"Don't say anything for a minute," said Beatrice. "Just let me get it straight in my head." She stood, and went into the entry of the palace to escape the distractions of Constant and the rings of Saturn.

She looked long at a large oil painting hanging on the entry wall. It was the only painting in the palace. Constant had had it brought all the way from Newport.

It was a painting of an immaculate little girl in white, holding the reins of a white pony all her own.

Beatrice knew who the little girl was. The painting was labeled with a bra.s.s plate that said, Beatrice Rumfoord as a Young Girl Beatrice Rumfoord as a Young Girl.

It was quite a contrast- between the little girl in white and the old lady looking at her.

Beatrice suddenly turned her back on the painting, walked out into the courtyard again. The idea she wanted to add to her book was straight in her mind now.

"The worst thing that could possibly happen to anybody," she said, "would be to not be used for anything by anybody."

The thought relaxed her. She lay down on Rumfoord's old contour chair, looked up at the appallingly beautiful rings of Saturn- at Rumfoord's Rainbow.

"Thank you for using me," she said to Constant, "even though I didn't want to be used by anybody."

"You're welcome," said Constant.

He began to sweep the courtyard. The litter he was sweeping was a mixture of sand, which had blown in from the outside, daisy-seed hulls, Earthling peanut hulls, empty cans of boned chicken, and discarded wads of ma.n.u.script paper. Beatrice subsisted mostly on daisy seeds, peanuts, and boned chicken because she didn't have to cook them, because she didn't even have to interrupt her writing in order to eat them.

She could eat with one hand and write with the other- and, more than anything else in life, she wanted to get everything written down.

With his sweeping half done, Constant paused to see how the pool was draining.

It was draining slowly. The slimy green hump that covered the three Sirens of t.i.tan was just breaking the descending surface.

Constant leaned over the open manhole, listened to the water sounds.

He heard the music of the pipes. And he heard something else, too.

He heard the absence of a familiar and a beloved sound.

His mate Beatrice wasn't breathing any more.

Malachi Constant buried his mate in t.i.tanic peat on the sh.o.r.e of the Winston Sea. She was buried where there were no statues.

Malachi Constant said good-by to her when the sky was filled with t.i.tanic bluebirds. There must have been ten thousand, at least, of the great and n.o.ble birds.

They made night of day, made the air quake with their beating wings.

Not one bird cried out.

And in that night in the midst of day, Chrono, the son of Beatrice and Malachi, appeared on a knoll overlooking the new grave. He wore a feather cape which he flapped like wings.

He was gorgeous and strong.

"Thank you, Mother and Father," he shouted, "for the gift of life. Good-by!"

He was gone, and the birds went with him.

Old Malachi Constant went back to the palace with a heart as heavy as a cannonball. What drew him back to that sad place was a wish to leave it in good order.

Sooner or later, someone else would come.

The palace should be neat and clean and ready for them. The palace should speak well of the former tenant.

Around Rumfoord's worn contour chair were the plovers' eggs and wild t.i.tanic strawberries, and the crock of fermented daisy milk and the basket of daisy seeds that Constant had given to Beatrice. They were perishables. They would not last until the next tenant came.

These Constant put back in his dugout canoe.

He didn't need them. n.o.body needed them.

As he straightened up his old back from the canoe, he saw Salo, the little messenger from Tralfamadore, walking across the water toward him.

"How do you do," said Constant.

"How do you do," said Salo. "Thank you for putting me back together again."

"I didn't think I did it right," said Constant. "I couldn't get a peep out of you."

"You did it right," said Salo. "I just couldn't make up my mind whether or not I wanted to peep." He let the air out of his feet with a hiss. "I guess I'll be moseying along," he said.

"You're going to deliver your message after all?" said Constant.

"Anybody who has traveled this far on a fool's errand," said Salo, "has no choice but to uphold the honor of fools by completing the errand."

"My mate died today," said Constant.

"Sorry," said Salo. "I would say, 'Is there anything I can do?'- but Skip once told me that that was the most hateful and stupid expression in the English language."

Constant rubbed his hands together. The only company he had left on t.i.tan was whatever company his right hand could be for his left. "I miss her," he said.

"You finally fell in love, I see," said Salo.

"Only an Earthling year ago," said Constant. "It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved."

"If you or your son would like a ride back to Earth," said Salo, "it wouldn't be much out of my way."

"My boy joined the bluebirds," said Constant.

"Good for him!" said Salo. "I'd join them, if they'd have me."

"Earth," said Constant wonderingly.

"We could be there in a matter of hours," said Salo, "now that the ship's running right again."

"It's lonely here," said Constant, "now that-" He shook his head.

On the trip back to Earth, Salo suspected that he had made a tragic mistake in suggesting to Constant that he return to Earth. He had begun to suspect this when Constant insisted on being taken to Indianapolis, Indiana, U.S.A.

This insistence of Constant's was a dismaying development, since Indianapolis was far from an ideal place for a homeless old man.

