'What's the problem?'
'Do you know how to pray?' Valentin asked him as heretreated down 83rd Street. The volume of the music wasrising with every interval.
'I haven't prayed in twenty years,' Harry replied.
'Then learn,' came the response, and Valentin turnedto run.
As he did so a ripple of darkness moved down thestreet from the north, dimming the lustre of bar-signsand street-lamps as it came. Neon announcementssuddenly guttered and died; there were protests outof upstairs windows as the lights failed and, as ifencouraged by the curses, the music took on a freshand yet more hectic rhythm. Above his head Harryheard a wailing sound, and looked up to see a raggedsilhouette against the clouds which trailed tendrils likea man o' war as it descended upon the street, leaving thestench of rotting fish in its wake. Its target was clearlyValentin. He shouted above the wail and the music andthe panic from the black-out, but no sooner had he yelledthan he heard Valentin shout out from the darkness; apleading cry that was rudely cut short.
He stood in the murk, his feet unwilling to carry hima step nearer the place from which the plea had come.The smell still stung his nostrils; nosing it, his nauseareturned. And then, so did the lights; a wave of powerigniting the lamps and the bar-signs as it washed backdown the street. It reached Harry, and moved on to thespot where he had last seen Valentin. It was deserted;indeed the sidewalk was empty all the way down to thenext intersection.
The drivelling jazz had stopped.