The woman's cry was muffled before it became a scream.

But Ben heard it, and wondered sleepily, What's goin' on? That sounded like a woman, but there ain't no women around here.

Then he remembered the last words he'd heard. A medic had stuck a needle in him, and when he cussed, the medic had said, "Just relax. You're gonna be okay. When you wake up you should be back in the States. Wish I could go with you."

Am I back in the States? Really?

He tried to open his eyes. The lids felt as heavy as lead, but he finally succeeded.

At first, all he saw was a blur. But as his vision cleared, he discovered he was--as he'd expected--in a hospital bed. Standing beside the bed, looking down at him, was a woman in what had to be a nurse's uniform.

Except that she wasn't merely "looking." She was staring at him, wide-eyed, with her hands clamped over her mouth.

This can't be. I'm dreamin', or delirious--or worse.

But the nurse lowered her hands, and choked out, "Ben? Ben Scudder? It really is you!"

He gasped. "Sofie? Sofie Bojakshiya?"

"Oh my God. You remember that name, after ten years?"

Under the circumstances, he was relieved that he had remembered what Sofie herself evidently thought was a difficult name. But he wasn't about to let her know there'd been any doubt. " 'Course I remember your name!"

To his utter bewilderment, he heard a scattering of applause. A few men's voices let out yells, the loudest among them being "Woo-hoo!"

A man on crutches hobbled into his range of vision. He took a gander at Ben, then said cheerfully, "So you're the long-lost love pretty Sofie's been pinin' for? Guess there ain't no accountin' for taste!"

By now Sofie was crimson. "You scoot, Joe!"

Laughing, Joe scooted. To the best of his ability.

As the ward gradually quieted down, Sofie said in a near-whisper, "I'm sorry about that, Ben. I suppose you're married by now."

"I ain't married. Sofe, I searched all over the Midwest for you! For years! I put ads in papers whenever I could scrape up the cash. I didn't give up till the War broke out."

"Really?" She looked stunned, and possibly ashamed. "My family and I searched for you too, for a while. But I wasn't in the Midwest, Ben. I was here in California." Before he could follow up on that, she said, "Maybe I shouldn't be encouraging you to talk, getting you tired. How badly are you hurt?"

She seemed to be moving away from him, going to get his chart from the foot of the bed. He didn't want her to go even that far, so he spoke up quickly. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna die." No need to tell her how close he'd come. "The Japs strafed our base in the Islands. I got a bad concussion--maybe not my first--an' got cut up some by shrapnel." Catching her quizzical look at his unmarked face, he explained, "Mostly my arms, chest, an' belly. But there was a gash in my thigh that severed a major blood vessel. That, an' the concussion, were the serious stuff."

"Are you in pain?" she asked anxiously.

"No. Not with you here." His head did ache. As did just about every other part of him. But he wasn't about to admit it.

And the effort of talking was tiring him. Nevertheless, he was determined not to let Sofie out of his sight till they'd discussed what happened ten years ago.

He had to learn something else first. "Where exactly are we, Sofe? I know it's a military hospital, an' you said California. But where 'bouts in California?"

"San Diego," she told him.

Just for a second, the name of the city troubled him. He didn't know why.

Forget it. "Okay. That's way south o' my folks' place. Do my parents know I'm here?"

Sofie nodded. "Yes, they must have been told by now."

He grinned. "Then we'd better talk fast, 'cause if I know my pa, he'll set some kind o' speed record gettin' here. I have very devoted parents."

Sofie's grin matched his. "Me too."

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Sofe, I'm sorry 'bout what happened that night in the truck. Not sorry we did it, but sorry it was in such a damn public place. All my fault, an' I've never forgiven myself."

Once again, she looked stunned. She dropped into a chair so she could be closer to him, leaning over the bed. In a whisper even lower than his, she protested, "Ben, it was my fault! I acted like a child. And where else could we have made love? I slept in a tent with a half-dozen other women, and you had to sleep on the ground!"

He couldn't suppress an amused grunt. "Yeah," he acknowledged, "there was that.

"So you left for the reason Jonesy an' me thought? 'Cause he'd caught us makin' love durin' the storm, an' you were afraid he'd spread it through the carnival?"

"Yes. I was mortified. But like I said, I know now that I was acting like a child. I shouldn't have made you suffer for my embarrassment."

