Dean had a shower while I cooked some rice. Marylou mended his socks, and then we were ready to go. Dean, Carlo, and I drove into New York. We promised to see Carlo in thirty hours, in time to greet the New Year.
Dean talked all night. He was very excited about everything he saw, every detail of every moment that passed. "Everything is fine, Sal," he said. "God exists! I used to be a jail-kid, stealing cars. But all my jail-problems are over now. I shall never be in jail again." We passed a kid who was throwing stones at cars in the road. "Look," said Dean. "One day he'll throw a stone at a car, and the car will crash, and the man will die — all because of that little kid. Yes, God exists. And we know America. We're at home. I know the people. I know what they do."
There was nothing clear about the things he said, but what hemeantto say was somehow pure and clear. Even my aunt listened, half curiously, as we drove back to New York that night, with the furniture in the back of the car.
At 4 a.m., in Washington, Dean stopped and phoned Camille in San Francisco. Soon after this, a police car overtook us...