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introduce you to the great American hamburger.”
    Edmund followed me out to the kitchen. He followed ev.ery move I made with the attention of a hawk. The whole cooking thing fascinated him.
    “’Tis all familiar and yet not,” he said. “This, more than yon television makes it seem as though I am a stranger in a strange land.”
    I made us each two hamburgers with buns and all the ag.ricultural trimmings. I didn’t want to trust the broken table with food on it, so we went into the living room again and sat down at the coffee table with our plates and glasses of milk.
    Edmund watched everything I did, and copied it.
    “Meat’s fresh,” he said chewing his first bite of burger. “Who does your slaughtering?”
    “The store. We buy all our food at the store. I’ve never killed an animal in my life. Except flies and stuff. Have you?”
    Edmund laughed. “My family are glovers,” he began. “There’s not a calf in Stratford safe from us. My brother Gilbert’s the best of us, though. Fast and neat, that’s Gilbert’s way. Will, for his part, would often make a speech in high style to the poor beast before he did the deed. ’Tis said he was hoping to bore the little fellow to death and spare them the knife thereby.” He tried the milk and smacked his lips. “Fresh, though it lacks body. Ye say ye have no cow of your own?”
    “No cow, no calves, no garden, either,” I said. “Most peo.ple today buy their food.”
    “’Tis as if ye’re waited on by spirits…. Invisible spirits.”
    “Not really,” I said.
    When dinner was over, I checked on Edmund’s laundry. I put everything on air dry. I was pretty sure heat would shrink those tights of his.
    And of course he was fascinated by the washing machine and the dryer.
    “Have all of ye such things?” he asked.
    “Pretty much. If people don’t, they go to a laundromat and get their stuff done there.”
    “Next ye’ll be telling me ye can all fly!”
    Right on cue, I heard the heavy thumping of a helicopter passing overhead.
    “Come on outside,” I said. “Got something to show you.”
    We went and stood in our front yard.
    At first, Edmund didn’t seem to understand what he was seeing. He crossed his arms, cocked his head and watched as though his eyes couldn’t quite focus on it. Then the copter curved around heading back the way it had come, and Ed.mund ducked back under our tree.
    “Is it perilous?” he asked. “D’ye think it saw us?”
    “It’s just a TV station’s news helicopter. It’s not interested in us. It’s probably out doing traffic reports.”
    “Do men ride such things?” Edmund asked, mouth in a perfect O.
    “And women, too,” I said.
    Then a car went by, too fast, like most of the cars that use our street. It was a sports car of some kind and made a hell of a racket.
    Edmund yelped, and ducked behind the tree. “And what was that?”
    “A car,” I said. “And yes, most people have them. Some.times more than one.”
    “A car. Damned bland name for a demon thing like that. Have ye such a device?”
    “We do, but it’s at work. My mom drives it. I know how, but I’m too young yet. I mean, I’m old enough, sixteen. But the insurance is so high for a young driver that we can’t af.ford it.”
    “What makes it go?” Edmund asked.
    “Gasoline.”
    “Another word I never heard…” He came out from be.hind the tree and looked up and down the street. There were cars in driveways, cars at the curb. He studied them for a few minutes, then bent down and touched the pavement. “Hard.”
    The street seemed to interest him more than the cars. He kept rubbing his hands across the asphalt, picking up bits of gravel and studying them. When he was done, he turned around and faced the house.
    “A house I know,” he said. “And grass I know. And a tree, though ’tis a kind I’ve never seen before. Windows with glass, but such great panes of it. And flowers, though I know not their names. But all else is like an