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Updated: May 26, 2025
I was still crying. Inside the van I saw my fish-net "bulletin board" which reminded me where I had been and where I was going. On it I saw an article about a bicycle ride I had taken two years before with Nunatak. I saw the cover of a book about Mohandas K. Gandhi, autographed by its author, William L. Shirer. I saw a brochure from the Peace Corps and a miniature American flag.
It was still tuned to the Times, and Mohandas Feinberg was sitting in front of it, smoking one of his twisted black cigars. He had a big 10-mm Sterberg stuffed into the waistband of his trousers. "You guys poked along," he said. "I always thought the Pequod was fast. We got in three hours ago." "Who else is in?" "Corkscrew and some of his gang are here at the Times, now.
I pushed through, with Cesário behind me, and found Joe Kivelson and Mohandas Feinberg and Corkscrew Finnegan and Oscar Fujisawa and a dozen other captains and ships' officers in a huddle. "Joe," I said, "I just heard about Tom. Do you know anything yet?" Joe turned. "Oh, Walt. Why, as far as we know, he's alive. He was alive when they got him to the hospital." "That's at the spaceport?"
She let down into the ravine, after some maneuvering around, and Mohandas Feinberg and half a dozen of his crew got off with an improvised stretcher on a lifter and a lot of blankets. We got our broken-leg case aboard, and Abdullah Monnahan, and the man with the broken wrist. There were more ships coming, so the rest of us waited.
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