“No,” Allen said. “And you know it isn’t.”
“Please,” Janet whispered. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You can’t do anything for those kids,” Mavis said to him.
“I can stay with them,” Allen said. “And I can make my feelings clear.” That much, at least.
“It’s your decision.” Mavis threw up his arms in disgust and dismissal. “The hell with you. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” But the expression on his face showed that he did. “I wash my hands of the whole business. Do what you think is best.”
“All right,” Janet said. “Let’s go back. Let’s get it over with. As long as we have to.”
“You’ll keep a place for us?” Allen asked Mavis.
Sighing, Mavis nodded. “Yes, I’ll be expecting you.”
“It may not be for awhile.”
Mavis thumped him on the shoulder. “But I’ll see both of you.” He kissed Janet on the cheek, and then very formally, and with emphasis, he shook hands with both of them. “When the time comes.”
“Thanks,” Allen said.
Surrounded by his luggage and fellow passengers, Mavis watched them go. “Good luck.” His voice followed after them, and then was lost in the murmur of machinery.
With his wife, Allen walked slowly back across the field. He was winded from the running, and Janet’s steps dragged. Behind them, with a growing roar, the ship was rising. Ahead of them was Newer York, and, sticking up from the expanse of housing units and office buildings, was the spire. He felt sobered, and a little ashamed. But now he was finishing what he had begun that Sunday night, in the darkness of the Park. So it was good. And he could stop feeling ashamed.
“What’ll they do to us?” Janet asked after a while.
“We’ll survive.” In him was an absolute conviction. “Whatever it is. We’ll show up on the other side, and that’s what matters.”
“And then we’ll go to Myron’s planet?”
“We will,” he promised. “Then it’ll be all right.”
Standing at the edge of the field were the teen-agers, and a varied assortment of people: relatives of passengers, minor field officials, passers-by, an off-duty policeman. Allen and his wife approached them and stopped by the rail.
“I’m Allen Purcell,” he said, and he spoke with pride. “I’m the person who japed the statue of Major Streiter. I’d like everybody to know it.”
The people gaped, murmured together, and then melted off to safety. The teen-agers remained, aloof and silent. The off-duty policeman blinked and started in the direction of a telephone.
Allen, his arm around his wife, waited composedly for the Getabouts of the Cohorts.
Philip K. Dick, The Man Who Japed
(Series: # )
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