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elsewbere in the GSP & L system. We'd simply use some of it to

operate the

PUMPS."

New West said, "Con Edison in New York has been trying to build a

plant like that for twenty years. Storm King, they call it. But

ecologists and lots of others are against it."

"There are also responsible people who are for it," Nim said.

"Unfortunately nobody is listening."

He described one demand of the Federal Power Commission-proof that

Storm King would not disturb fish life in the Hudson River. After

several years of study the answer was: There would be a reduction

of only four to six percent in the adult fish population.

"Despite that," Nim concluded, "Con Edison still doesn't have ap-

proval, and someday the people of New York will wake up to regret

it."

"That's your opinion," Nancy Molineaux said.

"Naturally it's an opinion. Don't you have opinions, Miss Moli-

neaux?"

Los Angeles Times said, "Of course she doesn't. You know how to-

tally unprejudiced we servants of the truth are."

Nim grinned. "I'd noticed."

The black woman's features tightened, but she made no comment.

A moment earlier, when speaking about Hudson River fish, Nim had

been tempted to quote Charles Luce, Con Edison's chairman, who once

declared in a public moment of exasperation, "There comes a point

where human environment must prevail over fish habitat. I think in

New York we've reached it." But caution prevailed. The remark bad

got Chuck Luce into trouble and produced a storm of abuse from

ecologists and others. Why join him?

Besides, Nim thought, he already bad public image problems himself over

that damned helicopter. It was coming this afternoon to Devil's Gate to

return him to the city where urgent work was piled up on his 5

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desk. He had made sure, though, that the chopper would not arrive until

after the press contingent had departed by bus.

Meanwhile, disliking this chore and relieved that it would end soon, he

continued fielding questions.

At z P.m. at Devil's Gate Camp the last few stragglers were climbing

aboard the press bus, which had its motor running and was ready to leave.

The group had lunched; their journey back to the city would take four

hours. Fifty yards away, Teresa Van Buren, who was also going on the bus,

told Nim, "Thanks for all you did, even though you hated some of it."

He said with a smile, "I get paid to do a few things, now and then, that

I'd rather not. Was anything accomplished, do you . . . ?"

Nim stopped, not certain why, except for a sudden chilling instinct that

something was wrong in the scene around him, something out of place. They

were standing roughly where be bad been this morning when be paused en

route to breakfast; the weather was still beautifulclear sunshine

highlighting a profusion of trees and wild flowers, with a breeze

stirring the fragrant mountain air. Both bunkhouses were visible, the bus

in front of one, a couple of off-duty employees sunning themselves on a

balcony of the other. In the opposite direction, over by the staff

houses, a group of children was playing; a few minutes earlier Nim had

noticed among them the redheaded boy Danny, whom be bad spoken to this

morning. The boy was flying a kite, perhaps a birthday present, though

at the moment both boy and kite bad disappeared from view. Nim's gaze

moved on to a GSP & L heavy-duty service truck and a cluster of men in

work gear. Among them he caught a glimpse of the trim, bearded figure of

Wally Talbot Jr. Presumably Wally was with the transmission line crew he

had mentioned earlier. On the road leading into camp a small blue

tradesman's van appeared.

Someone at the bus called over impatiently, "Tess, let's go!"

Van Buren said curiously, "Nim, what is it?"

"I'm not sure. I . . ."

An urgent, frantic shout cut across the camp clearing and all other

sounds.

"Danny! Danny! Don't move! Stay where you are!"

Heads turned-Nim's and Van Buren's simultaneously-seeking the source of

the voice.

Another shout, this time close to a scream. "Danny! Do you hear me?"

"Over there." Van Buren pointed to a steep path, partially hidden by

trees, on the camp's far side. A red-haired man-tbe technician, Fred

Wilkins-was racing down it, shouting as he ran.

"Danny! Do what I tell you! Stop! Don't movel"

92

Now the children had stopped playing. Bewildered, they turned together

in the direction where the shouting was aimed. Nim did the same.

"Danny! Don't go any further! I'm coming for you! Keep still!"

"Oh Christ!" Nim breathed.

Now he could see.

High overhead, on one of the towers carrying high voltage lines across

the camp, the small boy, Danny Wilkins, was ascending. Clinging tightly

to a steel support member more than halfway from the tower base, he was

clambering upward, slowly, steadily. His objective was visible above

him-tbe kite he had been flying, now entangled in a transmission line

atop the tower. A flash of sunlight showed Nim what moments earlier he

had seen, so swiftly and briefly that it barely registered-tbe reflection

from a slim aluminum pole the boy was clutching, a pole with a hook at

one end. Clearly, Danny planned to use it to retrieve the kite. His small

face was set determinedly as his sturdv body moved higher, and either he

failed to bear his father's shouts or was ignoring them.

