So clean we did, but by noon Eleanor could no longer stand. So I took her home with me, because we were working down near the harbor section and my place was nearer.
That's almost the whole story--light to darkness to light--except for the end, which I don't really know. I'll tell you of its beginning, though...
I dropped her off at the head of the alleyway, and she went on toward my apartment while I parked the car. Why didn't I keep her with me? I don't know. Unless it was because the morning sun made the world seem at peace, despite its filth. Unless it was because I was in love and the darkness was over, and the spirit of the night had surely departed.
I parked the car and started up the alley. I was halfway before the corner where I had met the org when I heard her cry out.
I ran. Fear gave me speed and strength and I ran to the corner and turned it.
The man had a bag, not unlike the one Chuck had carried away with him, lying beside the puddle in which he stood. He was going through Eleanor's purse, and she lay on the ground--so still!--with blood on the side of her head.
I cursed and ran toward him, switching on my cane as I went. He turned, dropped her purse, and reached for the gun in his belt.
We were about thirty feet apart, so I threw my cane.
He drew his gun, pointed it at me, and my cane fell into the puddle in which he stood.
Flights of angels sang him to his rest, perhaps.
She was breathing, so I got her inside and got hold of a doctor--I don't remember how, not too clearly, anyway--and I waited and waited.
She lived for another twelve hours and then she died. She recovered consciousness twice before they operated on her, and not again after. She didn't say anything. She smiled at me once, and went to sleep again.
I don't know.
Anything, really.
It happened that I became Betty's mayor, to fill in until November, to oversee the rebuilding. I worked, I worked my head off, and I left her bright and shiny, as I had found her. I think I could have won if I had run for the job that fall, but I did not want it.
The Town Council overrode my objections and voted to erect a statue of Godfrey Justin Holmes beside the statue of Eleanor Schirrer which was to stand in the Square across from cleaned-up Wyeth. I guess it's out there now.
I said that I would never return, but who knows? In a couple of years, after some more history has passed, I may revisit a Betty full of strangers, if only to place a wreath at the foot of the one statue. Who knows but that the entire continent may be steaming and clanking and whirring with automation by then, and filled with people from shore to shining shore?
There was a Stopover at the end of the year and I waved goodbye and climbed aboard and went away, anywhere.
I went aboard and went away, to sleep again the cold sleep.
Delirium of ship among stars--
Years have passed, I suppose. I'm not really counting them anymore. But I think of this thing often: Perhaps there _is_ a Golden Age someplace, a Renaissance for me sometime, a special time somewhere, somewhere but a ticket, a visa, a diary-page away. I don't know where or when. Who does? Where are all the rains of yesterday?
In the invisible city?
Inside me?
It is cold and quiet outside and the horizon is infinity. There is no sense of movement.
There is no moon, and the stars are very bright, like broken diamonds, all.
The Great Slow Kings
Drax and Dran sat in the great Throne Hall of Glan, discussing life. Monarchs by virtue of superior intellect and physique--and the fact that they were the last two survivors of the race of Glan--theirs was a divided rule over the planet and their one subject, Zindrome, the palace robot.
Drax had been musing for the past four centuries (theirs was a sluggish sort) over the possibility of life on other planets in the galaxy.
Accordingly, "Dran," said he, addressing the other (who was becoming mildly curious as to his thoughts), "Dran, I've been thinking. There may be life on other planets in the galaxy."
Dran considered his response to this, as the world wheeled several times about its sun.
"True," he finally agreed, "there may."
After several months Drax shot back, "If there is, we ought to find out."
"Why?" asked Dran with equal promptness, which caused the other to suspect that he, too, had been thinking along these lines.
So he measured his next statement out cautiously, first testing each word within the plated retort of his reptilian skull.
"Our kingdom is rather underpopulated at present," he observed. "It would be good to have many subjects once more."
Dran regarded him askance, then slowly turned his head. He closed one eye and half-closed the other, taking full stock of his co-ruler, whose appearance, as he had suspected, was unchanged since the last time he had looked.
"That, also, is true," he noted. "What do you suggest we do?"
This time Drax turned, reappraising him, eye to eye.
I think we ought to find out if there is life on other planets in the galaxy."
"Hmm."
Two quick rounds of the seasons went unnoticed, then, "Let me think about it," he said, and turned away.
After what he deemed a polite period of time, Drax coughed.
"Have you thought sufficiently?"
"No."
Drax struggled to focus his eyes on the near-subliminal streak of bluish light which traversed, re-traversed and re-re-traversed the Hall as he waited.
"Zindrome!" he finally called out.
The robot slowed his movements to a statue-like immobility to accommodate his master. A feather duster protruded from his right limb.
"You called, great Lord of Glan?"
"Yes, Zindrome, worthy subject. Those old spaceships which we constructed in happier days, and never got around to using. Are any of them still capable of operation?"
"I'll check, great Lord."
He seemed to change position slightly.
"There are three hundred eighty-two," he announced, "of which four are in functioning condition, great Lord. I've checked all the operating circuits."
"Drax," warned Dran, "you are arrogating unauthorized powers to yourself once more. You should have conferred with me before issuing that order."
"I apologize," stated the other. "I simply wanted to expedite matters, should your decision be that we conduct a survey."
"You have anticipated my decision correctly," nodded Dran, "but your eagerness seems to bespeak a hidden purpose."
"No purpose but the good of the realm," smiled the other.
"That may be, but the last time you spoke of 'the good of the realm' the civil strife which ensued cost us our other robot."
"I have learned my lesson and profited thereby. I shall be more judicious in the future."
"I hope so. Now, about this investigation--which part of the galaxy do you intend to investigate first?"
A tension-filled pause ensued.
"I had assumed," murmured Drax, "that you would conduct the expedition. Being the more mature monarch, yours should be a more adequate decision as to whether or not a particular species is worthy of our enlightened rule."