The Last Alligator

Chapter Thirteen

1910

The stained glass dome and the alligators have long since vanished to the recesses of the basement or the incinerator. Alone in the dimness of the weak spotlights, stand Thomas Jefferson, resolute in marble on a pedestal of his achievements, and Tom, searching the surface of the worn white marble floor for tracings there that would reveal to him where the alligator pools have been covered up. Second only to the Scarlett legend which has been callously doubted and righteously believed, is the fable of alligators that lived and snapped at the top of the same staircase. Of the verity of this legend Tom is certain, for his grandmother had bestowed one of the reptiles upon the Hotel as a young girl and Tom’s Grandmother Katharine is a woman who holds no illusions and tells no lies.

* * * * * *

“And have he got a name, ma'am?”

“Why yes, of course: Mr. Wilson Pompington Ivey Alligator.”

“Wilson Pompington Ivey Alligator.”

“Mr. Wilson Pompington Ivey Alligator.”

“Scuse me, Miz Holland. Ah plum fohgot de 'Mr.'“

“He is named for Dr. Wilson Pompington Ivey, who was our preacher last year. He brought him back to me from Florida.”

“A preacher?”

“Certainly. A Baptist preacher. He preached at Second Baptist Church next door all last year. And I was his best First-Year Bible Class pupil. So, he brought me an alligator. You will take good care of him, now won't you?”

“Well now, if disyere ally-gator's named after a Baptist preacher, well ma'am, you ain't got nuffin' to worry 'bout from me. Dat is, most nothin' I can think of. Doan' you worry none. I hab's to say dat I be a li'l worried for two things.”

“And what might they be?”

“Well, first off Miz Holland, I doan 'magine he gwineter keep dat red ribbon rounst his neck foh very long.”

“Well, I just couldn't bring him in here naked, now could I? It is Sunday after all. I suppose he doesn't care for it too much though, being a boy and all. I suppose he can just keep it on for today. And what's the other problem?”

“His name, ma'am.”

“I think he has a very fine name.”

“We'mm, you's right about that, but a poe dahky lak me ain't nebber gwinter 'member all dose words strung togedder. Cain't we give him anudder name, maybe somfin' simpler. What's yoh name, Miz Holland?”

“Katharine. But my friends at Miss Lakewood's School for Young Ladies call me Kitty.”

“A name lak dat'd do.”

“Well now, we can't call him Kitty now can we? Let's call him Pompington.”

“Da'ss right long too. How do 'Pompey' soun' to you? It's a fine name. I had a uncle what was called Pompey.”

“Was he a good Christian?”

“One of de finest.”

“Well then, Pompey it is.”

“Katharine, we really must go.”

Mrs. Holland had been standing back behind a palm tree, speaking in soft tones to the manager who had escorted them to the Palm Court so that they could let Katharine's pet alligator loose in one of the two reflecting pools. There were already a good half dozen baby alligators in the tiny ponds at Thomas Jefferson's feet, left there by overnight guests from Florida headed for points north. At first the management had been dismayed at the practice, upkeep and so forth, until one of the bellboys, a very young, hard-working, kind of shuffling darky named Willie Carter had volunteered to feed the reptiles with scraps from the restaurant's tables and then gradually assumed all maintenance responsibilities for the reptiles. Shortly thereafter, the alligators turned out to be a terrific attraction for children and the mezzanine restaurant began to bring in a lot more money on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, mainly in ice cream this is true, but it was more money. So, the ‘gators stayed and had recently come to form part of the Hotel's personality.

As for Pompey, or Mr. Wilson Pompington Ivey Alligator, like so many of his kind, he had made a disorienting voyage from Palm Beach to Richmond, tied shut in a shoe box. His young mistress alternated keeping him under her bed in the same shoe box he had arrived in, dunking him in the wash basin in her room, and letting him loose in the front garden under her watchful eye. Chocolate hadn't quite agreed with his stomach, so the terrified maids had allowed young Katharine to feed him what was left of their cooked chitterlings, far superior fare where Pompey was concerned. Katharine was the envy of her brother and all the little white and colored boys, to whom she proudly displayed her pet in the front yard once a day after returning from school.

This had gone on all week. Sunday morning, Katharine's parents, who had encountered more than enough trouble with the servants about keeping the alligator in the house, had informed Katharine that she would have to let the alligator go after Sunday dinner; it would no longer be tolerated in the house. Kitty had been somewhat disconcerted at first, but after being reminded what absolute parental authority consisted in, given very sound reasoning about an alligator's natural habitat and consequent daily necessities, and promised ice cream on the Mezzanine of the Hotel after consignment, Katharine had agreed to the whole affair, mollifying her loss with the realization that she could always visit Mr. Wilson Pompington Ivey Alligator after church on the way home.

“Here you go. What's your name?”

“Willie Carter, Miz Holland. But you jus' call me Willie now.”

“Here Willie, you go ahead and put him into the water. I'm afraid the others might snap at me.”

Willie gingerly picked up the expanding rib cage and, leaving the red ribbon intact, and softly placed Pompey on the surface of the water.

Room enough to swim in, at last! Pompey's little legs started to paddle, he opened his mouth for a taste of the water, and as soon as Willie let go, he darted away under water to meet the other alligators in the pool.

“Now, Mr. Wilson Pompington Ivey Alligator, I expect you to act like a gentleman with your new companions and I shall be back next Sunday so Willie here can tell me exactly how you’ve been behaving. Good-bye.”

“Doan you worry none, Miz Holland. He be just fine. Good-bye.”

“Katharine, now come along.”

“Bye Miz Holland.”

“Good-bye Willie.”

“And you be very good to my friend.”

“Doan you worry none. And Mizzez Holland, you did cut one fahn figure, dancin' wid dat Padrooski feller last night.”

Mrs. Holland smiled in genteel acknowledgment to the bellboy and took her daughter by the hand. Katharine was a peculiar child, with perhaps too much imagination for her own good. She was quiet enough at any rate. No trouble had been foreseen for the depositing of the alligator and none had occurred. A little ice cream would patch up everything. They descended six steps to the Mezzanine among the other well-to-do, Katharine for her ice cream, and Mrs. Holland to judge the Sunday afternoon hats.