"The saddest part of it," he told her, "is that Jonesy wouldn't o' spread the story! He felt awful about it. He swore to me that he wouldn't o' told a soul, an' I believed him. Neither of us told anyone, even Samson, why you'd left.

"How did you do it, anyway? I figured you'd hiked to the nearest town, then took a train somewhere. But I went to the station, an' no one remembered you from my description."

She grimaced. "I thought someone might come after me. And at the time, I didn't want to be found. So I did hike to the nearest town, but then I took a bus to another town, and picked up the train there.

"And, Ben, I have to explain more about why making love was such a big deal for me. I never told anyone this, but I'm, uh...a minister's daughter."

Ben couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "Holy shit."

"Yes. I'd been raised to believe having sex out of wedlock was sinful. And that if a girl did such a thing, the man wouldn't respect her in the morning. You didn't seduce me--I wanted it as much as you did. But I would have felt guilty and awkward and embarrassed even if Jonesy hadn't seen us. Thinking the whole carnival would be making fun of me was just the last straw."

"I woulda respected you even more in the mornin'," he assured her. "It's strange, though. I guess there ain't no reason why a Gypsy shouldn't be a minister, but I've never thought o' such a thing."

"A Gypsy?" Her cheeks reddened again. "Damn it, I wasn't honest with you about that, either. My father isn't a Gypsy, and my real name is Crowe--Ben, what's wrong?"

"Uh, nothin'. But if you ain't a Gypsy--well, shit."

She looked puzzled. Can't blame her.

Is more than one thing "wrong"? Is there somethin' about the name Crowe?

No, I'm imaginin' things.

Before he could explain his initial reaction, she said, "I do have Gypsy blood, on my mother's side. I'm not sure how much.

"I always loved my parents and knew they loved me, but I felt sort of--stifled--being a minister's daughter. Afraid that if I wasn't perfect all the time, it would reflect badly on Papa. And I had this wanderlust, and got the romantic notion that it might have something to do with my Gypsy blood.

"I was old enough that I had a right to leave home, but I was afraid Papa would be able to talk me out of it. He can convince darned near anyone of anything! So I more or less ran away, and took one of the Gypsy names I'd seen in some old family papers in the attic."

"Jeez. An' you wound up a seamstress with Hyde an' Teller."

"Yes." She made another face. "A seamstress--except when they needed an extra laundress."

"An' later, I had no clue where to look for you," he said regretfully. "If you'd had some kind o' specialty act, I'd o' guessed you joined another carnival. But it seemed you coulda been anywhere, doin' anythin'."

She sighed. "And it was the same in reverse, when I started looking for you. Hyde and Teller had folded by then. And I knew you'd just signed on as a roustie on impulse, after your parents lost their farm and headed west."

"Right. Pa knew I'd never had much interest in farmin', beyond fussin' over the equipment. He encouraged me to try somethin' else. But Hyde an' Teller was my only stint with a carnival."

"Ben?" Sofie sounded hesitant. "Forgive me, but I have to ask. Why did it seem to matter to you about my being a Gypsy? As if you especially wanted me to be one?"

"Well...it wasn't that I wanted it, exactly. An' I feel ashamed, on account o' the Jews."

"Jews?" Now she was totally lost.

"Remember when the War broke out in Europe, back in '39? We heard stories about the awful things the Nazis were doin' on the Continent. The Jews were gettin' the worst of it, an' I guess I shoulda been riled about that. But I'd never actually known any Jews.

"I did know you. An' when I heard they were persecutin' Gypsies as well as Jews, I couldn't stop thinkin' about how it coulda been you an' your family, if your folks hadn't come to America.

"So that's why I joined the RAF."

Sofie let out a squeal that set the ward audibly buzzing again. "You did what?"

"Joined the RAF," he repeated earnestly, "to fight Hitler.

"Oh, I ain't no glamorous flyboy. Just a mechanic. That's what I've always been best at, tinkerin' with machines.

"But I was with the RAF till the U.S. entered the War. Then they gave me a discharge so I could hook up with our own guys. An' I wound up in the Pacific, not fightin' Hitler at all--but no one could fret over that, considerin' Pearl Harbor."

Tears had begun streaming down Sofie's cheeks. "You actually joined the RAF, before the U.S. was at war, because of me?"

