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Nevertheless, he decided to go on with it. It was not late, not even eleven o'clock yet, and the truth was that it could do no harm. The results of the third map bore no resemblance to the other two.
There no longer seemed to be a question about what was happening. If he discounted the squiggles from the park, Qui
The next day's diagram seemed to yield a shape that resembled the letter "R." As with the others, it was complicated by numerous irregularities, approximations, and ornate embellishments in the park. Still clinging to a semblance of objectivity, Qui
The next day gave him a lopsided "O," a doughnut crushed on one side with three or four jagged lines sticking out the other. Then came a tidy "F," with the customary rococo swirls to the side. After that there was a "B" that looked like two boxes haphazardly placed on top of one another, with packing excelsior brimming over the edges. Next there was a tottering "A" that somewhat resembled a ladder, with graded steps on each side. And finally there was a second "B": precariously tilted on a perverse single point, like an upside-down pyramid.
Qui
Qui
And yet, the pictures did exist-not in the streets where they had been drawn, but in Qui
Qui
This helped somewhat. But the letters continued to horrify Qui
He decided to go to bed, slept fitfully, woke up, wrote in the red notebook for half an hour, went back to bed. His last thought before he went to sleep was that he probably had two more days, since Stillman had not yet completed his message. The last two letters remained-the "E" and the "L." Qui
In his dream, which he later forgot, he found himself in the town dump of his childhood, sifting through a mountain of rubbish.
9
THE first meeting with Stillman took place in Riverside Park. It was mid-afternoon, a Saturday of bicycles, dog-walkers, and children. Stillman was sitting alone on a bench, staring out at nothing in particular, the little red notebook on his lap. There was light everywhere, an immense light that seemed to radiate outward from each thing the eye caught hold of, and overhead, in the branches of the trees, a breeze continued to blow, shaking the leaves with a passionate hissing, a rising and failing that breathed on as steadily as surf.
Qui
At last Stillman turned to him. In a surprisingly gentle tenor voice he said, "I'm sorry, but it won't be possible for me to talk to you. "
"I haven't said anything," said Qui
"That's true," said Stillman. "But you must understand that I'm not in the habit of talking to strangers."
"I repeat," said Qui
"Yes, I heard you the first time. But aren't you interested in knowing why?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Well put. I can see you're a man of sense."
Qui
Stillman smiled brightly at this, leaned toward Qui
"That remains to be seen," said Qui
Stillman laughed-a brief, booming "haw”-and then continued. "It's not that I dislike strangers per se. It's just that I prefer not to speak to anyone who does not introduce himself. In order to begin, I must have a name."