“Well Pompey, now le'ss see. Disyere is Pokey. Pokey, meet Pompey. And over dere is Punk, and next her is Waldo and his sweetheart Gatorina. Oh, and de smart gal in de corner, why she be Cleopatra, 'ceptin' she doan want none of nobody's business. Now if you's good and make friends with all of them, why, I take you over to meet de udders in dat pool over dere. You goneta be fine here, doan worry none. You gots old Willie C. to look after you.”

“Willie! You'd best get down to your station right now. The guests will be checking out for the four o'clock train. You're a hard-workin' boy and we need you with the guests, not the ‘gators. If you ain't careful why they'll gobble you right down one of these days, and all that'll be left of you is your brass buttons.”

“I gwine Boss, I'se a gwine. Frien's, I be back to feed you after I finish downstairs. You be p'lite to your new frien' now.”

The manager walked down the marble staircase while Willie wound his way down the wooden side stairs and Pompey surveyed the situation. Things were clear. Waldo was in charge, holding Punk and Pokey in thrall and keeping Gatorina close by. Gatorina was the weakest and smallest of the four females, so by allying herself to Waldo, she achieved protection and defense against the other four. Cleopatra was the eldest and consequently a good bit larger than any of the alligators present. She was in league with no one since she was female and the biggest of all the alligators. It was clear as well, that Cleopatra would gobble up the most it came time to feed since she was independent; Waldo would have to cede a fair amount of what he could obtain to Gatorina, and to the other females he protected. Punk and Pokey were not going to be easy to ally.

At the moment their glances were simply stimulated by the presence of another male in the pool. Waldo's menacing snap warned Pompey of what he'd have to do to gain supremacy. Cleopatra floated with her eyes half above the water as she sized up the newcomer as well.

“There's only one thing to do. Build up the hunger pangs so that when there's something to eat, I'll be more ferocious than the rest of them. I have to get hungry. I have to feel hungry. I have to want to eat more than the others; then, I have to eat more. But first, I’ve got to get rid of this thing around my neck.”

It wasn't easy to reach with his claws, but by twisting his neck and scratching, Pompey succeeded in ripping the red ribbon little by little until it was almost free. The tragedy was that as he was ripping the last stroke, trying four or five times, he inflicted a small cut on his neck, minuscule and just barely bleeding. It was enough. As soon as he smelled his own blood in the water and combined it with his hunger, his instincts raced.

“I’ve got to eat now. I’ve got to feed. There is nothing in the water except for the other alligators who have tasted my blood in the water and are ready to fight as well.”

Cleopatra zoomed over, confused by the red ribbon, and attempted to take a chunk out around Pompey's eye. Pompey retaliated, hindered and infuriated by the ribbon, managing to put a small scratch in Cleopatra's mouth. Waldo seized the opportunity, and together with Poke and Punk, attacked Cleopatra, leaving Pompey alone as he turned over on his back still trying to free himself of the ribbon. A long hard pole entered the water from the air, disrupting the small fight.

“Whachoo thinks you's up to? Lawd hab mussy! You all be actin' like animals. Pompey, what dey done to you?”

Willie reached into the pool and grabbed Pompey by his white belly. He set him down flat on the edge of the pool. Despite Pompey's snapping, which Willie easily credited to his ignominious treatment, he removed the red noose from around his head. Willie had come up to feed them the scraps from Sunday dinner, mostly lamb today and so accordingly put the paper in front of Pompey so that he could eat his fill. Willie knew better than to put his hand down to the plate while the tiny beast was feeding, so he waited for Pompey to turn his head and masticate and then grabbed a handful of the scraps and threw them one by one into the water so that all the alligators would have something to eat. Cleopatra got the largest chunk and Waldo was forced to share the smaller bits among his females. Only Pompey ate and ate until he was completely full. Glands from around the neck would have been preferable, but this stuff was a lot better than that sweet brown stuff he'd been eating for the last week, or those rubbery low entrails, both devoid of blood. He gorged. He ate so much that parts occasionally came back up so he chewed them again two or three times and then sent them back to his gullet with an extra gob of saliva to keep them down.

“I guess we’d best put you in t'other pool. Dey ain’t no ladies dere, but you hab a good time wid de fellers.”

Willie floated Pompey on the surface of the other pool just before throwing in the scraps. This was an ideal situation for Pompey. All the alligators were much younger than he and a good half size smaller, therefore not as canny about size and sex. Pompey was easily the biggest. As Willie fed the others, they cast furtive glances at Pompey, who, though not motivated by hunger, dashed into the fray to get the biggest piece, simply to assert his supremacy. The smaller alligators posed no defense and were not endowed with offense. Willie laughed, while Pompey returned to a corner holding the meat in his mouth. This time he chewed it slowly and carefully.

“My, my, my. Well now, ain't you sumfin'? Di'nt Miz Holland give you nuffin' to eat 'cept choklit and chitterlings? Doan you worry none Mr. Pompey. I be takin' right good care of you. Now you be p'lite to dese fellers, and dey treat you like a gempmum.”

Pompey became Willie's favorite on this first day at the hotel. The Hollands were quality and finally someone had been interested enough in the alligators to negotiate the name with Willie. Most of the other guests simply left their shoe boxes at the front desk when they checked out. On the other hand, little Miss Holland had shown interest and affection for the alligator, making him someone special. After Willie had seen Pompey get attacked and acknowledged the fact that Pompey could behave himself like a gentleman, well Willie decided right then and there that Pompey would have preferential treatment. Pompey himself, had already assumed that would be the case.

For about six weeks Katharine came to inspect her alligator's health and social comportment, always stopping to speak to Willie if he wasn't busy at the bellhop station, inquiring as to Pompey's appetite and pool manners. Following this, she proceeded straight up the grand staircase to the exotic splendor of palm trees and jeweled windows to salute her small friend. Upon entering, she curtsied to that greatest Virginian of them all, Thomas Jefferson, heedless of the small reptilian dramas that unfolded at the base of his pedestal. Pompey didn't recall or recognize Katharine, but she could always pick him out as the largest in the pool of the smaller alligators. She would bend down to talk to him, or point him out to a friend or country cousin who had accompanied her after Sunday dinner.

Pompey had started to realize that the tall strange shadows against the light were harmless, and that at the most they might poke a finger in the water, teasing him to bite it, or try to touch him on the head. The smaller shadows would occasionally toss bits of chocolate whose dark sugary taste he'd come to appreciate, if not exactly desire. There was only one important shadow, that of Willie, who brought him meat once or twice a day. Willie helped to make sure that Pompey always got the big pieces.

