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has always wanted。 Peace of mind in a profit…oriented context。〃
〃Marvelous bone structure； Janet。〃
〃She had a talent for stealth。〃
〃You say that with such bitterness。 I've never known you to be bitter； Tuck。〃
〃Stupid but not bitter。〃
〃What do you mean by stealth？ Was she covert； like Malcolm？〃
〃She wouldn't tell me how much money she made。 I think she used to read my mail。 Right after Heinrich was born； she got me involved in a plex investment scheme with a bunch of multilingual people。 She said she had information。〃
〃But she was wrong and you lost vast sums。〃
〃We made vast sums。 I was entangled； enmeshed。 She was always maneuvering。 My security was threatened。 My sense of a long and uneventful life。 She wanted to incorporate us。 We got phone calls from Liechtenstein； the Hebrides。 Fictional places； plot devices。〃
'That doesn't sound like the Janet Savory I spent a delightful half hour with。 The Janet with the high cheekbones and wry voice。〃
〃You all had high cheekbones。 Every one of you。 Marvelous bone structure。 Thank God for Babette and her long fleshy face。〃
〃Isn't there somewhere we can get a civilized meal？〃 Tweedy said。 〃A tableclothy place with icy pats of butter。 Malcolm and I once took tea with Colonel Qaddafí。 A charming and ruthless man； one of the few terrorists we've met who lives up to his public billing。〃
The snow had stopped falling。 We drove through a warehouse district； more deserted streets； a bleakness and anonymity that registered in the mind as a ghostly longing for something that was far beyond retrieval。 There were lonely cafes； another stretch of track； freight cars paused at a siding。 Tweedy chain…smoked extra…longs； shooting exasperated streams of smoke in every direction。
〃God； Tuck； we were good together。〃
〃Good at what？〃
〃Fool； you're supposed to look at me in a fond and nostalgic way； smiling ruefully。〃
〃You wore gloves to bed。〃
〃I still do。〃
〃Gloves； eyeshades and socks。〃
〃You know my flaws。 You always did。 I'm ultrasensitive to many things。〃
〃Sunlight； air； food； water； sex。〃
〃Carcinogenic； every one of them。〃
〃What's the family business in Boston all about？〃
〃I have to reassure my mother that Malcolm isn't dead。 She's taken quite a shine to him； for whatever reason。〃
〃Why does she think he's dead？〃
〃When Malcolm goes into deep cover； it's as though he never existed。 He disappears not only here and now but retroactively。 No trace of the man remains。 I sometimes wonder if the man I'm married to is in fact Malcolm Hunt or a pletely different person who is himself operating under deep cover。 It's frankly worrisome。 I don't know which half of Malcolm's life is real； which half is intelligence。 I'm hoping Bee can shed some light。〃
Traffic lights swayed on cables in a sudden gust。 This was the city's main street； a series of discount stores； check…cashing places； wholesale outlets。 A tall old Moorish movie theater； now remarkably a mosque。 Blank structures called the Terminal Building； the Packer Building； the merce Building。 How close this was to a classic photography of regret。
〃A gray day in Iron City；〃 I said。 〃We may as well go back to the airport。〃
〃How is Hitler？'！
〃Fine； solid； dependable。〃
〃You look good； Tuck。〃
〃I don't feel good。〃
〃You never felt good。 You're the old Tuck。 You were always the old Tuck。 We loved each other； didn't we？ We told each other everything； within the limits of one's preoccupation with breeding and tact。 Malcolm tells me nothing。 Who is he？ What does he do？〃
She sat with her legs tucked under her； facing me； and flicked ashes into her shoes； which sat on the rubber mat。
〃Wasn't it marvelous to grow up tall and straight； among geldings and mares； with a daddy who wore blue blazers and crisp gray flannels？〃
〃Don't ask me。〃
〃Mother used to stand in the arbor with an armful of cut flowers。 Just stand there； being what she was。〃
At the airport we waited in a mist of plaster dust； among exposed wires； mounds of rubble。 Half an hour before Bee was due to arrive； the passengers from another flight began filing through a drafty tunnel into the arrivals area。 They were gray and stricken； they were stooped over in weariness and shock； dragging their hand luggage across the floor。 Twenty； thirty； forty people came out； without a word or look； keeping their eyes to the ground。
Some limped； some wept。 More came through the tunnel； adults with whimpering children； old people trembling； a black minister with his collar askew； one shoe missing。 Tweedy helped a woman with two small kids。 I approached a young man； a stocky fellow with a mailman's cap and beer belly； wearing a down vest； and he looked at me as if I didn't belong in his space…time dimension but had crossed over illegally； made a rude incursion。 I forced him to stop and face me； asked him what had happened up there。 As people kept filing past； he exhaled wearily。 Then he nodded； his eyes steady on mine； full of a gentle resignation。
The plane had lost power in all three engines； dropped from thirty…four thousand feet to twelve thousand feet。 Something like four miles。 When the steep glide began； people rose； fell； collided； swam in their seats。 Then the serious screaming and moaning began。 Almost immediately a voice from the flight deck was heard on the inter： 〃We're falling out of the sky！ We're going down！ We're a silver gleaming death machine！〃 This outburst struck the passengers as an all but total breakdown of authority； petence and mand presence and it brought on a round of fresh and desperate wailing。
Objects were rolling out of the galley； the aisles were full of drinking glasses； utensils； coats and blankets。 A stewardess pinned to the bulkhead by the sharp angle of descent was trying to find the relevant passage in a handbook titled 〃Manual of Disasters。〃 Then there was a second male voice from the flight deck； this one remarkably calm and precise； making the passengers believe there was someone in charge after all； an element of hope： 〃This is American two…one…three to the cockpit voice recorder。 Now we know wh