own. Joe
introduced her, his wife, Sally. He reached into a paper bag and handed
everyone a sparkler.

"It's the 4th," he said. They lit the sparklers and sat, more or less
in a circle, waving them and drinking beer.

"My country 'tis of thee," Amber said.

"Old Glory," Martin added.

"Patriots!" A familiar voice. Patrick had come up behind her.

"Hey, Patrick." Martin stood, waved at Patrick, and wandered toward the
kegs. Patrick sat down next to Willow. Joe handed him a sparkler.
Willow leaned back on her elbows. The strains of _St. James Infirmary_
and a heavy beat from the drummer mingled with the smell of burning
sparklers and the sweeter smell of marijuana.

"It's good to be a citizen," Patrick said. Willow inspected him for
signs of irony. None. They talked briefly about the war which they were
all against. It seemed far away, a bad dream. "Maybe we should get
active," Patrick suggested, "demonstrate or something." Joe leaned
forward.

"You want to watch it," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I had kind of a shock last week," Joe said. "You know Ox?" He looked
at the others.

"Sure," Art said.

"He was in school with us; he's a state trooper," Joe explained. "We've
had narcs around for a few years now, busting people for the evil
weed."

"Shit heads," Art said. "Like we really have a drug problem."

"We spot the narcs," Joe said. "Anyway, I was having a beer with Ox in
Buckman's, and he told me to watch my ass. He told me there was a list
of radicals at headquarters. Subversives. 'They're watching you; that's
all I can say.' " Joe shook his head. "I mean, I'm a veteran, for
Christ's sake."

"You're a dropout," Art said.

Joe started to smile. "Look who's talking."

"So, who's watching?" Martin asked.

"Somebody is," Joe said. "Ox wouldn't have told me if he wasn't
worried. FBI? CIA?"

"Martin's a commie pinko," Art said. "Is he on the list?"

"Should be," Joe said.

"What about Morgan? And Gino?"

"Subversives for sure. Down the Pentagon!" Joe raised his cup.

"Down the Pentagon!" echoed across the valley.

"O.K., Patrick," Amber said. "You can turn off the tape recorder."
Patrick took a paper bag from his pack and held up a block of cheddar.
He shook it by his ear.

"Wasn't on," he said.

"Might as well eat it, then," Sally said.

They ate and drank and wandered around the meadow. A washtub bass
joined the music. Willow didn't exactly follow Patrick, but she managed
to be in