AEgypt Read Online Free PDF

world, power placed at his unwise disposal, were really truly possible at all.
    Really truly actually possible at all. Pierce drank Coke. From a side road beyond the church, a sheep wandered out onto the highway.
    And of course it could be that just such a thing had already happened. That wisest set of wishes might right now be in the works, already granted, the genie having retreated into his lamp and the lamp into the past and the whole process into oblivion, Pierce ignorant now of his great good fortune and still toying with possibilities. On the face of it it seemed unlikely, considering his joblessness, and his mental health, which did not seem to him ruddy—but there would be no way to tell. He could have been visited this very morning. This day, this blue day, might be the first day of his fortune, this moment might be the first moment.
    Several more sheep had come out from the side road and were wandering along the highway, huddling and bleating. One of the locals from the porch, who had seemed immovable, got up, hitched his pants, and walked out onto the highway to stop traffic, waving a warning hand at a pickup truck that was just then approaching, stay there, be patient. A dog circled the flock, barking now and then in a peremptory way, guiding the sheep (there were dozens now, more and more coming out from the side road as though conjured) toward the bridge over the river, which they seemed reluctant to enter upon. Then there strode out, amid the rear guard of the flock, a tall shepherd, crook in his hand, broad broken straw hat on his head. He looked toward the impatient pickup, grinning, as though not displeased to have caused this fuss; he crooked back into his fold a lamb that had thought to flee, and marshaled his charges with a call, bustling them over the bridge.
    Pierce watched, aware of a chain of associations taking place within him without his choosing, inner files being gone through to a purpose he didn't know. Then the conclusion was abruptly handed to him. He rose slowly, not sure whether to believe himself. Then:
    "Spofford,” he said, and called: “Spofford!"
    The shepherd turned, tilting his hat up to see Pierce hurrying after him, and one black-faced sheep turned too to look. The driver of the bus, coming out of the little store to gather and count his belated flock, saw one of his passengers wander off, meet the shepherd in the middle of the bridge, and fall suddenly into his arms.
* * * *
    "Pierce Moffett,” the shepherd said, holding him at arm's length and grinning at him. “I'll be damned."
    "It is you,” Pierce said. “I thought it was."
    "You come to visit? Hard to believe."
    "Not exactly,” Pierce said. “I didn't even plan to stop.” He explained his predicament, Conurbana, thrown rod, canceled appointment.
    "How do you like that,” Spofford said. “Buswrecked."
    "I seem to have blown it,” Pierce said cheerfully. They both looked toward the beached bus, whose other passengers milled aimlessly around it.
    "Hell with it,” Spofford said suddenly. “Leave it. Come visit. I'm not far. Stay awhile. There's room. Stay as long as you like."
    Pierce looked from the bus to the meadow across the river, where now the sheep were spreading out, chewing contentedly. “Stay?” he said.
    "We've got to catch up,” said the shepherd. “The old alma mater. The old neighborhood."
    "I've left them both."
    "No shit.” He gestured with his crook toward the lands beyond the rise of the meadow. “My place is up,” he said. “Around the mountain."
    What the hell anyway, Pierce thought. A runaway mood had been in him all day, all week; all summer for that matter. He had got this far toward Duty and the Future and been thrown off course, no fault of his own. Okay. So be it. “What the hell,” he said, a strange and sudden exhilaration rising from his breast to his throat. “What the hell, why not."
    "Sure,” Spofford said. He whistled a note that set the sheep in motion and took Pierce's