'I did not know it and I am shocked to hear it.'

 

'Truly, dear? But you know how well I swim.'

 

'What's that got to do with it? I swim well, too. But I don't swim naked; I wear a bathing suit.' (But I, was remembering most sharply the pool in Konge Knut - of course my darling was used to nude swimming. I found myself out on a limb.)

 

'Oh. Yes. I've seen such suits, in Mazatlán. And in Spain. But, darling, we're going astray again. The problem is wider than whether or not bare legs are indecent or whether I should have kissed Steve good-bye or even whether I must obey you. You are expecting me to be what I am not. I want to be your wife for many years, for -all my life - and I hope to share Heaven with you if Heaven is your destination. But, darling, I am not a child, I am not a slave. Because I love you I wish to please you. But I will not obey an order simply because I am a wife.'

 

I could say that I overwhelmed her with the brilliance of my rebuttal. Yes, I could say that, but it would not be true. I was still trying to think of an answer when a car slowed down as it overtook us. I heard a whistle of the sort called 'wolf'. The car stopped beyond us and backed up. Need a ride?' a voice called out.

 

'Yes!' Margrethe answered, and hurried. Perforce, I did, too.

 

. It was a station wagon with a woman behind the wheel, a man riding with her. Both were my age or older. He reached back, opened the rear door. 'Climb in!'

 

I handed Margrethe in, followed her and closed the door. 'Got room enough?' he asked. 'If not, throw that junk on the floor. We never sit in the back seat, so stuff sort o' gravitates to it. We're Clyde and Bessie Bulkey.'

 

'He's Bulkey; I'm just well fed,' the driver added.

 

'You're supposed to laugh at that; I've heard it before.' He was indeed bulky, the sort of big-boned beefy man who is an athlete in school, then puts on weight later. His wife had correctly described both of them; she was not fat but carried some extra padding.

 

'How do you do, Mrs Bulkey, Mr Bulkey. We're Alec and Margrethe Graham. Thank you for picking us up.'

 

Don't be so formal, Alec,' she answered. 'How far you going?'

 

'Bessie, please keep one eye on the road.'

 

'Clyde, if you don't like the way I'm herding this heap, I'll pull over and let you drive.'

 

'Oh, no, no, you're doing fine!'

 

'Pipe down then, or I invoke rule K. Well, Alec?'

 

'We're going to Kansas.'

 

'Coo! We're not going that far; we turn north at Chambers. That's just a short piece down the road, About ninety miles. But you're welcome to that much. What are you going to do in Kansas?'

 

(What was I going to do in Kansas? Open an ice cream parlor... bring my dear wife back to the fold. Prepare for Judgment Day -) 'I'm going to wash dishes.'

 

'My husband is too modest,' Margrethe said quietly. 'We're going to open a small restaurant and soda fountain in a college town. But on our way to that goal we are likely to wash dishes. Or almost any work.'

 

So I explained what had happened to us, with variations and omissions to avoid what they wouldn't believe. 'The restaurant was wiped out, our Mexican partner were dead, and we lost everything we had. I said "dishwashing" because that is the one job I can almost always find. But I'll take a swing at 'most anything.'

 

Clyde said, 'Alec, with that attitude you'll be back on, your feet before you know it.'

 

'We lost some money, that's all. We're not too old to start over again.' (Dear Lord, will You hold off Judgment Day long enough for me to do it? Thy will be done. Amen.)

 

Margrethe reached over and squeezed my hand. Llyde noticed it. He had turned around in his seat so that he faced us as well as his wife. 'You'll make it,' he said. 'With your wife backing you, you're bound to make it.'

 

I think so. Thank you. 'I knew why he was turned to face us: to stare at Margrethe. I wanted to tell him to keep his eyes to himself but, under the circumstances, I could not. Besides that, it was clear that Mr and Mrs Bulkey saw nothing wrong with the way my beloved was dressed; Mrs Bulkey was dressed the same way, only more so. Or less so. Less costume, more bare skin. I must admit, too, that,' while she was not the immortal beauty Margrethe is, she was quite comely.

 

At Painted Desert we stopped, got out, and stared at the truly unbelievable natural beauty. I had seen it once before; Margrethe had never seen it and was breathless. Clyde told me that they always stopped, even though they had seen it hundreds of times.

 

Correction: I had seen it once before in another world. Painted Desert tended to prove what I had strongly suspected: It was not Mother Earth that changed in these wild changes; it was man and his works - and even those only, in part. But the only obvious explanation seemed to lead straight to paranoia. If so, I must not surrender to it; I must take care of Margrethe.

 

Clyde bought us hot dogs and cold drinks and brushed aside my offer to pay. When we got back into their car, Clyde took the wheel and invited Margrethe to ride up front with him. I was not pleased but could not show it, as Bessie promptly said, 'Poor Alec! Has to put up with the old bag. Don't sulk, dear; it's only twenty-three miles to the turn-off for Chambers . . . or less than twenty-three minutes the way Clyde drives.'

 

This time Clyde took thirty minutes. But he waited and made sure that we had a ride to Gallup.

 

We reached Gallup long before dark. Despite $8.80 in our pockets, it seemed time to look for dirty dishes. Gallup has almost as many motels and cabin courts as it 'has Indians and almost half of these hostelries have restaurants. I checked a baker's dozen before I found one that needed a dishwasher.

 

Fourteen days later we were in Oklahoma City. If you think that is slow time, you are correct; it is less than fifty miles a day. But plenty had happened and I was feeling decidedly paranoid - world change after world change and always timed to cause me maximum trouble.

 

Ever seen a cat play with a mouse? The mouse never has a chance. If he has even the brains the good Lord gives a mouse, he knows that. Nevertheless the mouse keeps on trying... and is hauled back every time.

 

I was the mouse.

 

Or we were the mice, for Margrethe was with me... and she was all that kept me going. She didn't complain and she didn't quit. So I couldn't quit.

 

Example: I had figured out that, while paper money was never any good after a world change, hard money, gold and silver, would somehow be negotiable, as bullion if not coin. So, when I got a chance to lay hands on hard money, I was stingy with it and refused to take paper money in change for hard money.

 

Smart boy. Alec, you're a real brain.

 

So on our third day in Gallup Marga and I took a nap in a room paid for by dishwashing (me) and by cleaning rooms (Margrethe). We didn't intend to go to sleep; we simply wanted to rest a bit before eating; it had been a long, hard day. We lay down on top of the bedspread.

 

I was just getting relaxed when I realized that something hard was pressing against my spine. I roused enough to figure out that our hoarded silver dollars had slipped out of my side pocket when I had turned over. So I eased my arm out from under Marga's head, retrieved the dollars, counted them, added the, loose change, and placed it all on the bedside table a foot from my head, then got horizontal again, slid my arm under Marga's head and fell right to sleep.

 

When I woke up it was pitch dark.

 

I came wide awake. Margrethe was still snoring softly on my arm. I shook her a little. 'Honey. Wake up.'

 

'Mrrf?'

 

'It's late. We may have missed dinner

 

She came quickly awake. 'Can you switch on the bed lamp?' '

 

I fumbled at the bedside table, nearly fell out of bed. 'Can't find the pesky thing. It's dark as the inside of a pile of coal.' Wait a sec, I'll get the overhead light.'

 

I got cautiously off the bed, headed for the door, stumbled over a chair, could not find the door - groped for it, did find it, groped some more and found a light. switch by it. The overhead light came on.

 

For a long, dismal moment neither of us said anything. Then I said, inanely and unnecessarily, 'They did it again.'

 

The room had the characterless anonymity of any cheap motel room anywhere. Nevertheless it was different in details from the room in which we had gone to sleep.

 

And our hoarded silver dollars were gone.

 

Everything but the clothes we were wearing was gone knapsack, clean socks, spare underwear, comb, safety razor, everything. I inspected, made certain.

 

'Well, Marga, what now?'

 

'Whatever you say, sir.'

 

'Mmm. I don't think they'll know me in the kitchen. But they still might let me wash dishes.'

 

'Or they may need a waitress.'

 

The door had a spring lock and I had no key, so I left it an inch ajar. The door led directly outdoors and looked across a parking court at the office - a corner room with a lighted sign reading OFFICE - all commonplace except that it did not match the appearance of the motel in which we had been working. In that establishment the manager's office had been in the front end of a central, building, the rest of that central building being the coffee shop.

 

Yes, we had missed dinner.

 

And breakfast. This motel did not have a coffee shop.

 

'Well, Marga?'

 

'Which way is Kansas?'

 

'That way... I think. But we have two choices. We can go back into the room, go to bed properly, and sleep until daylight. Or we can get out there on the highway and try to thumb a ride. In the dark.'

 

'Alec, I see only one choice. If we go back inside and go to bed, we'll get up at daylight, some hours hungrier and no better off. Maybe worse off, if they catch us sleeping in a room we didn't pay for

 

'I washed an awful lot of dishes!'

 

'Not here, you didn't. Here they might send for the police.'

 

We started walking.

 

That was typical of the persecution we suffered in trying to get to Kansas. Yes, I said 'persecution'. If paranoia consists in believing that the world around you is a conspiracy against you, I had become paranoid. But it was either a 'sane paranoia (if you will pardon the Irishism), or I was suffering from delusions so monumental that I should be locked up and treated.

 

Maybe so. If so, Margrethe was part of my delusions an answer I could not accept. It could not be folie à deux; Margrethe was sane in any world.

 

It was the middle of the day before we got anything to eat, and by then I was beginning to see ghosts where a healthy man would see only dust devils. My hat had gone where the woodbine twineth and the New Mexico sun on my head was not helping my state.

 

A carload of men from a construction site picked us up and took us into Grants, and bought us lunch before they left us there. I may be certifiably insane but I am not stupid; we owe that ride and that meal to the fact that Margrethe in shorts indecently tight, is a sight that attracts the attention of men. That gave me plenty to think about while I enjoyed (and I did enjoy it!) that lunch they bought us. But I kept my ruminations to myself.

 

After they left us I said, 'East?'

 

'Yes, sir. But first I would like to check the public library. If there is one.'

 

'Oh, yes! Surely.' Earlier, in the world of our friend Steve, the lack of air travel had caused me to suspect that Steve's world might be the world where Margrethe was born (and therefore the home of 'Alec Graham' as well). In Gallup we had checked on this at the public library - I had looked up American history in an encyclopedia while Marga checked on Danish history. It took us each about five minutes to determine that Steve's world was not the world Marga was born in. I found that Bryan had been elected in 1896 but had died in office, succeeded by his vice president, Arthur Sewall - and that was all I needed to know; I then simply raced through presidents and wars I had never, heard of.

 

Margrethe had finished her line of investigation with her nose twitching with indignation. Once outside where we didn't have to whisper I asked her what was troubling her. 'This isn't your world, dear; I made sure of that.'

 

'It certainly isn't!'

 

'But we didn't have anything but a negative to go on. There may be many worlds that have no aeronautics of any sort.'

 

'I'm glad this isn't my world! Alec, in this world Denmark is part of Sweden. Isn't that terrible?'

 

Truthfully I did not understand her upset. Both countries are Scandinavian, pretty much alike - or so it seemed to me. 'I'm sorry, dear. I don't know much about such things,' (I had been to Stockholm once, liked the place. It didn't seem a good time to tell her so.)

 

'And that silly book says that Stockholm is the capital and that Carl Sixteenth is king. Alec, he isn't even royal! And now they tell me he's my king!'

 

'But, sweetheart, he's not your king. This isn't even your world.'

 

'I know. Alec? If we have to settle here - if the world doesn't change again - couldn't I be naturalized?'

 

'Why, yes. I suppose so.'

 

She sighed. 'I don't want to be a Swede.'

 

I kept quiet. There were some things I couldn't help her with.

 

So in Grants we again went to a public library lo see what the latest changes had done to the world. Since we had seen no aeroplanos and no dirigibles, again it was possible that we were in Margrethe's world. This time I looked first under 'Aeronautics' - did not find, dirigibles but did find flying machines... invented by Dr Alberto Santos Dumont of Brazil early in this century - and I was bemused by the inventor's name, as, in my world, he had been a pioneer in dirigibles second only to Count von Zeppelin. Apparently the doctor's. aerodynes were primitive compared with jet planes, or even aeroplanos; they seemed to be curiosities rather than commercial vehicles. I dropped it and turned to American history, checking first on William, Jennings Bryan.

 

I couldn't, find him at all. Well, I had known that this was not my world.

 

But Marga was all smiles, could hardly wait to get outside the no-talking area to tell me about it. 'In this world Scandinavia is all one big country... and Kobenhavn is its capital!'

 

'Well, good!'

 

'Queen Margrethe's son Prince Frederik was crowned King Eric Gustav - no doubt to please the outlanders. But he is true Danish royalty and a Dane right down to his skull bone. This is as it should be!'

 

I tried to show her, that I was happy, too. Without a cent between us, with no idea where we would sleep that night, she was delighted as a child at Christmas... over an event that I could not see mattered at all.

 

Two short rides got us into Albuquerque and I decided that it was prudent to stay there a bit - it's a big place even if we had to throw ourselves On Salvation Army charity. But I quickly found a job as a dishwasher in the Coffee shop of the local Holiday Inn and Margrethe went to work as a waitress in the same shop.

 

We had been working there less than two hours when she came back to the scullery and slid something into my hip pocket while I was bent over a sink. 'A present for you, dear!'

 

I turned around. 'Hi, Gorgeous.' I checked my pocket - a safety razor of the travel sort - handle unscrews, and razor and handle' and blades, all fit into a waterproof case smaller than a pocket Testament, and intended to be carried in a pocket. 'Steal it?'

 

'Not quite. Tips. Got it at the lobby notions stand. Dear, at your first break I want you to shave.'

 

'Let me clue you, doll. You get hired for your looks. I get hired for my strong back, weak mind, and docile--disposition. They don't care how I look.'

 

'But I do.'

 

'Your slightest wish is my command. Now get out of here; you're slowing up production.'

 

That night Margrethe explained why she had bought me a razor ahead of anything else. 'Dear, it's not just because I like your face smooth and your hair short - although I do! These Loki tricks have kept on and each time, we have to find work at once just to eat. You say that nobody cares how a dishwasher looks... but I say looking clean and neat helps in getting hired for any job, and can't possibly hurt.

 

'But there is another reason. As a result of these changes, you've had to let your whiskers grow once, twice - I can count five times, once for over three days. Dearest, when you are freshly shaved, you stand tall and look happy. And that makes me happy.'

 

Margrethe made for me a sort of money belt - actually a cloth pocket and a piece of cloth tape - which she wanted me to wear in bed. 'Dear, we've lost anything we didn't have on us whenever a shift took place. I want you to put your razor and our hard money into this when you undress for bed.'

 

'I don't think we can outwit Satan that easily.'

 

'Maybe not. We can try. We come through each change with the clothes we are wearing at the time and with whatever we have in our pockets. This seems to fit the rules.'

 

'Chaos does not have rules.'

 

'Perhaps this is not chaos. Alec, if you won't wear this to bed, do you mind if I do?'

 

'Oh, I'll wear it. It won't stop Satan if he really wants to take it away from us. Nor does it really worry me. Once he dumped us mother naked into the Pacific and we pulled out of it - remember? What does worry me is - Marga, have you noticed that every time we have gone through a change we've been holding each other? At least holding hands?'

 

'I've noticed.'

 

'Change happens in the blink of an eye. What happens if we're not together, holding each other? At least touching? Tell me.'

 

She kept quiet so long that I knew she did not intend to answer.

 

I 'Uh huh,' I said. 'Me, too. But we can't be Siamese twins, touching all the time. We have to work. My darling, my life, Satan or Loki or whatever bad spirit is doing this to us, can separate us forever simply by picking any instant when we are not touching.'

 

'Alec.'

 

'Yes, my love?'

 

'Loki has been able to do this to us at any moment for a long time. It has not happened.'

 

'So it may happen the next second.'.

 

'Yes. But it may not happen at all.'

 

We moved on, and suffered more changes. Margrethe's precaution's did seem to work - although in one change they seemed to work almost too well; I barely missed a jail sentence for unlawful possession of silver coins. But a quick change (the quickest we had seen) got rid of the charge, the evidence, and the complaining witness. We found ourselves in a strange courtroom and were quickly evicted for lacking tickets entitling us to remain there.

 

But the razor stayed with me; no cop or sheriff or marshal seemed to want to confiscate that.

 

We were moving on by our usual method (my thumb and Margrethe's lovely legs; I had long since admitted to myself that I might as well enjoy the inevitable) and had been dropped in a pretty part of - Texas, it must have been - by a trucker who had turned north off 66 on 'a side road.

