They crossed the street and entered a small restaurant. Men and women milled around, getting their lunch. Ed found a table in the back, secluded in a corner. "Here." He sat down abruptly. "This will do." She slid into the other chair.
Ed ordered a cup of coffee. Ruth had salad and creamed tuna on toast, coffee and peach pie. Silently, Ed watched her as she ate, his face dark and moody.
"Please tell me," Ruth begged him.
"You really want to know?"
"Of course I want to know!" Ruth put her small hand anxiously on his. "I'm your wife."
"Something happened today. This morning. I was late to work. A damn insurance man came by and held me up. I was half an hour late."
Ruth caught her breath. "Douglas fired you."
"No." Ed ripped a paper napkin slowly into bits. He stuffed the bits in the half-empty water glass. "I was worried as hell. I got off the bus and hurried down the street. I noticed it when I stepped up on the curb in front of the office."
"Noticed what?"
Ed told her. The whole works. Everything.
When he had finished, Ruth sat back, her face white, hands trembling. "I see," she murmured. "No wonder you're upset." She drank a little cold coffee, the cup rattling against the saucer. "What a terrible thing."
Ed leaned intently toward his wife. "Ruth. Do you think I'm going crazy?"
Ruth's red lips twisted. "I don't know what to say. It's so strange. ."
"Yeah. Strange is hardly the word for it. I poked my hands right through them. Like they were clay. Old dry clay. Dust. Dust figures." Ed lit a cigarette from Ruth's pack. "When I got out I looked back and there it was. The office building. Like always."
"You were afraid Mr Douglas would bawl you out, weren't you?"
"Sure. I was afraid — and guilty." Ed's eyes flickered. "I know what you're thinking. I was late and I couldn't face him. So I had some sort of protective psychotic fit. Retreat from reality." He stubbed the cigarette out savagely. "Ruth, I've been wandering around town since. Two and a half hours. Sure, I'm afraid. I'm afraid like hell to go back."
"Of Douglas?"
"No! The men in white." Ed shuddered. "God. Chasing me. With their damn hoses and — and equipment."
Ruth was silent. Finally she looked up at her husband, her dark eyes bright. "You have to go back, Ed."
"Back? Why?"
"To prove something."
"Prove what?"
"Prove it's all right." Ruth's hand pressed against his. "You have to, Ed. You have to go back and face it. To show yourself there's nothing to be afraid of."
"The hell with it! After what I saw? Listen, Ruth. I saw the fabric of reality split open. I saw — behind. Underneath. I saw what was really there. And I don't want to go back. I don't want to see dust people again. Ever."
Ruth's eyes were fixed intently on him. "I'll go back with you," she said.
"For God's sake."
"For your sake. For your sanity. So you'll know." Ruth got abruptly to her feet, pulling her coat around her. "Come on, Ed. I'll go with you. We'll go up there together. To the office of Douglas and Blake, Real Estate. I'll even go in with you to see Mr Douglas."
Ed got up slowly, staring hard at his wife. "You think I blacked out. Cold feet. Couldn't face the boss." His voice was low and strained. "Don't you?"
Ruth was already threading her way toward the cashier. "Come on. You'll see. It'll all be there. Just like it was."
"Okay," Ed said. He followed her slowly. "We'll go back there — and see which of us is right."
They crossed the street together, Ruth holding on tight to Ed's arm. Ahead of them was the building, the towering structure of concrete and metal and glass.
"There it is," Ruth said. "See?"
There it was, all right. The big building rose up, firm and solid, glittering in the early afternoon sun, its windows sparkling brightly.
Ed and Ruth stepped up onto the curb. Ed tensed himself, his body rigid. He winced as his foot touched the pavement —
But nothing happened: the street noises continued; cars, people hurrying past; a kid selling papers. There were sounds, smells, the noise of a city in the middle of the day. And overhead was the sun and the bright blue sky.
"See?" Ruth said. "I was right."
They walked up the front steps, into the lobby. Behind the cigar stand the seller stood, arms folded, listening to the ball game. "Hi, Mr Fletcher," he called to Ed. His face lit up good-naturedly. "Who's the dame? Your wife know about this?"
Ed laughed unsteadily. They passed on toward the elevator. Four or five businessmen stood waiting. They were middle-aged men, well dressed, waiting impatiently in a bunch. "Hey, Fletcher," one said. "Where you been all day? Douglas is yelling his head off."
"Hello, Earl," Ed muttered. He gripped Ruth's arm. "Been a little sick."
The elevator came. They got in. The elevator rose. "Hi, Ed," the elevator operator said. "Who's the good-looking gal? Why don't you introduce her around?"
Ed grinned mechanically. "My wife."
The elevator let them off at the third floor. Ed and Ruth got out, heading toward the glass door of Douglas and Blake, Real Estate.
Ed halted, breathing shallowly. "Wait." He licked his lips. "I — "
Ruth waited calmly as Ed wiped his forehead and neck with his handkerchief. "All right now?"
"Yeah." Ed moved forward. He pulled open the glass door.
Miss Evans glanced up, ceasing her typing. "Ed Fletcher! Where on earth have you been?"
"I've been sick. Hello, Tom."
Tom glanced up from his work. "Hi, Ed. Say, Douglas is yelling for your scalp. Where have you been?"
"I know." Ed turned wearily to Ruth. "I guess I better go in and face the music."