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- Филип Киндред Дик
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But
the
man
had
to
be
Japanese
.
A
Civil
War
recruiting
poster
had
been
Mr
.
Tagomi
’
s
original
order
;
surely
only
a
Japanese
would
care
about
such
debris
.
Typical
of
their
mania
for
the
trivial
,
their
legalistic
fascination
with
documents
,
proclamations
,
ads
.
He
remembered
one
who
had
devoted
his
leisure
time
to
collecting
newspaper
ads
of
American
patent
medicines
of
the
1900s
.
There
were
other
problems
to
face
.
Immediate
problems
.
Through
the
high
doors
of
the
Nippon
Times
Building
men
and
women
hurried
,
all
of
them
well
-
dressed
;
their
voices
reached
Childan
’
s
ears
,
and
he
started
into
motion
.
A
glance
upward
at
the
towering
edifice
,
the
highest
building
in
San
Francisco
.
Wall
of
offices
,
windows
,
the
fabulous
design
of
the
Japanese
architects
—
and
the
surrounding
gardens
of
dwarf
evergreens
,
rocks
,
the
karesansui
landscape
,
sand
imitating
a
dried
-
up
stream
winding
past
roots
,
among
simple
,
irregular
flat
stones
…
He
saw
a
black
who
had
carried
baggage
,
now
free
.
At
once
Childan
called
,
"
Porter
!
"
The
black
trotted
toward
him
,
smiling
.
"
To
the
twentieth
floor
,
"
Childan
said
in
his
harshest
voice
.
"
Suite
B
.
At
once
.
"
He
indicated
the
bags
and
then
strode
on
toward
the
doors
of
the
building
.
Naturally
he
did
not
look
back
.
A
moment
later
he
found
himself
being
crowded
into
one
of
the
express
elevators
;
mostly
Japanese
around
him
,
their
clean
faces
shining
slightly
in
the
brilliant
light
of
the
elevator
.
Then
the
nauseating
upward
thrust
of
the
elevator
,
the
rapid
click
of
floors
passing
;
he
shut
his
eyes
,
planted
his
feet
firmly
,
prayed
for
the
flight
to
end
.
The
black
,
of
course
,
had
taken
the
bags
up
on
a
service
elevator
.
It
would
not
have
been
within
the
realm
of
reason
to
permit
him
here
.
In
fact
—
Childan
opened
his
eyes
and
looked
momentarily
—
he
was
one
of
the
few
whites
in
the
elevator
.
When
the
elevator
let
him
off
on
the
twentieth
floor
,
Childan
was
already
bowing
mentally
,
preparing
himself
for
the
encounter
in
Mr
.
Tagomi
’
s
offices
.
At
sunset
,
glancing
up
,
Juliana
Frink
saw
the
dot
of
light
in
the
sky
shoot
in
an
arc
,
disappear
to
the
west
.
One
of
those
Nazi
rocket
ships
,
she
said
to
herself
.
Flying
to
the
Coast
.
Full
of
big
shots
.
And
here
I
am
down
below
.
She
waved
,
although
the
rocket
ship
of
course
had
already
gone
.
Shadows
advancing
from
the
Rockies
.
Blue
peaks
turning
to
night
.
A
flock
of
slow
birds
,
migratory
,
made
their
way
parallel
with
the
mountains
.
Here
and
there
a
car
turned
its
headlights
on
;
she
saw
the
twin
dots
along
the
highway
.
Lights
,
too
,
of
a
gas
station
.
Houses
.