"Yeah, sure I did." He decided he should make it a little clearer. "I guess I never said this back in '35, Sofe. But maybe it ain't too late to say it now. I love you."

And suddenly, she was covering his face with kisses.

It took him a minute or so to get the point across that his lips were part of his face, and he wanted very much to kiss her back.

When she finally surfaced for air, she gasped out, "Ben--I've been forgetting that you can't possibly have heard the latest war news."

"What? Good or bad?"

"Good," she assured him. "Not a rumor this time--there was definite confirmation an hour ago.

"Hitler is dead."
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An exhausted Ben fell asleep with Sofie's hand clasped in his. When he woke again, Hack and Flora Scudder had joined her at his bedside.

If there was a spot on Ben's face or neck that Sofie had missed with her kisses, Flora found it. But it was Hack who embarrassed himself by weeping. He'd always been especially close to his son, and seemed to sense that he'd almost lost him, despite Ben's attempt to make light of his wounds.

Ben's parents were delighted to meet Sofie, and vice versa.

None of that surprised him. What did surprise him was that the next time he woke, the group at his bedside had grown to include the Reverend Justin Crowe and his wife Polly. Ben had never been personally acquainted with a minister. He expected a stern, holier-than-thou attitude, but found instead that Justin was as pleasant a man as he'd ever met.

In an ironic twist, it turned out that when Hack and Flora arrived in California with other displaced Okies, they'd attended some services at Justin's Dignity Ministry, and been impressed with the work he was doing. But because they weren't actually Methodists, they'd drifted away without giving the pastor their name--at the very time he was trying to help his daughter find Ben.

The Scudders now operated a thriving vineyard, not all that far from the Crowes' home in Mintern. By the time Ben drifted off to sleep again, he was sure the two older couples would become fast friends.
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Two weeks later Ben was well enough to be setting out for a walk in the hospital corridor, with the aid of a walker--and of Sofie, who spent so much time with him that he knew she must be neglecting other patients.

Once they were past the busy nurses' station, she said seriously, "There's something I have to discuss with you, Ben. I don't know how you'll feel about it, and I didn't want to hit you with it till you'd gotten some of your strength back. But I don't think I should wait any longer."

He cast a sideways glance at her. "Jeez. Are you promised to someone else, Sofe? I just assumed, like all I needed to do was say 'I love you' an' it'd be like we were never apart."

"Good God, no!" She squeezed his arm. "Of course I'm not promised to anyone else. You're the only man I've ever loved."

He heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, if it ain't that...there's somethin' I've been wantin' to discuss too, an' I feel like I gotta get it off my chest. So could I please go first?"

"Of course."

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "To begin with, here's the good stuff. The docs say my wounds are healin' faster than expected. I won't even have a limp. An' everyone believes the War is windin' down, should be over soon. Plus, I'm a skilled aircraft mechanic, an' I should be able to earn a good salary in peacetime."

Sofie nodded. "I know all that," she said in a taut voice. "What's the not-so-good stuff?"

"There may still be somethin' wrong with me," he told her. Reluctantly. "I asked the docs to keep it from you an' not scare you, till I could explain it myself.

"I lost an awful lot o' blood from that thigh wound, Sofe. Damn near bled to death. The medics in the Islands thought it was some kind o' miracle that I pulled through.

"An' they didn't believe anyone could survive a blood loss that massive without brain damage. Not to mention the concussion, that maybe wasn't my first.

"I don't have any o' the obvious signs o' brain damage. I recognize people I should recognize, remember everythin' I should remember. I can still read an' write an' all that.

"But I've been havin' terrible dreams, weird ones that don't seem to have nothin' to do with the War. An' even when I'm awake, I get these flashes o' things that seem like memories, only they ain't real memories. They can't be."

They'd stopped walking, and an anxious Sofie was gazing up into his eyes. "Like what, Ben?"

"Like...my parents bein' dead. Not some time in the future, in the past. An' part of a Ferris wheel collapsin', when I never saw such a thing durin' the year I was with Hyde an' Teller. Stuff like that.

"I'm only tellin' you this 'cause it's gotta be some kind o' brain damage--the docs think so too--an' I want to be honest with you. But they don't think I'm a danger to myself or anyone else, or that I'll be too messed up to hold a job." He felt better already, just having told her. "So the question is, are you still willin' to take a chance on lovin' me?"

