HOWARD WALDROP

WHY DID?


Now me thinks on a sudden I am wakened as if it were out of a dream, I have had
a raving fit, a phantastical fit, ranged up and down, in and out, I have
insulted over most kinde of men, abused some, offended others, wronged myself:
and now being recovered and perceiving mine error, cry Solvite me! pardon that
which is past.

--Robert Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy, 1621


Leonard: For a long time he did not remember anything. The moon was just
rising. He must have come from the river because his footprints led from it to
where he stood. His head hurt.

He walked for a very long way and he was hot. He wished he hadn't left the
water; now he needed a drink. He felt something heavy on the top of his head. He
didn't think it was his cap. He reached up and his hand came away with something
dark and something gray and blue in the moonlight.

``Ahhh!'' he yelled. ``Ahhh!'' He began to run, falling down twice, flopping
around in the dirt until he could get up. His left arm did not work. He ran and
ran, then he passed out.

When he came to again he was walking and it was either just after sunset or just
before dawn, he did not know which. He walked and walked. His head was pounding
now but he was afraid to reach up and touch it again. He was so tired and so
hungry but he could not stop. He knew that if he stopped he would die.

It was morning.

He hobbled onto the edge of a field. It stretched away forever with the stubble
of some crop. There was a man far away on the other side doing something with a
tractor. There was a truck parked there, too. He walked toward the man at the
tractor and the man heard him coming and looked up. The man's eyes got wide and
bright behind his glasses and he put one hand up over his face a second.

``Holy Mother of Christ!'' the man said.

``Unhh! Unhh!'' he said, holding his right arm out.

``Jesus! You're really hurt? How did that happen?''

``Unhh!''

``Hold still. Don't move.'' The man went to the truck and came back with a flour
sack covered with grit. ``It's all I got. Let me put that in your head.''

He held still.

The man made a strange noise behind him.

``I don't know how you're walking, buddy.'' The man said. ``It . . . it looks
like you been shot in the back of the head and the bullet came out the top.
That's brains hangin' there.''

``Unhh! Unhh!''

``Easy now. If you come this far you ain't gonna die yet. Ease over into the
truck here--I'll take you over to the hospital in Salinas. Watch your head
gettin' in. There's more of it on top than you think. . . .''

He got into the truck. Soon they were bouncing along the road and the gravel was
flying in a big V out behind. His head hurt more and soon he was asleep.

All he remembered was pieces of the next few days. There were rooms and lights
and doctors and nurses and they put something in his head. Then he was in a big
bed and they brought him food and asked all about him.

Then some other doctors came and a state trooper in a smart uniform with a shiny
badge, and a few days later they took him to another place.

It was there that something began to happen to his head, not on the outside
where all the bandages and the tin were, but inside. Small flashes of who he was
would come back then go away, like a bird hopping closer and closer behind a
tree you were leaning against but which would hop away before you could turn
around and see it. There had been a ranch or a farm. He'd done something that
made people mad at him. He couldn't remember. There had been a running through
the woods to the river.

And then G--

It was a name. He did not know who the name was.

He couldn't remember and it made him cry.

This place wasn't so nice. There were people who were always making him do
things and move from his bed or chair and they talked to him but he could not
understand.

A long long time went by, maybe a month or two. He wished he could leave and go
find some work or something. He did not like it here.

Sometimes he wished he had a rabbit to hold.

And then one day when they had him outside bouncing the ball he looked up and
there standing in front of him was a funny little clown in a black clown suit
with a pointed hat and big buttons down the front.

He looked at the clown and he smiled because he knew from then on everything was
going to be okay.

