“I. . .I. . .she. . .”
“Move, God curse your father’s face!” Roland roared, and at last Eddie moved.
4
They almost lost control of her twice during the tying and binding. But Eddie was at last able to slipknot one of Roland’s gunbelts around her wrists when Roland—using all his force—finally brought them together behind her （all the time drawing back from her lunging bites like a mongoose from a snake; the bites he avoided but before Eddie had finished, the gunslinger was drenched with spittle） and then Eddie dragged her off, holding the short leash of the makeshift slipknot to do it. He did not want to hurt this thrashing screaming cursing thing. It was uglier than the lobstrosities by far because of the greater intelligence which informed it, but he knew it could also be beautiful. He did not want to harm the other person the vessel held somewhere inside it （like a live dove deep inside one of the secret compartments in a magician’s magic box）。
Odetta Holmes was somewhere inside that screaming screeching thing.
5
Although his last mount—a mule—had died too long ago to remember, the gunslinger still had a piece of its tether-rope （which, in turn, had once been a fine gunslinger’s lariat）。 They used this to bind her in her wheelchair, as she had imagined （or falsely remembered, and in the end they both came to the same thing, didn’t they?） they had done already. Then they drew away from her.
If not for the crawling lobster-things, Eddie would have gone down to the water and washed his hands.
“I feel like I’m going to vomit,” he said in a voice that jig-jagged up and down the scale like the voice of an adolescent boy.
“Why don’t you go on and eat each other’s COCKS?” the struggling thing in the chair screeched. “Why don’t you jus go on and do dat if you fraid of a black woman’s cunny? You just go on! Sho! Suck on yo each one’s candles! Do it while you got a chance, cause Detta Walker goan get outen dis chair and cut dem skinny ole white candles off and feed em to those walkin buzzsaws down there!”
“She’s the woman I was in. Do you believe me now?”
“I believed you before,” Eddie said. “I told you that.”
“You believed you believed. You believed on the top of your mind. Do you believe it all the way down now? All the way to the bottom?”
Eddie looked at the shrieking, convulsing thing in the chair and then looked away, white except for the slash on his jaw, which was still dripping a little. That side of his face was beginning to look a little like a balloon.
“Yes,” he said. “God, yes.”
“This woman is a monster.”
Eddie began to cry.
The gunslinger wanted to comfort him, could not commit such a sacrilege （he remembered Jake too well）， and walked off into the dark with his new fever burning and aching inside him.
6
Much earlier on that night, while Odetta still slept, Eddie said he thought he might understand what was wrong with her. Might. The gunslinger asked what he meant.
“She could be a schizophrenic.”
Roland only shook his head. Eddie explained what he understood of schizophrenia, gleanings from such films as The Three Faces of Eve and various TV programs （mostly the soap operas he and Henry had often watched while stoned）。 Roland had nodded. Yes. The disease Eddie described sounded about right. A woman with two faces, one light and one dark. A face like the one the man in black had shown him on the fifth Tarot card.
“And they don’t know—these schizophrenes—that they have another?”
“No,” Eddie said. “But . . .” He trailed off, moodily watching the lobstrosities crawl and question, question and crawl.