Sofie wrapped her arms around him. "That isn't a question, Ben. I don't see it as taking a chance. I can't not love you! I'm with you for as long as you want me--for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, whatever."

"Then..." He finally relaxed enough to smile. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

Their kiss in the hospital corridor brought another round of applause from the dozen or so patients and staffers close enough to see it.

When she'd disentangled herself, Sofie said, "Now can I tell you what was on my mind?"

"Sure." Ben wiped the grin off his face. "I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"Like I said, I don't know how you'll feel about it. But...we already have a nine-year-old son."

Ben's whoop of delight startled a nearby nurse's aide into dropping a meal tray.

Given the quality of hospital food, that wasn't any great loss.
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Ben's health continued to improve, and early in June he was granted a five-day furlough from the hospital. He meant to visit Hack and Flora, but spend most of the week with Sofie and his future in-laws in Mintern--getting to know his son, who'd been staying with his grandparents while Sofie worked in San Diego. He'd already spoken to the boy by phone. But he'd insisted that the Crowes not bring young Adam to a place as depressing as the hospital.

Sofie did the driving through the lush California farmland; all Ben had to do was sit back and relax. After the grim reality of the Islands, and his grimmer imaginings about Europe and Japan, the beauty of his surroundings moved him to tears.

"You know," he confided, "it was gettin' harder an' harder for me to do my job. I don't think I ever coulda killed enemy soldiers. Bein' a mechanic, I didn't have to. But it got to botherin' me that I was keepin' our planes in good repair so the pilots could bomb cities--kill civilians, families with kids. That ain't right in my book."

"I don't believe in it either," Sofie told him. "I heard a song on the radio, with lyrics gloating about its being 'mighty smoky over Tokyo.' It made me sick." She hesitated, then asked, "Do you think they'll send you back?"

"I don't know," he said somberly. "If they order me back I'll do my duty, won't try claimin' I ain't well enough if I think I really am. But I keep prayin' that either the War will end, or they'll quit bombin' cities. I ain't never prayed so hard for anythin' in my life."

"Hmm. Maybe you'd better not let Papa know you've taken up praying. He'd love to have another minister in the family!"

That got a laugh out of him--as he knew Sofie had intended. But then he said, "Seriously, your father seems like a wonderful man."

So why do I keep dreamin' that he's chasin' me through a cornfield, tryin' to kill me?

'Cause I'm brain-damaged, that's why.

A little bit brain-damaged. I'm not a danger to anyone, I'm not!

"He is wonderful," Sofie agreed. "I never expected him to be so understanding about my turning up pregnant. He was the one suggested we search for you--not to demand anything, but because he thought you'd want to know you were going to have a child. And if he and Mama weren't so supportive, I might have had to give Adam up for adoption."

Ben gulped. That possibility had never occurred to him.

After a long pause, he murmured, "I think I'll say a few more prayers right now.

"Prayers of gratitude."

And prayers to be rid o' the damn dreams.

The drive to Mintern went more quickly than he'd expected. As they pulled up in front of the Crowes' modest house, Sofie sounded the horn three times--obviously a prearranged signal.

Her beaming parents came to the door.

But as Ben got out of the car, they stepped aside to let him see...a perfect, nine-year-old miniature of himself.

Father and son looked at each other, dumbfounded.

Then they burst into gales of laughter, and Adam ran into Ben's arms.

"Now I know you're my father!"

" 'Course I am! Why've you been hidin' from poor old Dad all these years, you little rascal?"
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When Ben could be torn away from his son, he was introduced to two other family members who'd driven up from Los Angeles to meet him. Sofie's beloved Aunt Iris was Justin's sister; Ben couldn't guess which sibling was the elder. She proudly explained that her husband Tommy Dolan was a roving reporter for radio station KZAK. Ben didn't understand exactly what a "roving reporter" did; but it sounded distinguished, so he acted suitably impressed.

Tommy said wistfully, "There's terrific human interest in this story of reunited lovers. I could have made it bigger than any of the romances of Hollywood stars." Ben must have looked horrified, because he laughed and went on to say, "Don't worry, Iris won't let me use it. She made me see that, um"--he lowered his voice--"it couldn't be told without embarrassing Adam, even if the adults were okay with it." With an affectionate look at his wife, he added, "Iris has always been able to wrap me around her little finger."