Benjamin: It was day and rain and my sister held me while I held the slipper
and the grandmother was in the house then my brother came home mad and I was
taken somewhere with lots of doors and white and I didn't like it and was going
to say and going and they put the thing on my arm that hurt and I went away and
then it was day again and my pushing-man took me outside in the buggy-chair and
put me under the tree the tree like the one in the pasture where the boy and I
were walking and he was looking for the money ``Money Money'' said my brother
``You're all bleeding me white'' and then I was in this place under the tree
watching and watching for my sister to come to the gate so I could see her and
she climbed the pear tree to look in at my grandmother like the horse in the
ditch and the people wouldn't let me go to the gate and the men were hitting and
calling my sister's name and there was the girl who wasn't my sister who yelled
and yelled at the gate and the fire went around and around and it was rain and I
couldn't sleep and it was day again and they were saying ``Benjamin, Benjamin,
don't yell so, just show us where it hurts'' and I tried to tell them and the
black woman cook said ``Grab his hand'' and I put it in my mouth it hurt so and
I pointed where it hurt and they made it stop it was day again and they let me
stand at the gate only it was tall and I was little that time and my pushing-man
put me under the tree then the man came and the man had a clown with him like
the one that came to town only he had on a black suit and he hugged me like my
sister used to do in the buggy-chair and the clown and the man were in the
little box with me that bumped and bumped and pastures and houses went by the
windows real fast and there was a bridge and a river and hills going by too and
then it was day and night again and I was in the big house which was my
grandmother's house only it was big and I was little in it and sometimes the
clown was big and stuck out of the house and sometimes he was little and walked
around and sat in his swing.

The gateman let the car, a new '51 Kaiser, into the grounds.

In the front seat beside the driver from the motor pool, Dr. Ernest Seeker
stared up the drive toward the mansion. It was a three-story stone building. At
the front, over the portico was the head of a giant clown, mechanical eyes
slowly rolling, tongue lolling out of the mouth.

The grounds, ten or eleven rolling acres, were surrounded by a twelve-foot-high
narrow iron spiked fence. Here and there as he watched, solitary men and women
moved on missions of their own.

Far off, near a little copse of trees, someone who was dressed like Koko the
Clown from the old Betty Boop cartoons sat in a board-and-rope swing, winding
himself up with little movements of the feet and letting the twisted ropes spin
him around again.

In another direction, a patch of what looked like wheat bordered the fence.
There was no one waiting for him out front when the car pulled to a stop.

Seeker got out. He pulled his briefcase from the back seat. He looked back
beyond the gate to the far hill where the construction on the new housing
subdivisions had begun.

After waiting a few more moments, he stepped to the wide double doors and went
inside.

The place was light and airy and had peculiar, not unpleasant, smells. The
hallway led to a large sitting room with overstuffed Victorian furniture, worn
looking but clean. From somewhere far off to the left he heard the rattle of a
pot or pan, low talk. To the right was another hallway. A man was coming out of
the room pushing his hair back with both hands.

``Mr. Seeker,'' he said. ``Willard Beemer. Sorry I didn't hear your car--we
don't have a telephone at the gate. I wouldn't have known you were here except
one of our guests went by the window--he goes to meet every car. Usually that's
just the help arriving for work, but it's too late for that so I knew it had to
be you.''

Seeker shook his hand.

``I'm sure the department explained why I'm here.''

``They told me we'd need a license for the facility. I tried to explain why I
didn't think it came under your purview, but they insisted. So I told them, send
their best investigator out and look the place over, and we'd talk about it.''

``You realize, of course, that if you were an M. D. or this were under the
direct supervision of a neurosurgeon or psychiatrist, I wouldn't be here?''

``I know, I know. But we didn't ask to be licensed; you called us. My guess is
it's because of the guy building the houses all across the hills that you got
called. Some people are afraid of things they don't understand. See, we don't
consider ourselves a place for treatment. We're, like, a big family who lives in
a big house with a fence and mind our own business.''

``You can understand the concerns of the county and state when there are
complaints that there's an unlicensed mental facility in the middle of what will
become a high-density residential area.''

``Well, the county can't do anything because they got a grandfather clause in
all their zoning stuff. And you're the state, so I just have to convince you,
right?''

``That is essentially correct.''

``Okay. Let's get to it.''

``How long have you been here?''

``Twelve years. Since 1939.''

``How many patients do you have?''

``Twenty-seven. Only they're not patients, they're guests. Five have been here
since the beginning; the others came one or two at a time. Either we went out to
find them, or some just showed up, over the years.''

``You went out to find them? Where?''

``Some from state hospitals. Some from private. One we found kept in a cage out
behind an alligator farm in Florida.

``You go get them from state hospitals?''

``Most states are only too happy to find someone to take them off their hands.
``Look,'' said Beemer, ``I'm not explaining myself very well. Leave your
briefcase here. Come outside with me. Take a look around.''

He followed Beemer back through the parlor, out the double doors to the driveway
where the car sat. A man stood near the steps, his head moving back and forth,
eyes wide, staring at the car and driver.

