“As for Goblin, he came after me, vivid and yet transparent, pleading with me not to go, saying, ‘Bad, Quinn, bad,’ over and over, and once again I told him in polite terms to leave me alone. He vanished then, but I suspect he was with me as I went on.

“In fact, I figured that he had to be; because where else could Goblin go? I was thinking a lot of late as to where Goblin was and where Goblin wasn’t, and I was more than impatient with him, as I’ve said.

“Back to the swamp:

“There was a mist crawling over the water, and at first the swamp looked inviting and beautiful, harmonious and embracing—the stuff of poetry and photograph captions—but within a very short time it was the evil bog of mosquitoes and chain-girded cypress trees with arrows carved into their bark. The rustling of creatures in the dark waters and the sight of more than one alligator gave me the creeps.

“The dizziness returned, which alarmed me considerably, and the voices came once more, too low for me to really understand what they said. What was I overhearing? Did these ghosts quarrel with each other forever? Is that what Rebecca had meant when she said things don’t move in a straight line?

“You can’t do it, you have to let me go. . . .

“Why wasn’t this ghostly discourse loud enough for me to be sure of every word?

“ ‘I’m coming, Rebecca,’ I said aloud. ‘You be straight with me, now, Rebecca. I know your tricks, and yet I’m coming. You be straight.’

“On and on I went through this dense green hell of tormented gray trees and anguished vines, of rattling leaf and fetid water, feeling ever fainter and probing deeply with the pole and propelling myself forward as fast as I could.

“I’m begging you, God help me. . . .

“I knew it was Rebecca crying, Rebecca pleading, but with whom? Then came the inevitable sinister laughter and a man’s voice speaking rapidly and angrily. Was it Manfred?

“A gator shot past me, his big slimy back visible for only a moment, and the pirogue rocked dangerously and then righted itself clumsily and on I went. I trembled, thinking about the gator, and I hated myself for it. I went on.

“Each time the dizziness came over me really heavily I slowed my pace, for fear of falling, and the high green thick of the swamp swallowed me treacherously, as I tried to make out what was being said: . . . Loved you, always loved you, you promised, in Naples, forever, in the ruins . . . And there came the deep voice, and the laughter rippling through it all.

“Were there three of them? Were there more?