 

We had come out of the desert into low green hills. It was a beautiful day but we were tired, hungry, sweaty, and dirty, for our persecutors - Satan or whoever - had outdone themselves: three changes in thirty-six hours.

 

In one day I had had two dishwashing jobs in the same town at the same address... and had collected nothing. It is difficult to collect from The Lonesome Cowboy Steak House when it turns into Vivian's Grill in front of your eyes. The same was true three hours later when Vivian's Grill melted into a used-car lot. The only thing good about these shocks was that by great good fortune (or conspiracy?) Margrethe was with me each time - in one case she had come to get me and was waiting with me while my boss was figuring my time, in the other she had been working with me.

 

The third change did us out of a night's lodging that had already been, paid for in kind by Margrethe's labor.

 

So when that trucker dropped us, we were tired and hungry and dirty and my paranoia had reached a new high.

 

We had been walking a few hundred yards when we came to a sweet little stream, a, sight in Texas precious beyond all else.

 

We stopped on the culvert bridging it. 'Margrethe, how would you like to wade in that?'

 

'Darling, I'm going to do more than wade in it, I'm going to bathe in it.'

 

'Hmm - Yes, go under the fence, along the stream about fifty, seventy-five yards, and I don't think anyone could see us from the road.'

 

'Sweetheart, they can line up and cheer if they want to; I'm going to have a bath. And - That water looks clean. Would it be safe to drink?'

 

'The upstream side? Certainly. We've taken worse chances every day since the iceberg. Now if we had something to eat - Say, your hot fudge sundae. Or would you prefer scrambled eggs?' I held up the lower wire of the fence to let her crawl under. I

 

'Will you settle for an Oh Henry bar?'

 

'Make that a Milky Way,' I answered, 'if I have my druthers.'

 

'I'm afraid you don't, dear. An Oh Henry bar is all there is.' She held the wire for me.

 

'Maybe we'd better stop talking about food we don't have,' I said, and crawled under - straightened up and added, 'I'm ready to eat raw skunk.'

 

'Food we do have, dear man. I have an Oh Henry in my tote.'

 

I stopped abruptly. 'Woman, if you're joking, I'm going to beat you.'

 

'I'm not joking.'

 

'In Texas it is legal to correct a wife with a stick not ,thicker than one's thumb.' I held up my thumb. 'Do you see one about this size?'

 

'I'll find one.'

 

'Where did you get a candy bar?'

 

'That roadside stop where Mr Facelli treated us to coffee and doughnuts.'                  I

 

Mr Facelli had been our middle-of-the-night ride just before the truck that had dropped us. Two small cake doughnuts each and the sugar and cream for coffee had been our only calories for twenty-four hours.

 

'The beating can wait. Woman, if you stole it, tell me about it later. You really do have a real live Oh Henry? Or am I getting feverish?'

 

'Alec, do you think I would steal a candy bar? I bought it from a coin machine while you and Mr Facelli were in the men's room after we ate.'

 

'How? We don't have any money. Not from this world.'

 

'Yes, Alec. But there was a dime in my tote, from two changes back. Of course it was not a good dime, strictly speaking. But I couldn't see any real harm if the machine would take it. And it did. But I put it out of sight before you two got back... because I didn't have three dimes and could not offer a candy bar to Mr Facelli.' She added anxiously, 'Do you think I cheated? Using that dime?'

 

'It's a technicality I won't go into... as long as I get to share in the proceeds of the crime. And that makes me equally guilty. Uh... eat first, or bathe first?'

 

We ate first, a picnic banquet washed down by delicious creek water. Then we bathed, with much splashing and laughing - I remember it as one of the happiest times of my life. Margrethe had soap in her tote bag, too, and I supplied the towel, my shirt. First I wiped Margrethe with it, then I wiped me with it. The dry, warm air finished the job.

 

What happened immediately after was inevitable. I had never in my life made love outdoors, much less in bright daylight. If anyone had asked me, I would have said that for me it would be a psychological impossibility; I would be too inhibited, too aware of the indecency involved.

 

I am amazed and happy to say that, while keenly aware of the circumstances, I was untroubled at the time and quite able... perhaps because of Margrethe's bubbling, infectious enthusiasm.

 

I have never slept naked on grass before, either. I think we slept about an hour.

 

When we woke up, Margrethe insisted on shaving me. I could not shave myself very well as I had no mirror, but she could and did, with her usual efficiency. We stood knee-deep in the water; I worked up soapsuds with my hands and slathered my face. She shaved and I renewed the lather as needed.

 

'There,' she said at last, and gave me a sign-off kiss, 'you'll do. Rinse off now and don't forget your ears. I'll find the towel. Your shirt.' She climbed onto the bank while I leaned far over and splashed water on my face.

 

'Alec -'

 

'I can't hear you; the water's running.'

 

'Please, dear!'

 

I straightened up, wiped the water out of my eyes, looked around.

 

Everything we owned was gone, everything but my razor.

 

 

Chapter 17

 

Behold, I go forward, but he is not there;

and backward, but I cannot perceive him: On the

left hand, where he doth work, but I cannot

behold him: he hideth himself on the right hand,

that I cannot see him.

Job 23:8-10

 

MARGRETHE SAID, 'What did you do with the soap?'

 

I took a deep breath, sighed it out. 'Did I hear you correctly? You're asking what I did with the soap?'

 

'What would you rather I said?'

 

'Uh - I don't know. But not that. A miracle takes place... and you ask me about a bar of soap.'

 

'Alec, a miracle that takes place again and again and again is no longer a miracle; it's just a nuisance. Too many, too much. I want to scream or break into tears. So I asked about the soap.'

 

I had been halfway to hysteria myself when Margrethe's statement hit me like a dash of cold water. Margrethe? She who took icebergs and earthquakes in her stride, she who never whimpered in adversity... she wanted to scream?

 

'I'm sorry, dear. I had the soap in my hands when you were shaving me. I did not have it in my hands when I rinsed my face. I suppose I laid it on the bank. But I don't recall. Does it matter?'

 

'Not really, I suppose. Although that cake of Camay, used just once, would be half our worldly goods if I could find it, this razor being the other half. You may have placed it on the bank, but I don't see it.'

 

'Then it's gone. Marga, we've got urgent things to worry about before we'll be dirty enough to need soap again. Food, Clothing, shelter.' I scrambled up onto the bank. 'Shoes. We don't even have shoes. What do we do now? I'm stumped. If I had a wailing wall, I'd wail.'

 

'Steady, dear, steady.'

 

'Is it all right if I just whimper a little?'

 

She came close, put her arms around me, and kissed me. 'Whimper all you want to, dear, whimper for both of us. Then let's decide what to do.'

 

I can't stay depressed with Margrethe's arms around me. 'Do you have any ideas? I can't think of anything but picking our way back to the highway and trying to thumb a ride... which doesn't appeal to me in the state I'm in. Not even a fig leaf. Do you see a fig tree?'

 

'Does Texas have fig trees?'

 

'Texas has everything. What do we do now?'

 

'We go back to the highway and start walking.'

 

'Barefooted? Why not stand still and wave our thumbs? We can't go far enough barefooted to matter. My feet are tender.'

 

'They'll toughen up. Alec, we must keep moving. For our morale, love. If we give up, we'll die. I know it.'

 

Ten minutes later we were moving slowly east on the highway. But it was not the highway we had left. This one was four lanes instead of two, with wide paved shoulders. The fence marking the right of way, instead of three strands of barbed wire, was chain-link steel as high as my head. We would have had a terrible time reaching the highway had it not been for the stream. By going back into the water and holding our breaths, we managed to slither under the fence. This left us sopping wet again (and no towel-shirt) but the warm air corrected that in a few minutes.

 

There was much more traffic on this highway than there had been on the one we had left, both freight and what seemed to be passenger cars. And it was fast. How fast I could not guess, but it seemed at least twice as fast as any ground transportation I had ever seen. Perhaps as fast as transoceanic dirigibles.

 

There were big-vehicles that had to be freight movers but looked more like railroad boxcars than they looked like lorries. And even longer than boxcars. But as I stared I figured out that each one was at least three cars, articulated. I figured this out by attempting to count wheels. Sixteen per car? Six more on some sort of locomotive up front, for a total of fifty-four wheels. Was this possible?

 

These behemoths moved with no sound but the noise of air rushing past them, plus a whoosh of tires against pavement. My dynamics professor would have approved.

 

In the lane nearest us were smaller vehicles that I assumed to be passenger cars, although I could not 'see anyone inside. Where one would expect windows appeared to be mirrors or burnished steel. They were long and low and as sleekly shaped as an airship.

 

And now I saw that this was not one highway, but two. All the traffic on the pavement nearest us was going east; at least a hundred yards away another stream of traffic was going west. Still farther away, seen only in glimpses, was a limit fence for the northern side of the widest right of way I have ever seen.

 

We trudged along on the edge of the shoulder. I began to feel gloomy about the chances of being picked up. Even if they could see us (which seemed uncertain), how could they stop quickly enough to pick up someone on the highway? Nevertheless I waved the hitchhikers' sign at each car.

 

I kept my misgivings to myself. After we had been walking a dismal time, a car that had just passed us dropped out of the traffic lane onto the shoulder, stopped at least a quarter of a mile ahead of us, then backed toward us at a speed I would regard as too fast if I were going forward. We got hastily off the shoulder.

 

It stopped alongside us. A mirrored section a yard wide and at least that high lifted up like a storm-cellar door, and I found myself looking into the passenger compartment. The operator looked out at us and grinned. 'I don't believe it!'

 

I tried to grin back. 'I don't believe it myself. But here we are. Will you give us a ride?'

 

'Could be.' He looked Margrethe up and down. 'My, aren't you the purty thing! What happened?'

 

Margrethe answered, 'Sir, we are lost.'

 

'Looks like. But how did you manage to lose your clothes, too? Kidnapped? Or what? Never mind, that can wait. I'm Jerry Farnsworth.'

 

I answered, 'We're Alec and Margrethe Graham.'

 

'Good to meet you. Well, you don't look armed - except for that thing in your hand, Miz Graham. What is it?'

 

She held it out to him. 'A razor.'

 

He accepted it, looked at it, handed it back. 'Durned if it isn't. Haven't seen one like that since I was too young to shave. Well, I don't see how you can highjack me with that. Climb in. Alec, you can have the back seat; your sister can sit up here with me.' Another section of the shell swung upward.

 

'Thank you,' I answered, thinking sourly about beggars and choosers. 'Marga is not my sister, she's my wife.'

 

'Lucky man! Do you object to your wife riding with me?'

 

'Oh, of course not!'

 

I think that answer would cause a tension meter to jingle. Dear, you'd better get back there with your husband.'

 

'Sir, you invited me to sit with you and my husband voiced his approval.' Margrethe slipped into the forward passenger seat. I opened my mouth and closed it, having found I had nothing to say. I climbed into the back seat, discovered that the car was bigger inside than out; the seat was roomy and comfortable. The doors closed down; the 'mirrors' now were windows.

 

'I'm about to put her back into the flow,' our host said, 'so don't fight the safeties. Sometimes this buggy bucks like a Brahma bull, six gees or better. No, wait a sec. Where are you two going?' He looked at Margrethe.

 

'We're going to Kansas, Mr Farnsworth.'

 

'Call me Jerry, dear. In your skin?'

 

'We have no clothing, sir. We lost it.'

 

I added, 'Mr Farnsworth - Jerry - we're in a distressed state. We lost everything. Yes, we are going to Kansas, but first we must find clothes somewhere - Red Cross, maybe, I don't know. And I've got to find a job and make us some money. Then we'll go to Kansas.'

 

'I see. I think I do. Some of it. How are you going to get to Kansas?'

 

'I had in mind continuing straight on to Oklahoma City, then north. Stick to the main highways. Since we're hitchhiking.'

 

'Alec, you really are lost. See that fence? Do you know the penalty for a pedestrian caught inside that fence?'

 

'No, I don't.'

 

'Ignorance is bliss. You'll be much better off on the small side roads where hitching is still legal, or at least tolerated. If you're for Oke City, I can help you along. Hang on.' He did something at controls in front of him. He didn't touch the wheel because there wasn't any wheel to touch. Instead there were two hand grips.

 

The car vibrated faintly, then jumped sideways. I felt as if I had fallen into soft mush and my skin tingled as with static electricity. The car bucked like a small boat in a heavy sea, but that 'soft mush' kept me from being battered about. Suddenly it quieted down and only that faint vibration continued. The landscape was streaking past.

 

'Now,' said Mr Farnsworth, 'tell me about it.'

 

'Margrethe?'

 

'Of course, dearest. You must.'

 

'Jerry... we're from another world.'

 

'Oh, no!' He groaned. 'Not another flying saucer! That makes four this week. That's your story?'

 

'No, no!' I've never seen a flying saucer. We're from earth, but... different. We were hitchhiking on Highway Sixty-Six, trying to reach Kansas -'

 

'Wait a minute. You said, "Sixty-Six".'

 

'Yes, of course.'

 

'That's what they used to call this road before they re-built it. But it hasn't been called anything but Interstate Forty for, oh, over forty years, maybe fifty. Hey. Time travelers! Are you?'

 

'What year is this?' I asked.

 

'Nineteen-ninety-four.'

 

'That's our year, too. Wednesday the eighteenth of May. Or was this morning. Before the change.'

 

'It still is. But - Look, let's quit jumping around. Start at the beginning, whenever that was, and tell me how you wound up inside the fence, bare naked.'

 

So I told him.

 

Presently he said, 'That fire pit. Didn't burn you?'

 

'One small blister.'

 

'Just a blister. I reckon you would be safe in Hell.'

 

'Look, Jerry, they really do walk on live coals.'

 

'I know, I've seen it. In New Guinea. Never hankered to try it. That iceberg - Something bothers me. How does an iceberg crash into the side of a vessel? An iceberg is dead in the water, always. Certainly a ship can bump into one but damage should be to the bow. Right?'

 

'Margrethe?'

 

'I don't know, Alec. What Jerry says sounds right. But it did happen.'

 

'Jerry, I don't know either. We were in a forward stateroom; maybe the whole front end was crushed in. But, if Marga doesn't know, I surely do not, as I got banged on the head and went out like a light. Marga kept me afloat - I told you.'

 

I Farnsworth looked thoughtfully at me. He had swiveled his seat around to face both of us while I talked, and he had showed Margrethe how to unlock her chair so that it would turn, also, which brought us three into an intimate circle of conversation, knees almost touching - and left him with his back to the traffic. 'Alec, what became of this Hergensheimer?'

 

'Maybe I didn't make that clear - it's not too clear to me, either. It's Graham who is missing. I am Hergensheimer.

 

When I walked through the fire and found myself in a different world, I found myself in Graham's place, as I said. Everybody called me Graham and seemed to think that I was Graham - and Graham was missing. I guess you could say I took the easy way out... but there I was, thousands of miles from home, no money, no ticket, and nobody had ever heard of Alexander Hergensheimer.' I shrugged and spread my hands helplessly. 'I sinned. I wore

his clothes, I ate at his table, I answered to his name.'

 

'I still don't get the skinny of this. Maybe you look enough like, Graham to fool almost anyone... but your wife would know the difference. Margie?'

 

Margrethe looked into my eyes with sadness and love, and answered steadily, 'Jerry, my husband is confused. A strange amnesia. He is Alec Graham. There is no Alexander Hergensheimer. There never was.'

 

I was left speechless. True, Margrethe and I had not discussed this matter for many weeks; true, she had never flatly admitted that I was not Alec Graham. I was learning again (again and again!) that one never won an argument with Margrethe. Any time I thought I had won, it always turned out that- she had simply shut up.

 

Farnsworth said to me, 'Maybe that knock in the head, Alec?'

 

'Look, that knock in the head was nothing - a few minutes' unconsciousness, nothing more. And no gaps in my memory. Anyhow it happened two weeks after the fire walk. Jerry, my wife is a wonderful woman... but I must disagree with her on this. She wants to believe that I am Alec Graham because she fell in love with Graham before she ever met me. She believes it because she needs to believe it. But of course I know who I am: Hergensheimer. I admit that amnesia can have some funny effects... but there was one clue that I could not have faked, one that said emphatically that I, Alexander Hergensheimer, was not Alec Graham.'

 

I slapped my stomach, where a bay window had been. 'Here is the proof: I wore Graham's clothes, I told you. But his clothes did not fit me perfectly. At the time of the fire walk I was rather plump, too heavy, carrying a lot of flab right here.' I slapped my stomach again. 'Graham's clothes were too tight around the middle for me. I had to suck in hard and hold my breath to fasten the waistband on any pair of his trousers. That could not happen in the blink of an eye, while walking through a fire pit. Nor did it. Two weeks of rich food in a cruise ship gave me that bay window... and it proves that I am not Alec Graham.'