Salo wanted to let him off by a shuffleboard court in St. Petersburg, Florida, U.S.A., but Constant, after the fashion of old men, could not be shaken from his first decision. He wanted to go to Indianapolis, and that was that.

Salo a.s.sumed that Constant had relatives or possibly old business connections in Indianapolis, but this turned out not to be the case.

"I don't know anybody in Indianapolis, and I don't know anything about Indianapolis except for one thing," said Constant, "a thing I read in a book."

"What did you read in a book?" said Salo uneasily.

"Indianapolis, Indiana," said Constant, "is the first place in the United States of America where a white man was hanged for the murder of an Indian. The kind of people who'll hang a white man for murdering an Indian-" said Constant, "that's the kind of people for me."

Salo's head did a somersault in its gimbals. His feet made grieved sucking sounds on the iron floor. His pa.s.senger, obviously, knew almost nothing about the planet toward which he was being carried with a speed approaching that of light.

At least Constant had money.

There was hope in that. He had close to three thousand dollars in various Earthling currencies, taken from the pockets of Rumfoord's suits in the Taj Mahal.

And at least he had clothes.

He had on a terribly baggy but good tweed suit of Rumfoord's, complete with a Phi Beta Kappa key that hung from the watch chain that spanned the front of the vest.

Salo had made Constant take the key along with the suit.

Constant had a good overcoat, a hat, and overshoes, too.

With Earth only an hour away, Salo wondered what else he could do to make the remainder of Constant's life supportable, even in Indianapolis.

And he decided to hypnotize Constant, in order that the last few seconds of Constant's life, at least, would please the old man tremendously. Constant's life would end well.

Constant was already in a nearly hypnotic state, staring out at the Cosmos through a porthole.

Salo came up behind him and spoke to him soothingly.

"You are tired, so very tired, s.p.a.ce Wanderer, Malachi, Unk," said Salo. "Stare at the faintest star, Earthling, and think how heavy your limbs are growing."

"Heavy," said Constant.

"You are going to die some day, Unk," said Salo. "Sorry, but it's true."

"True," said Constant. "Don't be sorry."

"When you know you are dying, s.p.a.ce Wanderer," said Salo hypnotically, "a wonderful thing will happen to you." He then described to Constant the happy things that Constant would imagine before his life flickered out.

It would be a post-hypnotic illusion.

"Awake!" said Salo.

Constant shuddered, turned away from the porthole. "Where am I?" he said.

"On a Tralfamadorian s.p.a.ce ship out of t.i.tan, bound for Earth," said Salo.

"Oh," said Constant. "Of course," he said a moment later. "I must have been asleep."

"Take a nap," said Salo.

"Yes- I- I think I will," said Constant. He lay down on a bunk. He dropped off to sleep.

Salo strapped the sleeping s.p.a.ce Wanderer to his bunk. Then he strapped himself to his seat at the controls. He set three dials, double-checked the reading on each. He pressed a bright red b.u.t.ton.

He sat back. There was nothing more to do now. From now on everything was automatic. In thirty-six minutes, the ship would land itself near the end of a bus line on the outskirts of Indianapolis, Indiana, U.S.A., Earth, Solar System, Milky Way.

It would be three in the morning there.

It would also be winter.

The s.p.a.ce ship landed in four inches of fresh snow in a vacant lot on the south side of Indianapolis. No one was awake to see it land.

Malachi Constant got out of the s.p.a.ce ship.

"That's your bus stop over there, old soldier," whispered Salo. It was necessary to whisper, for a two-story frame house with an open bedroom window was only thirty feet away. Salo pointed to a snowy bench by the street. "You'll have to wait about ten minutes," he whispered. "The bus will take you right into the center of town. Ask the driver to let you off near a good hotel."

Constant nodded. "I'll be all right," he whispered.

"How do you feel?" whispered Salo.

"Warm as toast," whispered Constant.

The complaint of a vaguely disturbed sleeper came from the open bedroom window near by. "Aw, somebody," the sleeper complained, "afo wa, de-yah, ummmmmmmmmmmm "afo wa, de-yah, ummmmmmmmmmmm."

"You really all right?" whispered Salo.

"Yes. Fine," whispered Constant. "Warm as toast."

"Good luck," whispered Salo.

"We don't say that down here," whispered Constant. Salo winked. "I'm not from from down here," he whispered. He looked around at the perfectly white world, felt the wet kisses of the snowflakes, pondered hidden meanings in the pale yellow streetlights that shone in a world so whitely asleep. "Beautiful," he whispered. down here," he whispered. He looked around at the perfectly white world, felt the wet kisses of the snowflakes, pondered hidden meanings in the pale yellow streetlights that shone in a world so whitely asleep. "Beautiful," he whispered.

"Isn't it?" whispered Constant.

"Sim-faw!" cried the sleeper menacingly, to anyone who might menace his sleep. cried the sleeper menacingly, to anyone who might menace his sleep. "Soo! A-so! What's a mabba? Nf "Soo! A-so! What's a mabba? Nf."

"You better go," whispered Constant.

"Yes," whispered Salo.

"Good-by," whispered Constant, "and thanks."