began to flow from the three bodies in the rear seat。 They wanted to be home； not here。 They wanted to blink an eye and find themselves in their rooms； with their things； not sitting in a cramped car on this windswept concrete plain。 Journeys home were always a test。 I started up the car； knowing it was only a matter of seconds before the massed restlessness took on elements of threat。 We could feel it ing； Babette and I。 A sulky menace brewed back there。 They would attack us； using the classic strategy of fighting among themselves。 But attack us for what reason？ For not getting them home faster？ For being older and bigger and somewhat steadier of mood than they were？ Would they attack us for our status as protectors— protectors who must sooner or later fail？ Or was it simply who we were that they attacked； our voices； features； gestures； ways of walking and laughing； our eye color； hair color； skin tone； our chromosomes and cells？
As if to head them off； as if she could not bear the implications of their threat； Babette said pleasantly； 〃Why is it these UFOs are mostly seen upstate？ The best sightings are upstate。 People get abducted and taken aboard。 Fanners see burn marks where saucers landed。 A woman gives birth to a UFO baby； so she says。 Always upstate。〃
〃That's where the mountains are；〃 Denise said。 〃Spaceships can hide from radar or whatever。〃
〃Why are the mountains upstate？〃 Steffie said。
〃Mountains are always upstate；〃 Denise told her。 〃This way the snow melts as planned in the spring and flows downhill to the reservoirs near the cities； which are kept in the lower end of the state for exactly this reason。〃
I thought； momentarily； she might be right。 It made a curious kind of sense。 Or did it？ Or was it totally crazy？ There had to be large cities in the northern part of some states。 Or were they just north of the border in the southern part of states just to the north？ What she s。aid could not be true and yet I had trouble； momentarily； disproving it。 I could not name cities or mountains to disprove it。 There had to be mountains in the southern part of some states。 Or did they tend to be below the state line； in the northern part of states to the south？ I tried to name state capitals； governors。 How could there be a north below a south？ Is this what I found confusing？ Was this the crux of Denise's error？ Or was she somehow； eerily； right？
The radio said： 〃Excesses of salt； phosphorus； magnesium。〃
Later that night Babette and I sat drinking cocoa。 On the kitchen table； among the coupons； the foot…long supermarket receipts； the mail…order catalogs； was a postcard from Mary Alice； my oldest。 She is the golden issue of my first marriage to Dana Breedlove； the spy； and is therefore Steffie's full sister； although ten years and two marriages fell between。 Mary Alice is nineteen now and lives in Hawaii； where she works with whales。
Babette picked up a tabloid someone had left on the table。
〃Mouse cries have been measured at forty thousand cycles per second。 Surgeons use high…frequency tapes of mouse cries to destroy tumors in the human body。 Do you believe that？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃So do I。〃
She put down the newspaper。 After a while she said to me urgently； 〃How do you feel； Jack？〃
〃I'm all right。 I feel fine。 Honest。 What about you？〃
〃I wish I hadn't told you about my condition。〃
〃Why？〃
〃Then you wouldn't have told me you're going to die first。 Here are the two things I want most in the world。 Jack not to die first。 And Wilder to stay the way he is forever。〃
32
Murray and I walked across campus in our European manner； a serenely reflective pace； heads lowered as we conversed。 Sometimes one of us gripped the other near the elbow； a gesture of intimacy and physical support。 Other times we walked slightly apart； Murray's hands clasped behind his back； Gladney's folded monkishly at the abdomen； a somewhat worried touch。
〃Your German is ing around？〃
〃I still speak it badly。 The words give me trouble。 Howard and I are working on opening remarks for the conference。〃
〃You call him Howard？〃
〃Not to his face。 I don't call him anything to his face and he doesn't call me anything to my face。 It's that kind of relationship。 Do you see him at all？ You live under the same roof； after all。〃
〃Fleeting glimpses。 The other boarders seem to prefer it that way。 He barely exists； we feel。〃
〃There's something about him。 I'm not sure what it is exactly。〃
〃He's flesh…colored；〃 Murray said。
〃True。 But that's not what makes me uneasy。〃
〃Soft hands。〃
〃Is that it？〃
〃Soft hands in a man give me pause。 Soft skin in general。 Baby skin。 I don't think he shaves。〃
〃What else？〃 I said。
〃Flecks of dry spittle at the corners of his mouth。〃
〃You're right；〃 I said excitedly。 〃Dry spit。 I feel it hit me in the face when he leans forward to articulate。 What else？〃
〃And a way of looking over a person's shoulder。〃
〃You see all this in fleeting glimpses。 Remarkable。 What else？〃 I demanded。
〃And a rigid carriage that seems at odds with his shuffling walk。〃
〃Yes； he walks without moving his arms。 What else； what else？〃
〃And something else； something above and beyond all this； something eerie and terrible。〃
〃Exactly。 But what is it？ Something I can't quite identify。〃
〃There's a strange air about him； a certain mood； a sense； a presence； an emanation。〃
〃But what？〃 I said； surprised to find myself deeply and personally concerned； colored dots dancing at the edge of my vision。