 

Margrethe not only kept quiet, her expression said nothing. But Farnsworth insisted. 'Margie?'

 

'Alec, you were having exactly that trouble with your clothes before the fire walk. For the same reason. Too much rich food.' She smiled. 'I'm sorry to contradict you, my beloved... but I'm awfully glad you're you.'

 

Jerry said, 'Alec, many is the man who would walk through fire to get a woman to look at him that way just once. When you get to Kansas, you had better go to see the Menningers; you've got to get that amnesia untangled. Nobody can fool a woman about her husband. When she's lived with him, slept with him, given him enemas and listened to his jokes, a substitution is impossible no matter how much the ringer may look like him. Even an identical twin could not do it. There are all those little things a wife knows and the public never sees.'

 

I said, 'Marga, it's up to you.'

 

She answered, 'Jerry, my husband is saying that I must refute that - in part - myself. At that time I did not know Alec as well as a wife knows her husband. I was not his wife then; I was his lover - and I had been such only a few days.' She smiled. 'But you're right in essence; I recognized him.'

 

Farnsworth frowned. 'I'm getting mixed up again. We're talking about either one man or two. This Alexander Hergensheimer - Alec, tell me about him.'

 

'I'm a Protestant, preacher, Jerry, ordained in the Brothers of the Apocalypse Christian Church of the One Truth - the Apocalypse Brethren as you hear us referred to. I was born on my grandfather's farm outside Wichita on May twenty-second -'

 

'Hey, you've got, a birthday this week!' Jerry remarked. Marga looked alert.

 

'So I have. I've been too busy to think about it. - in nineteen-sixty. My parents and grandparents are dead; my oldest brother is still working the family farm -'

 

'That's why you're going to Kansas? -To find your brother?'

 

'No. That farm is in another world, the one I grew up in.'

 

'Then why are you going to Kansas?'

 

I was slow in answering. 'I don't have a logical answer. Perhaps it's the homing instinct. Or it may be something like horses running back into a burning barn. I don't know, Jerry. But I have to go back and try to find my roots.'

 

'That's a reason I can understand. Go on.'

 

I told him about my schooling, not hiding the fact that I had failed to make it in engineering - my switch to the seminary and my ordination on graduation, then my association with C.U.D. I did not mention Abigail, I did not mention that I hadn't been too successful as a parson largely (in my private opinion) because Abigail did not like people and my parishioners did not like Abigail. Impossible to put all details into a short biography - but the fact is that I could not mention Abigail at all without throwing doubt on the legitimacy of Margrethe's status and this I could not do.

 

'That's about it. If we were in my native world, you could phone C.U.D. national headquarters in Kansas City, 'Kansas, and check on me. We had had a successful year and I was on vacation. I took a dirigible, the Count von Zeppelin of North American Airlines, from Kansas City airport to San Francisco, to Hilo, to Tahiti, and there I joined the Motor Vessel Konge Knut and that about brings us up to date, as I've told you the rest.'

 

'You sound kosher, you talk a good game - are you born again?'

 

'Certainly! I'm afraid I'm not in a state of grace now... but I'm working on it. We're in the Last Days, brother; it's urgent. Are you born again?'

 

"Discuss it later. What's the second law of thermodynamics?'

 

I made a wry face. 'Entropy always increases. That's the one that tripped me.'

 

'Now tell me about Alec Graham.'

 

'Not much I can tell. His passport showed that he was born in Texas, and he gave a law firm in Dallas as an address. For the rest you had better ask Margrethe; she knew him, I didn't.' (I did not mention an embarrassing million dollars. I could not explain it, so I left it out... and Marga had only my word for it; she had never seen it.)

 

'Margie? Can you fill us in on Alec Graham?'

 

She was slow in answering. 'I'm afraid I can't add anything to what my husband has told you.'

 

'Hey! You're letting me down. Your husband gave a detailed description of Dr Jekyll; can't you describe Mr Hyde? So far, he's a zero. A mail drop in Dallas, nothing more.

 

'Mr Farnsworth, I'm sure you've never been a shipboard stewardess -'

 

'Nope, I haven't. But I was room steward in a cargo liner - two trips when I was a kid.'

 

'Then you'll understand. A stewardess knows many things about her passengers. She knows how often they bathe. She knows, how often they change their clothes. She knows how they smell - and everyone does smell, some good, some bad. She knows what sort of books they read - or don't read. Most of all she knows whether or not they are truly gentlefolk, honest, generous, considerate, warmhearted. She knows everything one could need to know to judge a person. Yet she may not know a passenger's occupation, home town, schooling, or any of those details that a friend would know.

 

'Before the day of the fire walk I had been Alec Graham's stewardess for four weeks. For the last two of those weeks I was his mistress and was ecstatically in love with him. After the fire walk it was many days before his amnesia let us resume our happy relationship - and then it did, and I was happy again. And now I have been his wife for four months - months of some adversity but the happiest time of my whole life. And it still is and I think it always will be. And that is all I know about my husband Alec Graham.' She smiled at me and her eyes were brimming with tears, and I found that mine were, too.

 

Jerry sighed and shook his head. 'This calls for a Solomon. Which I am not. I believe both your stories - and one of them can't be correct. Never mind. My wife and I practice Muslim hospitality, something I learned in the late war. Will you accept our hospitality for a night or two? You had better say yes.'

 

Marga glanced at me; I said, 'Yes!'

 

'Good. Now to see if the boss is at home.' He swiveled around to face forward, touched something. A few moments later a light came on and something went beep! once. His face lighted up and he spoke: 'Duchess, this is your favorite husband.'

 

'Oh, Ronny, it's been so long.'

 

'No, no. Try again.'

 

'Albert? Tony? George, Andy, Jim -'

 

'Once more and get it right; I have company with me.'

 

'Yes, Jerry?'

 

'Company for dinner and overnight and possibly more.'

 

'Yes, my love. How many and what sexes and when will you be home?'

 

'Let me ask Hubert.' Again he touched something. 'Hubert says twenty-seven minutes. Two guests. The one seated by me is about twenty-three, give or take a bit, blonde, long, wavy hair, dark blue eyes, height about five seven, mass about one twenty, other basics I have not checked but about those of our daughter. Female. I am certain she is female as she is not wearing so much as a G-string.'

 

'Yes, dear. I'll scratch her eyes out. After I've fed her, of course.'

 

'Good. But she's no menace as her husband is with her and is watching her closely. Did I say that he is naked, too?'

 

You did not. Interesting.'

 

'Do you want his basic statistic? If so, do you want it relaxed or at attention?'

 

'My love, you are a dirty old man, I am happy to say. Quit trying to embarrass your guests.'

 

'There is madness in my method, Duchess. They are naked because they have no clothes at all. Yet I suspect that they do embarrass easily. So please meet us at the gate with clothing. You have her statistics, except - Margie, hand me a foot. 'Marga promptly put a foot up high, without comment. He felt it. 'A pair of your sandals will fit, I think. Zapatos for him. Of mine.'

 

'His other sizes? Never mind the jokes.'

 

'He's about my height and shoulders, but I am twenty pounds heavier, at least. So something from my skinny rack. If Sybil has a houseful of her junior barbarians, please use extreme prejudice to keep them away from the gate. These are gentle people; we'll introduce them after they have a chance to dress.'

 

'Roger Wilco, Sergeant Bilko. But it is time that you introduced them to me.

 

'Mea culpa. My love, this is Margrethe Graham, Mrs Alec Graham.'

 

'Hello, - Margrethe, welcome to our home.'

 

'Thank you, Mrs Farnsworth

 

'Katherine, dear. Or Kate.'

 

' "Katherine." I can5t tell you how much you are doing for us... when we were so miserable!' My darling started to cry.

 

She stopped it abruptly. 'And this is my husband, Alec Graham.'

 

'Howdy, Mrs Farnsworth. And thank you.'

 

'Alec, you bring that girl straight here. I want to welcome her. Both of you.'

 

Jerry cut in. 'Hubert says twenty-two minutes, Duchess.'

 

'Hasta la vista. Sign off and let me get busy.'

 

'End.' Jerry turned his seat around. 'Kate will find you a pretty to wear, Margie... although in your case there ought to be a law. Say, are you cold? I've been yacking so much I didn't think of it. I keep this buggy cool enough for me, in clothes. But Hubert can change it to suit.'

 

'I am a Viking, Jerry; I never get cold. Most rooms are too warm to suit me.'

 

'How about you, Alec?'

 

'I'm warm enough,' I answered, fibbing only a little.

 

'I believe -' Jerry started to say -

 

- as the heavens opened with the most brilliant light imaginable, outshining day, and I was gripped by sudden grief, knowing that I failed to lead my beloved back to grace.

 

 

Chapter 18

 

Then Satan answered the Lord, and said,

Doth Job fear God for nought?

Job 1:9

 

Canst thou by searching find out God? canst thou

find out the Almighty unto perfection?

Job 11:7

 

I WAITED for the Shout.

 

My feelings were mixed. Did I want the Rapture? Was I ready to be snatched up into the loving arms of Jesus? Yes, dear Lord. Yes! Without Margrethe? No, no! Then you choose to be cast down into the Pit? Yes - no, but Make up your mind!

 

Mr Farnsworth looked up. 'See that baby go!'

 

I looked up through the roof of the car. There was a second sun directly overhead. It seemed to shrink and lose brilliance as I watched it.

 

Our host went on, 'Right on time! Yesterday we had a hold, missed the window, and had to reslot. When you're sitting on the pad, and single-H is boiling away, even a hold for one orbit can kill your profit margin. And yesterday wasn't even a glitch; it was a totally worthless re-check ordered by a Nasa fatbottom. Figures.'

 

He seemed to be talking English.

 

Margrethe said breathlessly, 'Mr Farnsworth - Jerry what was it?'

 

'Eh? Never seen a lift-off before?'

 

'I don't know what a lift-off is.'

 

'Mm... yes. Margie, the fact that you and Alec are from another world - or worlds - hasn't really soaked through My skull yet. Your world doesn't have space travel?'

 

'I'm not sure what you mean but I don't think we do.'

 

I was fairly sure what he meant so I interrupted. 'Jerry, you're talking about flying to the moon, aren't you? Like Jules Verne.'

 

'Yes. Close enough.'

 

'That was an ethership? Going to the moon? Golly Moses!' The profanity just slipped out.

 

'Slow down. That was not an ethership, it was an, unmanned freight rocket. It is not going to Luna; it is going only as far as Leo - low Earth orbit. Then it comes back, ditches off Galveston, is ferried back to North Texas Port, where it will lift again sometime next week. But some of its cargo will go on to Luna City or Tycho Under - and some may go as far as the Asteroids. Clear?'

 

'Uh... not quite.'

 

'Well, in Kennedy's second term -'

 

'Who?'

 

'John F. Kennedy. President. Sixty-one to sixty-nine.'

 

'I'm sorry. I'm going to have to relearn history again. Jerry, the most confusing thing about being bounced around among worlds is not new technology, such as television or jet planes - or even space-travel ships. It is different history.'

 

'Well - When we get home, I'll find you an American history, and a history of space travel. A lot of them around the house; I'm in space up to my armpits - started with. model rockets as a kid. Now, besides Diana Freight Lines, I've got a piece of Jacob's Ladder and the Beanstalk, both - just a tax loss at present but -'

 

I think he caught sight of my face. 'Sorry. You skim through the books I'll dig out for you, then we'll talk.'

 

Farnsworth looked back at his controls, punched something, blinked at it, punched again, and, said, 'Hubert says that we'll have the sound in three minutes twenty-one seconds.'

 

When the sound did arrive, I was disappointed. I had expected a thunderclap to match that incredible light. Instead it was a rumble that went on and on, then faded away without a distinct end.

 

A few minutes later the car left the highway, swung right in a large circle and went under the highway through a tunnel and came out on a smaller highway. We stayed on this highway (83, I noted) about five minutes, then there was a repeated beeping sound and a flash of lights. 'I hear you,' Mr Farnsworth said. 'Just hold your horses.' He swung his chair around and faced forward, grasped the two hand grips.

 

The next several minutes were interesting. I was reminded of something the Sage of Hannibal said: 'If it warn't for the honor, I'd druther uv walked.' Mr Farnsworth seemed to regard any collision avoided by a measurable distance as less than sporting. Again and again that 'soft mush' saved us from bruises if not broken bones. Once that signal from the machinery went Bee-bee-beebeep! at him; he growled in answer: 'Pipe down! You mind your business; I'll mind mine,' and subjected us to another near miss.

 

We turned off onto a narrow road, private I concluded, as there was an arch over the entrance reading FARNSWORTH'S FOLLY. We went up a grade. At the top, lost among trees, was a high gate that snapped out of the way as we approached it.

 

There we met Katie Farnsworth.

 

If you have read this far in this memoir, you know that I am in love with my wife. That is a basic, like the speed of light, like the love of God the Father. Know ye now that I learned that I could love another person, a woman, without detracting from my love for Margrethe, without wishing to take her from her lawful mate, without lusting to possess her. Or at least not much.

 

In meeting her I learned that five feet two inches is the perfect height for a woman, that forty is the perfect age, and that a hundred and ten pounds is the correct weight, just as for a woman's voice contralto is the right register. That my own beloved darling is none of these is irrelevant; Katie Farnsworth makes them perfect for her by being herself content with what she is.

 

But she startled me first by the most graceful gesture of warm hospitality I have ever encountered.

 

She knew from her husband that we were utterly without clothes; she knew also from him that he felt that we were embarrassed by our state. So she had fetched clothing for each of us.

 

And she herself was naked.

 

No, that's not right; I was naked, she was unclothed. That's not quite right, either. Nude? Bare? Stripped? Undressed? No, she was dressed in her own beauty, like Mother Eve before the Fall. She made it seem so utterly appropriate that I wonder how I had ever acquired the delusion that freedom from clothing equals obscenity.

 

Those clamshell doors lifted; I got out and handed Margrethe out. Mrs Farnsworth dropped what she was carrying, put her arms around Margrethe and kissed her. 'Margrethe! Welcome, dear.'

 

My darling hugged her back and sniffled again.

 

Then she offered me her hand. 'Welcome to you, too, Mr Graham. Alec.' I took her hand, did not shake it. Instead I handled it like rare china and bowed over it. I felt that I should kiss it but I had never learned how.

 

For Margrethe she had a summer dress the shade of Marga's eyes. Its styling suggested the Arcadia of myth; one could imagine a wood nymph wearing it. It hung on the left shoulder, was open all the way down on the right but wrapped around with generous overlap. Both sides of this simple garment ended in a long sash ribbon; the end that went under passed through a slot, which permitted both ends to go all the way around Marga's waist, then to tie at her right side.

 

It occurred to me that this was a fit-anyone dress. It would be tight or loose on any figure depending on how it was tied.

 

Katie had sandals for Marga in blue to match her dress.

 

For me she had Mexican sandals, zapatos, of lhe cutleather openwork sort that are almost as fit-anyone as that dress, simply by how they are tied. She offered me trousers and shirt that were superficially equivalent to those I had bought in Winslow at the SECOND WIND - but these were tailormade of summer-weight wool rather than mass-produced from cheap cotton. She also had for me socks that fitted themselves to my feet and knit shorts that seemed to be my size.

 

When she had dressed us, there was still clothing on the grass -hers. I then realized that she had walked to the gate dressed, stripped down there, and waited for us 'dressed' as we were.

 

That's politeness.

 

Dressed, we all got into the car. Mr Farnsworth waited a moment before starting up his driveway. 'Katie, our guests are Christians.'

 

Mrs Farnsworth seemed delighted. 'Oh, how very interesting!'

 

'So I thought. Alec? Verb. sap. Not many Christians in these parts. Feel free to speak your mind in front of Katie and me... but when anyone else is around, you may be more comfortable not discussing your beliefs. Understand me?'

 

'Uh... I'm afraid I don't.' My head was in a whirl and I felt a ringing in my ears.

 

'Well... being a Christian isn't against the law here; Texas has freedom of religion. Nevertheless Christians aren't at all popular and Christian worship is mostly underground. Uh, if you want to get in touch with your own people, I suppose we could manage to locate a catacomb. Kate?'

 

'Oh, I'm sure we could find someone who knows. I can put out some feelers.'

 

'If Alec says to, dear. Alec, you're in no danger of being stoned; this country isn't some ignorant redneck backwoods. Or not much danger. But I don't want you to be discriminated against or insulted.'

 

Katie Farnsworth said, 'Sybil.'