Soon Katharine's family tired of accompanying her every Sunday to see Mr. Wilson Pompington Ivey Alligator. Little by little they convinced Katharine that the essential importance of the whole matter was that she had an alligator at the Jefferson where he was fed and watched after, because, as Willie told her, he was everyone's favorite. That was, everyone except for the smaller alligators in the pool.

Pompey definitely reigned supreme. The other ‘gators had found it unusual the first day when the new alligator hadn't fed except for the biggest chunk of meat. However the next day and the day after and the day after again, Pompey snapped and pushed and shoved and got his way. The largest share of the food was his.

It wasn't difficult to accomplish. All Pompey had to concentrate on was continually asserting that he was the most important. After he'd established his ascendancy at mealtime, Pompey started to mark off as his waters and territory the south-eastern corner of the pool the corner where Willie fed them twice a day. But this wasn't enough. Pompey decided to take up the southwestern corner when his tail started to lengthen. Finally, when Pompey desired to disport himself, ricocheting from one end of the pool the other, the other alligators soon learned to make way and hover on the water outside Pompey's path. If they accidentally happened to interrupt his fun, he didn't even bother to snap at them any more; he'd just go ahead and take a chunk out of their claws or tail.

“Power. Power and hunger are the only sure things. When they are combined, no one can ever take anything away from you. Life is dependent on two things and two things only: muscle and stomach. A stomach that's always empty, sending bile and saliva and hunger to your mouth, hardening and tightening the jaw muscles into cruelty so you can bite and eat anyone who gets in your way. Claws and paws to swim faster and faster, and scratch the others to prove you're the boss. That's what life is.”

“Why, I declare! you gettin' to be one big allygator, you ole rascal Pompey, you. Pompey, now look on up here, here's someone you got's to meet, Mr. President Woodrow Wilson. Mr. President, suh, dat dere is Pompey.”

Woodrow stared though his lenses at the amphibian. “Alligators in a hotel in Virginia. Getting fed sirloin tips, left over from the tables of course, yet better fare than our boys in France are dining upon. It seems that despite an ongoing war you must let people pamper their little pet peeves, even when they turn out to be cold-hearted little reptiles such as these. It can't do any real harm, now can it? At any rate, feeding an alligator in a pool is highly preferable to nursing a viper at your breast.”

“Why thank you. It's Willie, isn't it?”

“Yassuh Mr. President, suh. I do thank you for meeting my friend Pompey. He prob'ly doan 'preciate it none, but I sho' do.”

Willie threw the rest of the food to the smaller alligators.

“You am getting to be one mighty big pusson. Why dis is de secont president what you'b met. Yassuh, all de gempmums 'n ladies take a shine to you right from the start. And you gettin' better at behavin' too. De las' time you snapped at anyone it was dat Lady Astor, who' d'int like you the mo' befo' you showed her yoh pearly whites. Jes' 'tween you an' me, I think she musta sucked a raw egg befo' she came to see you.”

Pompey rolled over on his back and Willie reached down to scratch his white belly.

“It's pleasant enough. Not like eating or swimming, but there's something about this scratching business I like.”

Pompey had begun to recognize people. There were only two or three types, the males obviously had legs and the females didn't, even though they had paws. They came all sorts of colors, with black or white heads and paws. Almost all of the people he saw every day steered clear of the pool, with the exception of Willie.

It took Pompey about fifteen years to grow sick and tired of the same pool day in day out. Willie wouldn't put him in the other pool, quickly bringing to mind the tussle there had been with Waldo and Cleopatra the first day. Pompey had however, grown considerably larger in fifteen years. He made up his mind to try something when it got dark.

 The mist of sprightly tints raining from the multi-colored glass cupola darkened in hue, tone and the lights were cut on after dusk. There was no party scheduled for the evening and guests wandered in and out of the court, down onto the Mezzanine, chatting and ogling the alligators, wondering where they could find some liquor in this godforsaken city. The alligator boy became vehement at their inquiries.

“Ain't nebbuh no liquor touched dese lips, nossuh. Why, I'd lose my job too. You wouldn't want me to lose my job, now would you, suh?”

At eleven, the lights were cut off as the majority of the guests turned in for the evening. The dark waters of the pool gradually revealed a colored glow of moonlight, streaming in through the windows. The other alligators had given themselves over to a relative dormancy, but not Pompey.

Swimming back and forth in the narrow end of the pool, Pompey created a wave that rose higher and higher until it was at the edge of the marble floor. With what came fairly close to a flying leap, he heaved up and his claws grabbed onto the edge of the pool. The water receded and with the returning wave Pompey was able to get his chest up onto the floor. Another wave and all four claws scraped against terra firma. He'd done it. He pushed himself and moved around to glance at the other alligators floating in the pool, bathed in the variegated moonlight. Only one of the alligators was awake enough to notice that Pompey was no longer with them, and he couldn't have cared less.

Pompey turned around and started to waddle off, inspecting the plants, nibbling at the palm leaves. Then he found the other pool, and looked down at the alligators floating around half asleep. “Cleopatra. Hmmmm. A female, But not tonight.” He crawled under chairs and tables and made his way out of the court into the reception rooms at the front of the hotel. The few steps weren't difficult to manage and passing from the Louis Quatorze Room with its heavy damask draperies, he moved to the mint green Louis Quinze Room, furnished with writing desks and fresh flowers on the table. The doors were easy enough to push open, so he explored the marble halls and bathroom and cloak rooms.

There was one thing in particular he liked. The carpets. They were warm and when he dragged his stomach across them, it felt like floating belly-side up in the daytime, feeling the sun warm his innards. Then when he got too warm, the marble floor was never far away. Soon he got thirsty and decided to return to the pool. He spent twice as much time wandering through the doors and up and down steps trying to find the pool as he had spent trying to get away from it, but at last he found the three steps to the court and the white silhouette of Thomas Jefferson. Before making the plunge, he urinated on a corner of the statue's pedestal, marking his journey and intention to return.

Day broke, weeks passed and in addition to increasing his fearlessness, Pompey had been strengthening his shoulders and hips with his nocturnal exercise. After a month, he'd oriented himself as to the juxtapositions of all the rooms. He had become a little too bold for his own good. The more he strayed from the water, the easier it was to do. He'd stopped scuttling back to the pool at the first rays of daylight. The wood was cool enough, the rug was warm and it was all too easy to get to the marble floor and regulate his temperature. He marked the writing desk in the Louis Quinze room as his. One morning he fell asleep as the first pure beams of sun warmed his slick green back. He curled his tail around the back of the desk and licked his chops.

