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best； which figures from the past were the plain fools； which the ic heroes。 Gleanings from another life poured out of her。 The cadences of her speech changed； took on a rural tang。 The words changed； the references。 This was a girl who'd helped her father sand and finish old oak； heave radiators up from the floorboards。 His carpenter years； his fling with motorcycles； his biceps tattoo。
〃You're getting string…beany； daddy。 Finish those potatoes。 There's more on the stove。〃
And Vernon would say to me； 〃Her mother made the worst french fries you could ever hope to eat。 Like french fries in a state park。〃 And then he'd turn to her and say； 〃Jack knows the problem I have with state parks。 They don't move the heart。〃
We moved Heinrich down to the sofa and gave Vernon his room。 It was unnerving to find him in the kitchen at seven in the morning； at six； at whatever grayish hour Babette or I went down to make coffee。 He gave the impression he was intent on outfoxing us； working on our guilt； showing us that no matter how little sleep we got； he got less。
〃Tell you what； Jack。 You get old； you find out you're ready for something but you don't know what it is。 You're always getting prepared。 You're bing your hair； standing by the window looking out。 I feel like there's some little fussy person whisking around me all the time。 That's why I jumped in the car and drove headlong all this way。〃
〃To break the spell；〃 I said。 〃To get away from routine things。 Routine things can be deadly； Vern； carried to extremes。 I have a friend who says that's why people take vacations。 Not to relax or find excitement or see new places。 To escape the death that exists in routine things。〃
〃What is he； a Jew？〃
〃What's that got to do with it？〃
〃Your roof gutter's sagging；〃 he told me。 〃You know how to fix that； don't you？〃
Vernon liked to hang around outside the house； waiting for garbagemen； telephone repairmen； the mail carrier； the afternoon newsboy。 Someone to talk to about techniques and procedures。 Sets of special methods。 Routes； time spans； equipment。 It tightened his grip on things； learning how work was done in areas outside his range。
He liked to tease the kids in his deadpan way。 They answered his bantering remarks reluctantly。 They were suspicious of all relatives。 Relatives were a sensitive issue； part of the murky and plex past； the divided lives； the memories that could be refloated by a word or a name。
He liked to sit in his tortured hatchback； smoking。
Babette would watch from a window； managing to express love； worry； exasperation and despair； hope and gloom； more or less simultaneously。 Vernon had only to shift his weight to arouse in her a series of extreme emotions。
He liked to mingle with shopping mall crowds。
〃I'm counting on you to tell me； Jack。〃
〃Tell you what？〃
〃You're the only person I know that's educated enough to give me the answer。〃
〃The answer to what？〃
〃Were people this dumb before television？〃
One night I heard a voice and thought he was moaning in his sleep。 I put on my robe； went into the hall； realized the sound came from the TV set in Denise's room。 I went in and turned off the set。 She was asleep in a drift of blankets； books and clothes。 On an impulse I went quietly to the open closet； pulled the light cord and peered inside； looking for the Dylar tablets。 I closed the door against my body； which was half in； half out of the closet。 I saw a great array of fabrics； shoes； toys； games and other objects。 I poked around； catching an occasional trace of some childhood redolence。 Clay； sneakers； pencil shavings。 The bottle might be in an abandoned shoe； the pocket of some old shirt wadded in a corner。 I heard her stir。 I went still； held my breath。
〃What are you doing？〃 she said。
〃Don't worry； it's only me。〃
〃I know who it is。〃
I kept on looking through the closet； thinking this would make me appear less guilty。
〃I know what you're looking for； too。〃
〃Denise； I've had a recent scare。 I thought something awful was about to happen。 It turned out I was wrong； thank goodness。 But there are lingering effects。 I need the Dylar。 It may help me solve a problem。〃
I continued to rummage。
〃What's the problem？〃
〃Isn't it enough for you to know that a problem exists？ I wouldn't be here otherwise。 Don't you want to be my friend？〃
〃I am your friend。 I just don't want to be tricked。〃
'There's no question of tricking。 I just need to try the medication。 There are four tablets left。 I'll take them and that'll be the end of it。〃
The more casual the voice； the better my chances of reaching her。
〃You won't take them。 You'll give them to my mother。〃
〃Let's be clear about one thing；〃 I said like a high government official。 〃Your mother is not a drug addict。 Dylar is not that kind of medication。〃
〃What is it then？ Just tell me what it is。〃
Something in her voice or in my heart or in the absurdity of the moment allowed me to consider the possibility of answering her question。 A breakthrough。 Why not simply tell her？ She was responsible； able to gauge the implications of serious things。 I realized Babette and I had been foolish all along； keeping the truth from her。 The girl would embrace the truth； know us better； love us more deeply in our weakness and fear。
I went and sat at the end of the bed。 She watched me carefully。 I told her the basic story； leaving out the tears； the passions； the terror； the horror； my exposure to Nyodene D。； Babette's sexual arrangement with Mr。 Gray； our argument over which of us feared death more。 I concentrated on the medication itself； told her everything I knew about its life in the gastrointestinal tract and the brain。
The first thing she mentioned was the side effects。 Every drug has side effects。 A drug that could eliminate fear of death would have awesome side effects； especially if it is still in a trial stage。 She was right； of course。 Babette had spoken of outright death； brain death； left brain death； partial paralysis； other cruel and bizarre conditions of the body and mind。
I told Denise the power of suggestion could b