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nymore？ Don't those people know what we've been through？ We were scared to death。 We still are。 We left our homes； we drove through blizzards； we saw the cloud。 It was a deadly specter； right there above us。 Is it possible nobody gives substantial coverage to such a thing？ Half a minute； twenty seconds？ Are they telling us it was insignificant； it was piddling？ Are they so callous？ Are they so bored by spills and contaminations and wastes？ Do they think this is just television？ 'There's too much television already—why show more？' Don't they know it's real？ Shouldn't the streets be crawling with cameramen and soundmen and reporters？ Shouldn't we be yelling out the window at them； 'Leave us alone； we've been through enough； get out of here with your vile instruments of intrusion。' Do they have to have two hundred dead； rare disaster footage； before they e flocking to a given site in their helicopters and network limos？ What exactly has to happen before they stick microphones in our faces and hound us to the doorsteps of our homes； camping out on our lawns； creating the usual media circus？ Haven't we earned the right to despise their idiot questions？ Look at us in this place。 We are quarantined。 We are like lepers in medieval times。 They won't let us out of here。 They leave food at the foot of the stairs and tiptoe away to safety。 This is the most terrifying time of our lives。 Everything we love and have worked for is under serious threat。 But we look around and see no response from the official organs of the media。 The airborne toxic event is a horrifying thing。 Our fear is enormous。 Even if there hasn't been great loss of life； don't we deserve some attention for our suffering； our human worry； our terror？ Isn't fear news？〃
Applause。 A sustained burst of shouting and hand…clapping。 The speaker slowly turned one more time； displaying the little TV to his audience。 When he pleted his turn； he was face to face with me； no more than ten inches away。 A change came over his wind…beaten face； a slight befuddlement； the shock of some minor fact jarred loose。
〃I saw this before；〃 he finally said to me。
〃Saw what before？〃
〃You were standing there； I was standing here。 Like a leap into the fourth dimension。 Your features incredibly sharp and clear。 Light hair； washed…out eyes； pinkish nose； nondescript mouth and chin； sweaty…type plexion； average jowls； slumped shoulders； big hands and feet。 It all happened before。 Steam hissing in the pipes。 Tiny little hairs standing out in your pores。 That identical look on your face。〃
〃What look？〃 I said。
〃Haunted； ashen； lost。〃
It was nine days before they told us we could go back home。
III Dylarama
22
The supermarket is full of elderly people who look lost among the dazzling hedgerows。 Some people are too small to reach the upper shelves； some people block the aisles with their carts； some are clumsy and slow to react； some are forgetful； some confused； some move about muttering with the wary look of people in institutional corridors。
I pushed my cart along the aisle。 Wilder sat inside； on the collapsible shelf； trying to grab items whose shape and radiance excited his system of sensory analysis。 There were two new developments in the supermarket； a butcher's corner and a bakery； and the oven aroma of bread and cake bined with the sight of a bloodstained man pounding at strips of living veal was pretty exciting for us all。
〃Dristan Ultra； Dristan Ultra。〃
The other excitement was the snow。 Heavy snow predicted； later today or tonight。 It brought out the crowds； those who feared the roads would soon be impassable； those too old to walk safely in snow and ice； those who thought the storm would isolate them in their homes for days or weeks。 Older people in particular were susceptible to news of impending calamity as it was forecast on TV by grave men standing before digital radar maps or pulsing photographs of the planet。 Whipped into a frenzy； they hurried to the supermarket to stock up before the weather mass moved in。 Snow watch； said the forecasters。 Snow alert。 Snowplows。 Snow mixed with sleet and freezing rain。 It was already snowing in the west。 It was already moving to the east。 They gripped this news like a pygmy skull。 Snow showers。 Snow flurries。 Snow warnings。 Driving snow。 Blowing snow。 Deep and drifting snow。 Accumulations； devastations。 The old people shopped in a panic。 When TV didn't fill them with rage； it scared them half to death。 They whispered to each other in the checkout lines。 Traveler's advisory； zero visibility。 When does it hit？ How many inches？ How many days？ They became secretive； shifty； appeared to withhold the latest and worst news from others； appeared to blend a cunning with their haste； tried to hurry out before someone questioned the extent of their purchases。 Hoarders in a war。 Greedy； guilty。
I saw Murray in the generic food area； carrying a Teflon skillet。 I stopped to watch him for a while。 He talked to four or five people； occasionally pausing to scrawl some notes in a spiral book。 He managed to write with the skillet wedged awkwardly under his arm。
Wilder called out to him； a tree…top screech； and I wheeled the cart over。
〃How is that good woman of yours？〃
〃Fine；〃 I said。
〃Does this kid talk yet？〃
〃Now and then。 He likes to pick his spots。〃
〃You know that matter you helped me with？ The Elvis Presley power struggle？〃
〃Sure。 I came in and lectured。〃
〃It turns out； tragically； that I would have won anyway。〃
〃What happened？〃
〃Cotsakis； my rival； is no longer among the living。〃
〃What does that mean？〃
〃It means he's dead。〃
〃Dead？〃
〃Lost in the surf off Malibu。 During the term break。 I found out an hour ago。 Came right here。〃
I was suddenly aware of the dense environmental texture。 The automatic doors opened and closed； breathing abruptly。 Colors and odors seemed sharper。 The sound of gliding feet emerged from a dozen other noises； from the sublittoral drone of maintenance systems； from the rustle of newsprint as shoppers scanned their horoscopes in the tabloids up front； from the whispers of elderly women with talcumed face