“I drove a long way,” Juliana said.
“Yes, you did. Now I see him.” Caroline Abendsen guided her back into the living room, toward a group of men. “Dear,” she called, “come over here. This is one of your readers who is very anxious to say a few words to you.”
One man of the group moved, detached and approached carrying his drink. Juliana saw an immensely tall man with black curly hair; his skin, too, was dark, and his eyes seemed purple or brown, very softly colored behind his glasses. He wore a hand-tailored, expensive, natural fiber suit, perhaps English wool; the suit augmented his wide robust shoulders with no lines of its own. In all her life she had never seen a suit quite like it; she found herself staring in fascination.
Caroline said, “Mrs. Frink drove all the way up from Canon City, Colorado, just to talk to you about Grasshopper.”
“I thought you lived in a fortress,” Juliana said. Bending to regard her, Hawthorne Abendsen smiled a meditative smile. “Yes, we did. But we had to get up to it in an elevator and I developed a phobia. I was pretty drunk when I got the phobia but as I recall it, and they tell it, I refused to stand up in it because I said that the elevator cable was being hauled up by Jesus Christ, and we were going all the way. And I was determined not to stand.”
She did not understand.
Caroline explained, “Hawth has said as long as I’ve known him that when he finally sees Christ he is going to sit down; he’s not going to stand.”
The hymn, Juliana remembered. “So you gave up the High Castle and moved back into town,” she said.
“I’d like to pour you a drink,” Hawthorne said.
“All right,” she said. “But not an old-fashioned.” She had already got a glimpse of the sideboard with several bottles of whiskey on it, hors d’oeuvres, glasses, ice, mixer, cherries and orange slices. She walked toward it, Abendsen accompanying her. “Just I. W. Harper over ice,” she said. “I always enjoy that. Do you know the oracle?”
“No,” Hawthorne said, as he fixed her drink for her.
Astounded, she said, “The Book of Changes?”
“I don’t, no,” he repeated. He handed her her drink.
Caroline Abendsen said, “Don’t tease her.”
“I read your book,” Juliana said. “In fact I finished it this evening. How did you know all that, about the other world you wrote about?”
Hawthorne said nothing; he rubbed his knuckle against his upper lip, staring past her and frowning.
“Did you use the oracle?” Juliana said.
Hawthorne glanced at her.
“I don’t want you to kid or joke,” Juliana said. “Tell me without making something witty out of it.”
Chewing his lip, Hawthorne gazed down at the floor; he wrapped his arms about himself, rocked back and forth on his heels. The others in the room nearby had become silent, and Juliana noticed that their manner had changed. They were not happy, now, because of what she had said. But she did not try to take it back or disguise it; she did not pretend. It was too important. And she had come too far and done too much to accept anything less than the truth from him.
“That’s—a hard question to answer,” Abendsen said finally.
“No it isn’t,” Juliana said.
Now everyone in the room had become silent; they all watched Juliana standing with Caroline and Hawthorne Abendsen.