weren’t good enough and now…’
He stopped, for that had not been what he’d meant to say, if in fact he’d meant to say anything at all. It was something that he’d never even thought about; it was as if someone inside of him were speaking through his mouth.
‘Or perhaps some currency?’
‘You are making fun of me,’ Rand said bitterly, ‘and you have no right…’
‘I merely mention certain things,’ the Milkman said, ‘upon which humans place reliance…’
‘Tell me one thing,’ said Rand, ‘as simply as you can. Is there any way of going back?’
‘Back to where you came from?’
‘Yes,’ said Rand. ‘That is what I mean.’
‘There is nothing to go back to.’ the Milkman said. ‘Anyone who comes has nothing to go back to.’
‘But the old man left. He wore a black felt hat and carried a cane. He dropped them and I found them.’
‘He did not go back,’ the Milkman said. ‘He went ahead. And do not ask me where, for I do not know.’
‘But you’re a part of this.’
‘I am a humble servant. I have a job to do and I try to do it well. I care for our guests the best that I am able. But there comes a time when each of our guests leaves us. I would suspect this is a halfway house on the road to someplace else.’
‘A place for getting ready,’ Rand said.
‘What do you mean?’ the Milkman asked.
‘I am not sure,’ said Rand. ‘I had not meant to say it.’ And this was the second time, he thought, that he’d said something he had not meant to say.
‘There’s one comfort about this place.’ the Milkman said. ‘One good thing about it you should keep in mind. In this village nothing ever happens.’
He came down off the porch and stood upon the walk. ‘You spoke of the old man,’ he said, ‘and it was not the old man only. The old lady also left us. The two of them stayed on much beyond their time.’
‘You mean I’m here all alone?’
The Milkman had started down the walk, but now he stopped and turned. ‘There’ll be others coming,’ he said. ‘There are always others coming.’
What was it Sterling had said about man outrunning his brain capacity? Rand tried to recall the words, but now, in the confusion of the moment, he had forgotten them. But if that should be the case, if Sterling had been right (no matter how he had phrased his thought), might not man need, for a while, a place like this, where nothing ever happened, where the moon was always full and the year was stuck on autumn?
Another thought intruded and Rand swung about, shouting in sudden panic at the Milkman. ‘But these others? Will they talk to me? Can I talk with them? Will I know their names?’
The Milkman had reached the gate by now and it appeared that he had not heard.
The moonlight was paler than it had been. The eastern sky was flushed. Another matchless autumn day was about to dawn.
Rand went around the house. He climbed the steps that led up to the porch. He sat down in the rocking chair and began waiting for the others.
