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"
Where
is
it
?
"
"
Where
did
you
think
it
was
?
In
that
building
in
New
Jersey
,
which
Tinky
Holloway
’
s
cousin
bought
from
my
bankrupt
successors
by
means
of
a
government
loan
and
a
tax
suspension
?
In
that
building
where
he
produced
six
planes
that
never
left
the
ground
and
eight
that
did
,
but
crashed
with
forty
passengers
each
?
"
"
Where
is
it
,
then
?
"
"
Wherever
I
am
.
"
He
pointed
across
the
road
.
Glancing
down
through
the
tops
of
the
pine
trees
,
she
saw
the
concrete
rectangle
of
an
airfield
on
the
bottom
of
the
valley
.
"
We
have
a
few
planes
here
and
it
’
s
my
job
to
take
care
of
them
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
’
m
the
hog
farmer
and
the
airfield
attendant
.
I
’
m
doing
quite
well
at
producing
ham
and
bacon
,
without
the
men
from
whom
I
used
to
buy
it
.
But
those
men
cannot
produce
airplanes
without
me
—
and
,
without
me
,
they
cannot
even
produce
their
ham
and
bacon
.
"
"
But
you
—
you
have
not
been
designing
airplanes
,
either
.
"
"
No
,
I
haven
’
t
.
And
I
haven
’
t
been
manufacturing
the
Diesel
engines
I
once
promised
you
.
Since
the
time
I
saw
you
last
,
I
have
designed
and
manufactured
just
one
new
tractor
.
I
mean
,
one
—
I
tooled
it
by
hand
—
no
mass
production
was
necessary
.
But
that
tractor
has
cut
an
eight
-
hour
workday
down
to
four
hours
on
"
—
the
straight
line
of
his
arm
,
extended
to
point
across
the
valley
,
moved
like
a
royal
scepter
;
her
eyes
followed
it
and
she
saw
the
terraced
green
of
hanging
gardens
on
a
distant
mountainside
—
"
the
chicken
and
dairy
farm
of
Judge
Narragansett
"
—
his
arm
moved
slowly
to
a
long
,
flat
stretch
of
greenish
gold
at
the
foot
of
a
canyon
,
then
to
a
band
of
violent
green
—
"
in
the
wheat
fields
and
tobacco
patch
of
Midas
Mulligan
"
—
his
arm
rose
to
a
granite
flank
striped
by
glistening
tiers
of
leaves
—
"
in
the
orchards
of
Richard
Halley
.
"
Her
eyes
went
slowly
over
the
curve
his
arm
had
traveled
,
over
and
over
again
,
long
after
the
arm
had
dropped
;
but
she
said
only
,
"
I
see
.
"
