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conversation, but then Natalia drew another balloon and passed it to him for his turn. At first, Tucker felt self-conscious playing the Balloon Game again. There was something weird about sitting in the same room alone with a girl, passing a notebook back and forth and writing down things without speaking. But after a while there was not anything he would rather do.
    The hi-fi was playing softly in the background. Nader was curled up asleep inside one of the guests’ coats. A light snow was beginning to fall outside—Tucker could see it in the lamplight through the window.
    And once, in answer to Tucker’s question: “I think Tucker Woolf is—,” Natalia had written inside the balloon, “fishing for a compliment.”
    Which made them both laugh, and was the only way, really, to handle it: not to let it get heavy.
    When they became aware of the shouting in the living room, they thought it was another rebirth.
    “It’s not, though,” Natalia said after she listened for a second. “It’s Marcus, and he was already reborn earlier.”
    “Then it’s probably the discussion period,” Tucker said.
    “It doesn’t sound much like a discussion.”
    Natalia was right. It was a fight between Marcus and P. John.
    Mrs. Hocker had offered Dinky a piece of chocolate-fudge cake which Marcus’ mother had made, and P. John had ordered Dinky to refuse it.
    Marcus had taken it as a personal insult.
    Marcus had started screaming at P. John, “If she doesn’t taste my mother’s cake, I’ll split, man, and take your left ear with me!”
    By this time Tucker and Natalia had run down the hall and were watching the scene near the entrance to the living room.
    “You try taking my left anything!” P. John answered, standing up to face Marcus, and P. John had a point, because Marcus didn’t even come up to P. John’s shoulder.
    “Just taste the cake, honey, just a taste,” Mrs. Hocker said.
    “Let’s all cool off, now,” Mr. Hocker said.
    “Susan doesn’t eat chocolate anymore,” P. John said.
    “That’s my mother’s chocolate!” Marcus said, crouching like a jungle cat about to spring.
    “Dinky,” Mrs. Hocker said, “it’s only polite.”
    “I don’t eat chocolate anymore,” Dinky said.
    “She’ll have a taste later,” Mr. Hocker said.
    “She will not!” P. John said, and then Marcus sprang, catching hold of P. John’s neck, and trying to pummel P. John’s stomach with his fists.
    P. John caught Marcus’ arms and twisted them around behind his back, while Marcus winced with pain.
    Then Marcus began to cry, and P. John let him go.
    “Get out of our house,” Mrs. Hocker said to P. John. “Get out right now.”
    “This can all be settled peacefully,” Mr. Hocker began.
    But Mrs. Hocker was way out of control. “Get out! Don’t you ever come back! Out! Now!”
    Dinky began to cry, too.
    Mrs. Hocker had her arms around Marcus. Mr. Hocker was standing in front of Dinky, offering her his handkerchief and saying, “Here, here, now.”
    Everyone else was just milling around helplessly, except P. John, who had gone back to the bedroom for his coat. He stormed past Tucker and Natalia without seeing them.
    The front door slammed.

SEVEN
    T HREE DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS , P. John Knight got up in Creative Writing and read his new short story, “Answered Prayers.”
    It was science fiction.
    It was about a future world entirely under the control of one man and one woman: Mama and Papa. Everyone took dope which Mama and Papa gave them. Everyone had the same last name: Love. The people with high I.Q.’s became slaves, and took care of the machines which did all the work. Everyone else sat around in stupors, listening to television sets saying, “Mama loves you. Papa loves you,” and watching the word “Love” spelled out in endless animated designs.
    There were no wars and no one went hungry. Everyone lived like everyone else, regardless of race or color, except for “the brains,” who lived in automated