“There is a stillness between us, a period of restlessness that ties my stomachin a hangman’s noose. It is this same lack in noise that lives, there! in thedarkness of the grave, how it frightens me beyond all things.”

“I wondered whether you and Mr. Locke had any recollection about the past.I see now that we all suffer the same.”

“Yes—and had we one, you’d probably never see us at all.” Mrs. Locke adds jokingly.Emily pulls ecstatically against my clothing, a new found joy in her eyes.“Samuel! We must find a piano for the Lockes! It is the very least we can do!”

“Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lostmemories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreamsplay when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?”

“Cry no tears for us, my friend.” I pry at her fingers, panicking to be released in fear that she may drag me into death with her. She croaks again, “Lend no aches to the dreams of yesterday.” From the corpse of Warren, his greyish gums smack from whatever goo has settled in his mouth, “Allow the tide sweep free the bay.” Then together they sing in zombie choir, “And home the ships sailing send.”

“That’s a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their rightmind would point at this thing and say, ‘I’m going to fly in my Model-A1’.People would much rather say, ‘Get in my whirly-gig’. And that’s what youshould name it.”

“Another like me? Don’t leave me out here with myself! I’d go mad. Pleasedon’t leave me alone, Samuel! Just take me home!” Tears stream down her face.“Please take me home!”