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so I gave it a name."

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They were in the living room of Karen's apartment and it was early

evening in the first week of November. Nim had accepted-after several

postponements because of pressures of work-an invitation from Karen to

join her for dinner. Josie, Karen's aide-housekeeper, was in the kitchen

preparing the meal.

The small apartment was softly lighted, warm and comfortable. Outside,

in contrast, most of northern California was enduring a Pacific gale, now

in its third day, which had brought strong winds and torrential rain. As

they talked, rain pounded against the windows.

Other sounds merged softly; the steady hum of the respirator mecbanism

which kept Karen breathing, and an accompanying hiss of air, inward and

out; small clatters of dishes, the noise of a cupboard door opening, then

closing, from the kitchen.

"About the power failure," Karen resumed. "I'd been to a movie, at a

theater where they have facilities for wheelchairs-I can do so many

things now with Humperdinck that I couldn't before-and, while Josie was

driving, all the street lights, and lights in buildings, went out."

"Almost one hundred square miles," Nim said with a sigh. "Everything

went. Everything."

"Well, we didn't know that then. But we could see it was widespread, so

Josie drove directly to Redwood Grove Hospital, which is where I go if

I ever have problems. They have an emergency generator. The staff took

care of me, and I stayed at the hospital for three days until the power

was back on here."

"Actually," Nim told her, "I already knew most of that. As soon as I

could after those explosions and the blackout, I phoned your number. I

was at the office; I'd been called in from home. When there was no answer

I had someone contact the hospital, which is listed on your info sheet.

They told us you were there, so I stopped worrying because there was lots

to do that night."

"It was an awful thing, Nimrod. Not just the blackout, but those two men

murdered."

"Yes, they were old-timers," Nim said, "pensioners who were brought back

in because we were short of experienced security help. Unfortunately

their experience belonged to another era and we found out later that the

worst they'd ever dealt with was an occasional trespasser or small-time

thief. They were no match for a killer."

"Whoever did it hasn't been caught yet?"

Nim shook his head. "It's someone we, and the police, have been looking

for for a long time. The worst thing is, we still haven't the slightest

idea who he is or where he operates from."

"But isn't it a group-Friends of Freedom?"

"Yes. But the police believe the group is small, probably no more than

a half-dozen people, and that one man is the brains and leader. They say

there are similarities in all the incidents so far which point to

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that-like a personal handwriting. Whoever he is, the man's a homicidal

maniac."

Nim spoke feelingly. The effect of the latest bombing on the GSP & L

system had been far worse than any other preceding it. Over an unusually

wide area, homes, businesses and factories bad been deprived of electric

power for three to four days in many cases, a week in others, reminding

Nim of Harry London's observation several weeks earlier that, "Those

crazies are getting smart."

Only by a massive, costly effort which required bringing in all of GSP

& L's spare transformers, borrowing some from other utilities, and

diverting all available personnel to effect repairs, had power been re-

stored as quickly as it was. Even so, GSP & L was being criticized for

failure to protect its installations adequately. "The public is entitled

to ask," the California Examiner pontificated in an editorial, "if Golden

State Power & Light is doing all it can to prevent a recurrence. judging

by available evidence, the answer is 'no."' However, the newspaper

offered no suggestion as to how the enormous, widespread GSP & L network

could be protected everywhere twenty-four hours a day.

Equally depressing was the absence of any immediately usable clues. True,

the law enforcement agencies had obtained another voice print, matching

earlier ones, from the bombastic tape recording received by a radio

station the day after the bombings. As well, there were some threads of

denim material snagged on a cut wire near the site of the double murder,

almost certainly from a garment worn by the attacker. The same wire also

revealed dried blood which had been typed and found to differ from the

blood of both dead guards. But, as a senior police detective told Nim in

a moment of frankness, "Those things can be useful when we have someone

or something to match them with. Right now we're no nearer to having that

than we were before."

"Nimrod," Karen said, interrupting his thoughts. "It's been almost two

months since we were together. I've truly missed you."

He told her contritely, "I'm sorry. I really am."

Now that be was here, Nim wondered bow he could have staved away so long.

Karen was as beautiful as be remembered her and, when the~ kissed a few

minutes ago-a lingering kiss-her lips were loving, just as they had

seemed before. It was as if, in a single instant, the gap in time had

closed.

Something else Nim was aware of: In Karen's company he experienced a

sense of peace, as happened with few other people be knew. The feeling

was hard to define, except perhaps that Karen, who had come to terms with

the limitations of her own life, transmitted a tranquillity and wisdom

suggesting that other problems, too, could be resolved.

