"More important--how are you?"
"Sprung-witted. Weary. And pursuing."
"Nearly finished?"
"I should make it--tomorrow. If I hold out tonight."
"Phil! What's wrong?"
The echo--the electrical overtone--that long way.
"Nothing's wrong, dear. Things are picking up. I picked up a blonde,
for instance--and Paul's taking her out. So maybe his mental health is
improving."
"And maybe you should have taken her out yourself! You sound like
somebody playing an ocarina in Mammoth Cave; positively sepulchral."
"The heat. Expanded my sinuses. Gives me that hollow ring. Is it hot up
there?"
"Eighty-six tonight. The natives are dying of it."
"It must be a hundred here."
"I read about it in the Buffalo papers. Gee!"
"It's pretty lurid. They had a veterans' parade yesterday--and
I went over to Fifth to watch--and it was damn near immobilized
in the asphalt. It would have been funny--millions of guys stuck
there--blocking traffic all winter--! If you go out just to get a
paper, you need asbestos shoes. Any minute, this joint may run like
paraffin."
"I think you ought to knock off and go see somebody."
"Town's evacuated. Wouldn't be emptier if Molotov was threatening to
A-bomb."
"Do you feel all right?"
"Sure, Tud. As all right as you can when you're standing by to swim
up out of your own sweat, any minute. How's mother? What new mess has
Popcorn made?"
She gave me the country news.
"Won't be too long now," I said.
"Miss you."
"Miss you. Been thinking about the gardens. See you day after
tomorrow--barring acts of God."
"I'd rather wait longer--and have you sounding better."
"You wait till I get there and I'll do my own sounding."
"Good night," she said. "I love you."
When I hung up, I was quivering.
I'd come pretty close:
Well, Ricky, I am worried. I went to Tom's. Of course, it's probably
going to turn out to be nothing. But until I know for sure I feel--the
hell with it! I'm ashamed of being this way!