That drew chuckles from the others, and Justin let Ben in on the joke. "When Polly and Iris and I founded the Dignity Ministry back in '34, we ran into a lot of opposition. There were bigots in my original congregation, and in local politics.

"Iris heard Tommy on the radio. And she realized that if he could be gotten to support our cause, he could give us good statewide publicity that would shame our opponents into backing down.

"So she wrote to him. It worked out the way she hoped--and as a bonus, Iris and Tommy fell in love."

Iris said primly, "I'm sure it was all part of God's plan." But after a beat, she added, "Though I had seen a picture of Tommy before I wrote to him..."

Amid more chuckles, Justin said, "Thinking of God, our Bishop is going to stop by for dinner, Ben. He's eager to meet you."

Ben almost choked. "Your Bishop? Do Methodist bishops always scope out the guys ministers' daughters are gonna marry?"

"No, no!" The whole family began talking at once. But Ben soon got the point: that the Reverend, now Bishop, Norman Balthus--along with his late wife Rose--had raised the orphaned Justin and Iris, and he was like a grandfather to Sofie. "Norman's eighty now," Justin said proudly, "and he's been Bishop for ten years, but there's nary a sign of his slowing down. He has as much energy as I do."

Balthus, Ben thought uneasily. That's gotta be an unusual name, but I feel like I've heard it before.

I have visited Ma an' Pa over the years, an' they only live a few miles from here. Maybe this Bishop's name was in the news.

Damn. I can't keep frettin' over whether every stray thought in my head is somethin' unnatural!
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Bishop Balthus arrived, as promised, later that afternoon. The white-haired prelate was driving his own car--a model that struck Ben as a flashy choice for a man his age. He strode up the few front steps with an agility that Ben envied.

The Bishop proved to be down-to-earth and extremely likable. He was eager to hear any war stories Ben wanted to share, but sensitive enough that he didn't pry. Nor did his questions touch on Ben and Sofie's sex life. (The young couple had in fact decided to postpone sex until after they were married, in deference to Sofie's family.)

All went smoothly until dinner.

That too began well. Ben was delighted when Adam asked to sit between him and Sofie. Bishop Balthus was seated on Ben's other side.

But in the course of an animated dinner-table conversation, Balthus gave Ben a good-natured pat on the shoulder. And that physical contact sent Ben's mind spinning into a dark place.

Screaming people ran to and fro, trying to escape from an enclosure that Ben somehow knew was a tent.

Reverend Balthus rose from a wheelchair and confronted a rampaging Justin. Balthus proclaimed, "The power of Christ compels you--" For all the world, Ben thought, as if he was attempting some kind of exorcism.

Justin's response was even more bizarre. He snarled, "Behold, the Holy Evil is come!" Ben saw the scythe in Justin's hand, heard the horrific ripping sound as he disemboweled Balthus with one cruel stroke...

"No!" Ben leapt to his feet, almost overturning his chair.

As he stood there, shaking like a leaf, he gradually realized that he was in a perfectly normal dining room, disrupting what had been a perfectly normal dinner. Everyone was staring at him.

A visibly distressed Bishop Balthus leaned away, so as not to risk touching him again. But Adam clutched at his father's hand, asking anxiously, "Dad? What's the matter?"

Sofie got up, hurried to Ben and put her arms around him. "It's okay, Ben," she said lovingly. "We're family."

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled, letting Sofie ease him back down onto his chair. He couldn't look at anyone, but he kept talking. "I have, uh, war flashbacks," he improvised. " 'Cause o' the head injury, I reckon. I don't know what sets it off. I'm sorry, Bishop! It didn't have nothin' to do with you touchin' me--"

"That's all right, son," the Bishop said kindly. "Don't give it another thought."

Ben finally summoned up the nerve to look at his actual son. When he saw the boy's white face and scared eyes, he wanted to cry. But he pulled himself together and said, "Don't you worry, Adam. I just have some medical problems that ain't cleared up yet, but they will." I hope.

Adam squared his small shoulders and said, "Sure, Dad. I know that."

As everyone settled down again, Sofie planted a kiss on Adam's head.
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The incident was seemingly forgotten...by everyone but Ben.

But Bishop Balthus paid the family another visit two days later. After dinner that night, he made a casual suggestion to Ben. "It's a beautiful evening. How about you and me taking a little walk? I'd like to get to know you better. And there's a park a block away, where we could sit on a bench and have ourselves a chat."

