Our newspaper is delivered by a middle-aged Iranian driving a Nissan Sentra. Something about the car makes meuneasy— the car waiting with its headlights on, at dawn, as the man places the newspaper on the front steps. I tellmyself I have reached an age, the age of unreliable menace. The world is full of abandoned meanings. In thecommonplace I find unexpected themes and intensities.

　　I sat at my desk in the office staring down at the white tablet. It was more or less flying-saucer-shaped, a streamlineddisk with the tiniest of holes at one end. It was only after moments of intense scrutiny that I'd been able to spot thehole.

　　The tablet was not chalky like aspirin and not exactly capsule-slick either. It felt strange in the hand, curiouslysensitive to the touch but at the same time giving the impression that it was synthetic, insoluble, elaboratelyengineered.

　　I walked over to a small domed building known as the Observatory and gave the tablet to Winnie Richards, a" youngresearch neurochemist whose work was said to be brilliant. She was a tall gawky furtive woman who blushed whensomeone said something funny. Some of the New York émigrés liked to visit her cubicle and deliver rapid-fireone-liners, just to see her face turn red.

　　I watched her sit at the cluttered desk for two or three minutes, slowly rotating the tablet between her thumb andindex finger. She licked it and shrugged.

　　"Certainly doesn't taste like much.""How long will it take to analyze the contents?""There's a dolphin's brain in my in-box but come see me in forty-eight hours."Winnie was well-known on the Hill for moving from place to place without being seen. No one knew how shemanaged this or why she found it necessary. Maybe she was self-conscious about her awkward frame, her craninglook and odd lope. Maybe she had a phobia concerning open spaces, although the spaces at the college were mainlysnug and quaint. Perhaps the world of people and things had such an impact on her, struck her with the force of somerough and naked body—made her blush in fact—that she found it easier to avoid frequent contact. Maybe she wastired of being called brilliant. In any case I had trouble locating her all the rest of that week. She was not to be seen onthe lawns and walks, was absent from her cubicle whenever I looked in.

　　At home Denise made it a point not to bring up the subject of Dylar. She did not want to put pressure on me and evenavoided eye contact, as if an exchange of significant looks was more than our secret knowledge could bear. Babette,for her part, could not seem to produce a look that wasn't significant. In the middle of conversations she turned togaze at snowfalls, sunsets or parked cars in a sculptured and eternal way. These contemplations began to worry me.

　　She'd always been an outward-looking woman with a bracing sense of particularity, a trust in the tangible and real.

　　This private gazing was a form of estrangement not only from those of us around her but from the very things shewatched so endlessly.

　　We sat at the breakfast table after the older kids were gone.

　　"Have you seen the Stovers' new dog?""No," I said.

　　'They think it's a space alien. Only they're not joking. I was there yesterday. The animal is strange.""Has something been bothering you?""I'm fine," she said.

　　"I wish you'd tell me. We tell each other everything. We always have.""Jack, what could be bothering me?""You stare out of windows. You're different somehow. You don't quite see things and react to things the way youused to.""That's what their dog does. He stares out of windows. But not just any window. He goes upstairs to the attic and putshis paws up on the sill to look out the highest window. They think he's waiting for instructions.""Denise would kill me if she knew I was going to say this.""What?""I found the Dylar.""What Dylar?""It was taped to the radiator cover.""Why would I tape something to the radiator cover?"'That's exactly what Denise predicted you would say.""She's usually right.""I talked to Hookstratten, your doctor.""I'm in super shape, really.""That's what he said.""Do you know what these cold gray leaden days make me want to do?""What?""Crawl into bed with a good-looking man. I'll put Wilder in his play tunnel. You go shave and brush your teeth. Meetyou in the bedroom in ten minutes."That afternoon I saw Winnie Richards slip out a side door of the Observatory and go loping down a small lawntoward the new buildings. I hurried out of my office and went after her. She kept close to walls, moving in along-gaited stride. I felt I had made an important sighting of an endangered animal or some phenomenal subhumanlike a yeti or sasquatch. It was cold and still leaden. I found I could not gain on her without breaking into a trot. Shehurried around the back of Faculty House and I picked up the pace, fearing I was on the verge of losing her. It feltstrange to be running. I hadn't run in many years and didn't recognize my body in this new format, didn't recognizethe world beneath my feet, hard-surfaced and abrupt. I turned a corner and picked up speed, aware of floating bulk.

　　Up, down, life, death. My robe flew behind me.

　　I............