``I better start at the beginning. I didn't found this place; my father
did--though he died on the trip West with the first five guests. I'm the
executor of his estate, which makes me also the guardian of the Democritus
Trust. That's where we get the money.''

Seeker looked out toward the field near the back of the grounds. A young person,
a lone boy, stood in the middle of the half-acre patch.

``That's the newest one, Holden. I'm not sure he should be here, but the Little
Moron wanted him to stay.''

``We don't like to refer to anyone as a moron, Mr. Beemer . . .''

``That's what he calls himself. He's the one all the stories are about.''

Seeker looked at Beemer. ``You mean, the Little Moron jokes?''

``That's him. Elwood Democritus, Jr. His father was richer than Croesus. He
appointed my father executor on his deathbed. Elwood Jr.'s mother had died years
before; he was an only child on a dead-end branch of the family tree. Then the
Little Moron and my father came West, setting up the place, getting the original
five guests, setting it all up; then my father died and I came out here and here
we are.''

The clown face overhead suddenly straightened to the vertical. Its eyes rolled
and the mouth opened. ``Yum Yum Yum!'' said a voice over the P.A. system. ``Yum
Yum Yum!''

``Lunchtime,'' said Beemer. ``Want to join them?''

``I've already eaten,'' said Seeker.

From the far corners of the grounds, people walked toward the house. Some had
hobbling steps. One walked but his arms didn't swing with his steps; they
remained at his sides. There were six or eight women. A microcephalic in a
spotted blue dress with her hair in a bow came up and hugged Beemer, then went
inside. An old man dressed like the Little King in a tiny child's pedal car
raced up to the steps, hopped out and ran through the double doors.

The lone boy stayed out in the field.

``Those that don't want to eat don't have to,'' said Beemer. ``The cooks leave
'em sandwiches and stuff. Not your pickle loaf or baloney, either.''

``How do you choose who stays here and who doesn't?''

``I don't. The Little Moron does.''

``He chooses them?''

``He'll let me know he wants to go somewhere. We'll go. One in a thousand
sometimes. We'll go ten places, nothing. Eleventh place he gets out of the car,
walks right up to someone, or they come up to him. He breaks out in a big smile.
That's the one.''

``And you take procedures to get them here?''

``Yep.''

``Don't you find that a little . . . arbitrary?''

``Beats me. It's worked every time.''

``All right. You've been here twelve years. How many pa-- guests have died?''

``None.''

``How many escaped?''

``None.''

``Can you explain this?''

``They're happy here. Whey would they want to leave?''

``What kind of therapy do you use?''

``None whatsoever.''

``None?''

``Okay,'' Beemer paused, ``happy therapy. They get to do pretty much whatever
they want to do. If they're happy, they're okay.''

The man in the Koko suit came by. His face was covered with clown white. His
baggy black suit had big white buttons on it, and his pointed hat had three
white puffs down the front. He walked over, picked up Beemer, carried him to the
stairs and set him down. Then he went inside.

``He wants a step-father,'' said Beemer.

``Who?''

``Elwood Jr. The Little Moron.

``He doesn't talk,'' said Beemer. ``Most of them can't, or won't. Elwood can
write though; mostly they're little rebuses or riddles that I can make out. Or
he'll take me and show me. Sometimes it's hard. But he doesn't ask for much, and
not often. I can show you his room, if you want me to, while he's eating. It'll
give you some idea.''

They went upstairs. There was a long hall with bedrooms off each side. They came
to one. Outside was a pile of hay. Beemer opened the door. In the center of the
floor was a carpet with a hole cut in it. There was a bed with springs sticking
out one end; on the wall was a calendar with some of the numbers missing. On the
other side above the wash basin was a medicine cabinet with a pair of padded
slippers on the floor in front of them. At an open window was a box of clocks,
and there was another pile of timepieces under the desk in the corner. In
another corner was a refrigerator. Beemer opened it. There was no shelves
inside. There was a second handle so it could be opened from the inside.

``He thinks of me as his father, sometimes.'' said Beemer. Seeker didn't
understand the reference but said nothing.

At the bottom of the refrigerator was a sack of fish with their noses cut off.
On the wall above a chair was a huge clock. On the wash basin was a hairbrush
and a box of candy bullets.

There were several sheets of paper on the desk. One was a picture of an elephant
with a howdah on it and an arrow pointing toward the bottom and a question mark.

``Oh, that's for me,'' said Beemer. He studied it a moment, then drew a picture:
the word NO, a comma, an arrow pointing toward the bottom of the page, and a
waterfowl of some kind.

