is time he was certain that if he were
to reach out and touch her, she would shatter into a million pieces.
"Give my love to the planet Earth," she added icily.

"Good-by," Philip said, his anger gone now, and the emptiness rushing
back. "Don't sell us short, though--we'll make a big splash in your sky
one of these days when we blow ourselves up."

[Illustration]

He turned and walked away. Walked out of the enchanting village and down
the highway and across the flower-pulsing plain to Judith's back
doorway. It was unlighted now, and he had trouble distinguishing it from
the others. Its shimmering blue framework was flickering. Judith had not
lied then: the field was dying out.

He locked the back door behind him, walked sadly through the dark and
empty house and let himself out the front door. He locked the front door
behind him, too, and went down the walk and climbed into his car. He had
thought he had locked it, but apparently he hadn't. He drove out of town
and down the road to the highway, and down the highway toward the big
bright bonfire of the city.

Dawn was exploring the eastern sky with pale pink fingers when at last
he parked his car in the garage behind his apartment building. He
reached into the back seat for his brief case and the manila envelopes.
His brief case had hair on it. It was soft and warm. "Ruf," it barked.
"Ruf-ruf!"

He knew then that everything was all right. Just because no one had
invited him to the party didn't mean that he couldn't invite himself. He
would have to hurry, though--he had a lot of things to do, and time was
running out.

Noon found him on the highway again, his business transacted, his
affairs settled, Zarathustra sitting beside him on the seat. One o'clock
found him driving into Valleyview; two-five found him turning down a
familiar street. He would have to leave his car behind him, but that was
all right. Leaving it to rust away in a ghost town was better than
selling it to some opportunistic dealer for a sum he would have no use
for anyway. He parked it by the curb, and after getting his suitcase out
of the trunk, walked up to the front door of Number 23. He unlocked and
opened the door, and after Zarathustra followed him inside, closed and
locked it behind him. He strode through the house to the kitchen. He
unlocked and opened the back door. He stepped eagerly across the
threshold--and stopped dead still.

There were boards beneath his feet instead of grass.