Ain't no polite way I can refuse, Ben realized.

And then he realized something else. He didn't want to refuse.

When they were alone on that park bench, the Bishop said gently, "I can see that you're troubled, Ben. If you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand. I won't press you.

"But while I think of Sofie as my granddaughter, I'm not really a member of the family. It might help you to confide in someone--a clergyman, maybe, who isn't quite as close to the situation as Justin."

Ben nodded. "You're right, Bishop. I've been feelin' like I'd go to pieces if I couldn't open up about it. Thanks for bein' willin' to listen.

"I know I got brain damage. The problem is, I'm afraid I may be so far gone that I could become a burden to Sofie, or even hurt someone.

"I lied the other night, about war flashbacks. None o' the things I see relate to the War. That's why they're so scary."

He explained what he'd told Sofie in the hospital. "I ain't been dishonest with her," he said earnestly. "My parents an' hers know some of it, too. But I ain't been able to bring myself to tell any o' them how insane the details are.

"For instance, I told Sofie that I've had bad dreams an' false memories about my parents already havin' died. Just that.

"Here's the details. My parents really left Oklahoma, together, before conditions got bad. But in these 'memories' I keep havin', Ma an' me were alone there durin' the worst o' the Dust Bowl. Ma was dyin' from dust pneumonia. An' she'd turned against me, for some reason--wouldn't let me help her, or even touch her.

"As for Pa, I've 'remembered' lookin' down into a well or trough or somethin', where instead o' seein' my reflection in the water, I saw his severed head! With long gray hair, that he ain't got in real life, but it was definitely Pa. With his mouth open in a scream.

"There's been stuff about part of a carnival's Ferris wheel collapsin', with deaths an' injuries. I worked for a carnival years ago, but I never saw nothin' like that.

"An' there's a carny I worked with. I've had 'memories' o' him havin' been tarred an' feathered an' left to die in a desert. I've seen the buzzards comin' in, gettin' ready to eat his remains. Why would anyone imagine sick crap like that? I know it didn't really happen--the guy's alive an' well, managin' a baseball team in Mexico.

"But this may be the worst of all. I've had dreams an' 'memories'--hell, maybe I should call them delusions--where Justin was some kind o' demonic figure."

Balthus had been listening in silence. But now he burst out, "Justin? A demon?"

"Yeah. You see how crazy it is? He was chasin' me through a cornfield, tryin' to kill me. It seemed I did kill him, drove a dagger into his chest. But for some reason, he didn't stay dead.

"An' then, what happened at dinner the other night--" Ben hesitated, but was so wound-up that he couldn't stop. He poured out the whole fantastic story of what he'd "remembered" Justin doing to Balthus.

"I wouldn't o' told you that," he concluded lamely, "about you bein' murdered, if there was any chance it could be a true vision o' your future. But it's impossible--"

"Yes, of course it is." The Bishop had been taken aback by the sheer horror of the tale, but his voice was steady now. He seemed lost in thought for a minute. Then he asked, "Ben--how do you feel about the War? Especially the turn it's taken, our forces bombing cities and killing civilians?"

Without hesitation, Ben said, "I hate that. I told Sofie I've been prayin' it would stop."

"I'm not a psychiatrist," Balthus said slowly, "just a humble servant of God. Maybe I shouldn't presume to 'diagnose' you. But I've counseled a good many people. And I think it's possible there's something the military doctors aren't seeing, just because they are military, and don't question the War themselves.

"I don't think you're brain-damaged, Ben. I think this is all psychological, and it is about the War.

"The main thing that's troubling you is the harm being done to civilians, and your feeling powerless to do anything about it. The way that's played out in your mind is that you've imagined bad things--apparently not war-related--happening to American civilians, people you know. Your parents, that carny.

"And the collapsing Ferris wheel could be a symbol of bomb damage done to cities. You've never really seen a bombed city, so your mind substituted something you could at least visualize."

Ben pondered that. He wanted to believe it. "But...what about Justin? An' you?"

"I'm getting to that. At some point your mind may have created a personification of War itself. A demonic Lord of War. You sensed that you couldn't vanquish this War-god permanently, and you didn't believe religion could defeat him either."

"But why a good man like Justin?" Ben persisted. "Why not Hitler?"