 

'Oh, oh! Yes. Alec our daughter is a good girl and as civilized as one can expect in a teenager. But she is an apprentice witch, a recent convert to the Old Religion and, being, both a convert and a teenager, dead serious about it. Sybil would not be rude to a guest - Katie brought her up properly. Besides, she knows I would skin her alive. But it would be a favor to me if you will avoid placing too much strain on her. As I'm sure you know, every teenager is a time bomb waiting to go off.'

 

Margrethe answered for me: 'We will be most careful. This "Old Religion" - is this the worship of Odin?'

 

I felt a chill... when I was already discombobulated beyond my capacity. But our host answered, 'No. Or at least I don't think so. You could ask Sybil. If you are willing to risk having your ear talked off; she'll try to convert you. Very intense.'

 

Katie Farnsworth added, 'I have never heard Sybil mention Odin. Mostly she speaks just of "the Goddess". Don't Druids worship Odin? Truly I don't know. I'm afraid Sybil considers us so hopelessly old-fashioned that she doesn't bother to discuss theology with us.'

 

'And let's not discuss it now,' Jerry added, and started us up the drive.

 

The Farnsworth mansion was long, low, and rambling, with a flavor of lazy opulence. Jerry swung us under a porte-cochère; we all got out. He slapped the top of his car as one might slap the neck of a horse. It moved away and turned the corner of the house as we went inside.

 

I'm not going to say much about their house as, while it was beautiful and Texas lavish, it would not necessarily appear any one way long enough to justify describing it; most of what we saw Jerry called 'hollow grams'. How can I describe them? Frozen dreams? Three-dimensional, pictures? Let me put it this way: Chairs were solid. So were table tops. Anything else in that house, better touch it cautiously and find out, as it might be as beautifully there as a rainbow... and just as insubstantial.

 

I don't know how these ghosts were produced. I think it is possible that the laws of physics in that world were somewhat different from those of the Kansas of my youth.

 

Katie led us into what Jerry called their 'family room' and Jerry stopped abruptly. 'Bloody Hindu whorehouse!'

 

It was a very large room with ceilings that seemed impossibly high for a one-storey ranch house. Every wall, arch, alcove, soffit, and beam was covered with sculptured figures. But such figures! I found myself blushing. These figures had apparently been copied from that notorious temple cavern in southern India, the one that depicts every possible vice of venery in obscene and blatant detail.

 

Katie said, 'Sorry, dear! The youngsters were dancing in here.' She hurried to the left, melted into one sculpture group and disappeared. 'What will you have, Gerald?'

 

'Uh, Remington number two.'

 

'Right away.'

 

Suddenly the obscene figures disappeared, the ceiling lowered abruptly and changed to a beam-and-plaster construction, one wall became a picture window looking out at mountains that belonged in Utah (not Texas), the wall opposite it now carried a massive stone fireplace with a goodly fire crackling in it, the furniture changed to the style sometimes called 'mission' and the floor changed to flagstones covered with Amerindian rugs.

 

'That's better. Thank you, Katherine. Sit down, friends - pick a spot and squat.'

 

I sat down, avoiding what was obviously the 'papa' chair - massive and leather upholstered. Katie and Marga took a couch together. Jerry satin that papa chair. 'My love, what will you drink?'

 

'Campari and soda, please.'

 

'Sissy. And you, Margie?'

 

'Campari and soda would suit me, too.'

 

'Two sissies. Alec?'

 

'I'll go along with the ladies.'

 

'Son, I'll tolerate that in the weaker sex. But not from a grown man. Try again.'

 

'Uh, Scotch and soda.'

 

'I'd horsewhip you, if I had a horse. Podnuh, you have just one more chance.'

 

'Uh... bourbon and branch?'

 

'Saved yourself. Jack Daniel's with water on the side. Other day, man in Dallas tried to order Irish whisky. Rode him out o'town on a rail. Then they apologized to him. Turned out he was a Yankee and didn't know any better.' All this time our host was drumming with his fingertips on a small table at his elbow. He stopped this fretful drumming and, suddenly, at the table by my chair appeared a Texas jigger of brown liquid and a tumbler of water. I found that the others had been served, too. Jerry raised his glass. 'Save your Confederate money! Salud!'

 

We drank and he went on, 'Katherine, do you know where our rapscallion is hiding?'

 

'I think they are all in the pool, dear.'

 

'So.' Jerry resumed that nervous drumming. Suddenly there appeared in the air in front of our host, seated on a diving board that jutted out of nowhere, a young female. She was in bright sunlight although the room we were in was in cool shadow. Drops of water sprinkled on her. She faced Jerry, which placed her back toward me. 'Hi, Pip-squeak.'

 

'Hi, Daddy. Kiss kiss.'

 

'In a pig's eye. When was the last time I spanked you?'

 

'My ninth birthday. When I set fire to Aunt Minnie. What did I do now?'

 

'By the great golden gawdy greasy gonads of God, what do you mean by leaving that vulgar, bawdy, pornic program running in the family room?'

 

'Don't give me that static, Daddy doll; I've seen your books.'

 

'Never mind what I have in my private library; answer my question.'

 

'I forgot to turn it off, Daddy. I'm sorry.'

 

'That's what the cow said to Mrs Murphy. But the fire burned on. Look, my dear, you know you are free to use the controls to suit yourself. But when you are through, you must put the display back the way you found it. Or, if you don't know how. you must put it back to zero for the default display.'

 

'Yes, Daddy. I just forgot.'

 

'Don't go squirming around like that; I'm not through chewing you out. By the big brass balls of Koshchei, where did you get that program?'

 

'At campus. It was an instruction tape in my tantric yoga class.'

 

'"Tantric yoga"? Swivel hips, you don't need such a course. Does your mother know about this?'

 

Katherine moved in smoothly: 'I urged her to take it, dear one. Sybil is talented, as we know. But raw talent is not I enough; she needed tutoring.'

 

'So? I'll never argue with your mother on this subject, so I withdraw to a previously prepared position. That tape. How did you come by it? You are familiar with the applicable laws concerning copyrighted material; we both remember the hooraw over that Jefferson Starship tape -'

 

'Daddy, you're worse than an elephant! Don't you ever forget anything?'

 

'Never, and much worse. You are warned that anything you say may be taken down in writing and held against you at another time and place. How say you?'

 

'I demand to see an attorney!'

 

'Oh, so you did pirate it!'

 

'Don't you wish I had! So you could gloat. I'm sorry, Daddy, but I paid the catalog fee, in full, in cash, and the campus library service copied it for' me. So there. Smarty.'

 

'Smarty yourself. You wasted your money.'

 

'I don't think so. I like it.'

 

'So do I. But you wasted your money. You should have asked me for it.'

 

'Huh!'

 

'Gotcha! I thought at first you had been picking locks in my study or working a spell on 'em. Pleased to hear that you were merely extravagant. How much?'

 

'Uh... forty-nine fifty. That's at student's discount.'

 

'Sounds fair; I paid sixty-five. All right. But if it shows up on your semester billing, I'll deduct it from your allowance.

 

Just one thing, sugar plum - I brought two nice people home, a lady and a gentleman. We walk into the parlor. What had been the parlor. And these two gentlefolk are faced with the entire Kama Sutra, in panting, quivering color. What do you think of that?'

 

'I didn't mean to.'

 

'So we'll forget it. But it is never polite to shock people, especially guests, so let's be more careful next time. Will you be at dinner?'

 

'Yes. If I can be excused early and run, run, run. Date, Daddy.'

 

'What time will you be home?'

 

'Won't. All-night gathering. Rehearsal for Midsummer Night. Thirteen covens.'

 

He sighed. 'I suppose that I should thank the Three Crones that you are on the pill.'

 

'Pill shmill. Don't be a cube, Daddy; nobody ever gets pregnant at a Sabbat; everybody knows that.'

 

'Everybody but me. Well, let us offer thanks that you are willing to have dinner with us.' Suddenly she shrieked as she fell forward off the board. The picture followed her down.

 

She splashed, then came up spouting water. 'Daddy! You pushed me!'

 

'How could you say such a thing?' he answered in self-righteous tones. The living picture suddenly vanished.

 

Katie Farnsworth said conversationally, 'Gerald keeps trying to dominate his daughter. Hopelessly, of course. He should take her to bed and discharge his incestuous yearnings. But they are both too prissy for that.'

 

'Woman, remind me to beat you.'

 

'Yes, dearest. You wouldn't have to force her. Make your intentions plain and she will burst into tears and surrender. Then both of you will have the best time of your lives. Wouldn't you say so, Margrethe?'

 

'I would say so. '

 

By then I was too numb to be shocked by Margrethe's words.

 

'Dinner was a gourmet's delight and a social confusion. It was served in the formal dining hall, i.e., that same family room with a different program controlling the hollow grams. The ceiling was higher, the windows were tall, evenly spaced, framed by floor-length drapes, 'and they looked out on formal gardens.

 

One piece of furniture wheeled itself in, and was not a hollow gram - or not much so. It was a banquet table that (so far as I know) was - in itself, pantry, stove, icebox - all of a well-equipped kitchen. That's a conclusion, subject to refutation. All I can say is that I never saw a servant and never saw our hostess do any work. Nevertheless her husband congratulated her on her cooking - as well he might, and so did we.

 

Jerry did a little work; he carved a roast (prime rib, enough for a troop of hungry Boy Scouts) and he served the plates, serving them at his place. Once a plate was loaded, it went smoothly around to the person for whom it was intended, like a toy train on a track - but there was no train and no track. Machinery concealed by hollow grams? I suppose so. But that simply covers one mystery with another.

 

(I learned later that a swank Texas household in that world would have had human servants conspicuously in sight. But Jerry and Katie had simple tastes.)

 

There were six of us at the table, Jerry at one end, Katie at the other; Margrethe sat on Jerry's right, his daughter Sybil on his left; I was at the right of my hostess, and at her left was Sybil's young man, her date. This put him opposite me, and I had Sybil on my right.

 

The young man's name was Roderick Lyman Culverson III; he did not manage to catch my name. I have long suspected that the male of our species, in most cases, should be raised in a barrel and fed through the bung-hole. Then, at age eighteen, a solemn decision can be made: whether to take him out of the barrel, or to drive in the bung.

 

Young Culverson gave me no reason to change my opinion - and I would have voted to drive in the bung.

 

Early on, Sybil made clear that they were at the same campus. But he seemed to be as much a stranger to the Farnsworths as he was to us. Katie asked, 'Roderick, are you an apprentice witch, too?'

 

He looked as if he had sniffed something nasty, but Sybil saved him from having to answer such a crude question. 'Mothuh! Rod received his athame ages ago.'

 

'Sorry I goofed,' Katie said tranquilly. 'Is that a diploma you get when you finish your apprenticeship?'

 

'It's a sacred knife, Mama, used in ritual. It can be used to -'

 

'Sybil! There are gentiles present.' Culverson frowned at Sybil, then glared at me. I thought how well he would look with a black eye but I endeavored to keep my thoughts out of my face.

 

Jerry said, 'Then you're a graduate warlock, Rod?'

 

Sybil broke in again. 'Daddy! The correct word is -'

 

'Pipe down, sugar plum! Let him answer for himself. Rod?'

 

'That word is used only by the ignorant -'

 

'Hold it! I am uninformed on some subjects, and then I seek information, as I am now doing. But you don't sit at my table and call me ignorant. Now can you answer me without casting asparagus?'

 

Culverson's nostrils spread but he took a grip on himself. '"Witch" is the usual term for both male and female adepts in the Craft. "Wizard" is an acceptable term but is not technically exact; it means "sorcerer" or "magician"... but not all magicians are witches and not all witches practice magic. But "warlock" is considered to be offensive as well as incorrect because it is associated with Devil worship - and the Craft is not Devil worship - and the word itself by its derivation means "oath breaker" - and witches do not break oaths. Correction: The Craft forbids the breaking of oaths. A witch who breaks an oath, even to a gentile, is subject to discipline, even expulsion if the oath is that major. So I am not a "graduate warlock". The correct designation for my present status is "Accepted Craftsman", that is to say: "witch".'

 

'Well stated! Thank you. I ask forgiveness for using the term "warloc" to you and about you -' Jerry waited.

 

A long moment later Culverson said hastily, 'Oh, certainly! No offense meant and none taken.'

 

'Thank you. To add to your comments about derivations, "witch" drives from "wicca" meaning "wise", and from "wicce" meaning "woman"... which may account for most witches being female and suggests that our ancestors may have known something that we don't. In any case "the Craft" is the short way of saying "the Craft of Wisdom". Correct?'

 

'Eh Oh, certainly! Wisdom. That's what the Old Religion is all about.'

 

'Good. Son, listen to me carefully. Wisdom includes not getting angry unnecessarily. The Law ignores trifles and the wise man does, too. Such trifles as a young girl defining an athame among gentiles - knowledge that isn't all that esoteric anyhow - and an old fool using a word inappropriately. Understand me?'

 

Again Jerry waited. Then he said very softly, 'I said, "Do you understand me?" '

 

I Culverson took a deep breath. 'I understood you. A wise I man ignores trifles.'

 

'Good. May I offer you another slice of the roast?'

 

Culverson kept quiet for some time then. As did I. As did Sybil. Katie and Jerry and Margrethe kept up a flow of' polite chitchat that ignored the fact that a guest had just been thoroughly and publicly spanked. Presently Sybil said, 'Daddy, are you and Mama expecting me to attend fire worship Friday?'

 

'"Expect" is hardly the word,' Jerry answered, 'when you have picked another church of your own. "Hope" would be closer.'

 

Katie added, 'Sybil, tonight you feel that your coven is all the church you will ever need. But that could change... and I understand that the Old Religion does not forbid its members to attend other religious services.'

 

Culverson put In, "That reflects centuries, millennia, of persecution, Mrs Farnsworth. It is still in our laws that each member of a coven must also belong publicly to some socially approved church. But we no longer try too hard to enforce it.'

 

'I see,' agreed Katie. 'Thank you, Roderick. Sybil, since your new church encourages membership in another church, it might be prudent to attend fairly regularly just to protect your Brownie points. You may need them.'

 

'Exactly,' agreed her father. ' "Brownie points." Ever occur to you, hon, that your pop being a stalwart pillar of the congregation, with a fast checkbook, might have something to do with the fact that he also sells more Cadillacs than any other dealer in Texas?'

 

'Daddy, that sounds utterly shameless.'

 

'It sure is. It also sells Cadillacs. And don't call it fire worship; you know it is not. It is not the flame we worship, but what it stands for.'

 

Sybil twisted her serviette and, for the moment, looked a troubled thirteen instead of the mature woman her body showed her to be. 'Papa, that's just it. All my life that flame has meant to me healing, cleansing, life everlasting until I studied the Craft. Its history. Daddy, to a witch... fire means the way they kill us!'

 

I was shocked almost out of breathing. I think it had not really sunk into me emotionally that these two, obnoxious but commonplace young punk, and pretty and quite delightful young girl... daughter of Katie, daughter of Jerry, our two Good Samaritans without equal - that these two were witches.

 

Yes, yes, I know: Exodus twenty-two verse eighteen, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' As solemn an injunction as the Ten Commandments, given to Moses directly by God, in the presence of all the children of Israel

 

What was I doing breaking bread with witches?

 

Mark me for a coward. I did not stand up and denounce them. I sat tight.

 

Katie said, 'Darling, darling! That was clear back in the middle ages! Not today, not now, not here.'

 

Culverson said, 'Mrs Farnsworth, every witch knows that the terror can start up again any time. Even a season of bad crops could touch it off. And Salem wasn't very long ago. Nor very far away.' He added, 'There are still Christians around. They would set the fires if they could. Just like Salem.'

 

This was a great chance to keep my mouth shut. I blurted out, 'No witch was burned at Salem.'

 

He looked at me. 'What do you know about it?'

 

'The burnings were in Europe, not here. In Salem witches were hanged, except one who was pressed to death.' (Fire should never have been used. The Lord God ordered us not to suffer them to live; He did not tell us to put them to death by torture.)

 

He eyed me again. 'So? You seem to approve of the hangings.'

 

'I never said anything of the sort!' (Dear God, forgive me!)

 

Jerry cut in. 'I rule this subject out of order! There will be no further discussion of it at the table. Sybil, we don't want you to attend if it upsets you or reminds you of tragic occasions. Speaking of hanging, what shall we do about the backfield of the Dallas Cowboys?'

 

Two hours later Jerry Farnsworth and I were again seated in that room, this time it being Remington number three: a snow storm against the windows, an occasional cold draft across the floor, and once the howl of a wolf - a roaring fire felt good. He poured coffee for us, and brandy in huge snifters, big enough for goldfish. 'You hear of noble brandy,' he said. 'Napoleon, or Carlos Primero. But this is royal brandy - so royal it has hemophilia.'

 

I gulped; I did not like the joke. I was still queasy from thinking about witches, dying witches. With a jerk of the heels, or dancing on flames. And all of them with Sybil's sweet face.

