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them up and tossed them away. Now, at this moment, he was drawing on a piece of paper.
Nick came over. Stick men, a huge circle in the sky which represented the sun.
Do the people like the sun? he asked Amos Ild.
Ild said, It makes them warm.
So they go out into it?
Yes. Amos Ild drew on another sheet, now, tired of that one. He drew what appeared to be an
animal.
A horse? Nick asked. A dog? It s got four legs; is it a bear? A cat?
Amos Ild said, It s me.
Pain constricted Nick Appleton s heart.
I have a burrow, Ild said, drawing a flattened, irregular circle, low down, with a brown crayon.
It s there. He placed his large finger over the flattened brown circle. I go inside it when it rains. I
keep warm.
Nick said, We ll make you a burrow. Exactly like that.
Smiling, Amos Ild crumpled up the drawing.
What are you going to be, Nick asked, when you grow up?
I am grown-up, Ild said.
What are you, then?
Ild hesitated. Then he said, I build things. Look. He got up from the floor, his head swaying
ominously . . . God, Nick thought, it ll snap his spine. Proudly, he showed Nick the network of
paperweights and rulers which he had built.
Very nice, Nick said.
If you take one weight away, Ild said, it collapses. A mischievous expression appeared on his
face. I m going to take a piece away.
But you don t want it to fall down.
Amos Ild, towering above Nick, dominating with his huge head and its elaborate support, said,
What are you?
I m a tire regroover, Nick said.
Is a tire what a squib has on it that goes around and around?
Right, Nick said. The squib lands on it. On them.
Could I do that, sometime? Be a Ild hesitated.
A tire regroover, Nick said with patience. He felt calm. It s a very bad job. I don t think you d
enjoy it.
Why not?
Because, you see, there are treads on the tires . . . and you dig them deeper so it looks like
there s more rubber than there is, but the person who buys it might have a flat tire because of that.
And then they might have an accident, and be hurt, too.
You re hurt, Ild said.
My arm s broken.
Then you must hurt.
Not exactly. It s paralyzed. I m still in shock, somewhat.
The door opened and one of the black troopers looked in, his narrow eyes taking in the scene.
Could you bring me a morphine tablet from the dispensary? Nick asked him. My arm He
indicated it.
Okay, fella, the trooper said, and departed.
It must really hurt bad, Amos Ild said.
Not so bad. Don t worry about it, Mr. Ild.
What s your name?
Mr. Appleton. Nick Appleton. Call me Nick and I ll call you Amos.
No. Amos Ild said. We don t know each other that well. I ll call you Mr. Appleton and you
call me Mr. Ild. I m thirty-four, you know. Next month I ll be thirty-five.
And you ll get lots of presents, Nick said.
Ild said, I just want one thing. I want He became silent. There s an empty place in my mind;
I wish it would go away. It didn t used to be there.
The Great Ear, Nick said. Do you remember that? Building that?
Oh, yes, Ild said. I did that. It s going to hear everyone s thoughts and then a pause we
can put people into camps. Relocation camps.
Is that nice to do? Nick asked.
I don t know. Ild put his hands to his temples and shut his eyes. What are other people?
Maybe there aren t any others; maybe they re make-believe. Like you maybe I made you up. Maybe
I can make you do anything I want.
What would you want me to do? Nick asked.
Pick me up, Amos Ild said. I like to be picked up and then there s a game you spin around,
holding me by my hands. And cen trifugal force He stumbled over the word, gave up. You
make me fly out horizon Again he stumbled. Could you pick me up? he asked plaintively,
looking down at Nick.
I can t, Mr. Ild, Nick said. Because of my broken arm.
Thank you, anyway, Amos Ild said. He shuffled meditatively over to the window of the room,
gazed out at the night sky. Stars, he said. People go there. Mr. Provoni went there.
Yes, Nick said. He certainly did.
Is Mr. Provoni a nice man?
Nick said, He is a man who did what had to be done. No, he isn t a nice man he s a mean man.
But he wanted to help.
Is that good, to help?
Most people think so, Nick said.
Mr. Appleton, Amos Ild asked, do you have a mother?
No, not living.
I don t either. Do you have a wife?
Not really. Not anymore.
Mr. Appleton, do you have a girl friend?
No, he said, harshly.
Did she die?
Yes.
Just a little while ago?
Yes, he grated.
You must get a new one, Amos Ild said.
Really? he asked. I don t think so I don t think I ever want a girl friend again.
You need one that ll worry about you.
This one worried about me. It killed her.
How wonderful, Amos Ild said.
Why? Nick stared at him.
Think how much she loved you. Imagine anybody loving you that much. I wish someone loved
me that much.
Is that important? Nick asked. Is that what it s all about, instead of invasions by aliens, the
destruction of ten million superlative brains, the transfer of political power all power by an elite
group
I don t understand those things, Amos Ild said. I just know how it s wonderful, someone
loving you that much. And if someone loved you that much, you must be worth loving, so pretty soon
someone else will love you that way, too, and you ll love them the same way. Do you see?
I think so, Nick said.
Nothing exceeds that, where if a man gives his life for a friend, Amos Ild said. I wish I could
do that. He pondered, seated, now, on a swivel chair. Mr. Appleton, he asked, are there other
grown-ups like me?
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