"From what you've told me, that figure didn't appear in your dreams or false memories until Hitler was dead. Defeated and dead--an abject failure.

"You'd only met Justin a day or so before the dreams about him began. This new acquaintance was fresh in your mind. But you barely knew him as a person. And he happens to be tall, strong, and powerfully built. I think your mind picked the image of Justin to represent the War-god. It had nothing to do with the character of the man."

"I reckon that could be," Ben said uncertainly. "An' if it is..." He didn't dare put his thought into words.

Balthus did. "If the whole thing is a psychological reference to the War, Ben, understanding it should be the key to putting it behind you."
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But in mid-July, on the eve of his wedding, Ben was battling severe depression. "Understanding" his problem hadn't helped. Rather than disappoint Bishop Balthus, he'd fibbed and told him it had. He'd reverted to the brain damage theory, and he was once again without a confidant whom he felt he could burden with the full extent of his misery.

Physically, he'd recovered completely. But without having asked for it, without explanation, he'd been granted a medical discharge--not just from the hospital, from the U.S. Armed Forces.

A medical discharge, for a physically healthy man...with no offer of followup psychiatric care.

Thanks, Uncle Sam.

He believed the shrinks found his mental problem so disturbing that they simply wanted to be rid of him.

Hack, on the other hand, had told him the discharge was probably a snafu, a bureaucratic mix-up. But he'd urged him not to question it.

And Ben had decided he wouldn't. However nervous I am 'bout the future, it could be the discharge is God's way of answerin' my prayers. Lettin' the War be over for me, if not for everyone.

If he'd been ordered back to the front, he and Sofie would have married in haste. As it was, they'd allowed themselves a little more planning time, and picked July 16 as their wedding date.

The ceremony itself would be simple. Bishop Balthus was set to perform it, with Justin playing the traditional role of father of the bride. Jonesy had driven up from Mexico to be Ben's best man.

Sofie had been delighted when she learned that Ben and Jonesy were still friends, and Jonesy was married to the former Libby Dreifuss. She wanted Iris to be her matron of honor, but she insisted on having both Libby and her sister Dora Mae as bridesmaids.

Even though Jonesy's work didn't pay much, Libby had retired from her "career" as a stripper and prostitute. And Dora Mae, the only one of the Dreifusses who'd possessed real dancing talent, was now a respectable teacher of dance. Ben and Sofie had decided not to test the Crowes' broadmindedness by telling them about the sisters' past.

But Jonesy's and the women's exuberance was only making Ben feel worse. He had serious doubts as to whether he should go through with the wedding. I'm gonna be like this--or worse--all my life. What if I slip back an' forth between real an' false memories so much that I forget which is which?

Hell, what if I snap completely an' kill my father-in-law?

But he kept going ahead with the preparations. He knew that if he backed out, he'd break Sofie's heart...and Adam's.

Those preparations didn't include a bachelor party. Ben had nixed it, not telling anyone his plans for his last night as a single man.

He spent all of it on his knees in Justin's church. Praying for healing, for guidance, for something.

But he was plagued throughout the night by warring sets of memories. And God was silent.
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He'd been staying with his parents. So he drove back to their place in the morning, to shower and change for the wedding.

He wasn't going to wear a necktie, let alone a tuxedo. He'd have his best shirt tucked neatly into his best pants; that would have to do.

I've had it with tuxedos, he thought as he was dressing. Vowed I'd never wear another after Samson made me give them fake healin' performances--

No! Nothin' like that ever happened!

He moaned. God help me, I gotta keep this crap straight.
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Two hours later he was back in the church--nervously standing beside his best man, at the head of the aisle, as he watched the pews fill up. He hadn't realized this many people would attend the wedding; Justin was a popular minister.

"You got the ring?" he whispered to Jonesy.

Jonesy snickered. "I had it five minutes ago, an' I still do. Calm down."

Ben tried to steady himself, focusing on his smiling parents in their front-row seats.

I'm doin' the right thing. We love each other. It's gonna be okay.

The mother of the bride was ushered to her seat opposite his parents.

Ben shifted anxiously from one foot to the other.

Jonesy began whispering to him, offering an old married man's good-humored advice about the wedding night. Trying to crack him up.

He made the mistake of looking at Bishop Balthus. The Bishop was a shrewd man. He'd noticed Ben's discomfort...and the concern in his eyes made it worse.

Jonesy murmured a ribald joke.