 

Does the Bible define 'witch' somewhere? Could it be that these modern members of the Craft were not at all what Jehovah meant by 'witch'?

 

Quit dodging, Alex! Assume that 'witch' in Exodus means exactly what 'witch' means here in Texas t day. You're the judge and she has confessed. Can you sentence Katie's teenager to hang? Will you spring the trap? Don't dodge it, boy; 'You've been dodging all your life.

 

Pontius Pilate washed his hands.

 

I will not sentence a witch to die! So help me, Lord, I can do no other.

 

Jerry said, 'Here's to the success of your venture, yours and Margie's. Sip it slowly and it will not intoxicate; it will simply quiet your nerves while it sharpens your wits. Alec, tell me now why you expect the end of the world.'

 

For the next hour I went over the evidence, pointing out that it was not just one prophecy that agreed on the signs, but many: Revelations, Daniel, Ezekiel, Isaiah, Paul in writing to the Thessalonians, and again to the Corinthians, Jesus himself in all four of the Gospels, again and again in each.

 

To my surprise Jerry had a copy of the Book. I picked out passages easy for laymen to understand, wrote down chapter and verse so that he could study them later. One Thessalonians 4:15-17 of course, and the 24th chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Matthew, all fifty-one verses of it, and the same prophecies in Saint Luke, chapter twenty-one - and Luke 21:32 with its clue to the confusion many as to 'this generation'. What Christ actually said was that the generation which sees these signs and portents will live to see His return, hear the Shout, experience Judgment Day. The message is plain if you read all of it; the errors have arisen from picking out bits and pieces and ignoring the rest. The parable of the fig tree explains this.

 

I also picked out for him, in Isaiah and Daniel and elsewhere, the Old Testament prophecies that parallel the New Testament prophecies.

 

I handed him this list of prophecies and urged him to study them carefully, and, if he encountered difficulties, simply read more widely. And take it to God. '"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find."'

 

He said, 'Alec, I can agree with one thing. The news for the past several months has looked to me like. Armageddon. Say tomorrow afternoon. Might as well be the end of the world and Judgment Day, as there won't be enough left to salvage after this one.' He looked sad. 'I used to worry about what kind of a world Sybil would grow up in. Now I wonder if she'll grow up.'

 

'Jerry. Work on it. Find your way to grace. Then lead your wife and daughter. You don't need me, you don't need anyone but Jesus. He said, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice, I will come in to him." Revelations three, twenty.'

 

'You believe.'

 

'I do.'

 

'Alec, I wish I could go along with you. It would be comforting, the world being what it is today. But I can't see proof in the dreams of long-dead prophets; you can read anything into them. Theology is never any help; it is searching in a dark cellar at midnight for a black cat that isn't there. Theologians can persuade themselves of anything. Oh, my church, too - but at least mine is honestly pantheistic. Anyone who can worship a trinity and insist that his religion is a monotheism can believe anything just give him time to rationalize it. Forgive me for being blunt.'

 

'Jerry, in religion bluntness is necessary. "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth." That's Job again, chapter nineteen. He's your Redeemer, too, Jerry - I pray that you find' Him.'

 

'Not much chance, I'm afraid.' Jerry stood up.

 

'You haven't found Him yet. Don't quit. I'll pray for you.'

 

'Thank you, and thanks for trying. How do the shoes feel?'

 

'Comfortable, quite.'

 

'If you insist on hitting the road tomorrow, you must have shoes that won't give you bunions between here and Kansas. You're sure?'

 

'I'm sure. And sure that we must leave. If we stayed another day, you'd have us so spoiled we would never hit the road again.' (The truth that I could not tell him was that I was so upset by witchcraft and fire worship that I had to leave. But I could not load my weakness onto him.)

 

'Let me show you to your bedroom. Quietly, as Margie may be asleep. Unless our ladies have stayed up even later than we have.'

 

At the bedroom door he put out his hand. 'If you're right and I'm wrong, you tell me that it's possible that even you can slip.'

 

'True. I'm not in a state of grace, not now. I've got to work on it.'

 

'Well, good luck. But if you do slip, look me up in Hell, will you?'

 

So far as I could tell, Jerry was utterly serious. 'I don't know that it is permitted.'

 

'Work on it. And so will I. I promise you' - he grinned -'some hellacious hospitality. Really warm!'.

 

I grinned back. 'It's a date.'

 

Again my darling had fallen asleep without undressing. I smiled at her without making a sound, then got beside her and pillowed her head on my shoulder. I would let her wake up slowly, then undress the poor baby and put her to bed. Meanwhile I had a thousand - well, dozens - of thoughts to get untangled.

 

Presently I noticed that it was getting light. Then I noticed how scratchy and lumpy the bed was. The light increased and I saw that we were sprawled over bales of hay, in a barn.

 

Chapter 19

 

And Ahab said to Elijah, Hast thou found me,

0 mine enemy? And he answered, I have found thee:

because thou has sold thyself to work evil

in the sight of the Lord.

Kings 21:20

 

WE DID the last ninety miles down 66 from Clinton to Oklahoma City pushing hard, ignoring the fact that we were flat broke again, nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep.

 

We had seen a dirigible.

 

Of course this changed, everything. For months I had been nobody from nowhere, penniless, dishwashing my only trade, and a tramp in fact. But back in my own world - A well-paying job, a respected position in the community, a fat bank account. And an end to this truly infernal bouncing around between worlds.

 

We were riding into Clinton middle of the morning, guests of a farmer taking a load of produce into town. I heard Margrethe gasp. I looked where she was staring I and there she was! - silvery and sleek and beautiful. I could not make out her name, but her logo told me that she was Eastern Airlines.

 

'Dallas-Denver Express,' our host remarked, and hauled a watch out of his overalls. 'Six minutes late. Unusual.'

 

I tried to cover my excitement. 'Does Clinton have an airport?'

 

'Oh, no. Oklahoma City, nearest. Goin' to give up hitchhiking and take to the air?'

 

'Would be nice.'

 

'Wouldn't it, though. Beats farmin'.'

 

I kept the conversation on inanities until he dropped us outside the city market a few minutes later. But, once Margrethe and I were alone, I could hardly contain myself. I started to kiss her, then suddenly stopped myself. Oklahoma is every bit as moral as Kansas; most communities have stiff laws about public Iallygagging.

 

I wondered how, hard I was going to find it to readjust, after many weeks in many worlds not one of which had the high moral standards of my home world. It could be difficult to stay out of trouble when (admit it!) I had grown used to kissing my wife in public and to other displays, innocent in themselves, but never seen in public in moral communities. Worse, could I keep my darling out of trouble? I had been born here and could slip back into its ways... but Marga was as affectionate as a collie pup and had no sense of shame whatever about showing it.

 

I said, 'Sorry, dear, I was about to kiss you. But I must not.'

 

'Why not?'

 

'Uh, I can't kiss you in public. Not here. Only in private. It's - It's a case of "When in Rome, one must do as the Romans do." But never mind that now. Darling, we're home! My home, and now it's-your home. You saw the dirigible.'

 

'That was an airship truly?'

 

'Really and truly... and the happiest sight I've seen in months. Except - Don't get your hopes up too high, too fast. We know how some of these shifting worlds strongly resemble each other in many ways. I suppose there is an outside possibility that this is a world with dirigibles... but not my world. Oh, I don't believe that but let's not get too excited.'

 

(I did not notice that Margrethe was not at all excited.)

 

'How will you tell that this is your world?'

 

'We could check just as we have before, at public libraries. But in this case there is something faster and better. I want to find the Bell Telephone office - I'll ask at that grocery store.'

 

I wanted the telephone office rather than a public telephone because I wanted to consult telephone books' before making telephone calls - was it my world?

 

Yes, it was! The office had telephone books for all of Oklahoma and also books from major cities in, other states - including a most familiar telephone book for Kansas City, Kansas. 'See, Margrethe?' I pointed to the listing for Churches United for Decency, National Office.

 

'I see.'

 

'Isn't it exciting? Doesn't it make you want to dance and sing?'

 

(She made it sound like: 'Doesn't he look natural? And so many, lovely flowers.')

 

We had the alcove where the telephone books were to ourselves. So I whispered urgently, 'What's the trouble, dear? This is a happy occasion. Don't you understand? Once I get on that phone we'll have money. No more menial jobs, no more wondering how we will eat or where we will sleep. We'll go straight home by Pullman - no, by dirigible! You'll like that, I know you will! The ultimate in luxury. Our honeymoon, darling -the honeymoon we could never afford.'

 

:You will not take me to Kansas City.'

 

What do you mean?'

 

'Alec... your wife is there.'

 

Believe me when I say that I had not thought once about Abigail in many, many weeks. I had become convinced that I would never see her again (regaining my home world was totally unexpected) and I now had a wife, all the wife any man could ever want: Margrethe.

 

I wonder if that-first shovelful of dirt hits a corpse with the same shock.

 

I pulled out of it. Some. 'Marga, here's what we'll do. Yes, I have a problem, but we can solve it. Of course you go to Kansas City with me! You must. But there, because of Abigail, I must find a quiet place for you to stay while I get things straightened out.' (Straightened out? Abigail was going to scream bloody murder.) 'First I must get at my money. Then I must see a lawyer.' (Divorce? In a state where there was only one legal ground and 'that one granted divorce only to the injured party? Margrethe the other woman? Impossible. Let Margrethe be exposed in stocks? Be ridden out of town on a rail if Abigail demanded it? Never mind what would be done to me, never mind that Abigail would strip me of every cent - Margrethe must not be subjected to the Scarlet Letter laws of my home world. No!)

 

'Then we will go to Denmark.' (No, it can't be divorce.)

 

'We will?'

 

'We will. Darling, you are my wife, now and forever. I can't leave you here while I get things worked out in Kay See; the world might shift and I would lose you. But we can't go to Denmark until I lay hands on my money. All clear?' (What if Abigail has cleaned out my bank account?)

 

'Yes, Alec. We will go to Kansas City.'

 

(That settled part of it. But it did not settle Abigail. Never mind, I would burn that bridge when I came to it.)

 

Thirty seconds later I had more problems. Certainly the girl in charge would place a call for me long distance collect. Kansas City? For Kansas City, either Kansas or Missouri, the fee to open the trunk line for query was twenty-five cents. Deposit it in the coin box, please, when I tell you. Booth two.

 

I went to the booth and dug into my pocket for coins, laid them out:

 

A twenty-cent piece;

 

Two threepenny coppers;

 

A Canadian quarter, with the face of the Queen (queen?);

 

A half dollar;

 

Three five-cent pieces that were not nickels, but smaller.

 

And not one of these coins carried the familiar 'God Is Our Fortress' motto of the North American Union.

 

I stared at that ragbag collection and tried to figure out when this last change had taken place. Since I last was paid evidently, which placed it later than yesterday afternoon but earlier than the hitch we had gotten just after breakfast. While we slept last night? But we had not lost our clothes, had not lost our money. I even had my razor, a lump in my breast pocket.

 

Never mind - any attempt to understand all the details of these changes led only to madness. The shift had indeed taken place; I was here in my native world... and it had left me with no money. With no legal money.

 

By Hobson's choice, that Canadian quarter looked awfully good. I did not try to tell myself that the Eighth Commandment did not apply to big corporations. Instead I did promise myself that I would pay it back. I picked it up and took the receiver off the hook.

 

'Number, please.'

 

'Please place a collect call to Churches United for Decency in Kansas City, Kansas. The number is State Line I224J. I'll speak to anyone who answers.'

 

'Deposit twenty-five cents, please.' I deposited that Canadian quarter and held my breath - heard it go tingthunk-thunk. Then Central said, 'Thank you. Do not hang up. Please wait.'

 

I waited. And waited. And waited.

 

'On your call to Kansas City - Churches United for Decency reports that they do not accept collect calls.'

 

'Hold it! Please tell them that the Reverend Alexander Hergensheimer is calling.'

 

'Thank you. Please deposit twenty-five cents.'

 

'Hey! I didn't get any use out of that first quarter. You hung up too soon.'

 

'We did not disconnect; the party in Kansas City hungup.'

 

'Well, call them back, please, and this time tell them not to hang up.'

 

'Yes, sir. Please deposit twenty-five cents.'

 

'Central, would I be calling collect if I had plenty of change on me? Get them on the line and tell them who I am. Reverend Alexander Hergensheimer, Deputy Executive Director.'

 

'Please wait on the line.'

 

So I waited again. And waited.

 

'Reverend? The party in Kansas City says to tell you that they do not accept-,collect calls from - I am quoting exactly - Jesus: Christ Himself.'

 

'That's no way to talk on the telephone. Or anywhere.'

 

'I quite agree. There was more. This person said to tell you that he had never heard of you.'

 

'Why, that -'I shut up, as I had no way to express myself within the dignity of the cloth.

 

'Yes, indeed. I tried to get his name. He hung up on me.'

 

'Young man? Old man? Bass, tenor, baritone?'

 

'Boy soprano. I gathered an impression that it was the office boy, answering the phone during the lunch hour.'

 

'I see. Well, thank you for your efforts. Above and beyond the call of duty, in my opinion.'

 

'A pleasure, Reverend.'

 

I left there, kicking myself. I did not explain to Margrethe until we were clear of the building. 'Hoist by my own petard, dear one. I wrote that "No Collect Calls" order myself. An analysis of the telephone log proved to me beyond any possible doubt that collect calls to our office were never for the benefit of the association. Nine out of ten are begging calls... and Churches United for Decency is not a charity. It collects money; it does not give it away. The tenth call is either from a troublemaker or a crank. So I set this firm rule and enforced it... and it paid off at once. Saved hundreds of dollars a year just in telephone tolls.' I managed to smile. 'Never dreamed that I would be caught in my own net.'

 

'What are your plans now, Alec?'

 

'Now? Get out on Highway Sixty-Six and start waving my thumb. I want us to reach Oklahoma City before five o'clock. It should be easy; it's not very far.'

 

'Yes, sir. Why five o'clock, may I ask?'

 

'You can always ask anything and you know it. Knock off the Patient Griselda act, sweetheart; you've been moping ever since we saw that dirigible. Because there is a district office of C.U.D. in Oklahoma City and I want to be there before they close. Wait'll you see them roll out the red carpet, hon! Get to Oke City and'our troubles are over.'

 

That afternoon reminded me of wading through sorghum. January sorghum. We had no trouble getting rides - but the rides were mostly short distances. We averaged about twenty miles an hour on a highway that permitted sixty miles per hour. We lost fifty-five minutes for a good reason: a free meal. For the umpteenth time a trucker bought us something to eat when he ate... for the reason that there is almost no man alive who can stop to eat, and fail to invite Margrethe to eat if she is there. (Then I get fed, too, simply because I'm her property. I'm not complaining.)

 

We ate in twenty minutes, then he spent thirty minutes and endless quarters playing pinball machines... and I stood there and seethed and Margrethe stood beside him and clapped her hands and squealed when he made, a good score. But her social instincts are sound; he then drove us all the rest -of the way to Oklahoma City. There he went through town when he could have taken a bypass, and at four-twenty he dropped us at 36th and Lincoln, only two blocks from the C.U.D. district office.

 

I walked that two blocks whistling. Once I said, 'Smile, hon! A month from now - or sooner - we'll eat in the Tivoli.'

 

'Truly?'

 

'Truly. You've told me so much about it that I can't wait. There's the building!'

 

Our suite is on the second, floor. It warmed the cockles to see the door with lettering on the glass: CHURCHES UNITED FOR DECENCY - Enter.

 

'After you, my love!' I grabbed the knob, to open for her.

 

The door was locked.

 

I banged on it, then spotted a doorbell and rang it. Then I alternated knocking and ringing. And again.

 

A blackamoor carrying a mop and pail came down the corridor, started to pass us. I called, 'Hey, Uncle! DO you have a key to this suite?'

 

'Sure don't, Captain. Ain't nobody in there now. They most generally locked up and gone by four o'clock.'

 

'I see. Thanks.'

 

'A pleasure, Captain.'

 

Out on the street again, I grinned sheepishly at Margrethe. 'Red carpet treatment. Closing at four. When the cat is away, the mice will play. Some heads will roll, I promise you. I can't think of another cliché to fit the situation. Oh, yes, I can. Beggars can't be choosers. Madam, would you like to sleep in the park tonight? Warm night, no rain expected. Chiggers and mosquitoes, no extra charge.'

 

We slept in Lincoln Park, on the golf course, on a green that was living velvet - alive with chiggers.

