minute.
'Thank you,' I'd say.
'You're welcome,' she'd say.
Eventually the waitress came out of the kitchen with a tray the size of a tabletop and started setting down plates of food in front of me-soup, salad, a platter of chicken, a basket of steaming rolls. It all looked delicious. Suddenly I realized that I was starving.
'Can I get you anything else?' she said.
'No, this is just fine, thank you,' I answered, knife and fork plugged in my fists, ready to lunge at the food.
'Would you like some ketchup?' 'No thank you.'
'Would you like a little more dressing for your salad?' 'No thank you.'
'Have you got enough gravy?'
There was enough gravy to drown a horse. 'Yes, plenty of gravy, thank you.'
'How about a cup of coffee?' 'Really, I'm fine.'
'You sure there's nothing I can do for you?'
'Well, you might just piss off and let me eat my dinner,' I wanted to say, but I didn't, of course. I just smiled sweetly and said no thank you and after a while she withdrew. But she stood with a pitcher of iced water and watched me closely the whole meal. Every time I took a sip of water, she would come forward and top up my glass. Once when I reached for the pepper, she misread my intentions and started forward with the water pitcher, but then had to retreat. After that, whenever my hands left the cutlery for any reason, I would semi-mime an explanation to her of what I was about to do-'I'm just going to butter my roll now'-so that she wouldn't rush over to give me more water. And all the while the people at the next table watched me eat and smiled encouragingly. I couldn't wait to get out of there.
When at last I finished the waitress came over and offered me dessert. 'How about a piece of pie?
We've got blueberry, blackberry, raspberry, boysenberry, huckleberry, whortleberry, cherry berry, hairy berry, chuckberry and berry-berry.'
'Gosh, no thanks, I'm too full,' I said placing my hands on my stomach. I looked as if I had stuffed a pillow under my shirt.
'Well, how about some ice cream? We've got chocolate chip, chocolate fudge, chocolate ripple, chocolate- vanilla fudge, chocolate nut fudge, chocolate marshmallow swirl, chocolate mint with fudge chips, and fudge nut with or without chocolate chips.'
'Have you got just plain chocolate?'
'No, I'm afraid there's not much call for that.' 'I don't think I'll have anything then.'
'Well, how about a piece of cake? We've got-' 'Really, no thank you.'
'A cup of coffee?' 'No thank you.' 'You sure now?' 'Yes, thank you.'
'Well, I'll just get you a little more water then,' and she was off for the water jug before I could get her to give me my bill. The people at the next table watched this with interest and smiled a smile that said, 'We are completely off our heads. How are you?'
Afterwards, I had a walk around the town-that is to say, I walked up one side of the street and down the other. For the size of the place it was a nice town. It had two bookstores, a picture gallery, a gift shop, a movie house. People on the sidewalk smiled at me as I passed. This was beginning to worry me. Nobody, even in America, is that friendly. What did they want from me? Up at the far end of the street there was a BP service station, the first one I had seen in America. Feeling vaguely homesick for Blighty, I walked up to have a look at it and was disappointed to see that there wasn't anything particularly British about it. The guy behind the counter wasn't even wearing a turban.
When he saw me looking in the window he smiled at me with that same strange, unsettling smile.
Suddenly I realized what it was-it was the look of someone from outer space, that odd, curiously malevolent B-movie smile of a race of interplanetary creatures who have taken over a small town in the middle of nowhere as their first step towards becoming ... Earth Masters. I know this sounds improbable, but crazier things have happened-look who was in the White House, for Christ's sake.
As I strolled back to the motel, I gave everyone I passed that same eerie smile, thinking I ought to keep on their good side, just in case. 'And you never know,' I remarked to myself in a low voice, 'if they do take over the planet, there might be some openings for a guy of your talents.'
In the morning I arose very early to a day that promised splendor. I peered out of my motel window.
A pink dawn was spilled across the sky. I dressed quickly and hit the road before Littleton had even begun to stir. A few miles out of town I crossed the state line. Vermont presented an altogether greener, tidier prospect than New Hampshire. The hills were fat and soft, like a sleeping animal.
The scattered farms looked more prosperous and the meadows climbed high up the rolling hillsides, giving the valleys an alpine air. The sun was soon high and warm. On a ridge overlooking an expanse of hazy foothills, I passed a sign that said PEACHAM, SETTLED 1776 and beyond that stood a village. I parked beside a red general store and got out to have a look around. There was no one about. Presumably the people of Littleton had come in the night and taken them off to the planet Zog.
I walked past the Peacham Inn-white clapboard, green shutters, no sign of life-and wandered up a hill, past a white Congregational church and pleasant, dozing houses. At the crest of the hill stood a broad green, with an obelisk and flagpole, and beside it an old cemetery. A zephyr wind teased the flag. Down the hill, across a broad valley, a series of pale green and brown hills rolled away to the horizon, like the swells of a sea. Below me the church bell tolled the hour, but otherwise there was not a sound. This was as perfect a spot as I had ever seen. I had a look at the obelisk.
COMMEMORATING PEACHAM SOLDIERS 1569, it said, and had names carved in it, good New England names like Elijah W. Sargent, Lowell Sterns, Horace Rowe. There were forty-five names in all, too many surely for a mere