``What's that?'' asked Seeker.

``That was an easy one,'' Willard Beemer said. ``He wanted to know how you got
down off an elephant. I said, you don't get down off an elephant; you get down
off a goose.''

Seeker stared at him a moment.

``You're telling me he thinks on a tertiary conceptual, level?''

``No. No. He thinks on a literal level. His father, Elwood Sr., never could
figure out a damn thing he was trying to do, because he thought on a tertiary
level all the time. Me and my father could figure out pretty much everything,
cause we didn't. There are two or three of these things I still can't answer,
though.''

``Have you ever had him tested? Or any of them?''

``Tested for what? Like I said, if Elwood, Jr., wants them here, that's good
enough for me. Come on. Let's go outside again. You see how he lives here.''

Outside, they walked up the drive. The kid who had been in the wheat (or
whatever-it-was) field was gone now. The clown head on the house was immobile.
``See, what we got here is like people coming to visit who never leave. That's
the best way I can describe it. The help comes here and takes care of them and
leaves at night. Nobody comes to visit, because most of them don't have anybody.
We're not trying to put anything over on anyone.''

Then Beemer stopped. ``Just remembered one for Elwood Jr.,'' he said. He took a
piece of paper and drew on it: ?, then a baby, ? NO, then another baby. He put
the paper in a crack in one of the wood columns of the portico. The clown head
above the porch began to move. ``Ha Ha Ha!'' it said, its tinny voice echoing
over the grounds, ``Ha Ha Ha!''

``Playtime,'' said Beemer. ``They'll all be coming out again.''

``Mr. Beemer,'' said Seeker. ``I'm not going to advise you on how to run your
business, or to circumvent the laws. But you'll have to get at least a private
facility license. You'll have to get a physician or psychiatrist to apply for
you. I understand your care and concern. But suppose something happens to you or
Elwood Jr? It could be chaotic for everyone involved, especially with the three
housing developments going up nearby. They're even thinking of putting in a new
golf course over there. If something should happen--I'm thinking of your pa--
guests here. There needs to be some supervision, some treatment program.'' He
paused.

``I'm not saying this officially. Plenty of medics will put their names on an
application blank for a fee and not bother you at all. I'd like you to find one
who does care, who can see what you've done here--maybe there's something
medicine can learn from it.''

``I didn't do it. The Little Moron did.''

``Well, what's been done here, then. It's hard to believe you've managed for a
dozen years.''

``We didn't manage, Mr. Seeker. We're here. This is what we are, always will
be.''

``I'd like to believe that, too. But get a psychiatrist to apply for you. Have
him take an active part so nothing goes wrong.''

As they were talking, Seeker watched the guests coming out from lunch. The
Little King came out and jumped in his pedal car and tore off up the driveway,
knees like blurs. Elwood Jr. stopped at the porch post, took out the piece of
paper. He wrote something on it, put it back in the crack and walked toward the
thicket with a book in his hand. Seeker watched him sit down, place the book in
front of him, open and stare at it.

Beemer followed his gaze. ``It's fall,'' he said, as if by way of explanation.
The Little Moron continued to stare at the book all the time they walked back to
the department's car.

The man still stood on the porch watching the car, his head moving back and
forth. The driver, reading a magazine, paid no attention.

``We can handle almost anything,'' said Beemer. ``One of our guests, when we
found him, had been shot in the back of the head. Went right through the corpus
callosum and out the top. We got no idea who he is, but that's him out yonder
with the chickens at the rabbit hutch. He's been here since almost the
beginning.''

``I'll turn in my report on the place.'' said Seeker. ``We'll send a team out
next week to see if there are any modifications needed to bring it up to state
standards. Meanwhile, you should shop around for a resident psychiatrist.''

``Money's no object,'' said Beemer, shrugging. ``Just the idea's not to my
liking.''

Willard went to the post while Seeker put the briefcase in the back seat. Beemer
unfolded the paper and smiled, showing it to Seeker.

? then baby NO then baby?

under it was drawn:

= then a very tiny cross mark.

Seeker said nothing about the paper, then: ``I'll be back after the team. It's
been a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Beemer. Please remember what I said.''

``I will. Goodbye.''

The car started up the driveway. Seeker watched the boy in the field, the giant
man near the chicken yard, Elwood Jr. on his swing, still staring at the open
book before him.

