THE HAPPY MAN

Nelson saw the girl at the same time she saw him. He had just rounded
an outcropping of rock about ten miles from the East Coast Mausoleum.
They were facing each other, poised defensively, eyes alertly on each
other, about twenty feet apart. She was blond and lean with the
conditioning of outdoor life, almost to the point of thinness. And
although not really beautiful, she was attractive and young, probably
not yet twenty. Her features were even and smooth, her hair wild about
her face. She wore a light blouse and faded brown shorts made from a
coarse homespun material. Nelson had not expected to run into anyone
and apparently, neither had she. They stood staring at each other for
a long time; how long, Nelson was unable to decide, later.

A little foolishly, Nelson realized that something would have to be
done by one of them. "I'm Hal Nelson," he said. It had been a long
time since he had last spoken; his voice sounded strange in the
wilderness. The girl moved tensely, but did not come any closer to
him. Her eyes stayed fixed on him and he knew that her ears were
straining for any sound that might warn her of a trap.

Nelson started to take a step, then checked himself, cursing himself
for his eager blundering. The girl stepped back once, quickly, like an
animal uncertain if it had been threatened. Nelson stepped back,
slowly, and spoke again. "I'm a waker, like you. You can tell by my
rags." It was true enough, but the girl only frowned. Her alertness
did not relax.

"I've been one for ten or twelve years. I escaped from a Commune in
Tannerville when I was in my senior year. They never even got me into
one of the coffins. As I said, I'm a waker." He spoke slowly, gently
and he hoped soothingly. "You don't have to be afraid of me. Now tell
me who you are."