Lila: A Novel by Marilynne Robinson

looked at his face. It was startled and hurt. Shamed. She couldn’t look away.
    He rubbed his eyes. “Yes. Well, I’m sorry if I worried you. I don’t sleep well, and sometimes I walk around the streets at night, past the houses of people I know. It’s an old habit of mine.” He laughed. “I pray for them. So it’s harmless at worst.”
    “You come all the way out there to pray for me? Couldn’t you do that at home?”
    “I did wonder if you had left town. If you were all right.”
    “I guess everybody knows I been living in that shack. If you knew where to come to do your praying.”
    He shrugged. “Some people know. People notice things.”
    “I hate this town.”
    “I doubt it’s so different from other places.”
    She laughed. “I hate other places. Worse, probly.”
    And he laughed. “Well, just so you understand what I was doing out there. So you don’t feel uneasy about it.”
    “I never said I understood. You tell me you was praying. I don’t understand that at all.”
    “Ah!” He shook his head. “It would take me a good while to figure out what to say about that. Days! And I pray all the time.” Then he said, “Here is what I don’t understand. How did you know it was me? It was a dark night, and I didn’t come near the house.”
    She shrugged. “Who else would go to the trouble?”
    He nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know why. But that’s kind of you to say, I believe.” Then he said, “You do have other friends here.”
    “No, I don’t. Folks just do what you tell them to do.”
    He laughed. “Some of them. Sometimes. I suppose.”
    For a while the rain was heavy, loud on the roof, spattering onto the porch. She gathered the sleeves of the sweater against her.
    “Are you warm enough?”
    “Plenty warm. But I want to know what you said in that prayer.”
    “Well.” He blushed. “I prayed that you were safe and well. And—not unhappy.”
    “That’s all?”
    “And”—he laughed—“I did mention that I hoped you would stay around for a while.”
    “And get myself baptized.”
    “I guess I forgot to mention that. Sorry.”
    “It’s nothing to me. I’ll be making up my own mind.”
    “Of course.”
    “But if you prayed for it, most likely I would make up my mind to do it.”
    “Maybe. Depending. I don’t know.”
    “If you want me to do something, seems it would be easier just to ask me. ”
    “If I did ask you, would you do it?”
    She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.” And he laughed. Then she said, “That all you prayed for?”
    “No. No, it isn’t.” He stood up. “I think I’ll make some coffee.”
    Well, she’d stayed too long and the rain didn’t show any sign of ending. So she said, “I’ll be going now,” after he’d gone into the house, so he might not have heard. And she slipped the sweater into her bag. She was a block away when he caught up with her. He was carrying an umbrella.
    He said, “I’m afraid it’s too late for this to do you much good. But please take it.”
    She said, “Don’t need it.”
    “Of course you don’t,” he said. “Take it anyway.” So she did. He said, “I’m glad you came by. I’m always happy to find you creeping around my house.” And she almost had to laugh at that. She could put the umbrella over her suitcase and her bedroll. That’s how bad the roof leaked. She just might forget to return it for a while. She was going to use that sweater for a pillow. She thought, What would I pray for, if I thought there was any point in it? Well, I guess the first thing would have to be that there was some kind of point in it. The wind was blowing the rain against her and lifting the umbrella almost out of her hands, so she closed it. A little rain never killed anybody.
    She thought of a story she would like to tell the old man. Once, when she was still a child, she and the others went to a camp meeting. Doane had been paid mostly in apples for some work they had done. The farmer said it was the best he