Back at the house, the big clown head laughed its scratchy laugh again.

Beemer hired Dr. Winfred Rance.

She called Seeker a few months into her residency.

``I've never seen a smoother-running place in my life,'' she said. ``And Beemer
doesn't do anything, like he told you. It's all Elwood Jr. I've seen just about
everything in my time, but nothing like him, or his effect on the others around
him.''

``I'm glad you're taking such an interest in their--somewhat
unusual--procedures,'' said Seeker.

``I'm beginning to think Elwood Jr. likes me,'' she said, sounding
unprofessional for the first time since Seeker had known her. ``He's started
leaving those little puzzle things for me. The ones for me have the stick figure
of a girl at the top; Beemer's don't. Mine at first were easy, then they got
harder. I don't think he's testing me or anything, I just think that's the way
they come to him. He usually leaves them in the door handle of my car.''

Seeker remembered Elwood Jr. in his swing, staring at the open book's pages in
front of him, as if waiting for something to happen. ``It's fall'' Beemer had
said as if by way of explanation.

``I also want to talk to Holden a little. No prying. It's just that he doesn't
seem like the others at all.''

``I'm glad it's working out well,'' said Seeker. ``I'll be up for a visit in--''
he glanced at his calendar, ``--the customary six-month inspection time.''

``I'll keep you informed,'' said Winfred.

He opened a letter from Beemer that arrived about three weeks later.

*
Dear Doc--

*
Thanks for putting me on to Winfred. She's a corker, and most of the time you
wouldn't even know she was here. I think she's gonna get a big fat article out
of the Democritus System, as she calls it. Okay by me.

*
Like I said I was pretty peeved at those realtor assholes when they sold all
that land around me; I woulda been glad to buy it up myself, but somebody in the
Chamber of Commerce had dropped dead or something, which led to all this.

*
But it did turn out okay 'cause we got Winfred.

*
Thanks again Doc.

*
Your Pal, Willard Beemer

*
P.S. I think Elwood Jr. likes her, too. But I can tell he's getting antsy again,
more than usual; that probably means we'll go get some more guests soon.

``They've been gone two weeks,'' said Winfred, on the phone. ``I'm not quite
sure what was going on with Elwood Jr.--neither Willard nor I got any puzzles
from him for the last week they were here, before he took Willard out to the car
that morning two weeks ago. He seemed, well, troubled.''

Seeker wondered, for an instant, how you could tell if someone whose mind was a
rebus was having a mood swing.

``I've often wondered,'' said Seeker, ``what would happen if Elwood Jr. couldn't
tell the difference between, let's say, alternative thought patterns, and
perhaps, those of a sociopath . . .''

``His sense hasn't failed him yet,'' Winfred laughed. ``And you know what? I
think if someone like that did end up here, they might just cure themselves.''

``Are you losing your objectivity, Winfred?''

``Well, just kidding, sort of. Or maybe I'm gaining a new kind of objectivity.
Hold it!--speak of the devil. Beemer and Elwood Jr. just pulled up in the
driveway. Looks like they've got . . . a very old geezer and, and . . . a young
girl with them. I'll see what's up and call you back later.''

The Little Girl: I had such a pretty grandmother! That was after all the
trouble with my mother and father and the spelling-bee medal. My grandmother was
so nice so long to me. Then she told me that we had to move far away, and that I
was going to have to go to one of those schools where you sit in church and wear
a plaid dress, and I asked her please not to do that, but she said it was best
for me. I was so unhappy for a while. Then I begged and pleaded, and was just so
nice for my grandmother, but she still said we couldn't stay where we were. So
then I played with my jacks on the stairs, and played with the tacks on the
runner carpet, ever so little at a time, and a little more each day, and then
one morning when we were ready to go out shopping for new suitcases for the
trip, I went up to help my grandmother down the stairs.

And then I was so unhappy for the longest time, because I used to have a pretty
grandmother.

Dr. Rance sat at her desk.

A shadow fell over it.

She looked up. It was Holden. He never left his small patch of grain field from
sunup to sundown, except when it was raining. He rarely ate with the others and
stayed in his room at night. ``Yes Holden?'' she asked.

He stared at her a moment, then looked left and right. He started to form words,
then quit.

``Is there something wrong?'' she asked.

``That new little Rhoda girl,'' he said. ``She's a goddamn phony and all.''

