AFTERMATH/Continued Harry's dark hair was thinning down the center and he had it combed neatly across an ever - widening bald spot. One large blood vessel bulged through the taught skin on his forehead and snaked down to his cold hard eyes. He unconsciously emphasized the word why with the bulging of the vein. "Harry, I I just don't know what happened. I, well I" her voice ran out of breath but her mouth formed another word, as if waiting for someone to speak for her. But no one did and Harry burst out instead. "Oh Elinore, how could you do it? You chose the best way you could to ruin me us! Small college towns are close knit groups. I told you that. Then just when we are beginning to get some place, you do this." "But Harry, I said I didn't want to do it." Elinore leaned forward in the chair. The fragile cup, clenched tightly in one hand, strangely counterbalanced the groping of the other. "You made me. It was you. How could I speak to those ladies? What could I say, I'm not educated. No, you couldn't see it my way. Just push me out there in front of all those women. I told you I couldn't." The sharp accusation left her voice and after a moment's pause, added in quiet despair, "why didn't you come?" He stared for a time, glaring at her and when he answered his voice was quiet. "I told you I couldn't come. I was expecting an important customer this afternoon expecting is all, after the news got around of what you did prominent businessman's wife appears at women's club DRUNK! Besides," he added his voice louder, "I can just see me there in front of all those yacking women. 'Hello, Mrs. Kramer, my, but you do look fetching in your wig. No, I never could have guessed, it looks so-o-o-o natural.' Mop rags!! 'And Helen, dear, I see you're as fat as ever." Harry was yelling at her by now. He raised his hand as if to hit the small, little-girl frame in the chair. But he lowered it slowly for Elinore was crying. "Well, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Tears were streaming down her face and glistening wet upon her cheeks. She shook her head slowly from side to side, moaning like an injured child. "It's just that I get so frightened. Oh, I was so scared. And I thought, I thought that one little drink wouldn't hurt. Just one little scotch and soda." She turned her face to him, her eyes pleading for help. "One little drink! That's not the way I heard it. Don't lie to me you disgusting little." Harry had turned his back to her and walked to the door. "Harry, I swear, I wasn't drunk. Honestly. I swear to God, Harry." Elinore jumped from the chair and ran to him. "Harry," her voice was soft and she put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry." "Oh shut up, you drunkard. Get away from me, clear away from me." He swung around violently and knocked her hand from his shoulder, shooting the half-filled cup from her grasp. Dark coffee swooshed across the air and splashed into her face, while the cup fell against a polished chair and tinkled into small pieces. "Look, look what you've done." She crouched on the floor wiping the coffee from her face and picking up the shattered pieces of the cup. When she looked at him, her face, almost emotionless but for a few deep wrinkles, looked very, very tired. She said nothing until the pieces were all picked from the floor. "Did you love me, Harry? Tell me. I want to know. Did you ever love me or is it something new?" She rose slowly and faced him squarely for a moment. Then she pushed past him into the kitchen. "Oh I know," she continued, "I know you didn't really love me when we married. But I had hoped. I thought maybe. Oh Harry, am I that awful?" She turned and faced him across the empty space of the kitchen. For a moment he stood speechless. His brown suit hung neatly across his shoulders and the pants, creased exactly in the center, folded in a small tuck across his shoes. The ringing of the telephone burst through the silence of the room. Elinore started toward it, but Harry reached out and grabbed her arm as she passed him. "I'll get it. Let (continued) 32 PAPERBOOKS 'SCOPIC REVIEW The Interrupted Journey by John G. Fuller The full title of this book is The Interrupted Journey: Two Lost Hours "Aboard a Flying Saucer," which sounds almost like a dated piece of science fiction. It isn't. Instead, it is the highly documented account of a well-educated, middle-aged New Hampshire couple of mixed marriage who had foggy memories of one portion of a vacation they took in 1961. Months later, for emotional problems which seemed totally AFTERMATH/Continued me." He jumped in front of her and crossed the room to the telephone. "Hello." His voice was pleasant and smooth across the wire and a grin played upon his mouth. "Why hello Mrs. Botts. "Fine, and you? Good, good." A small red blush tinged the back of his ears, but his voice still smooth, continued unaffected. "Yes, I hurried home as soon as I could. Poor Elinore, she really hasn't been feeling well lately, you know." "Yes, I heard that nasty rumor too. Well, we know, Mrs. Botts, the kind of trash that starts those rumors aren't ever taken seriously by the leaders around town." His voice was patronizing. He knew, the whole town knew, that kind of trash. "Thank you, Mrs. Botts. Yes, Elinore will be feeling better soon. The doctor said to have her rest for a while. We've talked about sending her back to Detroit for a little visit. To get back her health." Elinore fell back in the chair, her head and hands limply draped across its brocade. "Well, Mrs. Botts, I hope to see you soon. Maybe down at the store some day." "Good-by." Elinore's lips moved, but the sound, when it came, was no more than the final breath of a dying man. "Yes," she whispered, "yes, good-by." unconnected with that trip, the couple sought the aid of a noted Boston psychiatrist. Their treatments, involving hypnosis, eventually began revealing that subconsciously both Barney and Betty Hill believed that they had been unwillingly taken aboard a flying craft by not-quite-human beings and been given physical examinations, after which they had been released. The book, which also includes sketches drawn both under and out of hypnosis, openly leaves room for doubt, but nevertheless presents an unsettling case. Author John Fuller was for several years a writer with The Saturday Review, and has written other non-fiction works including the controversial Incident at Exter another account of UFO sightings. In Journey, he uses a style similar to Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, but toned down. For readers who frankly wonder about UFO's, read Journey and see what you think. For readers who scoff at UFO reports, read it and find as many flaws in the account as you can. For readers who don't want to think about the idea of intelligent extra-terrestrial life, do not open the book. Are You Running With Me, Jesus? by Malcom Boyd This book of Mod prayers entails thinking about personal actions and feelings that people often keep in the back room. They are not the kind of prayers that create a pastoral, deeply humble and penitent mood. They are composed of short, terse statements or questions that come right to the point-and either astound the reader by their insight or disturb him by their directness, lack of ecclesiastical finesse, or subject matter. The first section of the book contains prayers for the individual self, different aspects of daily life, and problems that a (continued) 33