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because relationships between Nim and the Neubergers were now cordial,

Nim had promised to go over for dinner occasionally, to be with the

children.

Nim had also-in fulfillment of an earlier promise-arranged to take Karen

Sloan to the symphony.

He bad received, several days ago, one of Karen's notes which read:

Days come, days go.

On some you are in the news

With Begin, Sadat, Schmidt, Brezhnev, Carter,

Giscard d'Estaing and Bishop Muzorewa.

But of them all, one Nimrod Goldman

Merits my front page.

It is good to read of you,

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But better still To see, and IlLar, be touched, and share, And

personally love.

Ile had sighed on reading it because he genuinely wanted to see Karen,

then had thought guiltily: Any complications in his personal life were

of his own making. Since the memorable evening when he and Karen made

love, he had dropped in to see her twice during the daytinic, but the

visits were brief and hurried, with Nim on the way from somewhere to

somewhere else. He knew that Karen craved a longer time together, with

more intimacy.

Ruth's absence seemed an opportunity to be with Karen in a more

satisfying way, and going to the symphony, instead of spending the eve-

ning in her home, was a compromise with his conscience.

When he arrived at Karen's apartment, she was ready, wearing a becoming

dark red dress and a single strand of pearls. Her long blonde hair,

brushed and gleaming, fell about her shoulders. The wide mouth and soft

blue eyes smiled a warm greeting. The nails of her long fingers, which

rested on a lapboard, were manicured and shining.

As they kissed, letting their closeness linger sweetly, Nim felt his

desire for Karen, which had only been dormant, unmistakabiv revive. He

felt relieved they were going out.

A minute or two later, after josie had come in and was busy disconnecting

the wheelchair from a power outlet so it could become more mobile, Karen

said, "Nimrod, you've been tinder strain. It shows."

" A few things have happened," he admitted. "Some you've read about. But

tonight there's only you and me and the music."

"And me," josie said, coming around to the front of the wbcelchair. 11c

aide-housekeeper beamed at Nim, who was clearly one of her favorites.

"But all I'm doing is driving you both. If you'll come down with Karen

in a few minutes, Mr. Goldman, I'll go ahead and bring Hunipcrdinck

around."

Nim laughed. "Ab, Humperdinck!" He asked Karen, "How is your van with a

personality?"

"Still wonderful, but"-ber face clouded-"what I worry about is my

father."

"In what way?"

She shook her head. "Let's leave it now. Perhaps I'll tell you later."

As usual, Nim marveled at the dexterity with which Karen, using only her

sip-blow tube, piloted her chair out of the apartment, along a corridor,

and toward the elevator.

On the Avav he-ask-ect, 'ITT-

I- *~ -0-annrl for?"

V 1"1~5 - Y - t"',_ -

She smiled. "Tonight I'm fullY charged. So, using the battery for the

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chair and my respirator, probably four hours. After that, I'll need to

plug in again to dear old GSP & L."

It fascinated him how tenuous was Karen's hold on life, and that

electricity kept her living.

"Speaking of GSP & L," she said, "how are your problems?"

"Ob, we always have a new assortment. They sprout like weeds."

"No, seriously. I want to know."

"Well, suddenly, oil is our biggest worry," be told her. "Did you hear

that the latest talks between OPEC and the United States broke down

today?"

"It was on the radio before you came. The oil exporting countries say

they won't take any more paper money. Only gold."

"They've threatened that several times." Nim was remembering his

conversation with Eric Humphrey and Mr. justice Yale shortly before

Christmas. Then the oil situation had been worrisome; now, in March, it

was gravely critical. He added, "This time it looks as if they mean it."

Karen asked, "If imported oil stops coming, how bad will things be?"

"Far worse than most people believe. More than half the oil America uses

is imported, and eiglity-five percent of that comes from OPEC countries."

He went on, "Even now, though, an oil shortage is being thought about

mainly in terms of cars and gasoline, not electricity."

Nim reflected again, as be bad on the way over tonight: The most dramatic

confrontation yet with the OPEC oil nations, with a potential far more

devastating than the Arab embargo Of 1973-74, bad happened abruptly

within the past forty-eight hours. It was a possibility that everyone had

known about but comparatively few took seriously. The eternal optimists,

including some in high places, were still hoping a final showdown could

be avoided, that one way or another the Niagara of imported oil would

keep on flowing. Nim didn't share their belief.

A thought occurred to him concerning Karen. Before he could express it

they came to the elevator and the doors opened.

Already inside, the only other occupants, were two small children-a boy

and a girl, cheerful and fresh-faced, their ages probably nine and ten.

"Hi, Karen!" they both said as the wheelchair, followed by Nim, moved in.

"Hello, Philip and Wendy," Karen said. "Are you going out?"