Then he left.

Dr. Rance sat at her desk a while, then went to look out the window. Holden was
already back in his patch, looking far out over the hills like he always did.

She wondered if she imagined it. When she saw the new little girl later that
day, she was standing near the trees, watching Elwood Jr. in his swing.

When Beemer came in from the kitchen, she said, ``Holden spoke to me today.''

``No shit?'' said Beemer. ``I didn't figure him for the talking type. Need
anything in town, Doc?''

``No, I'm leaving soon myself.'' she said.

``Be in tomorrow?''

``No, Tuesday.''

``See you then.''

The Little Girl: He thinks he can fool me, but I know what he's up to. Sitting
there in his swing, running things, making people do things without even
thinking about it. He pretends to be so nice to me, but I know there's only room
for one person in charge here, and it's not that dumb Willard or that
pretend-nice Dr. Rance, she's like all the others, trying to get inside my head
to see if the loud clock there is still working, or that Holden; I don't like
the way he looks at me; I'll take care of him after I settle the Little Moron's
hash. I know where they keep the matches here, and I know when they're all going
to be eating, and I know what's in the basement. And later, it'll be just me,
and that nice Leonard, and the rabbits and mice, and we'll have ever so much
fun. . . .

Leonard: Uh-oh. Now someone's really gonna get it!

It wasn't me, no sir. I was out by the rabbit hutch and then there was a roar
like when a train used to come by real close when me and my friend was sleeping
in the 'bo jungles and the whole house blew up and caught on fire and then I saw
the little houses across the golfing place blow up and catch on fire and then I
was running as fast as I could only I stopped and went back to get the rabbits
out of their cages and then it started raining fire.

I ain't never seen it rain fire before. It came down just like water only things
was turning brown and gray and going away.

And then it was real hard to breathe and real hot and I dropped the rabbits
cause my hands hurt real bad and then the rabbits caught on fire too. I started
crying only nothing came out. When I screamed I couldn't get my breath back in
and I ran with my head down and my hair caught fire and the tin place on my head
was hot as a stove. I was yelling and running and got one eye open and my
clothes was on fire and I remembered you could roll, only the ground was on fire
too but I yelled and rolled.

Then I was up and running again toward the wheat field and Holden was jumping up
and down and biting his hand and looking at the house and screaming.

I looked back and the big clown head blew up and one of its eyes popped out and
went past the fence. I looked again and saw the fence was down over to the other
side of the house and Benjamin who always stood there looking was nowhere in
sight.

I went running that way to get away from the fire. I wanted to get as far away
as I could and jump into one of those water puddles they have by the sandpiles.
I ran and ran.

Somebody was sure gonna get it but it wasn't me, no sir. I was out by the hutch.
. . .

Then I remembered the rabbits and started crying.

Then I saw Benjamin lying way out in the middle of the golf place and I forgot
about jumping in the water because I couldn't feel the burning any more.

He was laying there and he looked like a newspaper that's been in the fireplace.
There was smoke coming out of his mouth.

I ain't ever seen smoke come out of anybody's mouth unless they had a cigarette.

I tried to let him know it was okay but I must have been yelling.

I didn't know what to do. I stood there crying and crying and I heard noises and
whistles and sirens yelling from all around.

Benjamin looked at me with his blue eyes but I couldn't tell if he saw me or
not.

If I'd of had a mouse I would have given it to him to hold; I sure would have.

Benjamin: For the first time in his life he was neither confused nor caught in
an eternal present. Since the explosion, things had slowed down, pulled, come
apart into separate distinct moments. He had seen parts of the big house come by
him and realized that they had not been there before, that this was a new thing
to him.

He had been near the fence, watching the men play golf and calling his sister's
name. He still had his sister's slipper in his back pocket. Before the blast he
expected her to come anytime to the fence, especially with the men calling her
name so often.

Then pieces of the house and something else came by and hit the men out there
and the houses beyond the pasture. As he was lifted through the air he thought
again the world was turning around like it did when the black boy fed him the
whiskey at his grandmother's house.

He saw the ground hit him three or four times and every time he bumped things
got more still and calm inside him.

Then he was looking up at the quiet blue sky with some smoke going through it.
Every time he breathed, more smoke came up. He watched it. Then he began to see
that this, too, was a new thing. Before this, he had been at the fence; now he
was somewhere else.