Alice and Gertrude had decided to take their early morning meditations in the room with the horrible reproduction furniture, having discovered that it was the quietest place in the hotel at that hour. There were no maids knocking on doors and cleaning rooms and knocking on doors and cleaning rooms, and knocking on doors and cleaning rooms and talking and talking and cleaning and cleaning and talking and knocking and cleaning and knocking on doors and cleaning rooms. So, the two middle-aged women walked in and opened the window a little for a bit of air. Alice went and sat at the piano, endlessly practicing the scale of C major in four octaves, up and down, in triplets, five count, eighth notes, in sixths, in thirds.

Gertrude sat at the desk. Her Woman's Club speech was that night, and she wanted to pronounce the same great truths in the same new ways and repeat and modify and play on rhythms and accents. She wanted it all to be subtler this evening, however. She sat and wrote and wrote and rewrote and changed tenses and adjectives. She shifted her weight and leaned on her arm and shifted her weight and stared at the paper and erased and shifted her weight and put her feet on the rung of the desk.

Pompey felt something pushing against his rib cage in the back, and without waking up, he shifted his weight too. Gertrude grunted and started to bob her ankle. Then she felt a movement. It couldn't be her legs.

“Something is moving, a terrible force is moving its great thighs in the sunlight, in the sunlight of the day great thighs are moving with a terrible force, the terrible thighs of the day are moving with the force of the sunlight, in the day of the terrible movement there is a force of thigh against thigh.” She looked down past her thighs and there was the force, the terrible daylight force, the force moving under her terrible thighs.

“I'm resting my feet on an alligator.”

“Oh Gertrude, are you writing poetry again?”

“There's an alligator where my feet are resting.”

“Well now, that sounds like an awfully good first variation Gertrude.”

“I'm serious Alice. Come over here this instant!”

“Why Gertrude. There's an alligator under your feet!”

“Alice, don't be redundant. Now help me get up. I think it's asleep.”

In fact, Pompey did not wake up until Willie came and grabbed him by the rib cage. Pompey snapped.

“Doan you show me no foolishness Mr. Pompey. Whachoo doin' in here anyway, frightenin' the ladies? Lawd hab mussy. We in big trouble now, donchoo know? Why dey's liable to chop you into little pieces and serve you as de specialty of de week. Steak fed alligator giblets. Now you come back wid me to de pool. I been thinkin' you been up to somethin' dese last weeks 'cozen de floor 'roun' de statue be dirty even when dey ain't been no party been had de night before.”

“Willie!”

“Yes Boss.”

“Now just what are we going to do about this alligator?”

“Why I put him right back into the pool. Seemter be the most sensible thang to do.”

“Drop him in and come talk to me.”

“Yes Boss.”

“All right Willie. There are two possibilities: either we kill these reptiles one by one... “

“Kill'em! Kill Pompey! Why he's de most famous gempmum in de Ho-tel. You cain' kill him. Might as well kill me too.”

“Well, do you want to take him home with you?”

“Take him home! I ain't got nuffin' but a wood washtub foh Satiddy night befo' I goes to church on Sunday.”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

“Well Boss, when de chickens start in on yoh neighbor's strang beans, all you kin do is build a chicken coop. 'Cep de alligators be too long what foh' to stay inside.”

“Well then, why don't we build a fence around them?”

“Boss, you am one smart man, I do declare.”

“Good. Today, I want you to go down to the basement, speak with the engineers and arrange to have a fence built around those pools. And no one comes in here except for you and me, until they're built.”

“I got you Boss.”

Chicken wire and two by fours can still a prison make. Pompey was none too pleased with an additional two feet of wall around the pool. He didn't do anything about it until the night he got his first freshwater Martini.

“Scott, look. Alligator golf bags for the kiddies. Aren't they just too precious!”

“Here Zelda; guess why I wanted to come down here?”

“For the golf bags of course. They're just too divine. I'll buy you three. You can use them for your shoes.”

“No Zelda, That is not why. Look here.”

“Gin! Darling, where did you manage to get juniper juice in all of little Queensborough?”

“In the third drawer of the bureau. Come on, let's have a drink.”

“But Scott, Gin without Ice? It's unthinkable.”

“It'll be drinkable though. We'll just drink it from the bottle so there's no outright heresy involved. What's the use of being holy?”

They pulled up two chairs and sat staring at the alligators as they drank from the glass neck of a rather large mouthwash bottle. A full moon provided ample streams of iridescent light for them, enchanting the room at midnight. How they'd managed to get in there was a mystery even to them; long unopened cells stealthily poured from broken pediment to broken pediment, until the darkness gushed forth into a court of palm trees. The water glinted the dormant shrugs of the alligators.

“Oh heavens, Zelda. One of the Gods is declaring his dismay at our little fun.”

“That's not one of the Gods, silly. that is God; it's Thomas Jefferson. You keep forgetting we're in Vuh-gin-yuh.”
“Ah yes, the fatherland of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, as long as it's not Saturday night. What do people do here for a good time?”

“Oh darling, they're not interested in a good time; they're too busy worrying about what their friends' mothers' maiden names were and keeping their oyster forks polished. But after all, aren't we having fun? You've even managed to put the 'gin' in Vuh-gin-yuh.”

“Sitting in front of a lost God, sipping warm gin over green heathens that would eat children. You call this fun?”

“It's one hell of a lot better than me sitting in the easy chair and you stretched out on the bed in our hot little room upstairs. And these bright shiny baby golf bags are just as sweet and docile as you can expect alligators to be, now, aren't they? Here, try some of this.”

It was inevitable that some of the gin would end up in the water. Not too much perhaps, but more than the alligators’ pure blood was capable of tolerating. The couple sat and chatted, passing the bottle back and forth, and due to occasional spurts of generosity, a teensy weensy was offered in libation to the marble God. Zelda laughed a little too loud, and the passing night engineer opened the door, sending the man and his wife skittering through the marble halls, hiding and giggling before making their way back to their room undetected. The remaining contents of the bottle drained into the pool.

Pompey was getting angrier and angrier. The pool was too small. The other alligators were getting more and more numerous.

“Everything is too small, the water is too rough, waving back and forth, up and down. I’ve got to move. I’ve got to get out of here, I can't take this any more. I want the carpet and the sunlight, the clean yellow sunlight in the morning.”

