I Margrethe could not finish her hot cakes- they were lavish - so we swapped plates and I salvaged what she had left.

A sign on the wall read: CASH WHEN SERVED - NO TIPPING - ARE YOU READY FOR JUDGMENT DAY? The cook-waiter (and owner, I think) had a copy of The Watch Tower propped up by his range. I asked, 'Brother, do you have any late news on when to expect Judgment Day?'

'Don't joke about it. Eternity is a long time to spend in the Pit.'

I answered, 'I was not joking. By the signs and portents I think we are in the seven-year period prophesied in the eleventh chapter of Revelation, verses two and three. But I don't know how far we are into it.'

'We're already well into the second half,' he answered.

'The two witnesses are now prophesying and the antichrist is abroad in the land. Are you in a state of grace? If not, you had better get cracking.'

I answered, '"Therefore be ye also ready: for such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh."'

'You'd better believe it!'

'I do believe it. Thanks for a good breakfast.'

'Don't mention it. May the Lord watch over you.'

'Thank you. May He bless and keep you.' Marga and I left.

We headed ' cast again. 'How is my sweetheart?'

'Full of food and happy.'

'So am I. Something you did last night made me especially happy.'

'Me, too. But you always do, darling man. Every time.'

'Uh, yes, there's that. Me, too. Always. But I meant something you said, earlier. When Steve asked, if you agreed with me about Judgment Day and you told him you did agree. Marga, I can't tell you how much it has worried me that you have not chosen to be received back into the arms of Jesus. With Judgment Day rushing toward us and no way to know the hour - well, I've worried. I do worry. But apparently you are finding your way back to the light but had not yet discussed it with me.'

We walked perhaps twenty paces while Margrethe did not say anything.

At last she said quietly, 'Beloved, I would put your mind at rest. If I could. I cannot.'

'So? I do not understand. Will you explain?'

'I did not tell Steve that I agreed with you. I said to him that I did not disagree.'

'But that's the same thing!'

'No, darling. What I did not say to Steve but could have said, in, full honesty is that I will never publicly disagree with my husband about anything. Any disagreement with you I will discuss with you in private. Not in Steve's presence. Not anyone's.'

I chewed that over, let several possible comments go unsaid - at last said, 'Thank you, Margrethe.'

'Beloved, I do it for my own dignity as well as for yours. All my life I have hated the sight of husband and wife disagreeing - disputing - quarreling in public. If you say that the sun is covered with bright green puppy dogs, I will not disagree in public.'

Ah, but it is!'

'Sir?' She stopped, and looked startled.

'My good Marga. Whatever the problem, you always find a gentle answer. If I ever do see bright green puppy dogs on the face of the sun, I will try to remember to discuss it with you in private, not face you with hard decisions in public. I love you. I read too much into what you said to Steve because I really do worry.'

She took my hand and we walked a bit farther without talking.

'Alec?'

'Yes, my love?'

'I do not willingly worry you. If I am wrong and you are going to the Christian Heaven, I do want to go I with you. If this means a return to faith in Jesus - and it seems that it does - then that is what I want. I will try. I cannot promise it, as faith is not a matter of simple volition. But I will try.'

I stopped to kiss her, to the amusement of a carload of men passing by. 'Darling, more I cannot ask. Shall we pray together?'

'Alec, I would rather not. Let me pray alone - and I will! When it comes time to pray together, I will tell you. I

Not long after that we were picked up by a ranch couple who took us into Winslow. They dropped us there without asking any questions and without us offering any information, which must set some sort of record.

Winslow is much larger than Winona; it is a respectable town as desert communities go - seven thousand at a guess. We found there an opportunity to carry out something Steve had indirectly suggested and that we had discussed the night before.

Steve was correct; we were not dressed for the desert. True, we had had no choice, as we had been caught by a world change. But I did not see another man wearing a business suit in the desert. Nor did we see Anglo women dressed in women's suits. Indian women and Mexican women wore skirts, but Anglo women wore either shorts or trousers - slacks, jeans, cutoffs, riding pants, something. Rarely a skirt, never a suit.

Furthermore our suits were not right even as city wear. They looked as out of place as styles of the Mauve Decade would look. Don't ask me how as I am no expert on styles, especially for women. The suit that I wore had been both smart and expensive when worn by my patrón, Don Jaime, in Mazatlán in an I other world... but on me, in the Arizona desert in this world, it was something out of skid row.

In Winslow we found just the shop we needed: SECOND WIND - A Million Bargains - All Sales Cash, No Guarantees, No Returns - All Used Clothing Sterilized Before Being Offered For Sale. Above this were the same statements in Spanish.

An hour later, after much picking over of their stock and-some heavy dickering by Margrethe, we were dressed for the desert. I was wearing khaki pants, a shirt to match, and a straw hat of vaguely western style. Margrethe was wearing considerably less: shorts that were both short and tight - indecently so - and, an -upper garment that was less than a bodice but slightly more than a brassière. It was termed a 'halter'.

When I saw Marga in this outfit, I whispered to her, 'I positively will not permit you to appear in public in that shameless costume.'

She answered, 'Dear, don't be a fub so early in the day. It's too hot.'

'I'm not joking. I forbid you to buy that.'

'Alec, I don't recall asking your permission.'

'Are you defying me?'

She sighed. 'Perhaps I am. I don't want to. Did you get your razor?'

'You saw me!'

'I have your underpants and socks. Is there anything more you need now?'

'No. Margrethe! Quit evading me!'

'Darling, I told you that I will not quarrel with you in public. This outfit has a wrap-around skirt; I was about to put it on. Let me do so and settle the bill. Then we can go outside and talk in private.'

Fuming, I went along with what she proposed. I might as well admit that, under her careful management, we came out of that bazaar with more money than we had had when we came in. How? That suit from my patrón, Don Jaime, that looked so ridiculous on me, looked just right on the owner of the shop - in fact he resembled Don Jaime. He had been willing to swap, even, for what I needed - khaki shirt and pants and straw hat.

But Margrethe insisted on something to boot. She demanded five dollars, got two.

I learned, as she settled our bill, that she had wrought similar magic in getting rid of that tailored suit she no longer needed. We entered the shop with $7.55; we left it with $8.80... and desert outfits for each of us, a comb (for two), a toothbrush (also for two), a knapsack, a safety razor, plus a minimum of underwear and socks - all second hand but alleged to be sterilized.

I am not good at tactics, not with women. We were outside and down the highway to an open place where we could talk privately before Margrethe would talk to me and I did not realize that I had already lost.

Without stopping, she said, 'Well, dear? You had something to discuss.'

'Uh, with that skirt in place your clothing is acceptable. Barely. But you are not to appear in-public in those shorts. Is that understood?'