Lathe of Heaven, The (24 page)

"No. Outgrew 'em," Orr said, and laughed. She also laughed.

"What did you do about the dreams?"

"Oh . . . went on dreaming."

"I thought you could change the world. Is this the best you could do for us--this mess?"

"It'll have to do," he said.

He would have preferred less of a mess himself, but it wasn't up to him. And at least it had her in it. He had sought her as best he could, had not found her, and had turned to his work for solace; it had not given much, but it was the work he was fit to do, and he was a patient man. But now his dry and silent grieving for his lost wife must end, for there she stood, the fierce, recalcitrant, and fragile stranger, forever to be won again.

He knew her, he knew his stranger, how to keep her talking and how to make her laugh.

He said finally, "Would you like a cup of coffee? There's a cafe next door. It's time for my break."

"The hell it is," she said; it was quarter to five. She glanced over at the Alien. "Sure I'd like some coffee, but--"

"I'll be back in ten minutes. E'nememen Asfah," Orr said to his employer as he went for his raincoat.

"Take evening," the Alien said. "There is time. There are returns. To go is to return."

"Thank you very much," Orr said, and shook hands with his boss. The big green flipper was cool on his human hand. He went out with Heather into the warm, rainy afternoon of summer. The Alien watched them from within the glass-fronted shop, as a sea creature might watch from an aquarium, seeing them pass and disappear into the mist.

-END-