Pompey reared up, broke through the chicken wire, lacerating his paws but the pain was almost pleasure: life, and liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Over the floor, around the statue, staring down at the other alligators bigger than he remembered them, there was Cleopatra, succulent and waiting, Cleopatra. His instinct mounted within and Pompey moved toward the chicken wire fence.

It broke when he pushed against it, making a crack audible enough for the night engineer to come rushing back into the room. He was greeted by Pompey slithering into the other pool and one of the alligators in Pompey's pool floating on its back. What he didn't realize was that he was witnessing their first and last big drunk. He grabbed Pompey by the tail and both Pompey and Cleopatra were surprised by the sudden movement, smacking their jaws. The engineer hollered and ran out of the court when the long-awaited fight between Pompey and Waldo took place.

Cleopatra lay in wait to see who would win. The other three females were off to one side, trying to avoid the jaws and claws. Pompey wanted it all and Pompey would have it all. There was nothing to be done about him now. He had become the shadows' favorite and had grown bigger than the rest of the reptiles in his twenty years of feeding on the biggest chunks. There was no order, save the order that Pompey could wreak and Pompey would have it all. The blood rushed to their heads and legs and the two alligators would fight that blood out. Pompey would usurp every last gesture of Waldo's power, he would show him who was boss, but Waldo was smaller and sober, and maneuvered faster in the shallow water, parrying Pompey's drunken lunges. The lights suddenly came on, and a wooden pole was between them.

“Hush up dere! Whachoo think you'se up to?”

For the only time in his life, Pompey actually turned on Willie, snapping in the air, grabbing the pole in his jaws and yanking it toward him. The engineer stared at the chairs pulled up beside the other pool and saw a bottle glittering among the palm fronds where Pompey had kicked it as he clambered out of the pool. Willie gave the alligators a quick whack of the pole, stunning Waldo and knocking Pompey out. The engineer picked up the bottle and sniffed it. Pompey slid down into the water.

“Willie, what we got on our hands here is a passel of drunk alligators.”

“Drunk? What dey been drinkin'?”

“Well, in my opinion, I'd say it's nothing more than good, old-fashioned, bathtub gin. And judging from these two chairs here, I'd even say two of the guests decided to have a little moonlight cocktail party with the ‘gators tonight.”

“Drunk?”

Willie looked down at Pompey who had started to vomit into the water.

“Pompey's gone. Oh Lawd, my Pompey my gempmum friend is up and lef' me foh de other side! He's losin' all his insides.”

“Oh Willie, he'll be all right. Don't start bawlin'. We'd better get him out of the water or he'll drown.”

Pompey was gone to the world and didn't even register that the engineer and Willie had pulled him up out of the water still vomiting, shook him two or three times to get the water out of his lungs, and then laid him next to his pool.

“We can't put him back into the water Willie. He'd drown.”

“And we cain’ leave him out de water or tomorry dat's de end of Pompey. I guess I best stay here till'n he git to feelin' better. And look, let's get dem out de water too.”

One of the small alligators had already died. The others had navigated themselves more or less into the same straits as Pompey, so Willie held vigil until they regained consciousness. Willie sat and waited. He was used to both. There wasn't much use in hurrying around, trying to get things done, because the results were invariably the same. The same pay, the same respect, the same low rung in society. Besides, if you hurried and ended up all in a fluster, tired out and worn to the bone, well when you had to start it all over again, you just didn't feel like doing it and you didn't do it right. That way you risked everything, because as soon as you lost one good job, well that was that. You were through and done for. Nothing left to do in the city except shovel coal. No sir, only one thing to do; keep the same job for as long as you could. Willie had managed it.

No sooner had the Hotel advertised for new bellboys after the 1907 renovation than Willie had been there waiting at the service door at half past seven in the morning. His nails were clean, his hair had been pomaded into an imitation of whiteness, and an excessively laundered white shirt sported an out-of-date bowtie. After they glanced down at his old shoes shined to patent leather brilliance, they decided that Willie was dirt poor but respectable. Went to church, Yessir, the First African Baptist with his mother every Sunday mornin' and Wednesday go-to-meeting. He knew how to sign his name and say “Yes sir,” and “No, ma'am,” with a shining white darky smile. He was a little darker than a brown paper bag and probably too young, but the high yellows had started their own businesses on the other side of Broad Street and were in short supply. Willie had been there every morning for the past twenty-eight years. His brass buttons were spit polished and shining, and “Sir” or “Boss” ever present on his lips. Oh, he was your regular shuffling kind though not to extremes, for he always did all his work, was obsequiously polite to the clientele, and not ambitious enough to aspire to worldly position, but easily intelligent enough to understand and quote long passages from the King James Version. Yes, he'd become a regular, recognized and patronized by the guests. A man without apparent passion for women or money, he was consequently a good worker. Willie's existence at the Hotel would have gone completely unremarked had it not been for the arrival of the alligators.

He fed them and cleaned the pools two or three times a month. He became a favorite with all the children because he knew them all by name, and they knew him. The ‘gators made Willie special. No passing dignitary visited without an invitation from Willie to come and meet his green friends. Most of them accepted. But Willie didn't invite them to puff himself up; it was for the alligators themselves, and mainly for his Pompey. Like dogs, they were the companions that you could know inside out, yet they were different: something extraordinary, something exotic. Willie was the only man he knew that could call an alligator his own.

Willie talked to his alligators. They never intimated that he was a worthless nigger, that he was talking nonsense, or that they had better things to do. He had recounted to them his long unhappy tale of unrequited love, the deep sadnessess at his mother's death, and how many chickens his neighbors had. He told the alligators who all these important visitors were and where'd they come from, then proffering more personal opinions on the celebrities when he was alone with the gators. He taught the alligators how to behave and act. He treated them like gentlemen and ladies, but unlike everyone else Willie treated as ladies and gentlemen, the alligators treated him back like a gentleman; not with handshakes and infinitesimally small courtesies, but by simply acknowledging his presence. He was someone for the alligators and they were someone for him.

Yet, it was all real; Willie knew they were just animals and would just as soon eat his hand as from it. It was not important, because for all of Willie's lack of education, he knew that the power of love and respect lies in what you consciously and carefully give, power that is bolstered by the attention you receive in return. It was what the white folks called dignity but they too often threw down for pride.

