it is too late now, carrington thought despairingly.
even if i somehow make it back to the auditorium, it will be too late to present my paper.
the denizens of the great metropolis flowed past him unceasingly.
the streets were not so noisy as he had expected, but they were even more filled with people.
he had not been able to bring himself to ask any of them the way back to the auditorium.
in any case, they might not have known it anyway, or even given him deliberately false directions, because that is what the inhabitants of the great city, as everybody knew, were like.
carrington decided to walk down the next dark alley he came to - maybe, just maybe, he would find the auditorium on the other side.
it was worth a try - everything else had failed.
a dark alley obligingly appeared beside him immediately.
he hurriedly walked down it,
on the other side of the alley, night seemed to have fallen completely.
maybe it was because there were fewer lights.
in fact, there was hardly any light, and the city seemed to have vanished.
he was on a narrow country road.
a low wooden fence ran beside it, and on the other side was - what?
water? a pond or still river? or a swamp or bog? carrington could not tell.
a single dull light was visible down the road, and carrington headed toward it.
he came to a small green building with a door and a large window from which the light he had seen emanated.
through the window he could see a thin man behind a counter, with his head down, apparently reading something.
the building had no sign he could see. was it a bar? some sort of cafe?
there were no vehicles outside, and no gas pumps or charging stations visible.
carrington pushed open the door. the man behind the counter did not look up.
beneath the counter was a glass case, containing - what? some sort of small cakes or pastries?
along one wall was what looked like a pinball machine, with nobody playing it, and against the other what looked like a juke box, with no music emerging from it.
there was a small table in a corner beside the door, with a young woman seated at it. she too had her head down, reading a book or magazine or tablet.
carrington approached the counter, where the thin man was still engrossed in the thin sheets in front of him - some sort of racing form?
but before carrington could address the thin man, he heard a voice behind himself.
stephen!
carrington turned. the young woman who had been seated at the corner table was facing him.
it was cynthia mccarthy!
cynthia mccarthy, the receptionist at the emergency clinic at graduate school whom he had loved from afar back in the day.
who had always been so polite to him,
so polite.
the true love of his life.
now she was in his arms at last.
stephen! you have to help me.
of course, cynthia! what do you want me to do?
suddenly everything was all right - it all fell away - all the years of solitude at school, the terrible years with noreen, the long slow upward climb through the labyrinth of the institute ...
now he and cynthia were together! as it was always meant to be.
you have to help me, cynthia repeated.
just tell me what i have to do.
there is a store about half a mile down the road. with a faded red sign. i want you to go there and buy two pounds of sugar and half a pound of dynamite. then come back and meet me here.
carrington was out the door and racing down the dark road.
the store with the faded red sign was there, just as cynthia had said, it was even smaller and more dimly lit than the green building where he had found cynthia.
there were no goods on display inside,
a fat man was seated behind a counter, reading volume three of the letters of h p lovecraft to robert e howard.
i need two pounds of sugar and a half pound of dynamite, carrington blurted out without ceremony.
the fat man put his book down,
sure, no problem. i just need to see to see some i d.
of course, carrington replied. he took his wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open.
his eye fell on his i d and on his date of birth.
then it hit him.
he was seventy years old.
and cynthia, back at the green building, had not looked a day over twenty-three.
something was not right.
carrington rushed back to the green building.
cynthia was gone. the thin man was still behind the counter, studying his sheets of paper.
the young woman who was here - where did she go?
the thin man replied without looking up, some guy came along and picked her up.
did they say where they were going?
no, my friend, and i didn’t ask. i mind my own business. i don’t ask questions.
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