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Show Flying -215 "The moral curve of the universe depends on it," says John Henry quietly. "What?" says O'Connell. Sergeant Karafa leans back and glares at them and they shut up. The. Black Bear is tough this morning. Biggs keeps on reading from the clipboard, laying out the day's schedule, reading off the future with calm and confidence, a short-range prophet with a small vision, Moses with only a stream to cross. He reads on briskly, glancing at the clipboard from time to time, looking at the rigid ranks in front of him. Ghost-like in the fog, they stare back without expression. Planted in even rows on this alien soil, they stand and sway a bit in the sea-breeze. Rooted by custom and order they stand ripe for the harvest on this cold California morning, a lush crop tended with care. I could run, -thinks John Henry. Break out of ranks and run and run until I disappeared over the horizon forever. I could find a plot of ground hidden in a fold of the hills and plant my nine rows of beans. There could I live, full of love for nan and beast, and hoe ny garden by the light of the sun. A chair, a table, a few books, a rough cabin lost in this vast West, an acre or so to grow enough for ny simple needs-I could be happy for the rest of my life. And I could be free. John Henry dreaming of freedom in the ranks of the |