So Willie sat and waited.

“Drunken. A drunken alligator, Dat's what you is Pompey, and I'se shamed to see de day what it's come about. Likkah ain't nebber passed my lips and I was sure dat it'd nebber pass dose big white teef of yours. But you ain't to blame, we all know dat, and you be fine, come mornin'.”

When Pompey did awake, a headache pounded through his brain and the taste of vomit swilled around his mouth. He grunted and groaned and shed tears. Willie didn't exactly know what to do, but he lifted him back into the pool for starters.

“Well Willie, did they make it through the night?”

“I bleeb so, but poe ole Pompey be complainin' sumfin' fierce.”

“Must be a case of the ‘gator hangover. I guess you know what to do.”

“What's dat?”

“Put an icebag on his head. It'll make that hammer stop beating around his skull.”

“Willie?”

“I'se here Boss.”

The morning manager was welcomed into the early morning light of the Jefferson Court by the sight of Willie's kinky hair standing on end and his hands immersed in the water of the alligator pool.

“What in tarnation do you think you're doing?”

Willie turned and the manager saw that he'd tied a linen table cloth into a big topknot around Pompey's head. He also noticed the other smaller alligator belly side up on the rim of the pool.

“Well Boss, you see it's like dis. Somebody got in here last night and filled up de pool wid gin. And Pompey heah, well he ain't mighty 'tickluh about likkah, but dere wasn't much he could do 'bout drankin' it, 'cozen he was in de water, and as you know Boss, alligators libs in de water.”

“Yes, but Willie what are you doing now?”

“Boss, I'se gettin' to dat. Well, you see old Pompey had a drop more'n he could take, what got him pow'ful riled and he jes' up and lef' de pool. So ole Willie come in here, and I'se been sittin' up wid him since I couldn't put him back into de pool or he'd be drownded. And den when he woke up dis mornin', well he was gruntin' and a'groanin' and de engineer tole me it is what dey call a hangover and de disease is only cured by ice on de haid. So here I is, at de service of de Hotel, wrappin' a pack of ice onto Pompey's haid.”

“What?”

“Well you see Boss, it's like dis. Somebody got in here last night, and dey...”

“I heard you the first time. Now get up. We need you for the guests checking out. And what's the matter with that alligator there?”

“He's daid Boss. De gin done done him in.”

“Well, take the dead alligator down to the basement and tell the engineer to throw him into the incinerator. Then you get cleaned up and report to your station. We have to do something about these animals. We can't go on like this.”

“You ain' gonna trow dem into de 'cinerator, am you?”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“Oh Boss, you cain't trow dese fellers into de fiery furnace. Dey's not Meshack, Shadrack o' Abednego.”

“What?”

“Oh Boss, you jes’ cain’. Dey's de symbol of dis Ho-tel. Widout de alligators you ain't got no luck here.”

“That's just about enough from you. Now get moving: this is a hotel, not an animal hospital.”

It took a week to make and it was a little more expensive than the alligators warranted, but finally two iron lattice domes were installed over the pools, and bolted into the floor. Pompey tried his best to budge it, but it was no use.

“Dis is what likkah's done for you, you ole rascal. I almos' loss' my job and now you in a cage. Like a common chicken. Dey done built you a ‘gator coop. I hope you's happy.”

But Pompey was only hungry.
World War II had relatively little effect on Richmond, as on the rest of the States, until Pearl Harbor was bombed. Willie was years too old to enlist, but the other bellboys left to serve their country. Then, the civil defense warden paid a visit to the Hotel one day, and declared that the windows in all the rooms would have to have black drapes, and that all the stained glass windows in the ceilings of the Lobby and the Jefferson Court would have to be stuccoed over. Thus was the Hotel plunged into the eternal night from which it has yet to recover. While the workmen covered over the court, plaster fell into the pools, so Willie covered over the ‘gator coops. It took the plants a good two months to all die, but the alligators somehow struggled along without fresh air in penumbra. Frankly, the court began to stink a little. Pompey had grown longer and longer, too large for the pool’s width, but he still wasn't strong enough to knock the iron dome off. There were no days, no nights, only feeding time existed and the meat that was left over from the dining room began to get scarce. Pompey started plotting with Mesozoic fervor.

“Only one thing is clear. I will have to be the only one. This pool is too small for all of us, and the other alligators are weakening from lack of food and air, and room to move in. The water doesn't stay clean, since the hole only squirts water a couple of hours each day. I’ve got the people on my side. I shall be the only one.”

For the first time in his career at the Hotel, Willie had taken ill. It was only three days, influenza, but even the manager advised him not to come to work; it would have been unhealthy for the guests. Willie was assured that the alligators would be properly fed. Though Willie was not entirely at ease, he was far too ill to come in and check on them.

It was Friday night, and the alligators hadn't been fed for a day and a half. It was easy enough to forget them. Pompey had managed to eat more than the others combined, and he was still hungry. But he wasn't strong enough to mount his anger. Suddenly, the doors flew open and court filled up with people screaming and moaning. They ran around, wailing and crying, and Pompey detected a strong acrid scent in the air. Some of the shadows were even lying down on the floor, an unprecedented event in the thirty-odd years he'd been residing in the pool. Either they were sleeping, or they were dead. Shiny black men with white faces and red tops were dragging long black snakes around, and white faces over white dresses were bending over the sleeping or the dead. The tension in the air was pressing through the iron grate into the pool and Pompey was starting to feel his old anger.

Then the shiny black men carried over a woman, a yellow woman with black spots. There was a smell about her, a strange smell, two smells together. There was a pain in his head and then the smell of an animal, not the smell of a person, there was the strange pungent smell heavy in the air, the redolence of an anger remembered and then the smell of fresh meat. Pompey looked up and saw the woman's yellow skin drop to one side and he saw her legs were as long as a man’s and a white breast. Her head rolled over towards him and mouth opened and Pompey recalled the anger of the night he had broken loose to possess Cleopatra. Hunger and desire, and the wrath and smell of that night, a heavily disguised trace of the cold hard smell invaded his nostrils and mixed in his brain, spelling out attack and feed and attack and feed. Attack and feed. Pompey lunged at the smallest alligator in the pool who had been getting skittish, and with one fell swoop of his open jaws, enclosed the alligator's muzzle to the eyes, in his own mouth. He clamped down through the hard green skin, finally tasting warm red blood, food, real food, something he had forgotten, blood and hot glands, and narrow little bones with sweet marrow inside.

