"Did they get the man?" Garp asked.
"Someone shot him, or he shot himself," Roberta said.
"Dead?" Garp asked.
"Yes, the bastard," Roberta said. "He's dead, too."
"Are you alone, Roberta?" Garp asked her.
"No," Roberta wept. "There are a lot of us here. We're at your place." And Garp could imagine them all, the wailing women at Dog's Head Harbor--their leader murdered.
"She wanted her body to go to a med school," Garp said. "Roberta?"
"I hear you," Roberta said. "That's just so awful."
"That's what she wanted," Garp said.
"I know," Roberta said. "You've got to come home."
"Right away," Garp said.
"We don't know what to do," Roberta said.
"What is there to do?" Garp asked. "There's nothing to do."
"There should be some thing," Roberta said, "but she said she never wanted a funeral."
"Certainly not," Garp said. "She wanted her body to go to a med school. You get that accomplished, Roberta: that's what Mom would have wanted."
"But there ought to be some thing," Roberta protested. "Maybe not a religious service, but something."
"Don't you get involved in anything until I get there," Garp told her.
"There's a lot of talk," Roberta said. "People want a rally, or something."
"I'm her only family, Roberta," Garp said. "You tell them that."
"She meant a lot to a lot of us, you know," Roberta said, sharply.
Yes, and it got her killed! Garp thought, but he said nothing.
"I tried to look after her!" Roberta cried. "I told her not to go in that parking lot!"
"Nobody's to blame, Roberta," Garp said, softly.
"You think somebody's to blame, Garp," Roberta said. "You always do."
"Please, Roberta," Garp said. "You're my best friend."
"I'll tell you who's to blame," Roberta said. "It's men, Garp. It's your filthy murderous sex! If you can't fuck us the way you want to, you kill us in a hundred ways!"
"Not me, Roberta, please," Garp said.
"Yes, you
too," Roberta whispered. "No man is a woman's friend."
"I'm your friend, Roberta," Garp said, and Roberta cried for a while--a sound as acceptable to Garp as rain falling on a deep lake.