The boy answered. "No. just downstairs to play." He looked at Nim. "Who's

he?"

"My date. This is Mr. Goldman." She told Nim, "These are two of my

neighbors and friends."

As the elevator descended, they all said hello.

"Karen," the small boy asked, "can I touch your hand?"

"Of course."

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He did so, moving his fingertips gently, then asked, "Can you feel that?"

"Yes, Philip," she told him. "You have gentle hands." He seemed in-

terested and pleased.

Not wanting to be outdone, the girl inquired, "Karen, do you want your

legs changed?"

"Well . . . all right."

Carefully, apparently knowing what to do, the girl lifted Karen's right

leg until it was crossed over the left.

"Thank you, Wendy."

In the downstairs lobby the children said goodbye and ran off.

"That was beautiful," Nim said.

"I know." Karen smiled warmly. "Children are so natural. They're not

afraid, or mixed up, the way adults are. When I first came here to live,

the children in the building would ask me questions like, 'What's the

matter with you?' or 'Why can't you walk?' and when their parents heard

that, they would tell them 'Shush!' It took a while, but I got them all

to understand I don't mind the questions, in fact welcome them. But there

are still some adults who can never be comfortable. When they see me,

they look the other way."

Outside the apartment front door, josie was waiting with the van. It was

a Ford, painted a pleasant light green; a wide sliding door on the near

side was already open. Karen maneuvered her wheelchair so it was facing

the door and a few feet away.

"If you watch," she told Nim, "you'll see what your Mr. Paulsen did to

help me get into Humperdinck."

While Karen was speaking, fosie lifted down two lengths of steel channel

from the van's interior. Attaching both pieces of channel to fittings at

the base of the doorway, she lowered the other ends to the ground.

Between the van's interior and the ground there was now a double ramp,

the width matching the wheels on Karen's chair.

Now josic stepped inside the van and reached for a hook on a steel cable;

the cable was attached to an electric winch on the far side. She brought

the hook to the wheelchair, snapped it through a steel eye, then returned

to the winch. josic touched a switch and held it down.

"Here we go!" Karen said. With her words, the wheelchair was pulled

smoothly up the ramp. Once inside, josie swung the chair around, the

wheels slipping neatly into two recesses in the floor, where bolts

secured them.

fosie, grinning, told Nim, "You ride up front, Mr. Goldman. With the

chauffeur."

As tbev eased out of the apartment house forecourt into traffic, Nim

turned around in the front seat to talk with Karen. He returned to what

he had been about to say when they reached the elevator.

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"If we do have a serious oil shortage, almost certainly there will be

rolling blackouts. You know what those are?"

Karen nodded. "I think so. It means electric power will be off in different

places for hours at a time."

"Yes, most likely three hours every day to begin with, then for longer

periods if things get worse. If it happens, though, I'll make sure vou get

warning in advance, then you'll have to go to a hospital with its own

generator."

"Redwood Grove," Karen said. "That's where Josie and I went the night those

Friends of Freedom people blew up the substations and we bad a power

failure."

"Tomorrow," Nim told her, "I'm going to find out how good their generator

is at Redwood Grove. Sometimes those standbys aren't worth a damn because

they're not given proper service. When New York had its big blackouts, some

of them wouldn't even start."

"I'm not going to worry," Karen said. "Not with you looking out for me,

Nimrod."

Josie was a careful driver and Nim relaxed during the journey to the Palace

of Arts, where the city's symphony orchestra performed. At the Palace's

main entrance, while Josie was unloading Karen's wheelchair, help arrived

in the form of a uniformed attendant who promptly whisked Karen and Nim

through a side door and into an elevator which carried them to the grand

tier. There they had front row space in a box, and a movable ramp eased the

way for Karen. It was obvious that the Palace of Arts was used to

wheelchair users among its patrons.

When they had settled down, and looking around her, Karen said, "This is

special treatment, Nimrod. How did you manage it?"

"Dear old GSP & L, as you call it, has some influence."

It was Teresa Van Buren who, at Nim's request, arranged box seats and the

facilities for Karen. When he had offered to pay, Tess told him, "Forget

it! There are a few executive perks left. Enjoy them while they last."

Nim held a program for Karen to see but, after a moment, she sbook her

head. "I'll enjoy listening, but I always think music criticism and program

notes are written by people trying to prove bow clever they are."

He chuckled. "I agree."

As the house lights dimmed and the conductor ascended the podium amid

applause, Karen said softly, "Nimrod, things are different between us,

aren't they?"

He was taken aback by her perception but bad no time to answer before the

music began.

The program was heavily Bralims. Variations on a Theme of Haydn first.

Immediately after: Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat Major: the su-

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perb soloist was Eugene Istomin. The piano concerto was among Nim's