I drove twice around the foundry, looking for signs of some erstwhile German presence. I drove past the row houses.

　　They were set on a steep hill, narrow-fronted frame houses, a climbing line of pitched roofs. I drove past the busterminal, through the beating rain. It took a while to find the motel, a one-story building set against the concrete pierof an elevated roadway. It was called the Roadway Motel.

　　Transient pleasures, drastic measures.

　　The area was deserted, a spray-painted district of warehouses and light industry. The motel had nine or ten rooms, alldark, no cars out front. I drove past three times, studying the scene, and parked half a block away, in the rubble underthe roadway. Then I walked back to the motel. Those were the first three elements in my plan.

　　Here is my plan. Drive past the scene several times, park some distance from the scene, go back on foot, locate Mr.

　　Gray under his real name or an alias, shoot him three times in the viscera for maximum pain, clear the weapon ofprints, place the weapon in the victim's staticky hand, find a crayon or lipstick tube and scrawl a cryptic suicide noteon the full-length mirror, take the victim's supply of Dylar tablets, slip back to the car, proceed to the expresswayentrance, head east toward Blacksmith, get off at the old river road, park Stover's car in Old Man Treadwell's garage,shut the garage door, walk home in the rain and the fog.

　　Elegant. My airy mood returned. I was advancing in consciousness. I watched myself take each separate step. Witheach separate step, I became aware of processes, components, things relating to other things. Water fell to earth indrops. I saw things new.

　　There was an aluminum awning over the office door. On the door itself were little plastic letters arranged in slots tospell out a message. The message was: NU MISH BOOT ZUP KO.

　　Gibberish but high-quality gibberish. I made my way along the wall, looking through the windows. My plan was this.

　　Stand at the edges of windows with my back to the wall, swivel my head to look peripherally into rooms. Somewindows were bare, some had blinds or dusty shades. I could make out the rough outlines of chairs or beds in thedark rooms. Trucks rumbled overhead. In the next to last unit, there was the scantest flicker of light. I stood at theedge of the window, listening. I swiveled my head, looked into the room out of the corner of my right eye. A figuresat in a low armchair looking up at the flickering light. I sensed I was part of a network of structures and channels. Iknew the precise nature of events. I was moving closer to things in their actual state as I approached a violence, asmashing intensity. Water fell in drops, surfaces gleamed.

　　It occurred to me that I did not have to knock. The door would be open. I gripped the knob, eased the door open,slipped into the room. Stealth. It was easy. Everything would be easy. I stood inside the room, sensing things, notingthe room tone, the dense air. Information rushed toward me, rushed slowly, incrementally. The figure was male, ofcourse, and sat sprawled in the short-legged chair. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and Budweiser shorts. Plastic sandalsdangled from his feet. The dumpy chair, the rumpled bed, the industrial carpet, the shabby dresser, the sad greenwalls and ceiling cracks. The TV floating in the air, in a metal brace, pointing down at him.

　　He spoke first, without taking his eyes from the flickering screen.

　　"Are you heartsick or soulsick?"I stood against the door.

　　"You're Mink," I said.

　　In time he looked at me, looked at the large friendly figure with the slumped shoulders and forgettable face.

　　"What kind of name is Willie Mink?" I said.

　　"It's a first name and a last name. Same as anybody."Did he speak with an accent? His face was odd, concave, forehead and chin jutting. He was watching TV without thesound.

　　"Some of these sure-footed bighorns have been equipped with radio transmitters," he said.

　　I could feel the pressure and density of things. So much was happening. I sensed molecules active in my brain,moving along neural pathways.

　　"You're here for some Dylar, of course.""Of course. What else?""What else? Rid the fear.""Rid the fear. Clear the grid.""Clear the grid. That's why they come to me."This was my plan. Enter unannounced, gain his confidence, wait for an unguarded moment, take out the Zumwalt,shoot him three times in the viscera for maximum slowness of agony, put the gun in his hand to suggest a lonelyman's suicide, write semi-coherent things on the mirror, leave Stover's car in Treadwell's garage.

　　"By coming in here, you agree to a certain behavior," Mink said.

　　"What behavior?""Room behavior. The point of rooms is that they're inside. No one should go into a room unless he understands this.

　　People behave one way in rooms, another way in streets, parks and airports. To enter a room is to agree to a certainkind of behavior. It follows that this would be the kind of behavior that takes place in rooms. This is the standard, asopposed to parking lots and beaches. It is the point of rooms. No one should enter a room not knowing the point.

　　There is an unwritten agreement between the person who enters a room and the person whose room had been entered,as opposed to open-air theaters, outdoor pools. The purpose of a room derives from the special nature of a room. Aroom is inside. This is what people in rooms have to agree on, as differentiated from lawns, meadows, fields,orchards."I agreed completely. It made perfect sense. What was I here for if not to define, fix in my sights, take aim at? I hearda noise, faint, monotonous, white.

