“No ... she really isn’t, Sarah. The truth is, she’s up in Vermont. On a farm. Waiting for the end of the world.”
“What?”
Herb told her that six months ago Vera had begun to correspond with a group of about ten people who called themselves The American Society of the Last Times. They were led by Mr. and Mrs. Harry L. Stonkers from Racine, Wisconsin. Mr. and Mrs. Stonkers claimed to have been picked up by a flying saucer while they were on a camping trip. They had been taken away to heaven, which was not out in the constellation Orion but on an earth-type planet that circled Arcturus. There they had communed with the society of angels and had seen Paradise. The Stonkerses had been informed that the Last Times were at hand. They were given the power of telepathy and had been sent back to Earth to gather a few faithful together—for the first shuttle to heaven, as it were. And so the ten of them had gotten together, bought a farm north of St. Johnsbury, and had been settled in there for about seven weeks, waiting for the saucer to come and pick them up.
“It sounds. : .” Sarah began, and then closed her mouth.
“I know how it sounds,” Herb said. “It sounds crazy. The place cost them nine thousand dollars. It’s nothing but a crashed-in farmhouse with two acres of scrubland. Vera’s share was seven hundred dollars—all she could put up. There was no way I could stop her ... short of committal.” He paused, then smiled. “But this is nothing to talk about at your wedding party, Sarah. You and your fellow are going to have all the best. I know you will.”
Sarah smiled back as best she could. “Thank you, Herb. Will you ... I mean, do you think she’ll ...”
“Come back? Oh yes. If the world doesn’t end by winter, I think she’ll be back.”
“Oh, I only wish you the best,” she said. and embraced him.
5
The farm in Vermont had no furnace, and when the saucer had still not arrived by late October, Vera came home. The saucer had not come, she said, because they were not yet perfect—they had not burned away the nonessential and sinful dross of their lives. But she was uplifted and spiritually exalted. She had had a sign in a dream. She was perhaps not meant to go to heaven in a saucer. She felt more and more strongly that she would be needed to guide her boy, show him the proper way. when he came out of his trance.
Herb took her in, loved her as best he could—and life went on. Johnny had been in his coma for two years.
6
Nixon was reinaugurated. The American boys started coming home from Vietnam. Walter Hazlett took his bar exam and was invited to take it again at a later date. Sarah Hazlett kept school while he crammed for his tests. The students who had been silly, gawky freshmen the year she started teaching were now juniors. Flat-chested girls had become bosomy. Shrimps who hadn’t been able to find their way around the building were now playing varsity basketball.
The second Arab-Israeli war came and went. The oil boycott came and went. Bruisingly high gasoline prices came and did not go. Vera Smith became convinced that Christ would return from below the earth at the South Pole. This intelligence was based on a new pamphlet (seventeen pages, price $4.50) entitled God’s Tropical Underground. The startling hypothesis of the pamphleteer was that heaven was actually below our very feet, and that the easiest point of ingress was the South Pole. One of the sections of the pamphlet was “Psychic Experiences of the South Pole Explorers.”
Herb pointed out to her that less than a year before she had been convinced that heaven was somewhere Out There, most probably circling Arcturus. “I’d surely be more apt to believe that than this crazy South Pole stuff,” he told her. “After all, the Bible says heaven’s in the sky. That tropical place below the ground is supposed to be ...”
“Stop it!” she said sharply, lips pressed into thin white lines. “No need to mock what you don’t understand.”
“I wasn’t mocking, Vera,” he said quietly.
“God knows why the unbeliever mocks and the heathen rages,” she said. That blank light was in her eyes. They were sitting at the kitchen table, Herb with an old plumbing J-bolt in front of him, Vera with