had taken place on account of that — it was worse than anything I could have imagined, because it robbed me even of my memories, of that night, of everything. Alone, with my own hands, I had destroyed all, through a boundless egoism, a lie that had not let me see what was at the very surface, the most obvious thing. Yes, she told the truth when she said that she did not fear me. She did not fear for herself. For him.
Lights flew by, flowed, moved slowly to the rear, the landscape was indescribably beautiful, and I — torn, pierced — hurtled, tires squealing, from one turn to the next, toward the Pacific, toward the cliff there; at one point, when the car veered more sharply than I expected and went off the edge of the road with its right wheels, I panicked for a fraction of a second, then burst into crazy laughter — that I was afraid to die here, having decided to do it in another place — and the laughter turned suddenly into sobbing. I must do it quickly, I thought, I’m no longer myself. What’s happening to me is worse than terrible, it’s disgusting. And I also told myself that I ought to be ashamed. But the words had no weight or meaning. It had got completely dark, the road practically deserted, because few drove at night, when I noticed, not far behind me, a black gleeder. It went lightly and without effort in the places where I had had to employ all my skill with brake and accelerator. Because gleeders hold the road with magnetic forces, or gravitational, God knows. The point is that it could have passed me with no difficulty, but it kept to the rear, some eighty meters behind me, sometimes a little closer, sometimes farther back. On sharp bends, when I skidded across the road and cut from the left, it kept its distance, though I did not believe that it could not keep up with me. Perhaps the driver was afraid. But, then, there would be no driver. Anyway, what did the gleeder matter to me?
It mattered, because I felt that it did not hang back by chance. And suddenly came the thought that it was Olaf, that Olaf, who didn’t trust me in the least (and rightly!), had stayed in the vicinity and was waiting to see how things turned out. Yes, there was my deliverer, good old Olaf, who once again would not let me do what I wanted, who would be my big brother, my comforter; and at that thought something took hold of me, and for a second I could not see the road through my red fury.
Why don’t they leave me alone? I thought, and began to squeeze every last shred out of the machine, every possibility, as if I did not know that the gleeder could go at twice the speed.
Thus we raced through the night, among the hills with scattered lights, and above the shrill whistling of the wind I could hear now the roar of the invisible, spreading, immense Pacific, as though the sound rose from bottomless depths.
Drive, then, I thought. Drive. You don’t know what I know. You spy on me, trail me, won’t leave me be, fine; but I’ll fool you, I’ll give you the slip before you know what’s happened; and no matter what you do it won’t help, because a gleeder can’t go off the road. So that even at the last second I’ll have a clear conscience. Excellent.
I went by the cottage where we had stayed; its three lit windows stabbed me as I passed, as if to prove to me that there is no suffering that cannot be made still greater, and I began the last stretch of road, parallel to the ocean. Then the gleeder, to my horror, suddenly increased its speed and began to overtake me. I blocked its way brutally, veering to the left. It fell back, and thus we maneuvered — whenever it tried to pass me I blocked the left lane with the car, maybe five times altogether. Suddenly, though I was barring the way, it began to pull in front of me; the body of my car practically brushed the glistening black hull of that windowless, seemingly unoccupied projectile. I was certain, then, that it could only be Olaf, because no other man would have attempted such a thing — but I could not kill Olaf. I could not. Therefore I let him by. He got in front of me, and I thought that now he would in turn try to cut me off, but instead he stayed some fifteen meters ahead. Well, I thought, that’s all right. And I slowed down, in the small hope that he might increase the distance between us, but he did not; he, too, slowed down. It was about two kilometers to that last turn at the cliff when the gleeder slowed down even more and kept to the center, so that I could not pass it. I thought I might be able to do it now, but there was no cliff yet, only sandy beach, the car’s wheels would sink in the sand after a hundred meters, I wouldn’t even make it to the ocean — it would be idiotic. I had no choice, I had to drive on. The gleeder slowed down still more and I saw that it would stop soon; the rear of its black body glowed, as though splashed with burning blood, from the brake lights. I tried to slip around it with a sudden swerve, but it blocked my way. He was faster and more agile than I — but, then, a machine was driving the gleeder. A machine always has faster reflexes. I slammed on the brakes, too late, there was a terrible crash, a black mass loomed up before the windshield, I was thrown forward and lost consciousness.
I opened my eyes, awakened from a dream, a senseless dream — I dreamed that I was swimming. Something cold and wet ran down my face, I felt hands, they shook me, and I heard a voice.
“Olaf,” I mumbled. “Why, Olaf? Why… ?”
“Hal!”
I roused myself; I propped myself up on one elbow and saw her face over me, close, and when I sat up, too stunned to think, she slumped slowly onto my knees, her shoulders heaving — and still I did not believe it. My head was huge, as if filled with cotton.
“Eri,” I said; my lips were curiously large, heavy, and somehow very remote.
“Eri, it’s you. Or am I only…”
And suddenly strength came to me, I caught her by the arms, lifted her, got to my feet, and staggered with her; we both fell on the still warm, soft sand. I kissed her wet, salty face and wept — it was the first time in my life — and she wept. We said nothing for a long time; gradually we began to be afraid — of what, I can’t say — and she looked at me with lunatic eyes.
“Eri,” I repeated. “Eri… Eri…”
That was all I knew. I lay down on the sand, suddenly weak, and she grew alarmed, tried to pull me up, but hadn’t the strength.
“No, Eri,” I whispered. “No, I’m all right, it’s only this…”
“Hal. Say something! Say something!”
“What should I say… Eri…”
My voice calmed her a little. She ran off somewhere and returned with a flat pan, again poured water on my face — bitter, the water of the Pacific. I had intended to drink much more of it, flashed a thought, senseless; I blinked. I came to. Sat up and touched my head.
There was not even a cut; my hair had cushioned the impact, so I had only a lump the size of an orange, a few abrasions, still I a ringing in my ears, but I was all right. At least, as long as I sat. I tried to stand up, but my legs didn’t seem cooperative.
She knelt in front of me, watching, her arms at her sides.
“It’s you? Really?” I asked. Only now did I understand; I turned and saw, through the nauseating vertigo brought on by that movement, two tangled black shapes in the moonlight, a dozen or so meters away at the edge of the road. My voice failed j me when I returned my eyes to her.
“Hal…”
“Yes.”
“Try to get up. I’ll help you.”
“Get up?”
Apparently my head was still not clear. I understood what had happened, and I didn’t understand. Had that been Eri in the gleeder? Impossible.
“Where is Olaf?” I asked.
“Olaf? I don’t know.”
“You mean he wasn’t here?”
“No.”
“You alone?”
She nodded.
And suddenly an awful, inhuman fear gripped me.
“How were you able? How?”
Her face trembled, her lips quivered, she couldn’t say the words.
“I ha-a-ad to…”
Again she wept. Then quieted, grew calm. Touched my face. My forehead. With light fingers felt my skull. I repeated breathlessly:
“Eri… it’s you?”
Raving. Later, slowly, I stood up, she supported me as best she could; we walked to the road. Only there did
