He was not gaining on them. They had a mission, after all. They had to
find the right kind of Old Ones. But damn it, Brian thought, my world
has some rights, hasn't it? _We'll see about this._
He lifted the paddle like a spear and flung it, knowing even before his
shoulder winced how absurd the gesture was. The youngsters were so far
away that even an arrow from a bow might not have reached them.
The paddle splashed in the water. Not far away: a small infinity.
It swung about to the will of the river, the heavy end pointing,
obediently downstream. It nuzzled companionably against a gray-faced
chunk of driftwood, diverting it, so that presently the driftwood
floated into Brian's reach.
He caught it, and flung it toward the paddle, hoping it might fall
on the other side and send the paddle near him. It fell short, and
in his oddly painless extremity, Brian was not surprised, but merely
watched the gray driftwood floating and bobbing along beside him with
an irritation that was part friendliness, for it suggested the face of
a music critic he had met in--New Boston, was it? Denver? London? He
couldn't remember.
"Why," he said aloud, detachedly observing the passage of his canoe
beyond the broad morning shadow of the Museum of Human History, "I seem
to have made sure to die."
"Mr. Van Anda has abundantly demonstrated a mastery of the instrument
and of the--" _You acid fraud, go play solfeggio on your linotype!
Don't bother me!_--"and of the literature which could, without
exaggeration, be termed beyond technique. He is one of those rare
interpreters who at the last analysis--"
"I can't swim it, you know," said Brian.
"--have so deeply submerged, dedicated themselves, that they might
truly be said to have become one with--" Gaining on the canoe, the
gray-faced chip moved tranquilly, placidly approving, toward the open
sea. And with a final remnant of strength, Brian inched forward to the
bow of the canoe and gathered the full force of his lungs to shout up
the river: "Go in peace!"
They could not have heard him. They were too far away and a new morning
wind was blowing, fresh and sweet, out of the northwest.