She smiled at him. “They could walk the dog twice around the block.”

“We could name the dog Bim-bam,” he said.

“Oh, Spurgeon.” She began to cry again.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said. He buried his face in the black wool. “We’ll be married in July,” he said into her wet hair. In a little while he took her hand and they waved goodbye to the Governor and walked back and found Gaby and Adam. They hadn’t discussed it, but by unspoken mutual consent neither of them said anything to the other two people about the remarkable change which had taken place in the world.

Next morning he picked her up and drove with her to the Roxbury ghetto. He parked the Volks and they walked slowly along the streets, feeling no need to talk. The rain had stopped during the night, but the sun was cruel.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked finally.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I come here once in a while.”

“I hate it here. Please take me away.”

“Okay,” he said. They turned and started back toward the car.

Some boys were playing baseball in the street, burying winter. “Hoo, Charlie,” the one at bat jeered to the pitcher. “You ain’t fucken Jim Lonborg. Your ass too sunburn.”

“Up you,” the pitcher shouted, throwing wildly.

“You ain’t fucken Looey Tiant, neither. You ain’t even fucken Jim Wyatt.”

When they reached the car, he drove out of Roxbury without detours.

“I couldn’t stand bringing up a child in that place,” she said.

He hummed bright snatches of music. “It’s not only poor people who live there. Lots of professional people live there, too. They manage to bring up their kids.”

“I would rather not have the children.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” he said irritably. “You won’t have to raise your children in a place like that.”

“You once promised me an island and frangipani in my hair.”

“I’ll deliver,” he said.

“Why couldn’t we really go?”

“Where? To a desert island?”

“Hawaii.”

He looked at her, sure she wasn’t serious.

“There’s no race thing there. That’s the kind of place I want to raise my children.”

“Your grandchildren would have slanty eyes.”

“Oh, I would love them. They’d have your nose.”

“They’d better.”

“I mean it, Spurgeon,” she said in a little while.

He could see that she did. He was beginning to get used to the idea, to examine it for flaws. “I still have a three-year residency to do,” he said.

“Couldn’t we go after you finished your residency? I’d keep working after we’re married and we’d save our money like tightwads, maybe take a trip there in a year or two to look around and make plans.” She was very excited now, certain they were blueprinting their future.