Through the trees

'See you later.'

I walked away, leaving the tennis ball in the short grass of Smiths's lawn.

The next day, I woke up at seven, under the influence of a nightmare whose content I couldn't quite recall when I awoke. Without eating breakfast or brushing my scruffy brown hair, I went out to the back yard--a long, thin field of grass, bordered by honeysuckle, that seemed to go back and back. I came here when I needed to think.

But this time, before I had gotten more than twenty feet into the yard, a voice said from the bush, 'Ha! Alfie!'

The words seemed to be coming from a mulberry tree that had pushed its way up through the surrounding honeysuckle. 'What? Who is it? Helen? Rebecca? Brunita?'

'I'll give you a hint,' the voice said. '"If you knew half the things I want to do to you. . ."'

'Samantha!' said I. 'What are you doing here?'

'No need to ask,' said she. 'Come in to this tree with me, Alfie. Come inside this tree, and I'll tell you more about those things I want to do to you.'

'Well,' said I. . .