He saw that all the things he knew were different things, that his sister must
have been gone many many many days. He saw that the big house which had come to
pieces in fire was not his grandmother's house and that that was not the place
he had been in before he came here. This was a wonderful thing.

That meant that all the people were different people. The black cook was not the
one in the house here who was a man. The man here was not his brother though he
had the same job. The car out front had not been the one of his other
brother--it was shinier and lower and did not have a top on it where the people
sat. The blue sky now had more smoke in it. It had not always had smoke.
Sometimes it was blue or gray; sometimes it rained and you could watch it from
inside the houses.

Then he saw there were insides and outsides to houses, and that they were the
same. That meant the outside had to be bigger than the inside to hold the people
though they sometimes looked little when you had walked away from them and you
had gotten bigger. That must mean it was you who made them little by being
farther away from them.

He lay there calm. What else could all this mean? He found himself trying to
think of one thing, and it came to him, what he was trying to think about. He
tried something else, and it came to him, too. Not like in a flow, where one
thing led to another like it used to do. . . .

He could not contain this new knowledge. He wanted to yell it, tell everyone.
Not like in other days before the house came apart when he tried to say things
and everyone said he was bellowing. He wanted the words to let everyone know
that he had found these new things.

He smiled with exultation. Now if only Leonard would quit pushing and prodding
him and yelling. It was beginning to bother him.

He closed his eyes.

Seeker heard about the explosion on the radio. It took almost a day to get
through, but he finally found a phone Winfred was at late the next morning.

``Only five of the guests are still alive,'' she said. ``One of them's critical.
They found what they're sure are Elwood Jr.'s and Beemer's bodies and the new
little girl's. They suspect arson--the propane tanks.''

``I was just going to call you yesterday morning, before it happened. For the
first time, one of the guests was missing, but evidently had been since the
night before, and we don't think he had anything to do with it.

``We've got people with the survivors,'' she went on. ``Beemer's will's going to
be read in two days. I'm sure he provided for everything for them through the
trust. We'll do whatever the will says, no matter what, or how strange it
sounds.''

Then she began to cry. ``Holden's the only one who saw it happen. The ones who
lived through it, the ones inside eating lunch, probably didn't understand what
happened at all.''

``I wish I could tell you how sorry I am,'' said Seeker. He made arrangements to
come down for the reading of the will. He offered her the department's help in
anything she might need.

``I'll see you day after tomorrow.'' he said.

``Thanks.'' She hung up.

He was doodling on his desk pad when he first noticed the honking of car horns
outside the office. He went to his second floor window and looked out. Then he
ran downstairs and out onto the street.

There was a slow-moving line of cars coming toward him. At the front of it, the
Little King, looking neither left nor right, was coming up the street in his
pedal car. People were yelling ``stupid asshole!'' out the windows of their cars
and trucks. The Little King paid no attention and pulled to a stop in front of
Dr. Seeker as the traffic roared around him.

He climbed out of the pedal car. He wore an orange-red robe trimmed in ermine,
and on top of his head was a crown that looked like the top half of a
gold-yellow ball-jack. His beard and mustache were clipped and curled.

He took off his crown. His head was bald and red, with only a fringe of hair
where the crown sat. He handed Dr. Seeker a folded piece of paper that had been
inside.

Seeker opened it.

At the top was a stick figure of a man with a briefcase in his left hand.

On the paper, in Elwood Jr.'s drawing, was the following: ?, then the Little
Moron figure with XX's over the eyes, then a duck and a big + and a cow, and a
test tube over a Bunsen burner. Seeker remembered what Beemer had said about
literal levels.

How was the Little Moron killed in a eugenics experiment? it was asking.

Seeker took out his Parker T-Ball Jotter. He wrote an equals sign, then drew a
giant firecracker with a sputtering fuse and a + and a road full of cars with
speed lines coming from them, and an exclamation point.

How was the Little Moron killed in a eugenics experiment? it asked.

He was trying to cross a busy highway with a lit stick of dynamite! Seeker had
answered.

He refolded the paper and handed it back to the Little King. The tiny old man
replaced it in his crown, jumped back in his pedal car, made a U-turn and
started back the way he had come, causing another giant screeching of brakes and
cursing sounds. Seeker watched for a moment: a man who thought he was a king
taking a joke back from a man who thought he was a doctor to a man who was dead.
Then he went back inside, to call Winfred to tell her one of the guests had been
found, but that he would probably be late for dinner.