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〃Yes； I remember。 You've said it a great many times！ And still some way or other； it seems to be easier just to go on opening cans。〃
〃But the end will e some time； and it shouldn't e suddenly the way this stopping of the water has today。〃
Chapter 3
When he awoke that next morning； Em was gone from the bed。 He lay still； relaxed； calmly happy。 Then his mind seemed to turn over suddenly and take hold…and there it was； starting to make plans； thinking。
After a minute； a slight sense of irritation came over him。 〃You think too much！〃 he said to himself。
Why did not his mind； like other people's minds； allow him to rest and be happy without any planning ahead into the future； whether of the next twenty…four hours or of the next sixty seconds？ No； something took over with a rush and a whir； and even though his body lay still； his mind turned over and started； and there it was running on； like an idling engine。 Engine？ Well； naturally； today he would think of engines！
But the quiet happiness between sleep and waking had definitely left him； and pure contentment was gone。 With a resentful push of his arm he threw back the blankets。
This morning was bright and sunny。 Though the air was cool； he went out to the little balcony； and stood there； looking off toward the west。 During all these years the trees had everywhere grown taller； but he could still see； the mountaintop and much of the Bay with its two great bridges。
The bridges！ Yes； the bridges！ To him they still were the most poignant reminders of the great past。 The children； indeed； as he had often observed； scarcely thought of bridges as anything different from hills or trees； they were just something that was there。 But to him； Ish； the bridges stood testifying daily to the power and the glory that had been civilization。 So； he thought； some tribesman…Burgund or Saxon…might once have looked at a strong…built； not yet decayed； Roman gateway or triumphal arch。 But； no； that analogy did not hold。 The tribesman was sure and content in his own ancient folkways； he was first of the new； confident master of his own world。 He； Ish； was more like the last of the old； a surviving Roman…senator or philosopher…spared by barbarian swords and left to brood over an empty and ruinous city； anxious and uncertain； knowing that never again would he meet his friends at the baths or know the deep security that came to a man when he saw a cohort of the Twelfth march down the street。 But no； he was not just like the Roman either。
〃History repeats itself；〃 he thought； 〃but always with variations。〃
Yes…he had had a chance to think a great deal about history！ Its repetitions were not those of a stolid child going over and over the multiplication table。 History was an artist； maintaining the idea but changing the details； like a poser keeping the same theme but dulling it to a minor or lifting by an octave； now crooning it with violins； now blaring it on trumpets。
As he； stood on the little balcony in his pajamas； he felt a light breeze cool on his face。 He sniffed it in more deeply； and again it brought to him the realization that even the smell of things had changed。 In the Old Times you were not conscious of any characteristic smell to a city； and yet there must have been a plex mingling of smoke and gasoline…ftimes and cooking and garbage and even of people。 But now there was only a fresh tang to the air； such as he had once associated with country fields and mountain meadows。
But the bridges！ His glance came back to them； as if to a light in the darkness。 The Golden Gate Bridge he had not visited in many years。 Such a journey would mean a very long walk； or even a long pull for a dog…team； it would mean camping out overnight。 But he still knew well what the Bay Bridge was like； and even from where he stood he could see it clearly。
He remembered what it had once been…six crowded lanes of swiftly moving cars； the trucks and buses and electric Mains rumbling on the lower level。 There was； he knew； only one car on the Bridge now…that little empty coupé parked neatly at the curb near this end of the West Bay span。 The yellowed certificate of registration had been； when he had last noticed； still fastened to the steering…column…John S。 Robertson （or； he could not surely remember； it might have been James T。） of some number on one of the numbered streets in Oakland。 Now the fires were flat； and the once…bright green paint had weatherdd to moss…gray。
On the surface； to the eye； they had changed。 The towers that hid their tops in the summer clouds； the mile…long dipping cables； the interlocked massive beams of steel…no longer they cast back the morning sun with a bright sheen of silvergray。 Over them now rested softly the neutral pall of rust； red…brown color of desolation。 Only； at the tops of the towers； and along the cables at good spots for perching； the quiet monotone was capped and spotted with the dead…white smears of the droppings of birds。
Yes； through the years the sea…birds had perched therethe gulls and pelicans and cormorants。 And on the piers the rats scurried； andfought； and bred and nested； and lived as only rats can…squeaking and fighting； and breeding and nesting； and at low tide feeding on mussels and crabs。
The broad roadway； unused； showed few signs of change…only roughness and a few cracks here and there。 Where blown dust had settled into cracks and corners； a little grass was growing； and a few hardy weeds； not many。
Within its deeper structure also； the bridge was still intact and unchanged。 The superficial rust had done no more than wipe out a small fraction of the safety…factor。 At the eastern approach； where salt water during time of storms splashed against the long…unpainted steel supports； corrosion had been eaten somewhat deeper。 An engineer； if there had been one； would have shaken his head； and ordered the replacement of some members before allowing traffic to resume。
But that was all。 In the enduring structure of the bridge； long…dead civilization still defied the attacks of all the powers of air and sea。