We'd walked thirty paces when Murray began to nod。 I watched his face as we walked。 He nodded crossing the street and kept nodding all the way past the music library。 I walked with him step for step； clutching his elbow； watching his face； waiting for him to speak； not interested in the fact that he'd taken me pletely out of my way； and he was still nodding as we approached the entrance to Wilmot Grange； a restored nineteenth…century building at the edge of the campus。
〃But what？〃 I said。 〃But what？〃
It wasn't until four days later that he called me at home； at one in the morning； to whisper helpfully in my ear； 〃He looks like a man who finds dead bodies erotic。〃
I went to one last lesson。 The walls and windows were obscured by accumulated objects； which seemed now to be edging toward the middle of the room。 The bland…faced man before me closed his eyes and spoke； reciting useful tourist phrases。 〃Where am I？〃 〃Can you help me？〃 〃It is night and I am lost。〃 I could hardly bear to sit there。 Murray's remark fixed him forever to a plausible identity。 What had been elusive about Howard Dunlop was now pinned down。 What had been strange and half creepy was now diseased。 A grim lasciviousness escaped his body and seemed to circulate through the barricaded room。
In truth I would miss the lessons。 I would also miss the dogs； the German shepherds。 One day they were simply gone。 Needed elsewhere perhaps or sent back to the desert to sharpen their skills。 The men in Mylex suits were still around； however； carrying instruments to measure and probe； riding through town in teams of six or eight in chunky peglike vehicles that resembled Lego toys。
I stood by Wilder's bed watching him sleep。 The voice next door said： 〃In the four…hundred…thousand…dollar Nabisco Dinah Shore。〃
This was the night the insane asylum burned down。 Heinrich and I got in the car and went to watch。 There were other men at the scene with their adolescent boys。 Evidently fathers and sons seek fellowship at such events。 Fires help draw them closer； provide a conversational wedge。 There is equipment to appraise； the technique of firemen to discuss and criticize。 The manliness of firefighting—the virility of fires； one might say—suits the kind of laconic dialogue that fathers and sons can undertake without awkwardness or embarrassment。
〃Most of these fires in old buildings start in the electrical wiring；〃 Heinrich said。 〃Faulty wiring。 That's one phrase you can't hang around for long without hearing。〃
〃Most people don't burn to death；〃 I said。 'They die of smoke inhalation。〃
'That's the other phrase；〃 he said。
Flames roared through the dormers。 We stood across the street watching part of the roof give way； a tall chimney slowly fold and sink。 Pumper trucks kept arriving from other towns； the men descending heavily in their rubber boots and old…fashioned hats。 Hoses were manned and trained； a figure rose above the shimmering roof in the grip of a telescopic ladder。 We watched the portico begin to go； a far column leaning。 A woman in a fiery nightgown walked across the lawn。 We gasped； almost in appreciation。 She was white…haired and slight； fringed in burning air； and we could see she was mad； so lost to dreams and furies that the fire around her head seemed almost incidental。 No one said a word。 In all the heat and noise of detonating wood； she brought a silence to her。 How powerful and real。 How deep a thing was madness。 A fire captain hurried toward her； then circled out slightly； disconcerted； as if she were not the person； after all； he had expected to meet here。 She went down in a white burst； like a teacup breaking。 Four men were around her now； batting at the flames with helmets and caps。
The great work of containing the blaze went on； a labor that seemed as old and lost as cathedral…building； the men driven by a spirit of lofty munal craft。 A Dalmatian sat in the cab of a hook…and…ladder truck。
〃It's funny how you can look at it and look at it；〃 Heinrich said。 〃Just like a fire in a fireplace。〃
〃Are you saying the two kinds of fire are equally pelling？〃
〃I'm just saying you can look and look。〃
〃'Man has always been fascinated by fire。' Is that what you're saying？〃
〃This is my first burning building。 Give me a chance；〃 he said。
The fathers and sons crowded the sidewalk； pointing at one or another part of the half gutted structure。 Murray； whose rooming house was just yards away； sidled up to us and shook our hands without a word。 Windows blew out。 We watched another chimney slip through the roof； a few loose bricks tumbling to the lawn。 Murray shook our hands again； then disappeared。
Soon there was a smell of acrid matter。 It could have been insulation burning—polystyrene sheathing for pipes and wires— or one or more of a dozen other substances。 A sharp and bitter stink filled the air； overpowering the odor of smoke and charred stone。 It changed the mood of the people on the sidewalk。 Some put hankies to their faces； others left abruptly in disgust。 Whatever caused the odor； I sensed that it made people feel betrayed。 An ancient； spacious and terrible drama was being promised by something unnatural； some small and nasty intrusion。 Our eyes began to burn。 The crowd broke up。 It was as though we'd been forced to recognize the existence of a second kind of death。 One was real； the other synthetic。 The odor drove us away but beneath it and far worse was the sense that death came two ways； sometimes at once； and how death entered your mouth and nose； how death smelled； could somehow make a difference to your soul。
We hurried to our cars； thinking of the homeless； the mad； the