　　"To begin your project sweater," he said, "first ask yourself what type sleeve will meet your needs."His nose was flat, his skin the color of a Planter's peanut. What is the geography of a spoon-shaped face? Was heMelanesian, Polynesian, Indonesian, Nepalese, Surinamese, Dutch-Chinese? Was he a composite? How manypeople came here for Dylar? Where was Surinam? How was my plan progressing?

　　I studied the palm-studded print of his loose shirt, the Budweiser pattern repeated on the surface of his Bermudashorts. The shorts were too big. The eyes were half closed. The hair was long and spiky-. He was sprawled in theattitude of a stranded air traveler, someone long since defeated by the stale waiting, the airport babble. I began to feelsorry for Babette. This had been her last hope for refuge and serenity, this weary pulse of a man, a common pushernow, spiky-haired, going mad in a dead motel.

　　Auditory scraps, tatters, whirling specks. A heightened reality. A denseness that was also a transparency. Surfacesgleamed. Water struck the roof in spherical masses, globules, splashing drams. Close to a violence, close to a death.

　　"The pet under stress may need a prescription diet," he said.

　　Of course he hadn't always been like this. He'd been a project manager, dynamic, hard-driving. Even now I could seein his face and eyes the faltering remains of an enterprising shrewdness and intelligence. He reached into his pocket,took a handful of white tablets, tossed them in the direction of his mouth. Some entered, some flew past. Thesaucer-shaped pills. The end of fear.

　　"Where are you from originally, if I can call you Willie?"He lapsed into thought, trying to recall. I wanted to put him at ease, get him to talk about himself, about Dylar. Partand parcel of my plan. My plan was this. Swivel my head to look into rooms, put him at his ease, wait for anunguarded moment, blast him in the gut three times for maximum efficiency of pain, take his Dylar, get off at theriver road, shut the garage door, walk home in the rain and the fog.

　　"I wasn't always as you see me now.""That's exactly what I was thinking.""I was doing important work. I envied myself. I was literally embarked. Death without fear is an everyday thing. Youcan live with it. I learned English watching American TV. I had American sex the first time in Port-O-San, Texas.

　　Everything they said was true. I wish I could remember.""You're saying there is no death as we know it without the element of fear. People would adjust to it, accept itsinevitability.""Dylar failed, reluctantly. But it will definitely come. Maybe now, maybe never. The heat from your hand willactually make the gold-leafing stick to the wax paper.""There will eventually be an effective medication, you're saying. A remedy for fear.""Followed by a greater death. More effective, productwise. This is what the scientists don't understand, scrubbingtheir smocks with Woolite. Not that I have anything personal against death from our vantage point high atopMetropolitan County Stadium.""Are you saying death adapts? It eludes our attempts to reason with it?"This was similar to something Murray had once said. Murray had also said, "Imagine the visceral jolt, watching youropponent bleed in the dust. He dies, you live."Close to a death, close to the slam of metal projectiles on flesh, the visceral jolt. I watched Mink ingest more pills,throwing them at his face, sucking them like sweets, his eyes on the flickering screen. Waves, rays, coherent beams.

　　I saw things new.

　　"Just between you and I," he said, "I eat this stuff like candy.""I was just thinking that.""How much do you want to buy?""How much do I need?""I see you as a heavyset white man about fifty. Does this describe your anguish? I see you as a person in a gray jacketand light brown pants. Tell me how correct I am. To convert Fahrenheit to Celsius, this is what you do."There was a silence. Things began to glow. The dumpy chair, the shabby dresser, the rumpled bed. The bed wasequipped with casters. I thought, This is the grayish figure of my torment, the man who took my wife. Did she wheelhim around the room as he sat on the bed popping pills? Did each lie prone along one side of the bed, reaching an armdown to paddle? Did they make the bed spin with their lovemaking, a froth of pillows and sheets above the smallwheels on swivels? Look at him now, glowing in the dark, showing a senile grin.

　　"I barely forget the times I had in this room," he said, "before I became misplaced. There was a woman in a ski mask,which her name escapes me at the moment. American sex, let me tell you, this is how I learned my English."The air was rich with extrasensory material. Nearer to death, nearer to second sight. A smashing intensity. Iadvanced two steps toward the middle of the room. My plan was elegant. Advance gradually, gain his confidence,take out the Zumwalt, fire three bullets at his midsection for maximum visceral agony, clear the weapon of prints,write suicidal cult messages on the mirrors and walls, take his supply of Dylar, slip back to the car, drive to theexpressway entrance, head east toward Blacksmith, leave Stover's car in Treadwell's garage, walk home in the rainand the fog.

　　He gobbled more pills, flung others down the front of his Budweiser shorts. I advanced one step. There were crackedDylar tablets all over the fire-retardant carpet. Trod upon, stomped. He tossed some tablets at the screen. The set hada walnut veneer with silvery hardware. The picture rolled badly.

　　"Now I am picking up my metallic gold tube," he said. "Using my palette knife and my odorless turp, I will thickenthe paint on my palette."I recalled Babette's remarks about the side effects of the medication. I said, as a test, "Falling plane."He looked at me, gripping the arms of the chair, the first signs of panic building in his eyes.

