

"You're sure?" She slipped the pills back in her purse.

"Come and see us if you change your mind. Life with one man can go stale very easily. Believe me, we know. And if that happens, we can help you." She paused meditatively.

"In any of several different ways."

Laura smiled tightly. "Good luck with your campaign,

Reverend."

"Thank you. I appreciate your good wishes. As our mayor always says, Galveston is Fun City. It's up to all of us to see it stays that way."

Laura ushered her outside. She watched from the walkway as the reverend slipped into a self-driven van. The van whirred off. A flock of brown pelicans crossed the island, headed for

Karankawa Bay. The autumn sun shone brightly. It was still the same sun and the same clouds. The sun didn't care about the landscape inside people's heads.

She went back in. Mrs. Rodriguez looked up from behind the front desk, blinking. "I'm glad my old man is no young- er, " she said. "La puta, eh? A whore. She's no friend to us married women, Laurita."

"I guess not," Laura said, leaning against the desk. She felt tired already, and it was only ten o'clock.

"I'm going to church this Sunday," Mrs. Rodriguez de- cided. "Que brujeria, eh? A witch! Did you see those eyes?

Like a snake." She crossed herself. "Don't laugh, Laura."

"Laugh? Hell, I'm ready to hang garlic." The baby wailed from the kitchen. A sudden Japanese phrase leapt into Laura's head. "Nakitsura ni hachi," she blurted. "It never rains but it pours. Only it's better in the original. `A bee for a crying face.' Why can't I ever remember that crap when I need it?"