“This is life, yes, this is supremacy in a world devoid of light and air, this blood, this power is what life is made of. Yes, this is life.” Pompey finished off the alligator in three gulps.

He was satiated with the glut of living meat. No one had noticed his cannibalism. The tumult of fire and death on the upper floors had upset everything and only Brantley Hall had seen the attack as he looked down on Alethea, wantonly spread on the floor and stinking of every kind of liquor she had managed to slog down her throat that evening. That is to say, the scene formed a part of his last glance at Alethea; Brantley hadn't noticed one of the alligators eating a smaller one.

The only person who noticed one of the alligators was missing was Willie, who had rushed over to the Hotel as soon as he was well enough to get out of bed. There were no traces, nothing to indicate where the animal had gone. The wire dome was still firmly bolted down. Willie lived in the fear that the missing animal would be found by one of the guests, and that would surely be the end of the alligators.

After the war the Hotel was bought by the Lapwilers. Punk and Pokey were soon found floating in the other pool with their white stomachs offered up to the gaze of Thomas Jefferson, dead for lack of space and light and air and reason to live. In Pompey's pool, the alligators disappeared one by one. Willie couldn't make heads or tails of any of it, until he caught Cleopatra with Gatorina's paws and tail sticking out of the sides of her mouth.

“Cleopatra! You ole Jezebel! You done ate Gatorina!”

Cleopatra was unmoved and burped.

“Pompey, you been at it too! You been eatin' yoh friends, why dere's only two left in de pool wid you. Doan I give you 'nuff to eat? Iffen I catch you at it, I'se goneta bop you on de haid wid a brick, you scoun'rel. De new Boss already talkin' 'bout doin' away wid de whole lot of you, and I cain’ blame him if you be actin' like de animals you is.”

Pompey grew longer and longer, extending the entire length of the pool. The bolts on his dome were starting to loosen, as Pompey pushed on the dome a little bit every day for weeks and weeks. He finally knocked two, then three, then all the bolts loose from the marble. He reared up, pushing and grasping the rim of the pool with his claws, he hoisted himself up onto the marble.

“Freedom at last! Daylight, I'll have daylight, I’ve got to feel the sun. And the warm spot in the other place, I shall have that too.”

But the doors to the rooms adjacent to the Court were all locked shut. Pompey finally crawled out of the main door to the court, tumbling down into the vast darkness of the Lobby at four o'clock in the morning. The front desk clerk was sleeping and no one noticed Pompey as he crawled over to the door to the side stairs and started to climb. No one in the Hotel was stirring at this hour on Monday morning; Pompey took advantage of his free reign. He climbed to the second floor and pushed open the door to the hall. Carpeting.

“Oh, it's so warm! The sun on my stomach, there'll soon be real sunlight.” He wandered up and down the hall looking for it, and finally decided to settle down under a Hepplewhite loveseat on the back hall.

Willie was the only person to notice Pompey's absence in the morning.

“You done gone and ate Pompey! Why, you rascal, you, I gwineter teach you a lesson. Wait til I gets my hands on yoh two-tone throat. What? De cage is loose. Oh Lawd hab mussy! Pompey's out again. What I goneta do?”

An elderly couple from New Jersey was staying on Pompey's back hall, and when the sun came pouring through the window, he trudged over and lay down in the light, sleeping in beatific peace. Meanwhile, Willie was beside himself. If they found the alligators loose in the Hotel, it was curtains not only for the alligators but for himself as well. He thoroughly searched the first floor and when he got to the second Floor, he heard a shriek.

“Oh my God, Harold! There's an alligator in the hall! Help! Help!”

A door slammed and Willie ran until he could see Pompey at the end of the corridor. Pompey was now too heavy to be picked up by one person, so Willie calmed the guest, called down to the front desk, and waited there until the new engineer arrived.

Mr. Bendall had only been at the hotel a few weeks, and had been hired by the new owners specifically to supervise remodeling as economically as possible. He wasn't any too pleased about going to remove an alligator from an upstairs corridor, but it didn't bother him more than all that much. He pulled a Pall Mall out from his rolled up shirt sleeve and lit it up as he surveyed the scene. The colored boy was starting to get old, that's for sure. Bendall was not sure the two of them could lift the ‘gator between them.

“Well, let's go to it son. You grab him around the muzzle and I'll get him t'other end.”

“Yassuh.”

Pompey wanted none of their fooling around and snapped at them, lashing his tail and causing Bendall to crash down upon the screwdrivers strung across his butt. It shocked both of them, and Willie the more so since there was no good reason he could make up to apologize for Pompey's behavior.

“Goshdarnit. We gonna have to do something about this ‘gator. I could whack him over the head with a hammer oncet, but it's as likely to kill him as it is to stir him up.”

Willie remained silent. It was clear that both his and Pompey's days at the Jefferson could be counted precisely. Bendall knew the ‘gator boy had been at the Hotel for well over forty years now, prob'ly more, never could tell age with coloreds, and took great pride in his ‘gators. Bendall didn't want to hurt the old boy's feelings more than necessary. He'd be leaving soon anyway, the Boss had already told him that much. So, might as well see about saving a little face here and there.

“Of course, we could tie his mouth shut. He can't be but too dangerous without all those teeth wavin' 'roun’ in the air.”

“Sounds like a good idear to me, Boss.”

Pompey didn't know what was going on, but before he could take action, the two men had bound his mouth shut with duct tape, hauled him downstairs, and thrown him into the pool.

“Pompey, we is done for now. We is really done for.”

“Willie, the manager wants to see you.”

A little bit of begging and a whole lot of pleading on Willie's part ensured that the alligators would stay on, backed by promises that wouldn't be difficult to keep.

The course of history saw Pompey eat the remaining alligator and Cleopatra eat Waldo. Pompey was finally alone in the foul water of the pool on Jefferson's right. Pompey had always controlled everything, the pool, the court, the Hotel. But no longer. It became increasingly difficult to keep the water in the pools clean, and sure enough, it wasn't long before Cleopatra was found floating with her throat to the air. But Pompey held on. Pompey would survive. Pompey had removed all pretenders and encumbrances to his reign, all of them, and at last finally ruled supreme. What was left to rule was worth but little, and worth it only to Pompey. Decorum had lost its importance in the decrepit state of eternal night, in the stench of water that reeked of ammonia and urine.

