“Which ones? The Schwachters? Heffman? Brown?”

He waved his hand absently, “Oh…just the neighbors, that’s all. How about that sugar?”

I opened one of the cabinets and took out the sugar bowl. Da Campo didn’t have a cup, so I took one down--one of the old blue set—and filled it for him.

“Thanks,” he said, “feel like that talk now?”

Somehow, I wasn’t frightened of him, as I was by that sheet of items. It was easy to feel friendly toward thebig, grey-eyed, grey-haired man in the sport shirt and slacks. Just another typical suburban neighbor.

“Sure, come on into the living room,” I answered, moving past him.

When Da Campo had found a reasonably comfortable position in one of Charlotte’s doubly-damned modemchairs, I tried to make small conversation. “I’ve never noticed a TV antenna on your house. Don’t tell me an insideone works over there. No one this far out seems to be able to make one of those gadgets bring in anything decently.”“We don’t have television.”

“Oh, “ I said.

The silence hauled itself around the room several times, and I tried again. “Uh—how come we never see youat the new Civic Center? Got some sweet bowling alleys down there and the little theatre group is pretty decent. Liketo see—”

“Look, John, I thought I might come over and try to explain about myself, about us—Ellie and me.” Heseemed so intent, so earnest, I leaned forward.

“What do you mean? You don’t have to—”

“No, no, I mean it,” he cut me off. “I know everyone in the neighborhood has been wondering about us.Why We don’t go out much, why we don’t invite you over, everything like that.” He held up his hands in fumblingmotions, as though he were looking for the words. Then he let his hands fall, as though he knew he would never findthe words.

“No, I don’t think anyone has—”