Nim and others began running hard toward the tower, but with a sense of

helplessness as the small boy continued climbing steadily toward the high

voltage lines. Five hundred thousand volts.

Fred Wilkins, still some distance away, was forcing himself to even

greater speed, his face despairing.

Nim joined the shouting. "Danny! The wires are dangerous! Don't move!

Stay there!"

This time the boy paused and glanced down. Then he looked up again at the

kite and continued climbing, though more slowly, the aluminum pole

extended out in front. He was now only a few feet from the nearest power

line.

Then Nim saw that a new figure, nearer to the tower than anyone else, had

sprung into action. Wally Talbot. Shooting forward, his stride long, feet

barely seeming to touch the ground, Wally was racing like an Olympic

sprinter.

The press reporters were scrambling from the bus.

The tower, like others in the camp area, was surounded by a protective

chain link fence. Later it would be learned that Dannv bad surmounted the

fence by climbing a tree and dropping from a 1~w branch. Now Wally Talbot

reached the fence and leaped. With what seemed a superhuman effort he

grabbed the top and scrambled over. As he landed inside it could be seen

that one of his hands was cut and bleeding. Then he was on the tower and

climbing fast.

Breathlessly, tensely, the hastily assembled group of spectators, re-

porters and others watched from below. While they did, a trio of workmen

from Wally's transmission line crew arrived and, after trying several

keys, unlocked a gate in the chain link fence. Once inside the

93

enclosure they, too, began climbing the tower. But Wally was far ahead,

rapidly closing the distance between himself and the small redheaded boy.

Fred Wilkins had reached the base of the tower; he was winded and

trembling. Briefly he moved as if to climb also, but someone restrained

him.

All eyes were focused on the two figures nearest the top-Danny Wilkins,

only a foot or two from the transmission lines, and Wally Talbot, now

close behind.

Then it happened-so swiftly that those watching could not agree afterward

on the succession of events or even precisely what they were.

In what seemed a single moment, Danny-perched, it seemed, within inches

of an insulator which separated the tower from a transmission line

conductor-reached out with the aluminum pole in an attempt to snare the

kite. Simultaneously, from just below and slightly to one side, Wally

Talbot grabbed at the boy and pulled and held him. A pulsebeat later both

appeared to slip, the boy sliding downward, clinging to a girder, and

Wally losing his grasp. At the same time, Wally, perhaps instinctively

to maintain a precarious balance, seized the metal pole as Danny released

it. The pole swung in an arc. Instantly a great ball of crackling orange

light erupted, the pole disappeared, and Wally Talbot was enveloped in

a corona of transparent flame. Then, with equal suddenness, the flame was

gone and Wally's body sagged limply, motionless, across a tower support.

Miraculously, neither fell. Seconds later two of Wally Talbot's crew

reached his body and began easing it down. The third man pinned Danny

Wilkins to a girder and held him there while the others descended. The

boy was apparently unhurt; he was sobbing and the sound could be heard

below.

Then, somewhere on the other side of the camp, a siren began sounding

short, sharp blasts.

17

The cocktail bar pianist switched nostalgically from Hello, Young

Lovers! to Whatever Will Be, Will Be.

"If he plays many more of those oldies," Harry London said, "I'm gonna

start crying in my beer. Another vodka, pal?"

"Why the bell not? Make it a double." Nim, who had been hearing the

music too, now listened to himself objectively. His speech was slur-

94

ring at the edges, he observed, which figured. He had already bad too much

to drink, and knew it, but found himself not caring. Groping in a pocket, he

took out his car keys and pushed them across the small, black-topped table.

"Take care of these. See that I get a taxi home."

London pocketed the keys. "Sure thing. You can stay at my place overnight,

if you want."

"No thanks, Harry." Soon, when the liquor bad dulled his perceptions

further, Nim intended to go home, in fact wanted to. He wasn't worried

about appearing there drunk-at least, not tonight. Leah and Benjy would be

asleep and wouldn't see him. And Ruth, with her compassion and sympathy,

would be forgiving.

"Testing, testing," Nim said. He had wanted to bear his voice again before

using it. Now, satisfied with Jiis coherence, he told Harry, "Y'know what

I think? I think Wally'd be better off dead."

London took a swig of beer before answering. "Maybe Wally won't see it that

way. Okay, so be got burned bad and lost his pecker. But there's other . .

."

Nim's voice rose. "For Chrissakes, Harry! Do you understand what you're

saying?"

"Take it easy," London cautioned. Others in the bar bad glanced their way.

He added quietly, "Sure, I understand."

"In time . . ." Nim leaned across the table, balancing his words the way a

conjurer might stand a plate on edge. "In time the burns will heal. They'll

do skin grafts. But you can't order a new penis from the Sears catalogue."

"It's true. Can't deny it." London shook his head sadly. "That poor

benighted bastard!"

The cocktail pianist was now into Lara's Theme and Harry London wiped away