第63部分(第2/7 頁)

de　notre　mort。

Amen。

13。

1956。

Alabama　in　the　rain。

Our　third　grandchild；　a　beautiful　girl　named　Tessa；　was　graduating　from　the　University　of　Florida。　We　went　down　on　a　Greyhound。　Sixty…four；　I　was　then；　a　mere　stripling。　Jan　was　fifty…nine；　and　as　beautiful　as　ever。　To　me；　at　least。　We　were　sitting　in　the　seat　all　the　way　at　the　back；　and　she　was　fussing　at　me　for　not　buying　her　a　new　camera　to　record　the　blessed　event。　I　opened　my　mouth　to　tell　her　we　had　a　day　to　shop　in　after　we　got　down　there；　and　she　could　have　a　new　camera　if　she　wanted　one；　it　would　fit　the　budget　all　right；　and　furthermore　I　thought　she　was　just　fussing　because　she　was　bored　with　the　ride　and　didn't　like　the　book　she'd　brought。　A　Perry　Mason；　it　was。　That's　when　everything　in　my　memory　goes　white　for　a　bit；　like　film　that's　been　left　out　in　the　sun。

Do　you　remember　that　accident？　I　suppose　a　few　folks　reading　this　might；　but　mostly　not。　Yet　it　made　front…page　headlines　from　coast　to　coast　when　it　happened。　We　were　outside　Birmingham　in　a　driving　rain；　Janice　plaining　about　her　old　camera；　and　a　tire　blew。　The　bus　waltzed　sideways　on　the　wet　pavement　and　was　hit　broadside　by　a　truck　hauling　fertilizer。　The　truck　slammed　the　bus　into　a　bridge　abutment　at　better　than　sixty　miles　an　hour；　crushed　it　against　the　concrete；　and　broke　it　in　half。　Two　shiny；　rain…streaked　pieces　spun　in　two　opposite　directions；　the　one　with　the　diesel　tank　in　it　exploding　and　sending　a　red…black　fireball　up　into　the　rainygray　sky。　At　one　moment　Janice　was　plaining　about　her　old　Kodak；　and　at　the　very　next　I　found　myself　lying　on　the　far　side　of　the　underpass　in　the　rain　and　staring　at　a　pair　of　blue　nylon　panties　that　had　spilled　out　of　someone's　suitcase。　WEDNESDAY　was　stitched