could see the original green coming through on the hood. The fenders were still black. The speedometer said 53,562 miles, but the motor was smooth. McGee drove as though he had a horse in front, saying 'Giddap' when he wanted to start and 'Whoa' when he was stopping. I was scared he would forget the horse wasn't there sometime and try to stop by pulling back on the steering-wheel. He didn't, though. We got through town without a bump. On the highway McGee opened her up to twenty-five.
“What have you been doing?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You look a mite pale.”
“It's the heat,” I said, trying to hide a yawn.
“I don't recall a hotter spell,” McGee agreed.
He began to talk about the heat; remembering every wave for thirty summers. His voice made me sleepy. I tried to keep my eyes on the Vineyard's buildings on the hill ahead, watching the sunlight come off the red bricks.
I'd said goodbye to the Princess up there not more than two hours ago. And we had another date tonight, if I lived that long. I yawned. I thought, maybe I could really slug her when she asked to be hit. Maybe that would slow her up.
“Quite a place,” McGee said.
“Huh?”
“The Vineyard.”
“Oh. Yeah, it is.”
“Almost like a medieval colony.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Only it changed,” McGee sighed; “when old Solomon died.”
The road was beginning to climb. All around were the green rows of vines. I felt the sun through the fabric top. I thought it would be fun to lie under one of the vines. It looked cool there.
“Old Solomon would never have let you and me on the grounds,” McGee was saying. “He ran the place like a kingdom.”
“Who runs it now?”
“The Elders.”
“I heard the Princess-” I began.
“Whoa, now.” McGee pushed down the brake and turned into the Vineyard's driveway. I saw a lot of cars parked by the buildings. “I guess she takes a hand, too,” McGee said.
We parked and got out of the car and walked to the mausoleum. There was a line of people on the stone steps, waiting to get inside. They looked to me like townspeople and farmers. Their faces were solemn and they didn't talk much. A lot of them carried flowers. We got in line.
“This temple cost a hundred and fifty thousand,” McGee said. “Solomon built it before he died.”
“It's bigger than Grant's tomb,” I said.
The line moved up the steps. I stared at the building. It was built of marble, the stone kind of pink in the sunlight. Inscribed over the door was: Vanity, Vanity I All is Vanity. That was from the Bible, I thought. From the steps I could not see through the door. It was too dark inside.
McGee read the inscription aloud. “Don't look like Solomon took that to mean him,” he added.
A woman in front glanced back over her shoulder. She didn't like what McGee was saying. She was dressed in black. McGee didn't pay any attention to her.
“Funny thing,” McGee said. “Solomon died the day after the temple was finished. Seemed like he couldn't wait to try it out.”
The woman snorted. We moved up the steps. There were people behind us now. I figured at least a thousand people were on the grounds. I saw a brown carpet leading inside from the doorway. The people were walking on that, moving slowly into the darkness. As we came to the door, the line got more compact. My face almost touched the back of McGee's neck, and the man behind was pushing me.
McGee said: “The temple that bootleg built.”
We moved into the doorway. The people all around were very quiet. I began to walk on the carpet. I saw candles burning in the far end of the room. I smelled incense.
“The Prohibition Prophet,” McGee said loudly.
The woman turned around. “Keep quiet,” she said to McGee. “This is a house of God.”
“Madam, I am sorry if I have wounded you,” McGee said. “But I have a right to my opinion.”
“Have you no respect for the dead?”
“For certain dead, yes,” McGee said.
The man behind me said “Shut up.” Other people were muttering. I heard someone say: “Throw him out.” We moved slowly along the carpet.
My eyes had got used to the gloom. There was nothing in the big room except a coffin at the far end and an altar. There were candles on both the coffin and the altar. On the foot of the coffin were heaped all kinds of wreaths and flowers. While I watched a woman dropped a bunch of roses on the pile and went on. “Do you notice the
