he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughter rumbling up from his chest. "You know why, folks?"

Rhona said, "Did you notice Carl Braken and his wife at—"

Hank said, "No, Phil, why is it the most popular place on earth?"

Phil said, "Because people are—" And then he caught himself and waved his hand and muttered, "I forgot the punch line."

"Because people are dying to get in," Hank said, and looked through the window, past the iron fence, into the large cemetery at the fleeting tombstones.

The car was filled with horrified silence when there should have been nothing but laughter, or irritation at a too-old joke. "Maybe you should let me out right here," Hank said. "I'm home—or that's what everyone seems to think. Maybe I should lie down in an open grave. Maybe that would satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula or another monster from the movies."

Edith said, "Oh, Hank, don't, don't!"

The car raced along the road, crossed a macadam highway, went four blocks and pulled to a stop. He didn't bother saying good night. He didn't wait for Edith. He just got out and walked up the flagstone path and entered the house.

"Hank," Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, "I'm so sorry—"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'll all work out in time."

"Yes," she said quickly, "that's it. I need a little time. We all need a little time. Because it's so strange, Hank. Because it's so frightening. I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurt you terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we're frightened."

"I'm going to stay in the guest room," he said, "for as long as necessary. For good if need be."

"How could it be for good? How, Hank?"

That question was perhaps the first firm basis for hope he'd had since returning. And there was something else; what Carlisle had told him, even as Carlisle himself had reacted as all men did.

"There are others coming, Edith. Eight that I know of in the tanks right now. My superior, Captain Davidson, who died at the same moment I did—seven months ago next Wednesday—he's going to be next. He was smashed up worse than 

 Prev. P 10/11 next