Ish roused himself from his trance…like contemplation； and went in to shave。 The clean touch of the steel was at once soothing and stimulating。 Cheerfully now； happy with the expectation of purposive action； he found himself thinking of the things to be done that day。 He would have to see that they started in again with work on the outhouses and the well。 He would make more plans about the …expedition into the far interior。 （President Jefferson giving instructions to Lewis and Clark！） He would have to see what could be done about making a car work once more。 Perhaps； he thought happily； this would be the day on which they would take the road again； not only in a car literally； but also figuratively…the road toward the rebirth of civilization。
He finished shaving； but the moment seemed golden。 So he lathered again； and started over his face once more。。。。 This munity now； these thirty…some people who held the seed of the future…they were fair enough individuals； not brilliant by a long way； but sound。 The original adults had been better in spite of their shortings than you would have expected to get if you had merely reached down into the great bin of humanity in the old United States and taken the first that came by chance。 He ran over them again rapidly in his mind； and ended upon himself。 How did he stack up among the others？
Yes； he could remember years ago； in this same house； he had even sat down and listed his qualifications for the new life。 Such things； for instance； as having had his appendix out。 Well； having no appendix was still an advantage； although actually； no one had been bothered with that kind of trouble。 But he had listed other things which now； he realized； had ceased to be advantageous。 He had listed； for instance； his quality of being able to get along without other people。 That was no longer a virtue。 Perhaps； it was even a vice。 But he himself had changed also in those years。 If he listed his qualities now； they would not be exactly the same ones。 He had read widely； and learned much。 Even of more importance； he had lived with Em； and had bee the father of a family。 He had matured； as a man should。 He had a stronger will； he realized； than George or Ezra。 If the test came； they would yield to him。 He； alone； could think into the future。
He disassembled the razor； and threw the blade into the medicine closet； where there were already a lot of blades lying around。 He never bothered to use a blade more than once； because there were so many thousands of them available that there seemed no need of economy。 And yet this problem of what to do with the old razor…blades was still curiously present。 He remembered jokes about that； from long ago。 Funny how a little thing remained the same after so many big things had changed irrevocably！
After breakfast Ish went over to talk with Ezra。 They sat on the steps of the porch。 Before long； more people came along； and a little group formed； as always happened when anybody seemed to be having an interesting conversation。 there was talk back and forth； and a good deal of easygoing fun…making； with a little horse…play among the younger people。 Everybody seemed to agree； in general； that they ought to get to work again； but nobody was in a special huffy to begin。 Ile delay chafed Ish； especially when George in his slow way began again to bring up the old question of the gas…refrigerator。
At last； however； Ezra and the three younger men with an acpanying rag…tag of little boys and girls moved off to begin work。 As soon as they had really started； a kind of enthusiasm fell upon them。 Everyone； even Ezra； suddenly began to run； trying to see who would be the first one there to start digging。 Ish could see Evie running with the rest…although she could not know what was happening…her blond hair streaming wildly behind her。 Who got there first； he could not tell； but in a moment dirt started to fly in all directions。 He did not know whether to be amused or perturbed。 Everyone seemed to be turning serious work into a kind of play； as if unable to distinguish between work and play。 That might sound fine； but you could not acplish much； he thought； without settling down to labor。 As it was； the playful enthusiasm would wear out in half an hour； and the dirt would move more slowly； then； children first； older ones soon afterward； everyone would probably drift off to something else。
When once they stalked the deer； or crouched shivering in the mud for the flight of ducks to alight； or risked their lives on the crags after goats； or closed in with shouts upon a wild boar at bay…that was not work； though often the breath came hard and the limbs were heavy。 When the women bore and nursed children； or wandered in the woods for berries and mushrooms； or tended the fire at the entrance to the rock…shelter…that was not work either。
So also； when they sang and danced and made love； that was not play。 By the singing and dancing the spirits offorest and water might be placated…a serious matter； though still one might enjoy the song and the dance。 And as for the making of love； by that…and by the favor of the gods…the tribe was maintained。
So in the first years work and play mingled always； and there were not even the wordsfor one against the other。
But centuries flowed by and then more of them； and many things changed。 Man invented civilization； and was inordinately proud of it。 But in no way did civilization change life more than by sharpening the line between work and play； and at last that division came to be more important than the old one between sleeping and waking。 Skep came to be thought a kind of relaxation； and 〃sleeping on the job〃 a heinous sin。 The turning out of the light and the ringing of the alarm…clock were not so much the symbols of man's dual life as were the punching of the time…clock and the blowing of the whistle。 Men marched on picket…lines and threw bricks and exploded dynamite to shift an hourfrom one classification to the other； and other men fought equally hard to prevent them。 And always work became more laborious and odious； and play grew more artificial and febr