She began to walk in the direction from which the policeman had come. Far ahead, black figures moved clumsily, fragmented through the prism of heat into shards of black cloth.

“Something terrible has happened,” she said in a stifled voice.

Greenhouse caught hold of her arm. His hand was damp.

“Let’s go back,” he said. “Let’s go back,” he repeated more urgently.

But she went on until she was within sight of a body lying on the sand, a pale mound beneath the black birds moving above. She stopped, paralyzed with dread.

“I don’t want to see that,” Ben said in her ear. “I will not be made to see that.”

One of the figures detached itself from the group and came toward them.

“There’s nothing to look at, folks,” said the trooper. She saw the tight puttees wound around the man’s legs. She moved forward. The trooper held up his hand. “Stay back, please,” he said.

“I knew him,” she said in a whisper. The trooper shook his head angrily.

Greenhouse dragged her away and they stumbled together in a brief struggle down toward the water and into the surf.

She wrenched herself from Ben’s grip and turned to see Sigrid running down the cliff in her carhop’s uniform, her hands waving as she strove to keep her balance on the steep incline. The brass buttons of the girl’s shirt caught the sunlight, and sent off splinters of white light. She hit the beach, fell, got up to her knees, shouted some word, rose and ran on. Just behind her came Bob puffing and waving his arms.

Annie ran. “Sigrid,” she called out as the girl flew past her, then stumbled in the sand, sobbing with open mouth, blinking under the brilliant sunlight. The policeman was walking now, looking out at the ocean as though he was merely on a stroll. The three people beneath the umbrella were sipping from small paper cups, watching the scene with mild interest.

“They think they’re looking at a movie,” Ben said. She’d forgotten he was there. He pulled her down so that they both sat at the edge of the surf, the water circling around their feet then ebbing away.

“Tell me what’s it about?”

“She’s the girl I live with,” Annie said, looking down the beach. Sigrid had become a black figure like the others, as though she’d entered a different dimension. She was being held up by two men.

“Your legs are knocking together,” Ben observed.

“I’m scared,” she groaned.

“And the—”

“Her brother. The man said he’d killed himself.” She was suddenly perplexed. Is that what he’d said? She didn’t actually remember hearing the words. “Maybe not.”

“In any case, he’s dead,” said Ben. “Did you like him?”

“No, not especially,” she said.

“It’s awful anyway, is that it?”

“Yes.”