 

It was a good night's sleep despite chiggers. We got up when the first early golfers showed up, and we got off the golf course with nothing worse than dirty looks. We made use of public washrooms in the park, and rejoined much neater, feeling fresher, me with a fresh shave, and both of us filled with free water for breakfast. On the whole I felt cheerful. It was too early to expect those self-appointed playboys at C. U. D. to show up, so, when we ran across a, policeman, I asked the location of the public library, then I added, 'By the way, where is the airport?'

 

'The what?'

 

'The dirigible flying field.'

 

The cop turned to Margrethe. 'Lady, is he sick?'

 

I did feel sick a half hour later when I checked the directory in the building we had visited the afternoon before... I felt sick but unsurprised to find no Churches United for Decency among its tenants. But to make certain I walked up to the second floor. That suite was now occupied by an insurance firm.

 

'Well, dear, let's go to the public library. Find out what kind of world we are in.'

 

'Yes, Alec.' She was looking cheerful. 'Dearest, I'm sorry you are disappointed... but I am so relieved. I - I as frightened out of my wits at the thought of meeting your wife.'

 

'You won't. Not ever. Promise. Uh, I'm sort of relieved, too. And hungry.'

 

We walked a few more steps. 'Alec. Don't be angry.'

 

'I'll do no more than give you a fat lip. What is it?'

 

'I have five quarters. Good ones.'

 

'At this point I am supposed to say, "Daughter, were you a good girl in Philadelphy?" Out with it. Whom did you kill? Much blood?'

 

'Yesterday. Those pinball games. Every time Harry won free games he gave me a quarter. "For luck," he said.'

 

I decided not to beat her. Of course they were not 'good quarters' but they turned out to be good enough. Good enough, that is, to fit coin machines. We had passed a penny arcade; such places usually have coin-operated food, dispensers and this one did. The prices were dreadfully high - fifty cents for a skimpy stale sandwich; twenty-five cents for a bare mouthful of chocolate. But it was better than some breakfasts we had had on the road. And we certainly did not steal, as the quarters from my world were real silver.

 

Then we went to the public library to find out what sort of world we must cope with now.

 

We found out quickly:

 

Marga's world.

 

 

Chapter 20

 

The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the

righteous are bold as a lion.

Proverbs 28:1

 

MARGRETHE WAS as elated as I had been the day before. She bubbled, she smiled, she looked sixteen. I looked around for a private place - back of book stacks or somewhere - where I could kiss her without worrying about a proctor. Then I remembered that this was Margrethe's world where nobody cared... and grabbed her where she stood and bussed her properly.

 

And got scolded by a librarian.

 

No, not for what I had done, but because we had been somewhat noisy about it. Public kissing did not in itself disturb that library's decorum. Hardly. I noticed, while I was promising to keep quiet and apologizing for the breach, a display rack by that librarian's desk:

 

New Titles INSTRUCTIONAL PORNOGRAPHY -

Ages 6 to 12

 

Fifteen minutes later I was waving my thumb again on Highway 77 to Dallas.

 

Why Dallas? A law firm: O'Hara, Rigsbee, Crumpacker, and Rigsbee.

 

As soon as we were outside the library, Marga had started talking excitedly about how she could now end our troubles: her bank account in Copenhagen.

 

I said, 'Wait a minute, darling. Where's your checkbook? Where's your identification?'

 

What it, came to was that Margrethe could possibly draw on her assets in Denmark after several days at a highly optimistic best or after several weeks at a more probable estimate... and that even the longer period involved quite a bit of money up front for cablegrams. Telephone across the Atlantic? Marga did not think such a thing existed. (And even if it did, I thought it likely that cablegrams were cheaper and more certain.)

 

Even after all arrangements had been made, it was possible that actual payment might involve postal delivery from Europe - in a world that had no airmail.

 

So we headed for Dallas, I having assured Marga that, at the very worst, Alec Graham's lawyers would advance Alec Graham enough money to get him (us) off the street, and, with luck, we would come at once into major assets.

 

(Or they might fail to recognize me as Alec Graham and prove that I was not he - by fingerprints, by signature, by something - and thereby lay the ghost of 'Alec Graham' in Margrethe's sweet but addled mind. But I did not mention this to Margrethe.)

 

It is two hundred miles from Oklahoma City to Dallas; we arrived there at 2 p.m., having picked up a ride at the intersection of 66 and 77, and kept it clear into the Texas metropolis. We were dropped where 77 crosses 80 at the Trinity River, and we walked to the Smith Building; it took us half an hour.

 

The receptionist in suite 7000 looked like something out, of the sort of stage show that C. U. D. has spent much time and money to suppress. She was dressed but not very much, and her makeup was what Marga calls 'high style' She was nubile and pretty and, with my newly learned toleration, I simply enjoyed the sinful sight. She smiled and said, 'May I help you?'

 

'This is a fine day for golf. Which of the partners is still in the office?'

 

'Only Mr Crumpacker, I'm afraid.'

 

'He's the one I want to see.'

 

'And whom shall I say is calling?~

 

(First hurdle - I missed it. Or did she?) 'Don't you recognize me?'

 

'I'm sorry. Should I?'

 

'How long have you been working here?'

 

'Just over three months.'

 

'That accounts for it. Tell Crumpacker that Alec Graham is here.'

 

I could not hear what Crumpacker said to her but I was watching her eyes; I think they widened - I feel sure of it. But all she said was, 'Mr Crumpacker will, see you.' Then she turned to Margrethe. 'May I offer you a magazine while you wait? And would you like a reefer?'

 

I said, 'She's coming with me.'

 

'But

 

'Come along, Marga.' I headed quickly for the inner offices.

 

Crumpacker's door was easy to find; it was the one with the squawking issuing from it. This shut off as I opened the door and held it for Margrethe. As I followed her in, he was saying, 'Miss, you'll have to wait outside!'

 

'No,' I denied, as I closed the door behind me. 'Mrs Graham stays'.'

 

He looked startled. 'Mrs Graham?'

 

'Surprised you, didn't I? Got married since I saw you last. Darling, this is Sam Crumpacker, one of my attorneys.' (I had picked his first name off his door.)

 

'How do you do, Mr Crumpacker?'

 

'Uh, glad to meet you, Mrs Graham. Congratulations to you, Alec you always could pick 'em.'

 

I said, 'Thanks. Sit down, Marga.'

 

'Just a moment, folks! Mrs Graham can't stay - really she can't! You know that.'

 

'I know no such thing. This time I'm going to have a witness.' No, I did not know that he was crooked. But I had learned long ago, in dealing with legislators, that anyone who tries to keep you from having a witness is bad news. So C.U.D. always had witnesses and always stayed within the law; it was cheaper that way.

 

Marga was seated; I sat down beside her. Crumpacker had jumped up when we came in; he remained standing. His mouth worked nervously. 'I ought to call the Federal prosecutor.'

 

'Do that,' I agreed. 'Pick up the phone there and call him. Let's both of us go see him. Let's tell him everything. With witnesses. Let's call in the press. All of the press, not just the tame cats.'

 

(What did I know? Nothing. But when it's necessary to bluff, always bluff big. I was scared. This rat could turn and fight like a cornered mouse - a rabid one.)

 

'I should.'

 

'Do it, do it! Let's name names, and tell who did what and who got paid. I want to get everything out into the open... before somebody slips cyanide into my soup.'

 

'Don't talk that way.'

 

'Who has a better right? Who pushed me overboard? Who?'

 

'Don't look at me!'

 

'No, Sammie, I don't think you did it; you weren't there. But it could be your godson. Eh?' Then I smiled my biggest right-hand-of-fellowship smile. 'Just joking, Sam. My old friend would not want me dead. But you can tell me some things and help me out. Sam, it's not convenient to be dumped way off on the other side of the world - so you owe me.' (No, I still knew nothing... nothing save the evident fact that here was a man with a guilty conscience - so crowd him.)

 

'Alec, let's not do anything hasty.'

 

'I'm in no hurry. But I've got to have explanations. And money.'

 

'Alec, I tell you on my word of honor all I know about what happened to you is that this squarehead ship came into Portland and you ain't aboard. And I have to go all the way to Oregon f' God's sake to witness them breaking into your strong-box. And there's only a hundred thousand in it; the rest is missing. Who got it, Alec? Who got to you?'

 

He had his eyes on me; I hope my face didn't show anything. But he lad hulled me. Was this true? This shyster would lie as easily as he talked. Had my friend purser, or the purser and the captain in cahoots, looted that lockbox?

 

As a working hypothesis, always prefer the simpler explanation. This man was more likely to lie than the purser was to steal. And it was likely - no, certain - that the captain would have to be present before the purser would force his way into the lockbox of a missing passenger. If these two responsible officers, with careers and reputations to lose, nevertheless combined to steal, why would they leave a hundred thousand behind? Why not take it all and be blandly ignorant about the contents of my lockbox? - as indeed they should be. Something fishy here.

 

'What are you implying was missing?'

 

'Huh?' He glanced at Margrethe. 'Uh - Well, damn it there should have been nine hundred grand more. The money you didn't pass over in Tahiti.'

 

'Who says I didn't?'

 

'What? Alec, don't make things worse. Mr Z. says so. You tried to drown his bagman.'

 

I looked at him and laughed. 'You mean those tropical gangsters? They tried to get the boodle without identifying themselves and without giving receipts. I told them an emphatic no - so the clever boy had his muscle throw me into the pool. Hmm - Sam, I see it now. Find out who came aboard the Konge Knut in Papeele.'

 

'Why?'

 

'That's your man. He not only got the boodle; he pushed me overboard. When you know, don't bother to try to get him extradited, just tell me his name. I'll arrange the rest myself. Personally.'

 

'Damn it, we want that million dollars.'

 

'Do you think you can get it? It wound up in Mr Z's hands... but you got no receipt. And I got a lot of grief from asking for a receipt. Don't be silly, Sam; the nine hundred thousand is gone. But not my fee. So pass over that hundred grand. Now.'

 

'What? The Federal prosecutor in Portland kept that, impounded it as evidence.'

 

'Sam, Sam boy, don't try to teach your grandmother how to steal sheep. As evidence for what? Who is charged? Who is indicted? What crime is alleged? Am I charged with stealing something out of my own lockbox? What crime?'

 

"What crime?" Somebody stole that nine hundred grand, that's what!'

 

'Really? Who's the complainant? Who asserts that there ever was nine hundred thousand in that lockbox? I certainly never told anyone that - so who says? Pick up that phone, Sam; call the Federal prosecutor in Portland. Ask him why he held that money -on whose complaint? Let's get to the bottom of this. Pick it up, Sam. If that Federal clown has my money, I want to shake it loose from him.'

 

'You're almighty anxious to talk to prosecutors! Strange talk from you.'

 

'Maybe I've had an acute attack of honesty. Sam, your unwillingness to call Portland tells me all I need to know. You were called out there to act on my behalf, - as my attorney. American passenger lost overboard, ship of foreign registry, you betcha they get hold of the passenger's attorney to inventory his assets. Then they pass it all over to his attorney and he gives a receipt for it. Sam, what did you do with my clothes?'

 

'Eh? Gave 'em to the Red Cross. Of course.'

 

'You did, eh?'

 

'After the prosecutor released 'em, I mean.'

 

'Interesting. The Federal attorney keeps the money, although no one has complained that any money is missing... but lets the clothes out of his hands when the only probable crime is murder.'

 

'Huh?'

 

'Me, I mean. Who pushed me and who hired him to? Sam, we both know where the money is.' I stood up, pointed. 'In that safe. That's where it logically has to be. You wouldn't bank it; there would be a record. You' wouldn't hide it at home; your wife might find it. And you certainly didn't split with your partners Sam, open it. I want to see whether there is a hundred thousand in... or a million.'

 

'You're out of your mind!'

 

'Call the Federal prosecutor. Let him be our witness.'

 

I had him so angry he couldn't talk. His hands trembled. It isn't safe to get a little man too angry - and I topped him by six inches, weight and other measurements to match. He wouldn't attack me himself - he was a lawyer - but I would need to be careful going through doorways, and such.

 

Time to try to cool him - 'Sam, Sam, don't take it so seriously. You were leaning on me pretty heavily... so I leaned back. The good Lord alone knows why prosecutors do anything - the gonif most likely has stolen it by now... in the belief that I am dead and will never complain. So I'll go to Portland and lean on him, hard.'

 

'There's a paper out on you there.'

 

'Really? What charges?'

 

'Seduction under promise of marriage. A female crewman of that ship.' He had the grace to look apologetically at Margrethe. 'Sorry, Mrs Graham. But your husband asked me.'

 

'Quite all right,' she answered crisply.

 

'I do get around, don't I? What does she look like? Is she pretty? What's her name?'

 

'I never saw her; she wasn't there. Her name? Some Swede name. Let me think. Gunderson, that was it. Margaret S. Gunderson.'

 

Margrethe, bless her heart, never let out a peep - not even at being called a Swede. I said in wonderment, 'I'm accused of seducing this woman ... aboard a foreign-flag vessel, somewhere, in the South Seas. So there's a warrant out for me in Portland, Oregon. Sam, what kind of a lawyer are you? To let a client have paper slapped on him on that sort of charge,'

 

'I'm a smart lawyer, that's the kind I am. Just as you said, no telling what a Federal attorney will do; they take their brains out when they appoint 'em. It simply wasn't important enough to talk about, you being dead, or so we all thought. I'm just looking out for your interests, letting you know about it before you step in it. Gimme some time, I'll get it quashed - then you go to Portland.'

 

'Sounds reasonable. There aren't any charges outstanding on me here, are there?'

 

'No. Well, yes and no. You know the deal; we assured them that you would not be coming back, so they turned the blind eye when you left. But here you are, back. Alec, you can't afford to be seen here. Or elsewhere in Texas. Or anywhere in the States, actually. Word gets around, and they'll dig up those old charges.'

 

'I was innocent!'

 

He shrugged. 'Alec, all my clients are innocent. I'm talking like a father, in your own interest. Get out of Dallas. If you go as far as Paraguay, so much the better.'

 

'How? I'm broke. Sam, I've got to have some dough.'

 

'Have I ever let you down?' He got out his wallet, counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills, laid them in front of me.

 

I looked at them. 'What's that? A tip?' I picked them up, pocketed them. 'That won't get us to Brownsville. Now let's see some money.'

 

'See me tomorrow.'

 

'Don't play games, Sam. Open that safe and get me some real money. Or I don't come here tomorrow; I go see the Federal man and sing like the birdies. After I get square with him - and I will; the Feds love a state's witness, it's the only way they ever win a case - then I go to Oregon and pick up that hundred grand.'

 

'Alec, are you threatening me?'

 

'You play games, I play games. Sam, I need a car and I don't mean a beat-up Ford. A Cadillac. Doesn't have to be new, but a cream puff, clean, and a good engine. A Cadillac and a few grand and we'll be in Laredo by midnight, and in Monterrey by morning. I'll call you from Mexico City and give you an address. If you really want me to go to Paraguay and stay there, you send the money to D. F. for me to do it.'

 

It did not work out quite that way, but I settled for a used Pontiac and left with six thousand dollars in cash, and instructions to go to a particular used-car lot and accept the deal offered me - Sam would call and set it up. He agreed also to call the Hyatt and get us the bridal suite, and would see that they held it. Then I was to come back at ten the next morning.

 

I refused to get up that early. 'Make that eleven. We're still on our honeymoon.'

 

Sam chuckled, slapped me on the back, and agreed.

 

Out in the corridor we headed toward the elevators but went ten feet farther and I opened the door to the fire-escape trunk. Margrethe followed me without comment but once inside the staircase trunk and out of earshot of others she said, 'Alec, that man is not your friend.'

 

'No, he's not.'

 

'I am afraid for you.'

 

'I'm afraid for me, too.'

 

'Terribly afraid. I fear for your life.'

 

'My love, I fear for my life, too. And for yours. You are in danger as long as you are with me.'

 

'I will not leave you!'

 

'I know. Whatever this is, we are in it together.'

 

'Yes. What are our plans now?'

 

'Now we go to Kansas.'

 

'Oh, good! Then we are not driving to Mexico?'

 

'Hon, I don't even know how to drive a car.'

 

We came out in a basement garage and walked up a ramp to a side street. There we walked several blocks away from the Smith Building, picked up a cruising taxi, rode it to the Texas & Pacific Station, there picked up a taxi at the taxi rank, and rode it to Fort Worth, twenty-five miles west. Margrethe was very quiet on the trip. I did not ask her what she was thinking about because I knew: It can't be happy-making to discover that a person you fell in love with was mixed up in some shenanigan that smelled Of gangsters and rackets'. I made myself a solemn promise never to mention the matter to her.

 

In Fort Worth I had the hackie drop us on its most stylish shopping street, letting him pick it. Then I said to Marga, 'Darling, I'm about to buy you a heavy gold chain.'