Willie too knew that he could not continue for much longer. The suitcases got bigger and heavier each passing month. And the steps to and from the rooms more numerous. The old shuffling darky, once so discreetly prized by an august society was losing footing to uppity high tone “Negroes” as they liked to be called, more interested in advancing than in simply keeping their jobs. Willie’s era was not passing; it was past.

The plans for remodeling the Jefferson Court included covering up the two pools, but no one dared mention the logical consequence that Pompey would have to leave. There was the possibility of sending him to a local zoo, a new institution at a private home built more or less at the same time as the Jefferson. The zoo had even recently been donated to the municipality. That was the idea, but getting the alligator there was going to be another problem. It was ignored for the present.

Mr. Bendall placed a drop cloth over Pompey's dome while they repainted the stucco concealing the glass dome. Willie dutifully took the spattered canvas off every night when he fed Pompey. Willie's hair was starting to fall out, and every time he pomaded it down, more and more of it came off into his comb.

“Here you go, ole Pompey, prime ribs wid de bones for you to chew on. You jes' keep eating like you always hab, 'cept I doan know what we gwineter do iffen you keeps growing. You gots to keep yoh tail curled round at de end if you wants it to stay under water. Well now, you sleep tight, and I be in tomorry mornin' to put dis ole sheet back over you, so's you don't turn white from de paint.”

Pompey rolled over on his back, gloating in his domain of sordid triumphs. All the food was his now, all the pool was his. All the world was his. No other ‘gators would ever hinder his movements again. He drifted off into a near slumber.

Shadows moved in the dark. A spark hissed downward through the grate into the pool, signaling the end. Pompey turned and a terrible force shoved him through the pool hurling him up against the grate, and smashed his cranium above the smoking water and flash of eternity. The front desk clerk working the audit ROOM/$12.000 was startled as he punched the wrong button. The grate yielded and Pompey's carcass was hurled against the base of the statue. The front desk clerk locked the cash drawer and dashed up the steps to see what had happened. The doors of the Jefferson Court leaked the pungent smell of smoke into the Lobby. The manager arrived instantly.

“Call the night engineer. Tell him to clean up the mess, and dump the alligator into the incinerator. And unless you smell more smoke, for Chrissakes, don't call the fire department. The sirens'll wake the guests up.”

“An explosion! Now it jes ain't possible. You shot him in de neck and trowed him into de furnace, jes' like dey lynch niggahs and splash de bodies wid gas and den trow dem into de bonfire!”

“Now look boy, you’ve been working here longer than anybody else, but that don't mean you can sass me. I'm the manager, and I can fire you just as quick as I can snap my fingers.”

“You cain’ fire me! What I goneta eat? How I goneta live? You can shoot a alligator in de neck, Yassuh, you sho can and did, but you cain’...”

“Willie Carter, you're terminated.”

“I knowse I'se angry Boss, but...”

“Terminated means fired.”

“Fired! Oh Lawdy law. What I goneta do? I ain't got no family, ain' got no job, and nobody wants a ole dahky like me to start workin' foh dem, specialty after I been fired. Dis Ho-tel gwineter hab de jinx now, and it's a startin' wid me. You cain’ treat a guest like Pompey de way you did. And you cain’ treat me like dat either. It's hateful.”

The new accountant, Miss Chalkley rapped gently on the door and opened it without asking permission.

“Mr. Garland, there's a reporter here from the Times Dispatch. He said he heard something about the..., about Pompey. Would you like to talk to him?”

“I do. I tell him de truf! I tell him Pompey was murdered. I'll go out right now and tell him everything!”

“I'll be out shortly. Close the door,”

“I tell him, Yassuh. I tell him de truf!”

“Now Willie, let's be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? You cain’ talk reason to me! I just another shifless niggah on de street what's worked hard and ain't got nuffin’ to show for it. All I got's de truf. You ain’ got no right to talk reason to me!”

“Now Willie, calm down. You still want a job?”

“Oh Boss, I'se even too ole to be a bellboy no more. I knew you was fixin' to fire me, what wid de new owner and all. But you got no right to go and treat Pompey like you did.”

“Well now Willie, I'll tell you what. I got a job here for you that's just what you need now. You are getting too old to be a bellboy, we all know that. But I’ve got something for you to get by on.”

“What's that?”

“We need someone to clean the Lobby at night. We're too busy during the day, and the maids won't come in after dark. It's not hard work. All you’ve got to do is dust off the furniture and push a broom around the floor. And it's easy work if you do it every night. You'll get more money than being a bellhop since you'll have a salary and won't have to depend on tips. Whaddya say?”

“I say well it soun's not too bad, but you still got no right to do Pompey the way...”

“Fine. The job has one condition. You go out there right now and tell that reporter that you’ve been taking care of the alligators for the last forty-odd years. And that last night, there was a small explosion caused by the presence of ammonia in the water from the repainting of the Court. And that was the accidental cause of Pompey's death.”

“But I cain' lie, I got...”

“No job is what you’ve got until you talk to that reporter. Besides, you don't know for a fact how Pompey died. You weren't there. And the ammonia in the water is the official story. You got it?”

“Yassuh. I got it Boss.”

“Fine. After you’ve spoken to the reporter, go to housekeeping and speak with Mrs. Chesterton. She'll tell you everything you need to know about cleaning the Lobby. You start tonight.”

“Yassuh.”

“And Willie?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“I don't ever want to hear the word 'alligator' or 'Pompey' on your lips again.”

“Yassuh, Boss.”

The next morning, an article on Pompey’s spectacular demise appeared in the morning paper; an unidentified bellhop was quoted as the source of the information. Soon thereafter Richmond’s newly formed “Colony Club” literally bought exclusive access to the Court, and installed a television set at the base of the statue of Thomas Jefferson.

The curse had begun, but the only two people in the Hotel who had any inkling why, were Willie Carter and Thomas Jefferson. The succession of ill fated new owners ignored the ancient laws of hospitality, which have rarely been violated without just retaliation.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Thomas Jefferson stands alert, casting his eyes toward Albemarle above ordinary mortals and the meagerness of everyday life, having earned his laurels and all due respect. Tom glances at the statue and subconsciously taps his temple before walking out of the corniced splendor of the Neoclassic sanctuary. No tracings in the floors indicated where the pools might possibly have been. If he remembered to ask Grandmother their location, he was certain he could probably find them on the next occasion.

But he never did.