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nearly a month ago when she learned of Walter's death. Then, and at the

funeral-wbich was the last time she and Nim bad seen each otber-she

seemed drawn and old. In the meantime, clearly, Ardythe's vitality and

attractiveness had returned. Her face, arms and legs were tanned, and the

shapely outline of her body beneath a snug print dress reminded him again

of the excitement they aroused in each other last time he was here. Nim

remembered, years ago, coming across a book called In Praise of Older

Women. Though he recalled little more about it than the title, he bad a

notion now of what the author must have had in mind.

"Walter always believed," Ardythe said, "that everything that bappens in

the world-wars, bombings, pollution, all the rest-are a necessary part

of the balance of nature. Did he ever talk to you about that?"

Nim shook his bead. Though he and the dead chief engineer bad been

friends, their talk was usually practical, seldom philosophic.

"Usually Walter kept that kind of thinking to himself," Ardythe said.

"He'd tell me, though. He used to say, 'People think human beings have

control over the present and future, but we really don't.' And: 'Man's

apparent free will is a delusion; human perversity is just one more

instrument of the balance of nature.' Walter believed even war and

disease have a purpose in nature-to thin out populations which the earth

can't support. 'Humans,' he once said, 'are like lemmings who

overmultiply, then rush over a cliff to kill themselves-except that

humans do it more elaborately."'

Nim was startled. Though Ardythe's words were not in Walter Talbot's

broad Scots accent, just the same Nim could hear an uncanny echo of

Walter, who, when alive, expressed himself in just that thoughtful,

balf-sardonic way. How strange, too, that Walter should have stripped his

mind bare for Ardytbe, whom Nim had never regarded as a deep thinker. Or

was it strange at all? Perhaps, Nim reasoned, he was learning about a

mental intimacy of marriage which be himself had never known.

He wondered how Laura Bo Carmichael would react to Walter's conviction

that environmental pollution was a needed part of nature's balance, a

facet of some dimly perceived master plan. Then remember-

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ing his own spiritual questing recently, he asked Ardythe, "Did Walter

equate the balance of nature with God?"

"No. He always maintained that that was too easy, too elementaryHe said God

was 'man-created, a straw grasped at by small minds afraid of darkness . .

.'" Ardytbe's voice trailed off. Suddenly Nim saw tears course down her

face.

She wiped them away. "This is the time of day I miss Walter most. It's the

time we would talk."

For a moment there was an awkwardness between them, then Ardytbe said

firmly, "No, I won't let myself go on being depressed." She had been

sitting near Nim and now moved closer. He became aware of her perfume, the

same perfume which so aroused him the last time he was here. She said

softly, with a smile, "I think all that talk of nature has affected me."

Then, as they reached for each other, "Make love to me, Nim! I need you

more than ever."

His arms around her tightened as they kissed fiercely. Ardythe's lips were

moist and giving and she sighed with pleasure as their hands explored each

other, both remembering the time before. Nim's own desire, never far below

the surface, surged urgently so that he cautioned with a whisper, "Let's

slow down! Wait!"

She whispered back, "We can go to my bedroom. It will be better." He felt

her stir; she stood up. So did Nim.

Still close, they ascended the stairs. Except for the sound of their

movements, the house was silent. Ardythe's bedroom was at the end of a

short landing and the door was open. Inside, Nim saw, the coverlet and top

sheet were already folded back. Ardythe had clearly made her plans before

he got here. He remembered, from a conversation long ago, that Ardythe and

Walter had occupied separate bedrooms. Though no longer troubled by the

inhibitions of a month ago, Nim was glad they would not be in Walter's bed.

He helped Ardythe off with the tight-fitting dress he bad admired and shed

his own clothes quickly. They sank together onto the bed, which was soft

and cool. "You were right," he murmured happily, "it is better here." Then

impatience conquered them. As be entered her, she thrust her body forward

and cried aloud with joy.

Minutes later, passion expended, they lay contented and entwined. Nim

reflected on something he bad once heard: That the sex act left some men

drained and depressed, wondering why they had gone to all the trouble which

preceded it. But it never happened that way to Nim. Once more, as always,

he felt uplifted and renewed.

Ardytbe said softly, "You're a sweet, tender man. Is there any way you can

stay the night?"

He shook his head. "Not this time."

"I suppose I shouldn't have asked." She traced a finger down his face,

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following the lines around his mouth. "I promise I won't be greedy, Nim,

or bother you. just come sometimes, when you can."

He promised he would, though wondering how to manage it amid the

pressures and complications which grew in number daily.

While they were dressing, Ardythe said, "I've been going through Walter's

papers and there are some I'd like to turn over to you. Things he brought

home from the office. They ought to go back."

