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phenomenon. Her gaze skidded away from his, as if his eyes contained polar contradictories to the human senses.

'Probably a result of my work,' he informed her with solemnity. 'I've been translating secret books of the ancient Hindus.' He seemed to be waiting for Jocundra to respond.

'I have a friend who's compiling a Tibetan dictionary,' she said.' She's working in Nepal.'

'The Tibetan Book of the Dead.' He stared at her with renewed intensity. 'Is she translating that?'

'I think it's already been done,' said Jocundra tactfully.

'Not correctly.' He turned away. 'Could you get me a copy of her dictionary?'

'I'll try,' said Jocundra. 'But it'll take a long time to mail it from Nepal. More than a month.'

'Time,' said Captain Tomorrow. He found the concept amusing. 'It's very important I get the dictionary.'

'That green-eyed fella...' the Baron began.

'No, not him.' The Captain hugged himself and hunched his neck and shuddered.

'Naw,' agreed the Baron. 'Naw, he ain't worth a shit wherever he is. Good riddance to him. But whoever's with him is probably pretty scared.'

The Captain smiled; it was a sick, secret-keeping smile.

"Less he's with Simpkins. I don't reckon Simpkins would be scared.'

The radio on the Captain's lap broke into faint song, then lapsed into frying noises.

'Where'd they go, man?'

'Going, going, gone,' said the Captain.

'Jesus!' The Baron spun around and began trying to rouse others of the 'friends,' kicking them, shaking them, asking had they seen Donnell.

'Here,' said Captain Tomorrow; he pulled a plastic baggie from the front of his bathing suit and withdrew a stack of Otille's business cards. He handed one to Jocundra. On the back was a neat, hand-lettered couplet:

Those who cannot cope with the reality of today

Will be literally crushed by the fantasy of tomorrow.

It's my motto,' he said, slowly reintegrating his gaze with the rooftop.

'Thank you.' Jocundra pocketed the card and was on the verge of joining the Baron, when Captain Tomorrow reached out his hand toward the sun, then brought it back to his lips as if he were swallowing a mouthful of light, accepting communion.

'They're down at the riverboat,' he said to his radio. 'Down, down, down.'

The hold of the sternwheeler had a resiny odor, and the wavelets slapping against the hull were edged with echoes, sounding like the ticking of a thousand clocks. Sunlight showed between the boards where caulking had worn away, and bars of light glowed beneath the hatch cover, dimming when Papa Salvatino lit a battery lamp and positioned it atop a crate. Clea and Downey stood beside him, their faces anxious. Simpkins threw a chokehold around Donnell's neck, wrenched his arms up behind his back, and Papa came toward him, rubbing his hands.

'What's ailin' you tonight, Brother Harrison?' he asked, and laughed.

He placed his hands above Donnell's head, and Donnell had a fuzzy, dislocated feeling. A high-pitched whine switched on inside his ears.

'I can't see what I'm doin' like you, brother,' said Papa. 'I got to work by touch, and sometimes... sometimes I slip up.'

All the strength suddenly drained from Donnell's body; the weakness was so severe and shocking that his gorge rose, and he would have vomited if Simpkins had not been choking him. Then, as Simpkins released his hold, he sagged to the floor.

'I can make you bleed,' said Papa. 'You won't like it at all.'

'Talk to us, brother,' said Simpkins.

Donnell was silent a moment, and Simpkins kicked him; but Donnell's silence was not due to recalcitrance. He had had and continued to have an impression of Jocundra moving around above him, now standing somewhere near the prow. The impression seemed to be compounded of the smell of her hair, the color of her eyes, her warmth, a thousand different impressions, yet its character was unified, an irreducible distillate of these things. He rubbed his throat and pretended to be straining for air.

'About what?' he gasped. 'Talk about what?'

'Tell us what you did to them birds,' Clea twanged; her voice trembled, and she stood half-hidden behind Downey, who was chewing on his thumbnail. Despite his masterful pose, belly out, thumbs couched behind his lapels, Papa was also exhibiting signs of unease. Even Simpkins' smile looked out of true. Donnell's sunglasses had slipped down onto his nose, and he let them fall, turning away from the lantern so his eyes would show to advantage in the dark.

'Remember, brother,' said Papa. 'You ain't hidin' out behind Otille's skirts no more. You down in dirt alley with the dogs howlin' for your bones.' He drew forth a hunting knife and let light dazzle