in fact, throughout the world – has accepted this strange announcement at
face value. It may be simply a matter of believing what one chooses to
believe, or it may be for some other reason, but the fact remains that there
has been a bewildering suspension of the disbelief which characterized mass
reaction so short a time ago as this morning.’
‘There seems, in the popular mind, to be no consideration of all the
other factors which may be involved. The news of the end of any possibility
of nuclear war has drowned out all else. It serves to underline the quiet
and terrible, perhaps subconscious, tension under which the world has
lived…’
I shut off the television and prowled about the house, my footsteps
echoing strangely in the darkening rooms.
It was well enough, I thought, for a smug, complacent commentator to
sit in the bright-lit studio a thousand miles away and analyse these
happenings in a measured and well-modulated manner. And it was well enough,
perhaps, for people other than myself even here in Millville, to sit and
listen to him. But I couldn’t listen – I couldn’t stand to listen.
Guilt, I asked myself? And it might be guilt, for I had been the one
who’d brought the time machine to Earth and I had been the one who had taken
Smith to meet the newsmen at the barrier. I had played the fool – the utter,
perfect fool and it seemed to me the entire world must know.
Or might it be the conviction that had been growing since I talked with
Nancy that there was some hidden incident or fact – some minor motive or
some small point of evidence -that I had failed to see, that we all had
failed to grasp, and that if one could only put his finger on this single
truth then all that had happened might become simpler of understanding and
all that was about to happen might make some sort of sense?
I sought for it, for this hidden factor, for this joker in the deck,
for the thing so small it had been overlooked and yet held within it a vast
significance, and I did not find it.
I might be wrong, I thought. There might be no saving factor. We might
be trapped and doomed and no way to get out.
I left the house and went down the street. There was no place I really
wanted to go, but I had to walk, hoping that the freshness of the evening
air, the very fact of walking might somehow clear my head.
A half a block away I caught the tapping sound. It appeared to be
moving down the street toward me and in a little while I saw a bobbing halo
of white that seemed to go with the steady tapping. I stopped and stared at
it and it came bobbing closer and the tapping sound went on. And in another
moment I saw that it was Mrs Tyler with her snow-white hair and cane.
‘Good evening, Mrs Tyler,’ I said as gently as I could, not to frighten
her.
She stopped and twisted around to face me.
‘It’s Bradshaw, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘I can’t see you well, but I
recognize your voice.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘You’re out late, Mrs Tyler.’
‘I came to see you,’ she said, ‘but I missed your house. I am so
forgetful that I walked right past it. Then I remembered and I was coming
back.’
‘What can I do for you?’ I asked.
‘Why, they tell me that you’ve seen Tupper. Spent some time with him.’
‘That’s true,’ I said, sweating just a little, afraid of what might be
coming next.
She moved a little closer, head tilted back, staring up at me.
‘Is it true,’ she asked, ‘that he has a good position?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘a very good position.’
‘He holds the trust of his employers?’
‘That is the impression that I gained. I would say he held a post of
some importance.’
‘He spoke of me?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘He asked after you. He said he’d meant to write, but he
was too busy.’
‘Poor boy,’ she said, ‘he never was a hand to write. He was looking
well?’
‘Very well, indeed.’
‘Foreign service, I understand,’ she said. ‘Who would ever have thought
he’d wind up in foreign service. To tell the truth, I often worried over
him. But that was foolish, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was,’ ‘I said. ‘He’s making out all right.’ ‘Did he say when
he would be coming home?’
‘Not for a time,’ I told her. ‘It seems he’s very busy.’
Well, then,’ she said, quite cheerfully, ‘I won’t be looking for him. I
can rest content. I won’t be having to go out every hour or so to see if
he’s come back.’
She turned away and started down the street.
‘Mrs Tyler,’ I said, ‘can’t I see you home? It’s getting dark and…’
‘Oh, my, no,’ she said. ‘There is no need of it. I won’t be afraid. Now
that I know Tupper’s all right, I’ll never be afraid.’
I stood and watched her go, the white halo of her head bobbing in the
darkness, her cane tapping out the way as she moved down the long and
twisting path of her world of fantasy.
And it was better that way, I knew, better that she could take harsh
reality and twist it into something that was strange and beautiful.
I stood and watched until she turned the corner and the tapping of the
cane grew dim, then I turned about and headed downtown.
In the shopping district the street lamps had turned on, but all the
stores were dark and this, when one saw it, was a bit upsetting, for most of
them stayed open until nine o’clock. But now even the Happy Hollow tavern
and the movie house were closed.
The village hall was lighted and a small group of people loitered near
the door. The clinic, I imagined, must be coming to a close. I wondered,
looking at the hall, what Doc Fabian might think of all of this. His testy
old medic’s soul, I knew, would surely stand aghast despite the fact he’d
been the first to benefit.
I turned from looking at the hall, and plodded down the street, hands
plunged deep into my trouser pockets, walking aimlessly and restlessly, not
knowing what to do. On a night like this, I wondered, what was a man to do?
Sit in his living-room and watch the flickering rectangle of a television
screen? Sit down with a bottle and methodically get drunk? Seek out a friend
or neighbour for endless speculation and senseless conversation? Or find
some place to huddle, waiting limply for what would happen next?
I came to an intersection and up the side street to my right I saw a
splash of light that fell across the sidewalk from a lighted window. I
looked at it, astonished, then realized that the light came from the window
of the Tribune office, and that Joe Evans would be there, talking on the
phone, perhaps, with someone from the Associated Press or the New York Times
or one of the other papers that had been calling him for news. Joe was a
busy man and I didn’t want to bother him, but perhaps he wouldn’t mind, I
thought, if I dropped in for a minute.
He was busy on the phone, crouched above his desk, with the receiver
pressed against his ear. The screen door clicked behind me and he looked up
and saw me.
‘Just a minute,’ he said into the phone, holding the receiver out to
me.
‘Joe, what’s the matter?’
For something was the matter. His face wore a look of shock and his
eyes were stiff and staring. Little beads of sweat trickled down his
forehead and ran into his eyebrows.
‘It’s A1f’ he said, lips moving stiffly.
‘Alf’ I said into the phone, but I kept my eyes on Joe Evans’ face. He
had the look of a man who had been hit on the head with something large and
solid.
‘Brad!’ cried Alf. ‘Is that you, Brad?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it is.’
‘Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. When
your phone didn’t answer…’
‘What’s the matter, Alf? Take it easy, Alf.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll try to take it easy. I’ll take it from the
top.’
I didn’t like the sound of his voice. He was scared and he was trying
not to be.
‘Go ahead,’ I said.
‘I finally got to Elmore,’ he told me. ‘The traffic’s something awful.
You can’t imagine what the traffic is out here. They have military check
points and…’
‘But you finally got to Elmore. You told me you were going.’
‘Yes, I finally got here. On the radio I heard about this delegation