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strings and the curtains move.
    —Don’t talk like that.
    Molly pushed against him.
    They threaded a path in a homeward direction, he murmuring, she gesturing, he peering at her hands in the dim evening.

When they reached the street there was a crowd formed around a man who seemed to be asleep on the ground. He was in a mime’s regalia, with painted face and thin gloves. Suddenly he sprang up and froze at attention.
    In the street, another mime, marching as a soldier, passed by. Marching, marching, marching, and on the sixteenth step, he went on all fours and loped as a pack of wolves does, grimacing and showing row after row of teeth. He turned upon the crowd and made for them! Shouting and confusion. The single mime began to conduct an orchestra, and of a sudden, the soldier-mime was playing instruments of every description, alternating in rows on invisible seats with invisible instruments. The conductor mime sat in the invisible audience, dabbing a handkerchief at tear after tear.
    A shout then,
    —They are coming!
    —Watch out! Run!
    The orchestra threw its instruments in the air and careened madly off into the park. Yes, two men in shabby clothing ran off into the trees.
    *Will they get away?
    Molly’s hand was very tight clutching at William’s coat.
    *Will they get away?
    —They have gotten away. That’s how they did it in the first place. That’s why, even if they get caught, they can’t be caught. It wouldn’t mean anything, other than to show that they are what they say they are.
    Molly frowned.
    —They are students, said William. It is their resistance and has at its heart their youth. Catching them only makes others join them. So, in a sense, they want to be caught. Or be at the edge of being caught, always.
    *They don’t want to get away?
    —No, not really.
    *But if they were caught, wouldn’t they be …
    —Yes, it is a choice they are making, to be alive and unrepentant.
    *Unrepentant?
    —They don’t want to have to ask permission for anything, least of all for being alive.
    *But could they win? What would that be, if they won?
    Molly looked at William inquisitively.
    —There are always different types of resistance. These are of one type. Their resistance is both to the government and to the world in general, to existence, to just being, also. There are others who want to …
    He leaned in close and whispered in Molly’s ear.
    —overthrow the government directly and put something else in its place. That’s why so many people have been dying.
    *What would they change?
    —For one thing, you wouldn’t have to go to that particular school anymore.
    Molly clapped her hands together excitedly.
    *When do you think it will happen?
    —Oh, I don’t know. Something terrible would have to happen first.
    Molly thought about that a little and then she thought about that some more, and then they were back at the apartment and William was moving about, switching on the lamps.

—I am going to meet some people. It’s important, and so I have to do it. You will eat supper with Mrs. Gibbons. I’m going to speak with her now about it.
    Molly said nothing, but stared up at him.
    —You really must go along with it.
    Molly continued simply staring at him.
    —I mean to say, it’s the best thing. We can’t have you here all alone.
    Molly covered her face and, turning her back to him, sat on the floor.
    —See here.
    He picked her up and began to say how there was nothing to worry about, something sweet and meaningless like that. But he did not say it.
    Instead,
    —My dear, we must remember how the elephants behave.
    Molly collected herself and came along immediately, but balked suddenly and threw herself on the floor.
    —What is it?
    *Just remembered something.
    She was pointing her hand at William, while still lying prone on the floor.
    —What did you remember?
    *Elephants are playful. They do not behave . They must not.
    —So what would a compromise be?
    *You know.
    —There isn’t