　　"Plunging aircraft," I said, pronouncing the words crisply, authoritatively.

　　He kicked off his sandals, folded himself over into the recommended crash position, head well forward, handsclasped behind his knees. He performed the maneuver automatically, with a double-jointed collapsible dexterity,throwing himself into it, like a child or a mime. Interesting. The drug not only caused the user to confuse words withthe things they referred to; it made him act in a somewhat stylized way. I watched him slumped there, trembling.

　　This was my plan. Look peripherally into rooms, enter unannounced, reduce him to trembling, gut-shoot himmaximally three times, get off at the river road, shut the garage door.

　　I took another step toward the middle of the room. As the TV picture jumped, wobbled, caught itself in snarls, Minkappeared to grow more vivid. The precise nature of events. Things in their actual state. Eventually he worked himselfout of the deep fold, rising nicely, sharply outlined against the busy air. White noise everywhere.

　　"Containing iron, niacin and riboflavin. I learned my English in airplanes. It's the international language of aviation.

　　Why are you here, white man?" "To buy.""You are very white, you know that?" "It's because I'm dying." "This stuff fix you up." "I'll still die.""But it won't matter, which comes to the same thing. Some of these playful dolphins have been equipped with radiotransmitters. Their far-flung wanderings may tell us things."I continued to advance in consciousness. Things glowed, a secret life rising out of them. Water struck the roof inelongated orbs, splashing drams. I knew for the first time what rain really was. I knew what wet was. I understood theneurochemistry of my brain, the meaning of dreams (the waste material of premonitions). Great stuff everywhere,racing through the room, racing slowly. A richness, a density. I believed everything. I was a Buddhist, a Jain, a DuckRiver Baptist. My only sadness was Babette, having to kiss a scooped-out face.

　　"She wore the ski mask so as not to kiss my face, which she said was un-American. I told her a room is inside. Do notenter a room not agreeing to this. This is the point, as opposed to emerging coastlines, continental plates. Or you caneat natural grains, vegetables, eggs, no fish, no fruit. Or fruit, vegetables, animal proteins, no grains, no milk. Or lotsof soybean milk for B-12 and lots of vegetables to regulate insulin release but no meat, no fish, no fruit. Or whitemeat but no red meat. Or B-12 but no eggs. Or eggs but no grains. There are endless workable combinations."I was ready to kill him now. But I didn't want to compromise the plan. The plan was elaborate. Drive past the sceneseveral times, approach the motel on foot, swivel my head to look peripherally into rooms, locate Mr. Gray under hisreal name, enter unannounced, gain his confidence, advance gradually, reduce him to trembling, wait for anunguarded moment, take out the .25-caliber Zumwalt automatic, fire three bullets into his viscera for maximumslowness, depth and intensity of pain, wipe the weapon clear of prints, place the weapon in the victim's hand tosuggest the trite and predictable suicide of a motel recluse, smear crude words on the walls in the victim's own bloodas evidence of his final cult-related frenzy, take his supply of Dylar, slip back to the car, take the expressway toBlacksmith, leave Stover's car in Treadwell's garage, shut the garage door, walk home in the rain and the fog.

　　I advanced into the area of flickering light, out of the shadows, seeking to loom. I put my hand in my pocket, grippedthe firearm. Mink watched the screen. I said to him gently, "Hail of bullets." Keeping my hand in my pocket.

　　He hit the floor, began crawling toward the bathroom, looking back over his shoulder, childlike, miming, usingprinciples of heightened design but showing real terror, brilliant cringing fear. I followed him into the toilet, passingthe full-length mirror where he'd undoubtedly posed with Babette, his shaggy member dangling like a ruminant's.

　　"Fusillade," I whispered.

　　He tried to wriggle behind the bowl, both arms over his head, his legs tight together. I loomed in the doorway,conscious of looming, seeing myself from Mink's viewpoint, magnified, threatening. It was time to tell him who Iwas. This was part of my plan. My plan was this. Tell him who I am, let him know the reason for his slow andagonizing death. I revealed my name, explained my relationship with the woman in the ski mask.

　　He put his hands over his crotch, tried to fit himself under the toilet tank, behind the bowl. The intensity of the noisein the room was the same at all frequencies. Sound all around. I took out the Zumwalt. Great and nameless emotionsthudded on my chest. I knew who 1 was in the network of meanings. Water fell to earth in drops, causing surfaces togleam. I saw things new.

　　Mink took one hand from his crotch, grabbed more tablets from his pocket, hurled them toward his open mouth. Hisface appeared at the end of the white room, a white buzz, the inner surface of a sphere. He sat up, tearing open hisshirt pocket to find more pills. His fear was beautiful. He said to me, "Did you ever wonder why, out of thirty-twoteeth, these four cause so much trouble? I'll be back with the answer in a minute."I fired the gun, the weapon, the pistol, the firearm, the automatic. The sound snowballed in the white room, adding onreflected waves. I watched blood squirt from the victim's midsection. A delicate arc. I marveled at the rich color,sensed the colo............