 

'Goodness, darling! I don't need a gold chain.'

 

'We need it. Marga, the first time I was in this world with you, in Konge Knut - I learned that here the dollar was soft, not backed by gold, and every price I have seen today confirms that. So, if change comes again - and we never know - even the hard money of this world, quarters and half dollars and dimes, won't be worth anything because they're not really silver. As for the paper money I got from Crumpacker - waste paper!

 

'Unless I change it into something else. We'll start with that gold chain and from here on you wear it to bed, you even wear it to bathe - unless you hang it around my neck.'

 

'I see. Yes.'

 

'We'll buy some heavy gold jewelry for each of us, then I'm going to try to find a coin dealer - buy some silver cartwheels, maybe some gold coins. But my purpose is to get rid of most of this paper money in the next hour - all but the price of two bus tickets to Wichita, Kansas, three hundred and fifty miles north of here. Could you stand to ride a bus all night tonight? I want to get us out of Texas.

 

'Certainly! Oh, dear, I do want to get out of Texas! Truly, I'm still frightened.'

 

'Truly, you are not alone.'

 

'But -'

 

'"But" what, dear? And quit looking sad.'

 

'Alec, I haven't had a bath for four days.'

 

We found that jewelry shop, we found the coin shop; I spent about half that flat money and saved the rest for bus fare and other purposes in this world - such as dinner, which we ate as soon as the shops started to close. A hamburger we had eaten in Gainesville seemed an awfully long way off in time and space. Then I determined that there was a bus going north - Oklahoma City, Wichita, Salina - at ten o'clock that evening. I bought tickets and paid an extra dollar on each to reserve seats. Then I threw money away like a drunken sailor took a room in a hotel across from the bus station, knowing that we would be checking out in less than two hours.

 

It was worth it. Hot baths for each of us, taking turns, each of us remaining fully dressed and carrying the other's clothing, jewelry, and all the money while the other was naked and wet. And carrying my razor, which had become a talisman of how to outwit Loki's playful tricks.

 

And new, clean underwear for each of us, purchased in passing while we were converting paper money into valuta.

 

I had hoped for time enough for love - but no; by the time I was clean and dry we had to dress and check out to catch that bus. Never mind, there would be other times. We climbed into the bus, put the backrests back, put Marga's head on my shoulder. As the bus headed north we fell asleep.

 

I woke up sometime later because the road was so rough. We were seated right behind the driver, so I leaned forward and asked, 'Is this a detour?' I could not recall a rough stretch when we had ridden south on this same road about twelve hours earlier.

 

'No,' he said. 'We've crossed into Oklahoma, that's all. Not much pavement in Oklahoma. Some near Oke City and a little between there and Guthrie.'

 

The talk had wakened Margrethe; she straightened up. 'What is it, dear?'

 

'Nothing. Just Loki having fun with us. Go back to sleep.'

 

 

Chapter 21

 

What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and

whence came they? And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest.

And he said unto me, These are they which came out

of great tribulation, and have washed their robes,

and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

Therefore are they before the throne of God,

And serve Him day and night in His temple.

Revelation 7:13-15

 

I WAS driving a horse and buggy and not enjoying it. The day was hot, the dust kicked up by horse's hooves stuck to sweaty skin, flies were bad, there was no breeze. We were somewhere near the corner of Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma, but I was not sure where. I had not seen a map for days and the roads were no longer marked with highway signs for the guidance of automobilists - there were no automobiles.

 

The last two weeks (more or less - I had lost track of the days) had been endless torments of Sisyphus, one ridiculous frustration after another. Sell silver dollars to a local dealer in exchange for that world's paper? - no trouble; I did it several times. But it didn't always help. Once I had sold silver for local paper money and we had ordered dinner - when, boom, another world change and we went hungry. Another time I was cheated outrageously and when I complained, I was told: 'Neighbor, possession of that coin is illegal and you know it. I've offered you a price anyhow because I like you. Will you take it? Or shall I do my plain duty as a citizen?'

 

I took it. The paper money he gave us for five ounces of silver would not buy - dinner for Marga and me at a backwoods gourmet spot called 'Mom's Diner'.

 

That was in a charming community called (by a sign at its outskirts):

 

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS

A Clean Community

Blackamoors, Kikes, Papists

Keep Moving!

 

We kept moving. That whole two weeks had been spent trying to travel-the two hundred miles from Oklahoma City to Joplin, Missouri. I had been forced to give up the notion of avoiding Kansas City. I still had no intention of staying in or near Kansas City, not when a sudden change of worlds could land us in Abigail's lap. But I had learned in Oklahoma City that the fastest and indeed the only practical route- to Wichita was a long detour through Kansas City. We had retrogressed to the horse-and-buggy era.

 

When you consider the total age of the earth, from Creation in 4004 BC to the year of Our Lord I994, or 5998 years - call it 6000 - in a period of 6000 years, 80 or 90 years is nothing much. And that is how short a time it has been since the horse-and-buggy day in my world. My father was born in that day (1909) and my paternal grandfather not only never owned an automobile but refused to ride in one. He claimed that they were spawn of the Devil, and used to quote passages from Ezekiel to prove it. Perhaps he was right.

 

But the horse-and-buggy era does have -shortcomings. There are obvious ones such as no inside plumbing, no air conditioning, no modern medicine. But for us there was an unobvious but major one; where there are no trucks and no cars there is effectively no hitchhiking. Oh, it is sometimes possible to hitch rides on farm wagons - but the difference in speed between a human's walk and a horse's walk is not great. We rode when we could but, either way, fifteen miles was a good day's progress - too good; it left no time to work for meals and a place to sleep.

 

There is an old paradox, Achilles and the Tortoise, in which the remaining distance to your goal is halved at each The question is: How long does it take to reach your goal? The answer is: You can't get there from here.

 

That is the way we 'progressed' from Oklahoma City to Joplin.

 

Something else compounded my frustration: I became increasingly persuaded that we were indeed in the latter days, and we could expect the return of Jesus and the Final Judgment at any moment - and my darling, my necessary one, was not yet back in the arms of Jesus. I refrained from nagging her about it, although it took all my will power to respect her wish to handle it alone. I began to sleep badly through worrying about her.

 

I became a bit crazy, too (in addition to my paranoid belief that these world changes were aimed at me personally) - crazy in that I acquired an unfounded but compelling belief that finishing this journey was essential to the safety of my darling's immortal soul. Just let us get as far as Kansas, dear Lord, and I will pray without ceasing until I have converted her and brought her to grace. 0 Lord God of Israel, grant me this boon!

 

I continued to look for dishwashing jobs (or anything) even while we still had silver and gold to trade' for local money. But motels disappeared entirely; hotels became scarce and restaurants decreased in numbers and size to fit an economy in which travel was rare and almost all meals were eaten at home.

 

It became easier to find jobs cleaning stalls in livery stables. I preferred dishwashing to shoveling horse manure - especially as I had only one pair of shoes. But I stuck to the rule of take any honest work but keep moving!

 

You may wonder why we did not shift to hitching rides on freight trains. In the first place I did not know how, never having done it. Still more important, I could not guarantee Marga's safety. There were the hazards of mounting a moving freight car. But worse were dangers from people: railroad bulls and road kids - hobos, tramps, bindlestiffs, bums. No need to discuss those grisly dangers, -as I kept her away from rail lines and hobo jungles.

 

And I worried. While abiding strictly to her request not to be pressured, I did take to praying aloud every night and in her presence, on my knees. And at last, to my great joy, my darling joined me, on her knees. She did not pray aloud and I stopped vocalizing myself, save for a final: 'In Jesus' name, Amen.' We still did not talk about it.

 

I wound up driving this horse and buggy (goodness,' what a hot day! - 'Cyclone weather', my grandmother Hergensheimer would have called it) as a result of a job cleaning stalls in a livery stable. As, usual I had quit after one day, telling my temporary employer that my wife and I had to move on to Joplin; her mother was ill.

 

He told me that he had a rig that needed to be returned to the next town up the road. What he meant was that he had too many rigs and nags on hand, his own and others, or he would have waited until he could send it back by renting it to a passing drummer.

 

I offered to return it for one day's wages at the same extremely low rate that he had paid me to shovel manure and curry nags.

 

He pointed out that he was doing me a favor, since my wife and I had to get to Joplin.

 

He had both logic and strength of position on his side; I agreed. But his wife did put up a lunch for us, as well as giving us breakfast after we slept in their shed.

 

So I was not too unhappy driving that rig, despite the weather, despite the frustrations. We were getting a few miles closer to Joplin every day - and now my darling was praying. It was beginning to look like 'Home Free!' after all.

 

We had just reached the outskirts of this town (Lowell? Racine? I wish I could remember) when we encountered something right straight out of my childhood: a camp meeting, an old-time revival. On the left side of the road was a cemetery, well kept but the grass was drying; facing it on the right was the revival tent, pitched in a pasture. I wondered whether the juxtaposition of graveyard and Bible meeting was accidental, or planned? - if the Reverend Danny had been involved, I would know it was planned; most people cannot see gravestones without thinking about the long hereafter.

 

Crowded ranks of buggies and farm wagons stood near the tent, and a temporary corral lay beyond them. Picnic tables of the plank-and-sawhorse type were by the tent on the other side; I could see remains of lunch. This was a serious Bible meeting, one that started in the morning, broke for lunch, carried on in the afternoon - would no doubt break for supper, then adjourn only when the revivalist judged that there were no more souls to be saved that day.

 

(I despise these modern city preachers with their five minute 'inspirational messages'. They say Billy Sunday could preach for seven hours on only a glass of water then do it again in the evening and the next day. No wonder heathen cults have spread like a green bay tree!)

 

There was a two-horse caravan near the tent. Painted on its side was: Brother 'Bible' Barnaby. Out front was a canvas sign on guys and stays:

 

That Old-Time Religion!

Brother 'Bible' Barnaby

Healing Every Session

10a.m. - 2p.m. - 7p.m.

Every Day from Sunday June 5th till

!!!JUDGMENT DAY!!!

 

I spoke to the nag and pulled on the reins to let her know that I wanted to stop. 'Darling, look at that!'

 

Margrethe read the sign, made no comment.

 

'I admire his courage,' I said. 'Brother Barnaby is betting his reputation that Judgment Day will arrive before it's time to harvest wheat... which could be early this year, hot as it is.'

 

'But you think Judgment Day is soon.'

 

'Yes, but I'm not betting a professional reputation on it just my immortal soul and hope of Heaven. Marga, every Bible student reads the prophecies slightly differ ently. Or very differently. Most of the current crop of premillenarians don't expect the Day earlier than the year two thousand. He might have something. Do you mind if we, stay here an hour?'

 

'We will stay however long you wish. But - Alec, you wish me to go in? Must I?'

 

'Uh -' (Yes, darling, I certainly do want you to go inside.) 'You would rather wait in the buggy?'

 

Her silence was answer enough. 'I see. Marga, I'm not trying to twist your arm. Just one thing - We have not been separated except when utterly necessary for several weeks. And you know why. With the changes coming almost every day, I would hate to have one hit while you were sitting out here and I was inside, quite a way off. Uh, we could stand outside the tent. I see they have the sides rolled up.'

 

She squared her shoulders. 'I was being silly. No, we will go inside. Alec, I do need to hold your hand; you are right: Change comes fast. But I will not ask you to stay away from a meeting of your coreligionists.'

 

'Thank you, Marga.'

 

'And, Alec - I will try!'

 

'Thank you. Thank you loads! Amen!'

 

'No need to thank me. If you go to your Heaven, I want to go, too!'

 

'Let's go inside, dear.'

 

I put the buggy at the far end of a rank, then led the mare to the corral, Marga with me. As we came back to the tent I could hear:

 

'- the corner where you are!

'Brighten the corner where you are!

'Someone far from harbor you may guide across the bar!

'So-'

 

I chimed in: '- brighten the corner where you are!'

 

It felt good.

 

Their instrumental music consisted of a foot-pumped organ and a slide trombone. The latter surprised me but Pleased me; there is no other instrument that can get right down and rassle with The Holy City the way a trombone can, and it is almost indispensable for The Son of God Goes Forth to War.

 

The congregation was supported by a choir in white angel robes - a scratch choir, I surmised, as the white robes were homemade, from sheets. But what. that choir may have lacked in professionalism it made up for in zeal. Church music does not have to be good as long as it is sincere - and loud.

 

The sawdust trail, six feet wide, led straight down the middle, benches on each side. It dead-ended against a chancel rail of two-by-fours. An usher led us down the trail in answer to my hope for seats down front. The place was crowded but he got people to squeeze over and we wound up on the aisle in the second row, me outside. Yes there were still seats in the back, but every preacher despises people - their name is legion! - who sit clear at the back when there are seats open down front.

 

As the music stopped, Brother Barnaby stood up and came to the pulpit, placed his hand on the Bible. 'It's all in the Book,' he said quietly, almost in a whisper. The congregation became dead still.

 

He stepped forward, looked around. 'Who loves you?'

 

'Jesus loves me!'

 

'Let Him hear you.'

 

'JESUS LOVES ME!'

 

'How do you know that?'

 

'IT'S IN THE BOOK!'

 

I became aware of an odor I had not smelled in a long time. My professor of homiletics pointed out to us once in a workshop session that a congregation imbued with religious fervor has a strong and distinctive odor ('stink' is the word he used) compounded of sweat and both male and female hormones. 'My sons,' he told us, 'if your assembled congregation smells too sweet, you aren't getting to them. If you can't make 'em sweat, if they don't break out in their own musk like a cat in rut, you might as 'Well quit and go across the street to the papists. Religious ecstasy is the strongest human emotion; when- it's there, you can smell it!'

 

Brother Barnaby got to them.

 

(And, I must confess, I never did. That's why I wound up as an organizer and money-raiser.)

 

'Yes, it's in the Book. The Bible is the Word of God, not just here and there, but every word. Not as allegory, but as literal truth. You shall know the truth and the truth will make you free. I read to you now from the Book: "For the Lord Himself will descend from Heaven with-a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the Trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first."

 

'That last line is great news, my brothers and sisters:

 

"- the dead in Christ shall rise first." What does that say? It does not say that the dead shall rise first; it says that the dead in Christ shall rise first. Those who were washed in the blood of the Lamb, born again in Jesus, and then have died in a state of grace before His second coming, they will not be forgotten, they will be first. Their graves will open, they will be miraculously restored to life and health and physical perfection and will lead the parade to Heaven, there to dwell in happiness by the great white throne forevermore!'

 

Someone shouted, 'Hallelujah!'

 

'Bless you, sister. Ah, the good news! All the dead in Christ, every one! Sister Ellen, taken from her family by the cruel hand of cancer, but who died with the name of Jesus on her lips, she will help lead the procession. Asa's beloved wife, who died giving birth but in a state of grace, she will be there! All your dear ones who died in Christ will be gathered up and you will see them in Heaven. Brother Ben, who lived a sinful life, but found God in a foxhole before an enemy bullet cut him down, he will be there... and his case is specially good news, witnessing that God can be found anywhere. Jesus is present not only in churches - in fact there are fancy-Dan churches where His Name is rarely heard -´

 

'You- can say that again!'

 

'And I will. God is everywhere; He can hear you when you speak. He can hear you more easily when you are ploughing a field, or down on your knees by your bed, than He can in some ornate cathedral, surrounded by the painted and perfumed. He is here now, and He promises you, 'I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you. I stand at the door and knock, if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him, and will dine with him, and he with Me." That's His promise, dearly beloved, in plain words. No obscurities, no highfalutin "interpretation", no so-called "allegorical meanings". Christ Himself is waiting for you, if only you will ask.

 

'And if you do ask, if you are born again in Jesus, if He washes away your sins and you reach that state of grace... what then? I read you the first half of God's promise to the faithful. You will hear the Shout, you will hear the great Trumpet sounding His advent, as He promised, and t he dead in Christ shall rise again. Those dry bones will rise again and be covered with living, healthy flesh.

 

'Then what?

 

'Hear the words of the Lord: "Then we which are alive" - That's you and me, brothers and sisters; God is talking about us. "Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air and so shall we ever be with the Lord'!

 

'So shall we ever be! So shall we ever be! With the Lord in Heaven!'

 

,Hallelujah!'

 

'Bless His Name!'

 

'Amen! Amen!'

 

(I found that I was one of those saying 'Amen!')

 

'But there's a price. There are no free tickets to Heaven. What happens if you don't ask Jesus to help you? What if you ignore. His offer to be washed free of sin and reborn in the blood of the Lamb? What then? Well? Answer me!'

 

The congregation was still save for heavy breathing, then a voice from the back said, not loudly, 'Hellfire.'