"It's been a difficult time for you," she acknowledged. "I know because

I read what the newspapers said about you, and saw reports on

television,"

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Nim grimaced. "ne Tunipah hearings. I've been told I disgraced myself."

Karen said sharply, "You don't believe that, any more than I do. What you

said was sensible, but most reports played that part down."

"Any time you like, you can handle my public relations."

She hesitated, then said, "After it happened I wrote some poetry for you.

I was going to send it, then thought maybe you were tired of hearing from

everybody, no matter what they said."

"Not everybody. just most people." He asked, "Did you save it-the poem?"

"Yes." Karen motioned with her head. "It's over there. In the second

drawer down."

Nim rose from his seat and crossed to a bureau beneath bookshelves.

Opening the drawer he had been told to, he saw a sheet of Karen's blue

stationery on top, which he took out, then read what was typewritten.

The moving finger sometimes does go back, Not to rewrite but to

reread; And what was once dismissed, derided, mocked, May, in the

fullness of a moon or two, Or even years, Be hailed as wisdom,

Spoken forthrightly at that earlier time, And having needed courage

To face the obloquy of others less perceptive, Though burdened with

invective.

Dear Nimrod! Remind yourself: A prophet's seldom praised Before

sunset Of the day on which he first proclaimed Unpalatable truths.

But if and when your truths In time become self-evident, Their

author vindicated, Be, at that harvest moment, forgiving, gracious,

Broad of mind, large-purposed, Amused by life's contrariness.

For not to all, only the few, Are presbyopic gifts: long vision,

clarity, sagacity, By chance, through lottery at birth, Bestowed by

busy nature.

Silently, Nim read the words a second time. At length he said, "Karen,

you never cease to surprise me. And whenever you do this I'm not sure of

what to say, except I'm moved and grateful."

At that moment, josie-short and sturdy, her dark features beaming

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-marched in with a loaded tray. She announced, "Lady and gentleman, dinner

is served."

It was a simple but tasty meal. A Waldorf salad, followed by a chicken

casserole, then lemon sherbet. Nim had brought wine-a hardto-get Heitz

Cellar Cabernet Sauvignon-superbi As on the last occasion, Nim fed Karen,

experiencing the same sense of sharing and intimacy that he had before.

Only once or twice did he remember with a trace of guilt the excuse he

had used for not being at home tonight-an evening business engagement for

GSP & L. But he rationalized that spending the time with Karen was

different from other occasions when he had cheated, and lied to Ruth, or

tried to. Perhaps, even now, he thought, Ruth didn't believe him, but if

so she had given no indication when he left this morning. Also in his

favor, Nim. reminded himself: During the past four weeks there had been

only one other occasion when he was not at home in time for family

dinner, and then he genuinely had been working late.

Easily, leisurely, during their intensely personal dinner, Nim and Karen

talked.

Josie had removed dishes and brought them coffee when, for a second time,

the subject of Karen's van came up. Humperdinck. The special van, adapted

under Ray Paulsen's direction to convey a quadriplegic's elaborate,

powered wheelchair, and purchased from GSP & L by Karen's parents.

" Something I haven't explained," Karen told him, "is that I don't really

own Humperdinck. I can't afford to. It has to be registered to my father,

even though I use it."

Insurance was the reason. "Insurance rates for a disabled person are

astronomical," Karen said, "even though someone like me will never drive.

With the van in my father's name, the rates are lower, so that's why I

don't own Humperdinck officially."

She went on, "Apart from the insurance, I was worried-still am a

little-about Daddy borrowing the money to pay for Humperdinck. His bank

said no, so he went to a loan company and they agreed, but at higher

interest. I know it will be bard for him to make the loan payments

because his business is not doing well, and he and Mother already help

me with money when my allowances won't stretch. But they insisted I

shouldn't concern myself, and to let them do the worrying."

Nim said thoughtfully, "Maybe there's something I could do. I could

contribute a little money myself, then see if our company would donate

. . ."

Karen cut in sharply, "No! Absolutely not! Nimrod, our friendship is

wonderful and I cherish it. But I won't take money from you-everand that

includes your asking someone else. If my own family does something for

me, that's different and we work it out together, but

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that's all. Besides, you already helped us enough with Humperdinck." Her

voice softened. "I'm a proud and independent person. I hope you

understand."

"Yes," he said, "I understand, and I respect you."

"Good! Respect is important. Now, Nimrod dearest, you'll only believe

what a difference Humperdinck has made to my life if you let me show you.

May I ask you something bold?"

"Ask me anything."

"Could we have a date outside-perhaps go to the symphony?"

He hesitated only momentarily. "Why not?"