"Do you understand," asked Taylor, "why the Thirtieth Amendment was passed?"

"So there wouldn't be any more cities." "Yes, but do you comprehend the reasoning behind that interdiction? I was brought up in a certain body of belief, and in public I wouldn't dream of contradicting any part of it, but here in private I can say that I do not believe that God directed the cities to be destroyed because they were sinful. I've read too much history. The enemy bombed the big key cities because they were excellent targets, centers of population, centers of manufacture and distribution, without which the country would be like a man with his head cut off. And it worked out just that way. The enormously complex system of supply broke down, the cities that were not bombed had to be abandoned because they were not only dangerous but useless, and everyone was thrown back on the simple basics of survival, chiefly the search for food.

"The men who framed the new laws were determined that that should not happen again. They had the people dispersed now, and they were going to keep them that way, close to their source of supply and offering no more easy targets to a potential enemy. So they passed the Thirtieth Amendment. It was a wise law. It suited the people. They had just had a fearful object lesson in what kind of deathtraps the cities could be. They didn't want any more of them, and gradually that became an article of faith. The country has been healthy and prosperous under the Thirtieth Amendment, Len. Leave it alone."

"Maybe you're right," said Len, scowling at the candle flame. "But when Mr. Dulinsky says how the country has really started to grow again and shouldn't be stopped by outgrown laws, I think he's right, too."

"Don't let him fool you. He's not worried about the country. He's a man who owns four warehouses and wants to own five and is sore because the law says he can't do it."

The judge stood up. "You'll have to decide what's right in your own mind. But I want to make one thing clear to you. I have my wife and my daughter and myself to think about. If you go on with Dulinsky you'll have to leave my house. No more walks with Amity. No more books. And I warn you, if I am called upon to judge you, judge you I will."

Len stood up too. "Yes, sir."

Taylor dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be a fool, Len. Think it over." "I will." He went out, feeling sullen and resentful and at the same time convinced that the judge was talking sense. Amity, marriage, a place in the community, a future, roots, no more Dulinsky no more doubt. No more Bartorstown. No more dreaming. No more seeking and never finding.

He thought about being married to Amity, and what it would be like. It frightened him so that he sweated like a colt seeing harness for the first time. No more dreaming for fair. He thought of Brother James, who by now must be the father of several small Mennonites, and he wondered whether, on the whole, Refuge was very different from Piper's Run, and if Amity was worth having come all this way for. Amity, or Plato. He had not read Plato in Piper's Run, and he had read him in Refuge, but Plato did not seem like the whole answer, either.

No more Bartorstown. But would he ever find it, anyway? Was he crazy to think of exchanging a girl for a phantom? The hall was dark, except for the intermittent flashes of lightning. There was one of these as he passed the foot of the stairs, and in its brief glare he saw Esau and Amity in the triangular alcove under the treads. They were pressed close together and Esau was kissing her hard, and Amity was not protesting.

9.

* It was the Sabbath afternoon. They were standing in the shadow of the rose arbor, and Amity was glaring at him.

"You did not see me doing any such thing, and if you tell anybody you did I'll say you're lying!"

"I know what I saw," said Len, "and so do you."

She made her thick braid switch back and forth, in a way she had of tossing her head. "I'm not promised to you." "Would you like to be, Amity?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Then why were you kissing Esau?"

"Well, because," she said very reasonably, "how would I know which one of you I like the best, if I didn't?" "All right," said Len. "All right, then." He reached out and pulled her to him, and because he was thinking of how Esau had done it he was rather rough about it. For the first time he held her really tight and felt how soft and firm she was and how her body curved amazingly. Her eyes were close to his, so close that they became only a blue color without any shape, and he felt dizzy and shut his own, and found her mouth just by touch alone.

After a while he pushed her away a little and said, "Now which is it?" He was shaking all over, but there was only the faintest flush in Amity's cheeks and the look she gave him was quite cool. She smiled.

"I don't know," she said. "You'll have to try again."

"Is that what you told Esau?"

"What do you care what I told Esau?" Again the yellow braid went swish-swish across the back of her dress. "You mind your own business, Len Colter."

"I could make it my business."

"Who said?"

"Your father said, that's who."

"Oh," said Amity. "He did." Suddenly it was as though a curtain had dropped between them. She drew away, and the line of her mouth got hard.

"Amity," he said. "Listen, Amity, I-"

"You leave me alone. You hear, Len?"

"What's so different now? You were anxious enough a minute ago."

"Anxious! That's all you know. And if you think because you've been sneaking around to my father behind my back-" "I didn't sneak. Amity, listen." He caught her again and pulled her toward him, and she hissed at him between her teeth. "Let me go, I don't belong to you, I don't belong to anybody! Let me go-"

He held her, struggling. It excited him, and he laughed and bent his head to kiss her again.

"Aw, come on, Amity, I love you-" She squalled like a cat and clawed his cheek. He let her go, and she was not pretty any more, her face twisted and ugly and her eyes mean. She ran away down the path. The air was warm and the smell of roses was heavy around him. For a while he stood looking after her, and then he walked slowly to the house and up to the room he shared with Esau.

Esau was lying on the bed, half asleep. He only grunted and rolled over when Len came in. Len opened the door of the shallow cupboard. He took out a small sack made of tough canvas and began to pack his belongings into it, methodically, ramming each article down into place with unnecessary force. His face was flushed and his brows pulled down into a heavy scowl.

Esau rolled back again. He blinked at Len and said, "What do you think you're doing?" "Packing."

"Packing!" Esau sat up. "What for?"

"What do people usually do it for? I'm leaving." Esau's feet bit the floor. "Are you crazy? What do you mean, you're leaving, just like that. Don't I have anything to say about it?"

"Not about me leaving, you don't. You can do what you want to. Look out, I want those boots."

"All right! But you can't-Wait a minute. What's that on your cheek?" "What?" Len swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. It came away with a little red smear on it. Amity had dug deep. Esau began to laugh. Len straightened up. "What's funny?"

"She finally told you off, did she? Oh, don't give me any story about how the cat scratched you. I know claw marks when I see them. Good. I told you to keep away from her, but you wouldn't listen. I-"

"Do you figure," asked Len quietly, "that she belongs to you?" Esau smiled. "I could have told you that, too." Len hit him. It was the first time in his life that he had hit anybody in genuine anger. He watched Esau fall backward onto the bed, his eyes bulging with surprise and a thin red trickle springing out of the corner of his mouth, and it all seemed to happen very slowly, giving him plenty of time to feel guilty and regretful and confused. It was almost as though he had struck his own brother. But he was still angry. He grabbed up his bag and started out the door, and Esau sprang off the bed and caught him by the shoulder of his jacket, spinning him around. "Hit me, will you?" he panted. "Hit me, you dirty-" He called Len a name he had picked up along the river docks and swung his fist hard.

Len ducked. Esau's knuckles slid along the side of his jaw and on into the solid jamb of the door. Esau howled and danced away, holding his hand under his other arm and cursing. Len started to say something like "I'm sorry," but changed his mind and turned again to go. And Judge Taylor was in the hall.

"Stop that," he said to Esau, and Esau stopped, standing still in the middle of the room. Taylor looked from one to the other and to the bag in Len's hand. "I've just spoken to Amity," he said, and Len could see that underneath his judicial manner Taylor was in a seething rage. "I'm sorry, Len. I seem to have made an error of judgment."

"Yes, sir," said Len. "I was just going."

Taylor nodded. "All the same," he said, "what I told you is true. Remember it." He looked keenly at Esau. "Let him go," Esau said. "I'm staying right here."