“Quincy,” I said. “How are things in Quincy?”

“What’s Quincy?”

“The town of Quincy.”

Clinton looked at Mitchell and Mitchell looked at his phone. “Looking it up,” Mitchell said.

“It’s right next to Boston. Not right next to it. It’s next to Braintree.”

“I know Braintree,” Clinton said.

“There is no Quincy,” Mitchell said.

“What are you saying?” I asked Mitchell.

“I’m saying there is no Quincy, Massachusetts. What are you saying?”

“There was a Quincy. Ninety thousand people. Sill erased it.”

Clinton and Mitchell looked at each other, then Clinton stared at my eyes. “Are you all right?”

“There was a Quincy,” Eigen said.

“There was a Quincy,” Clinton said. “A whole town existed that we didn’t know about?” Mitchell waved his phone in our faces.

“It was right there,” I said, pointing at the little screen. “The bay used to be much wider.”

The men laughed. They sounded alarmingly similar to Sill, the vice president, and their group. Yuk yuk yuk.

“I’m telling you there used to be a Quincy, Massachusetts,” I said.

“Sill disappears a whole town and its population?” Clinton shook his head.

“Drugs,” Mitchell said.

“You said you wanted to know what Sill was up to. Well, I’m telling you. They did nothing to Quincy.”

“Which would be really easy since there is no Quincy to do anything to. Did Sill put you up to this?”

“Where’s your dog?” Mitchell asked. “He disappear, too?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“Do you smell lilacs?” Mitchell asked.

Clinton sniffed. “I do.”

Begriff und Gegenstand

1

Gottlob Frege was drinking tea. Though we were sitting at the same small table in a little café, he was turned away. I knew he was a shy man, so I said nothing.

“You know, if it weren’t for Bertrand Russell, my ideas would have been lost,” Frege said.

“And Peano,” I said.

“Yes, him, also.” He looked at me. You’re not drinking your tea. Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t tasted it.” I sniffed the tea. “Lilac.”

I awoke to find Gloria sitting directly in front of me. From the seats I knew we were on Sill’s jet. I looked over to see Eigen asleep beside me. Gloria might have smiled at me, but she certainly stared at me. Somehow her gaze did not go right through me but stopped just inches in front of me. Her afro was back. I looked out the window at the darkness.

“Why aren’t you flying the plane?” I asked.

“Autopilot.”

“You mean there’s no one at the controls?”

“I didn’t say that. I said autopilot.”

“So you did.”

Since I had just awakened, I expected Eigen to as well, but she remained asleep, moving a little to get comfortable.

“She is okay,” Gloria said.

“So, what’s your story? Where did you learn to fly? Were you in the military? Did you start with a broom?”

“No. I was pro—” She stopped as Eigen moved again. “I learned when I was young. My father was a pilot.”