fgravesinagreenspaceadjattothecemeteryenclosedbyastonewall.Ihadbeenthereoncebefore,manyyearsago,thinkingitashortcutbacktosafety,orperhapsmerelyagoodhidingplace.Weslippedbetweentheironbarsintoatranquil,rowngarden.Manyoftheinscriptionsooneswereweatheredandfaded,asthetenantshadlaiheirvanishingnamesformanyyears.Myfriendstookmeonawindingpathbetweenthegraves,aoppedshortamongthememorialsandweeds.Smaolachwalkedmetoaplotandshowedmethestone:WILLIAMDAY,1917-1962.Ikdownonthegrass,ranmyfingeralongthegroovesofletters,sideredthenumbers."pened?"

    Luchógspokesoftly."Wehavenoidea,HenryDay."

    "Ihavehatnameinawhile."

    Smaolachlaidhishanduponmyshoulder."IstillpreferAniday.Youareoneofus."

    "Howlonghaveyouknown?"

    "Wethoughtyoushouldknowforthetruthofyourbook.Youdidntseeyourfatherthatnightwelefttheoldcamp."

    "Andyouuand,"Luchógsaid,"thatthemaninthenewhousewiththebabyotbeyourfather."

    Isatdownandleanedagainstthemarkertosavemyselffromfainting.Theywereright,ofcourse.Bymydar,fourteenyearshadpassedsiheenddateonthatgravestone.Ifhehaddiedthatlongago,WilliamDaycouldnotbewhoIthoughthewas,andthatmanwasnotWilliamDaybuthisdouble.Iwoomyselfhowsuchathingcouldbepossible.Luchógopenedhispouch,rolledacigarette,andcalmlysmokeditamidtheheadstohestarscameouttodefihesky—howfaraway,howlongago?Myfriendsseemedonthevergeofrevealingadditios,buttheysaidnothing,sothatImightfigureitoutformyself.

    "