"Sure, I'll take them," Nim agreed.

Ardythe showed him where the papers were-in three large cardboard cartons

in what had been Walter's den. Nim opened two of the cartons and found

the contents to consist of filed reports and letters. He riffled through

a few while Ardytbe was in the kitchen making coffee; he had declined

another drink.

The papers appeared to concern matters in which Walter Talbot bad taken

a special personal interest. A good many were several years old and no

longer relevant. One series of files contained copies of Walter's

original report on theft of service and correspondence afterward. At the

time, Nim remembered, the report attracted wide attention in the utility

industry and was circulated far beyond GSP & L. As a result, Walter had

taken on the coloration of an expert. There had even been a court case

in the East in which he appeared as an expert witness, part of his report

being admitted into evidence. Later, the case had gone to higher courts,

Walter's report along with it. Nim had forgotten the eventual outcome;

not that it mattered now, he thought.

He glanced through more correspondence, then replaced the files and

closed the cartons. After that be carried them out to the hallway so be

would remember to take them with him to his car.

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ne earth underfoot vibrated. A great roaring, like a covey of jet air-

planes taking off together, shattered the near-silence and a fat plume of

steam shot violently skyward. Instinctively, those in the small group

standing on a knoll pressed hands over their ears in self-protection. A

few appeared frightened.

Teresa Van Buren, uncovering her own ears momentarily, waved her arms and

shouted, urging a return to the chartered bus in which the group arrived,

No one heard the shouts but the message was clear. The twenty or so men

and women moved hastily toward the bus parkeCi fifty yards away.

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Inside the air-conditioned vehicle, with doors closed tightly, the noise

from outside was less intense.

"Jesus H. Christ!" one of the men protested. "That was a lousy trick to

pull, and if I've lost my hearing I'll sue the goddamned utility."

Teresa Van Buren asked him, "What did you say?"

"I said if I've frigging well gone deaf . . ."

"I know," she interrupted, "I heard you the first time. just wanted to

make sure you hadn't."

Some of the others laughed.

"I swear to you," the GSP & L public relations director told the group

of reporters on the press tour, "I had no idea that was going to happen.

The way it worked out, we just got lucky. Because, folks, what you had

the privilege of seeing was a new geothermal well come in."

She said it with the enthusiasm of a wildcatter who has just brought in

a Texas gusher.

Through windows of the still stationary bus, they looked back at the

drill rig they bad been watching when the unscheduled eruption occurred.

In appearance it was the same kind of tower-topped mechanism used in an

oil field; it could, in fact, be moved and converted to oil exploration

at any time. Like Teresa Van Buren, the hard-hatted crew clustered around

the rig was beaming.

Not far away were other geothermal wellheads, their natural pressurized

steam deflected into huge insulated pipes. An aboveground network of the

pipes, covering several square miles like a plumber's nightmare, conveyed

the steam to turbine generators in a dozen separate buildings, severe and

square, perched on ridges and in gullies. Combined output of the

generators was, at this moment, better than seven hundred thousand

kilowatts, more than enough electricity to sustain a major city. The new

well would supplement this power.

Witbin the bus, Van Buren regarded a TV cameraman who was busy switching

film containers. "Did you get pictures when it happened?"

"Damn right!" Unlike the reporter who bad complained-a minor league

stringer for some small-town papers-the TV man looked pleased. He

finished his film changing. "Ask the driver to open the door, Tess. I

want a shot from another angle."

As be went out, a smell of hydrogen sulfide-like rotten eggswafted in.

"Migawd, it stinks!" Nancy Molineaux of the California Examiner wrinkled

her delicate nose.

"At European health spas," a middle-aged Los Angeles Times writer told

her, "you'd have to pay to breathe that stuff."

"And if you decide to print that," Van Buren assured the L.A, Timesman,

"we'll carve it on stone and salute it twice a day."

Ile press party had traveled from the city, starting early this morn-

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ing, and was now in the rugged mountains of California's Sevilla County,

site of Golden State Power's existing geothermal generating plants. Later

they would move on to neighboring Fincastle Valley, where the utility

hoped to create a further geothermal power complex. Tomorrow, the same

group would visit a hydroelectric plant and the intended site of another.

Both proposed developments were soon to be the subject of public

bearings. The two-day excursion was intended as a media preview.

"I'll tell you something about that smell," the p.r. director continued.

"The hydrogen sulfide in the steam is only present in small amounts, not

enough to be toxic. But we get complaints-mostly from real estate people

who want to sell land in these mountains for resort development. Well,

the smell was always here because steam filtered up through the ground,

even before we harnessed it to generate electricity. What's more,

old-timers say the smell isn't any worse now than it was originally."