He burst into the open air. He stepped sideways to a strip of lawn.

Oh, well, I thought. Not too bad. They always arrest everybody in sight when there’s a bomb explosion. That’s why you have to get away from them quick. And Heller was staying right there, the idiot.

He unwrapped the old man. He beat out some bits of smoldering cloth.

The old man opened his eyes, “What… what in hell was that?”

“You all raht?” said Heller.

The old man felt around. “Ah be purty bruised up but she don’ look like nothin’ broke. It’s that (bleeped)

stove. I tol’ ’em t’ shut it off las’ spring! She blew up befo’. Th’ pilot light goes aht and she fills with gas…”

The old man’s eyes were staring at the building. Heller looked. The windows were all blown out and part of the roof and the flames were starting to roar up with lashing tongues into the sky.

It was just now sinking in what had happened to him. He was staring at Heller, his eyes going round. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he said with awe. “You risk yoah neck somethin’ awful draggin’ me aht o’ there!” He shook his head as though to clear his eyes. He looked at Heller much more intensely. “You saved mah life, youngster!”

Heller was making sure the old man was all right. He was trying to get him to flex his fingers.

Over on the other side of town, what was probably a volunteer fire department was getting busy. A summons bell was clanging, shattering the night.

“Shouldn’ Ah call somebody or somethin’?” said Heller. “An ambeoolance?”

“Kid, look. Ah jus’ thought. Jesus Christ, you bettuh git aht o’ heah! There’ll be fiahmen and repohtahs ahl ovah this place in about one minute. Ah’ll be ahl raht, youngster. Ah’ll nevah fohget you. But with a name lahk yoahs, you bettuh run lahk hell, quick!”

“Glad Ah could help aht,” said Heller. And he moved off.

“If’n Ah can evuh be moah help t’ you,” the old man called after him, “you jus’ yell fo’ Stonewall Biggs!”

Heller walked down the hill, carrying his bags. The ground was bathed with the fiercely burning courthouse fire.

He was on the street sidewalk when the fire engine passed. He looked back, then stood waiting. The whole top of the hill was being crowned in flames. There went a Virginia landmark. Probably, I thought, George Washington had slept there.

Shortly, an ambulance went by.

Heller hefted his bags and limped onward toward the bus station.

He stopped suddenly. He got out a notebook. He wrote: They can’t make stoves.

A black man was standing at the door of the bus station, broom in hand, an old hat on the back of his head. He was looking up the street to the fire on the hill. I hoped he would wake up and notice there was a stranger in town and connect him with the fire.

“When is the next bus?” said Heller.

“Hoo-ee,” said the black. “Now, ain’t that some fiah! Y’all evuh see a fiah that big?”

I imagine Heller, as a Fleet combat engineer, had seen whole cities on fire. He had probably set some himself that would make that courthouse fire look like a stray spark.

“Tha’s purty big,” said Heller. He went in and put down his bags.

It was a very dingy bus station: ripped-up plastic seats, discarded newspapers on the floor. There was a ticket wicket at the far end.

The black came in, shaking his head. He put down the broom, went into the wicket and took off his hat. With a flourish, he opened the front of the wicket.

“Wheah you goin’?” he called. “Richmun’, Washin’ton, New Yahk, Mahami? O’ maybe Atlanta?”

“Atlanta?” said Heller, walking over to the counter. I thought, here we go again! More Manco! More Prince Caucalsia!

“Oh, tha’s a fahn town,” the black said. “Plenty white ladies, yallah ladies, black ladies. Any coluh you got a wishin’ fo’. A real fahn town. Or maybe you’d lahk Buhmin’ham. Now that is the fahnes’ town you evuh hope to see, man.”

“Ah’m goin’ to New Yahk,” said Heller.

“Oh, ah’m real sorry ’bout that. This bus line only go to Lynchburg.” The black man had come down out of his daydream about wondrous places to visit. “This ol’ dumb town o’ Fair Oakes ain’t real well connected. But y’all c’n change at Lynchburg. Ah c’n sell you a ticket to theah, tho’.”

“That’ll be real fahn,” said Heller.

The black got busy and very efficiently issued the ticket. “Tha’s two dollahs an’ fohty cents. Next bus comin’ thoo heah ’bout midnight. Tha’s ’bout an hour an’ a half y’all gotta wait. Heah is yoah ticket, heah is yoah change. We ain’ got no entertainment, ’less you wanna go watch the co’thouse fiah. No? Well, you jus’ make yo’self t’ home. Now Ah’s the janitor ag’in.”

He put his hat back on, closed the wicket and picked up his broom. But he went outside to watch the fire on the hill.

Heller sat down with a suitcase on either side of him. He started reading the various travel signs that told about the joys of Paris, the glories of ancient Greece and one that advised that there was going to be a fried chicken supper at the local high school last September.

I thought I might hear the crackle of flames in the distance so I turned up the gain. I didn’t hear flames,

only some distant commotion. Wouldn’t anybody notice there was a stranger in town? Where were the police? Fine lot of police they were! When there’s a bombing or big fire, the first thing you do is look for strangers. I was quite put out. There sat Heller, comfortable as could be. The black started to do some sweeping. He began to sing:

He wanted to sweep under Heller’s right foot, so Heller, accommodatingly, lifted his right foot.

He had finished the right foot area. He wanted to sweep under Heller’s left foot. Heller accommodatingly raised it.

Amongst the swish of the broom, which didn’t seem to really be doing much but raise dust, I thought I heard the distant chortle of a police car. It seemed to be approaching the bus station.

It was a police car! It came to a stop with a squeal of tires and a dying chortle. Right outside the bus station!

Aha, I thought with gratification, the local police aren’t so inefficient after all. They’re checking the bus station for strangers! Well, untrained, amateur Heller, you are about to get it! And he wasn’t even looking at the door!

The sharp yelp of someone being hurt. Heller’s head whipped around.

Two enormous policemen were barging into the room. They were dressed in black vinyl short jackets. They were girded around with handcuffs and guns. They had billy clubs ready in their hands.