Ben snorted. Without thinking, he shot back, "Ouch! Maybe I shoulda let you die in the desert."

"Huh? What desert?"

And suddenly, Ben was remembering.

The tar an' feathers. The buzzards. I was deliberately waitin' for enough o' them buzzards to close in, so I could...so I could...

In all his previous memories of that strange other reality, he'd been a passive observer, a pawn of others, or a failure. His dying mother had refused his help. A dwarf carny boss had been able to force him to take part in a scam. He'd killed a man who didn't stay dead.

This was different.

I was waitin' for the buzzards to close in so I could use their life-force to heal Jonesy. I performed a miracle!

And all at once, everything fell into place. He knew who he was.

Oh my God.

I'm not brain-damaged.

I never served in the RAF, never was wounded fighting the Japanese in the Pacific.

My parents, Justin, Apollonia, Norman Balthus, Dora Mae Dreifuss...all of them were dead.

I'd healed Jonesy's knee along with his burns, and he'd finished his career in baseball as the ace of the Yankees' pitching staff. But Libby always felt like a misfit in that life; they're happier now.

Sofie and I were about to die.

And Adam was a little boy with incredible powers. Who needed his parents.

Ben didn't doubt that he was living in the real world. But reality had been altered--and with it, the memories of untold thousands of people. How many believe Norman Balthus has been Bishop of this diocese for the last ten years? How many have forgotten Jonesy's return to the majors?

Jonesy repeated, "What desert?"

"Uh...bad joke. Forget it."

He felt his eyes filling with tears. How can I cope with this? Knowing the truth doesn't make it any easier, not when I'm the only one who knows.

I may still look like the Ben Hawkins--no, Ben Scudder--of this reality. But all of a sudden, I feel decades older.

I'm a better-educated man. My natural speech patterns are different. What can I do about that? Try to fake it, play the role of Ben Scudder--live a lie, with everyone?

That should be the least of my worries. I've lost my Avataric powers! I never wanted those powers, still don't. But without them, how can I protect the world? I saved San Diego, but The Bomb is still out there!

And then, from somewhere in the Cosmos, he received an answer.

Let it go, Ben.

Humans have acquired the power to destroy their own species--or choose not to destroy it--without any prompting from Avatars. That's as it should be.

Avatars could have responded by vengefully driving mankind over the brink. The Usher of Destruction and the Omega, acting together, undoubtedly could have wiped out the human race. The Omega might have been strong enough to do it alone. But Justin found his way out of the darkness, and you broke through Sofie's barriers and healed her spirit in the nick of time.

You and she were prepared to sacrifice your lives to spare others. Your son was a never-prophesied Avataric wild card; but only the choice you and Sofie made in the desert enabled him to make his family whole and well, free of the burden they'd borne for so many years.

And no, that burden hasn't been passed to another family. Avatars are no more.

So let it go, Ben. It's your choice, but you deserve the peace of mind you'll have if you let it go. Accept the gift you've been given. Claim the woman you love and the child born of that love.

Let the old memories slip away.
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And slip away they did, once and for all, as the organist began playing "Here Comes the Bride."

Ben Scudder blinked to clear his vision, wondering why he'd been such a bundle of nerves.

Dora Mae, Libby, and Iris paced up the aisle, all of them trying to appear dignified, but unable to conceal girlish grins.

And then came Sofie--escorted by both her father and her son. They were beaming; Adam seemed ready to burst with pride.

Sofie, thirty-two and a mother, had refused to wear a gown or veil. She'd chosen a simple, short-sleeved white dress. But she looked ten years younger than her age, and Ben saw her as the most beautiful bride imaginable.

He was glad, for her sake, that he also looked young.

As Sofie took her place beside him, she gazed up at him and murmured, "Attraction, passion, trials conquered..." Then she frowned. "I don't know why I said that."

"Well, it fits," he told her.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, couldn't keep his arms from moving to encircle her waist. He knew he wasn't supposed to kiss the bride till after the wedding. But he'd endured years of missing her, of yearning for her. And now she was straining up toward him, her lips so tantalizingly close...

Bishop Balthus gave a soft chuckle. "Go ahead," he whispered.

And so they kissed, a deep, life-affirming kiss...both blissfully unaware that at that moment, a false sun was exploding over Trinity, and the world would never be the same.
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(The End)