Intensity

can't be formed from the letters of my name." He hesitated, pondering, and then continued: "It can be formed from the letters of your name."
        She didn't bother to remind him about her mother's precious spelling. Only spyder could be found in Chyna Shepherd .
        "And it was risky, eating a spider, which added considerably to the appeal," Vess continued. "Unless you're an entomologist, you can't be sure if any particular specimen is poisonous or not. Some, like the brown recluse, are extremely dangerous. A bite on the hand is one thing… but I had to be sure that I was quick and crushed it against the roof of my mouth before it could bite my tongue."
        "You like taking risks."
        He shrugged. "I'm just that kind of guy."
        "On edge."
        "Words in my name," he acknowledged.
        "And if you'd been bitten on the tongue?"
        "Pain is the same as pleasure, just different. Learn to enjoy it, and you're happier with life."
        "Even pain is value neutral?"
        "Sure. Just sensation. It helps grow the reef of the soul-if there is a soul."
        She didn't know what the hell he was talking about-the reef of the soul-and she didn't ask. She was weary of him. Weary of fearing him, even weary of hating him. With her questions, she was striving to understand , as she had striven all her life, and she was tired to death of this search for meaning. She would never know why some people committed countless little cruelties-or bigger ones-and the struggle to understand had only exhausted her and left her empty, cold, and gray inside.
        Pointing to her red and swollen index finger, Vess said, "That must hurt. And your neck."
        "The headache's the worst of it. And none of it's anything like pleasure."
        "Well, I can't easily show you the way to enlightenment and prove you're wrong. It takes time. But there's a smaller lesson, quick to learn…"
        He got up from his chair and went to a spice rack at the end of the kitchen cabinets. Among the small bottles and tins of thyme, cloves, dill, nutmeg, chili pepper, ginger, marjoram, and cinnamon was a bottle of aspirin.
        "I don't take this for headaches, because I like to savor the pain. But I keep aspirin on hand because, once in a while, I like to chew on them for the taste."
        "They're vile."
        "Just bitter. Bitterness can be as pleasing as sweetness when you learn that every experience, every sensation, is worthwhile."
        He returned to the table with the bottle of aspirin. He put it in front of her-and took away her glass of water.
        "No, thanks," she said.
        "Bitterness has its place."
        She ignored the bottle.
        "Suit yourself," Vess said, clearing the plates off the table.
        Although Chyna needed relief from her various pains, she refused to touch the aspirin. Perhaps irrationally-but nonetheless strongly- she felt that by chewing a few of the tablets, even strictly for the medicinal effect, she would be stepping into the strange rooms of Edgler Vess's madness. This was a threshold that she didn't care to cross for any purpose, even with one foot solidly anchored in the real world.
        He hand-washed the breakfast plates, bowls, pans, and utensils. He was efficient and fastidious, using steaming hot water and lots of lemon-scented dishwashing liquid.
        Chyna had one more question that could not go unasked, and at last she said, "Why the Templetons? Why choose them of all people? It wasn't random, was it, not just the place you happened to stop in the night?"
        "Not just random," he agreed, scrubbing the omelet pan with a plastic scouring pad. "A few weeks back, Paul Templeton was up this way on business, and when-"
        "You knew him?"
        "Not really. He was in town, the county seat, on business like I said, and as he was taking something from his wallet to show me, a set of those little hinged plastic windows fell out, you know, with little wallet-size photographs, and I picked them up for him. One of the pictures was his wife. Another was Laura. She looked so… fresh, unspoiled. I said something like 'That's a pretty girl,' and Paul was off and running about her, every inch the proud papa. Told me she was soon going to have her master's degree in psychology, three-point eight grade average and everything. He told me how he really missed her away at school, even after six years of getting used to it, and