 

'Hellfire and damnation! Not for just a little while but through all eternity! Not some mystical, allegorical fire that singes only your peace of mind and burns no more than a Fourth of July sparkler. This is the real thing, a raging fire, as real as this.' Brother Barnaby slapped the pulpit with a crack that could be heard throughout the tent. 'The sort of fire that makes a baseburner glow cherry red, then white. And you are in that fire, Sinner, and the ghastly pain goes on and on, it never stops. Never! There's no hope for you. No use asking for a second chance. You've had your second chance... and your millionth chance. And more. For two thousand years sweet Jesus has been begging you, pleading with you, to accept from Him that for which He died in agony on the Cross to give you. So, once you are burning in that fiery Pit and trying to cough up the brimstone - that's sulfur, plain ordinary sulfur, burning and stinking, and it will burn your lungs and blister your sinful hide! - when you're roasting deep in the Pit for your sins, don't go whining about how dreadful it hurts and how you didn't know it would be like that. Jesus knows all about pain; He died on the Cross. He died for you. But you wouldn't listen and now you're down in the Pit and whining.

 

'And there you'll stay, suffering burning agony throughout eternity! Your whines can't be heard from down in the Pit; they are drowned out by the screams of billions of other sinners!'

 

Brother Barnaby lowered his voice to conversational level. 'Do you want ' to burn in the Pit?'

 

'No!' - 'Never!' - 'Jesus save us!'

 

'Jesus will save you, if you ask Him to. Those who died in Christ are saved, we read about them. Those alive when He returns will be saved if they are born again and remain in that state of grace. He promised us that He would return, and that Satan would be chained for- a thousand years while He rules in peace and justice here on earth. That's the Millennium, folks, that's the great day at hand. After that thousand years Satan will be loosed for a little while and the final battle will be fought. There'll be war in Heaven. The Archangel Michael will be the general for our side, leading God's angels against the Dragon - that's Satan again - and his host of fallen angels. And Satan lost - will lose, that is, a thousand years, from now. And nevermore will he be seen in Heaven.

 

'But that's a thousand years from now, dear friends. You will live to see it... if you accept Jesus and are born again before that Trumpet blast that signals His return. When will that be? Soon, soon! What does the Book say? In the Bible God tells you not once but many times, in Isaiah, in Daniel, in Ezekiel, and in. all four of the Gospels, that you will not be told the exact hour of. His return. Why? So you can't sweep the dirt under the rug, that's why! If He told you that He would arrive New Year's Day the year two thousand, there are those who would spend the next five and a half years consorting with lewd women, worshiping strange gods, breaking every one of the Ten Commandments... then, sometime Christmas Week nineteen ninety-nine you would find them in church, crying repentance, trying to make a deal.

 

'No siree Bob! No cheap deals. It's the same price to everyone. The Shout and the Trump may be months away... or you may hear it before I can finish this sentence. It's up to you to be ready when it comes.

 

'But we know that it is coming soon. How? Again it's in the Book. Signs and portents. The first, without which the rest cannot happen, is the return of the Children of Israel to the Promised Land - see Ezekiel, see Matthew, see today's newspapers. They rebuild the Temple... and sure enough they have; it's in the Kansas City Star. There be other signs and portents, wonders of all sorts - but the greatest are tribulations, trials to test the souls of men the way Job was tested. Can there be a better word to describe the twentieth century than "tribulations"?

 

`Wars and terrorists and assassinations and fires and plagues. And more wars. Never in history has mankind been tried so bitterly. But endure as Job endured and the end is happiness and eternal peace - the peace of God, which passeth all understanding. He offers you His hand, He loves you, He will save you.'

 

Brother Barnaby stopped and wiped his forehead with a large handkerchief that was already soggy from such use.

 

The choir (perhaps at a signal. from him) started singing softly, 'We shall gather at the river, the beautiful, beautiful river, that flows by the throne of God and presently segued into:

 

'Just as I am, without one plea -´

 

Brother Barnaby got down on one knee and held out his arms to us. 'Please! Won't you answer Him? Come, accept Jesus, let Him gather you in His arms -´

 

The choir continued softly with:

 

'But that Thy blood was shed for me,

'And Thou bidd'st me come to Thee,

'0 Lamb of God, I come, I come!'

 

And the Holy Ghost descended.

 

I felt Him overpower me and the joy of Jesus filled my heart. I stood up and stepped out into the aisle. Only then did I remember that I had Margrethe with me. I turned and saw her staring back at me, her face filled with a sweet and deeply serious look. 'Come, darling,' I whispered, and led her into the aisle. Together we went down the sawdust trail to God.

 

There were others ahead of us at the chancel rail. I found us a place, pushed some crutches and a truss aside, and knelt down. I placed my right hand on the rail, rested my forehead on it, while I continued to hold Marga's hand with my left. I prayed Jesus to wash away our sins and receive us into His arms.

 

One of Brother Barnaby's helpers was whispering inter my ear. 'How is it with you, brother?'

 

'I'm fine,' I said happily, 'and so is my wife. Help someone who needs it.'

 

'Bless you, brother.' He moved on. A sister farther down was writhing and speaking in tongues; he stopped lo comfort her.

 

I bowed my head again, then became aware of neighing And loud squeals of frightened horses and a great-flapping and shaking of the canvas roof above us. I looked up and saw a split start and widen, then the canvas blew away. The ground trembled, the sky was dark.

 

The Trump shook my bones, the Shout was the loudest ever heard, joyous and triumphant. I helped Margrethe to her feet smiled at her. 'It's now, darling!'

 

We were swept up.

 

We were tumbled head over heels and tossed about by a funnel cloud, a Kansas twister. I was wrenched away from Marga and tried to twist back, but could not. You can't swim in a twister; you go where it takes you. But I knew she was safe.

 

The storm turned me upside down and held me there for a long moment, about two hundred feet up. The horses had broken out of the corral, and some of the people, not caught up, were milling about. The force of the twister turned me again and I stared down at the cemetery.

 

The graves were opening.

 

 

Chapter 22

 

When the morning stars sang together,

and all the sons of God shouted for joy.

Job 38:7

 

THE WIND whipped me around, and I saw no more of the graves. By the time I was faced down again the ground was no longer in sight - just a boiling cloud glowing inside with a great light, amber and saffron and powder blue and green gold. I continued to search for Margrethe, but few people drifted near me and none was she. Never mind, the Lord would protect her. Her temporary absence could not dismay me; we had taken the only important hurdle together.

 

I thought about that hurdle. What a near thing! Suppose that old mare had thrown a shoe and the delay had caused us to reach that point on the road an hour later than we did? Answer: We would never have reached it. The Last Trump would have sounded while we were still on the road, with neither of us in a state of grace. Instead of being caught up into the Rapture, we would have gone to Judgment unredeemed, then straight to Hell.

 

Do I believe in predestination?

 

That is a good question. Let's move on to questions I can answer. I floated above those clouds for a time unmeasured by me. I sometimes saw other people but no one came close enough for talk. I began to wonder when I would see our Lord Jesus - He had promised specifically that He would meet us 'in the air'.

 

I had to remind myself that I was behaving like a little child who demands that Mama do it now and is answered, 'Be patient, dear. Not yet.' God's time and mine were not the same; the Bible said so. Judgment Day had to be a busy time and I had no concept of what duties Jesus had to carry out. Oh, yes, I did know of one; those graves opening up reminded me. Those who had died in Christ (millions? billions? more?) were to go first to meet our Father Who art in Heaven, and of course the Lord Jesus would be with them on that glorious occasion; He had promised them that.

 

Having figured out the reason for the delay, I relaxed. I was willing to wait my turn to see Jesus... and when I did see Him, I would ask Him to bring Margrethe and me together.

 

No longer worried, no longer hurried, utterly comfortable, neither hot nor cold, not hungry, not thirsty, floating as effortlessly as a cloud, I began to feel the bliss that had been promised. I slept.

 

I don't know how long I slept. A long time - I had been utterly exhausted; the last three weeks had been grinding. Running a hand across my face told me that I had slept a couple of days or more; my whiskers had reached the untidy state that meant at least two days of neglect. I touched my breast pocket - yes, my trusty Gillette, gift of Marga, was still buttoned safely inside. But I had no soap, no water, no mirror.

 

This irritated me as I had been awakened by a bugle call (not the Great Trumpet - probably just one wielded by an angel on duty), a call that I knew without being told meant, 'Wake up there! It is now your turn.'

 

It was indeed - so when the 'roll was called up yonder' I showed up with a two-day beard. Embarrassing!

 

Angels handled us like traffic cops, herding us into the formations they wanted. I knew they were angels; they wore wings and white robes and were heroic in size - one that flew near me was nine or ten feet tall. They did not flap their wings (I learned later that wings were worn only for ceremony, or as badges of authority). I discovered that I could move as these traffic cops directed. I had not been able to control my motions earlier; now I could move in any direction by volition alone.

 

They brought us first into columns, single file, stretched out for miles (hundreds of miles? thousands?). Then they brought the columns into ranks, 'twelve abreast - these were stacked in layers, twelve deep. I was, unless I miscounted, number four in my rank, which was stacked three layers down. I was about two hundred places back in my column - estimated while forming up - but I could not guess how long the column was.

 

And we flew past the Throne of God.

 

But first an angel positioned himself in the air about fifty yards off our left flank. His voice carried well. 'Now hear this! You will pass in review in this formation. Hold' your position at all times. Guide on the creature on your left, the creature under you, and the one ahead. of you. Leave ten cubits between ranks and between layers, five cubits, elbow to elbow in ranks. No crowding, no breaking out of ranks, no, slowing down as we pass the Throne. Anybody breaking flight discipline will be sent to the tail end of the flight... and I'm warning you now, the Son might be gone by then, with nobody but Peter or Paul or

some other saint to receive the parade. Any questions?'

 

"How much is a cubit?'

 

'Two cubits is one yard. Any creature in this cohort who does not know how long a yard is?'

 

No, one spoke up. The angel added, 'Any more questions?'

 

A woman to my left and above me called out, 'Yes! My. daughter didn't have her cough medicine with her. So I fetched it. Can you take it to her?'

 

'Creature, please accept my assurance that any cough your daughter manages to take with her to Heaven will be purely psychosomatic.'

 

'But her doctor said -´

 

'And in the meantime shut up and let's get on with this parade. Special requests can be filed after arriving in Heaven.'

 

There were more questions, mostly silly, confirming an opinion I had kept to myself for years: Piety does not imply horse sense.

 

Again the trumpet sounded; our cohort's flightmaster called out, 'Forward!' Seconds later there was a single blast; he shouted, 'Fly!' We moved forward.

 

(Note: I call this angel 'he' because he seemed male.

 

Ones that seemed to be female I refer to as 'she'. I never have been sure about sex in an angel. If any. I think they are androgynous but I never had a chance to find out. Or the courage to ask.)

 

(Here's another one that bothers me. Jesus had brothers and sisters; is the Virgin Mary still a virgin? I have never had the courage to ask that question, either.)

 

We could see His throne for many miles ahead. This was not the great white Throne of God the Father in             Heaven; this was just a field job for Jesus to use on this occasion. Nevertheless it was magnificent, carved out of a single diamond with its myriad facets picking up Jesus'             inner light and refracting it in a shower of fire and ice in all directions. And that is what I saw best, as the face of Jesus shines with such blazing light that, without sun             glasses, you can't really see His features.

 

Never mind; you knew Who He was. One could not help knowing. A feeling of overpowering awe grabbed me when we were still at least twenty-five miles away. Despite my professors of theology, for the first time in my life I understood (felt) that single emotion that is described in the Bible by two words used together: love and fear. I loved/feared the Entity on that throne, and now I knew why Peter and James had abandoned their nets and followed Him.

 

And of course I did not make my request to Him as we passed closest (about a hundred yards). In my life on earth I had addressed (prayed to) Jesus by name thousands of times; when I saw Him in the Flesh I simply reminded myself that the angel herding us had. promised us a chance to file personal requests when we reached Heaven. Soon enough. In the meantime it pleased me to think about Margrethe, somewhere in this parade, seeing the Lord Jesus on His throne... and if I had not intervened, she might never have seen Him. It made me feel warm and good, on top of the ecstatic awe I felt in staring at His blinding light.

 

Some miles past the throne the column swung up and to the right, and we left the neighborhood first of earth and then of the solar system. We headed straight for Heaven and picked up speed.

 

Did you know that earth looks like a crescent moon when you look back at it? I wondered whether or not any flat-earthers had managed to attain the Rapture. It did not seem likely, but such ignorant superstition is not totally incompatible with believing in Christ. Some superstitions are absolutely forbidden - astrology, for example, and Darwinism. But the flat-earth nonsense is nowhere forbidden that I know of. If there were any flat-earthers with us, how did they feel to look back and see that the earth was round as a tennis ball?

 

(Or would the Lord in His mercy let them perceive it as flat? Can mortal man ever understand the viewpoint of God?)

 

It seemed to take about two hours to reach the neighborhood of Heaven. I say 'seemed to' because it might have been any length of time; there was no human scale by which to judge. In the same vein, the total period of the Rapture seemed to me to be about two days... but I had reason later to believe that it may have been seven years - at least by some reckoning. Measures of time and space become very slippery when one lacks mundane clocks and' yardsticks.

 

As we approached the Holy City our guides had us slow down and then make a sightseeing sweep around it before going in through one of the gates.

 

This was no minor jaunt. New Jerusalem (Heaven, the Holy City, Jehovah's capital) is laid out foursquare like the District of Columbia, but it is enormously bigger, one thousand three hundred and twenty miles on a side, five thousand two hundred and eighty miles around it, and that gives an area of one million seven hundred and forty-two thousand four hundred square miles.

 

This makes cities like Los Angeles or New York look tiny.

 

In solemn truth the Holy City covers an area more than six times as big as all of Texas! At that, it's crowded. But are, expecting only a few more after us.

 

It's a walled city, of course, and the walls are two hundred and sixteen feet high, and the same wide. The tops of the wall are laid out in twelve traffic lanes - and no guard rails. Scary. There are twelve gates, three in each wall, the famous pearly gates (and they are); these normally stand open - will not be closed, we were told, until the Final Battle.

 

The wall itself is of iridescent jasper but it has a dozen footings in horizontal layers that are more dazzling than the wall itself: sapphire, chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, amethyst - I may have missed some. New Jerusalem is so dazzling everywhere that it is hard for a human to grasp it - impossible to grasp it all at once.

 

When we finished the sweep around the Holy City, our cohort's flightmaster herded us, into a holding pattern like dirigibles at O'Hare and kept us there until he received a signal that one of the gates was free - and I was hoping to get at least a glimpse of Saint Peter, but no - his office is at the main gate, the Gate of Judah, whereas we went in by the opposite gate, named for Asher, where we were registered by angels deputized to act for Peter.

 

Even with all twelve gates in use and dozens of Peter deputized clerks at each gate and examination waived (since we all were caught up at the Rapture - guaranteed saved) we had to queue up quite a long time just to get registered in, receive temporary identifications, temporary bunking assignments, temporary eating assignments -

 

('Eating'?)

 

Yes, I thought so, too, and I asked the angel who booked me about it. He/she looked down at me. 'Refection is optional. It will do you no harm never to eat and not to drink. But many creatures and some angels 'enjoy eating, especially in company. Suit yourself.'

 

'Thank you. Now about this berthing assignment. It's a single. I want a double, for me and my wife. I want -'

 

'Your former wife, you mean. In Heaven there is no marriage or giving in marriage. I

 

'Huh? Does that mean we can't live together?'

 

'Not at all. But both of you must apply, together, at Berthing General. See the office of Exchange and Readjustments. Be sure, each of you, to fetch your berthing chit.'

 

'But that's the problem! I got separated from my wife. How do I find her?'

 

'Not part of my M.0.S. Ask at the information booth. In the meantime use your singles apartment in Gideon Barracks.'

 

'But -´

 

He (she?) sighed. 'Do you realize how many thousands of hours I have been sitting here? Can you guess how complex it is to provide for millions of creatures at once, some alive and never dead, others newly incarnate? This is the first time we have had to install plumbing for the use of fleshly creatures - do you even suspect how inconvenient that is? I say that, when you install plumbing, you are bound to get creatures who need plumbing - and there goes the neighborhood! But did they listen to me? Hunh! Pick up your papers, go through that door, draw a robe and a halo - harps are optional. Follow the green line to Gideon Barracks.'

 

'No!'

 

I saw his (her) lips move; she (he) may have been praying. 'Do you think it is proper to run around Heaven, looking the way you do? You are quite untidy. We aren't used to living-flesh creatures. Uh... Elijah is the last I recall, and I must say that you look almost as disreputable as he did. In addition to discarding those rags and putting on a decent white robe, if I were you I would do something about that dandruff.'