He took it off. The jacket she had found fitted his big shoulders and chest but was loose around the waist. 'Look, you can pull it in.' There was a belt, which she adjusted. And there were trousers, too. 'And now I want you to have a bath, Ben.'

He took off the new jacket and his trousers, obedient, watching her all the time.

'I'm going to put away these trousers, Ben.' She did so. 'And I have got new underpants, and vests.'

He was standing naked there, watching, while she went next door to a little bathroom. His nostrils flared, taking in the smell of water. Waiting, he checked all the smells in the room, the fading aromas of the good stew, a warm friendly smell; the bread, which smelled like a person; then a rank wild smell — the cat, still watching him; the smell of a slept-in bed, where the covers had been pulled up covering the pillows, which had a different smell.

And he listened, too. The lift was silent, behind two walls. There was a rumbling in the sky, but he knew aeroplanes, was not afraid of them. The traffic down there he did not hear at all — he had shut it out of his awareness.

The old woman came back, and said, 'Now, Ben.' He followed her, clambered into the water, and crouched in it. 'Do sit down,' she said. He hated the submission to the dangerous slipperiness, but now he was sitting in hot water to his waist. He shut his eyes, and with his teeth bared, this time in a grin of resignation, he let her wash him. He knew this washing was something he had to do, from time to time. It was expected of him. In fact he was beginning to enjoy water.

Now the old woman, Ben's eyes no longer fastened on her face, allowed herself to show the curiosity she felt, which could never be assuaged — or indulged in.

Under her hands was a strong broad back, with fringes of brown hair on either side of the backbone, and on the shoulders a mat of wet fur: it felt like that, as if she were washing a dog.