Kenton burns the 〃sacrifice photos；〃 but he can't forget； he receives a letter from the obviously insane Carlos Detweiller； promising revenge。 Two weeks later； he receives a letter from one 〃Roberta Solrac；〃 who purports to be a great fan of Zenith's second…hottest author； Anthony La Scorbia （La Scorbia is responsible for a series of nature…run…amok novels such as Rats from Hell； Ants from Hell； and Scorpions from Hell）。 〃She〃 claims to have sent La Scorbia roses； and wants to send Kenton； as La Scorbia's editor； a small plant 〃as a token of esteem。〃
Kenton； no fool； realizes at once that Solrac is Carlos spelled backward。 。 。 and Detweiller； of course； worked in a greenhouse。 Convinced that the 〃token of esteem〃 is apt to be something like deadly nightshade or belladonna； Kenton sends an interoffice memo to Riddley； instructing him to incinerate any package which es to him from a 〃Roberta Solrac。〃
RIDDLEY WALKER； who respects Kenton more than Kenton himself would ever believe； agrees； but privately adopts a wait…and…see attitude。 Near the end of February 1981； a package from 〃Roberta Solrac；〃 addressed to John Kenton； actually does arrive。 Riddley opens the package in spite of a strong feeling that the sender…Detweiller…is a terribly evil man。 If so； the contents of the package are hardly in keeping with such notions； it is nothing more than a sickly…looking mon Ivy with a little plastic sign stuck into the earth of its pot。 The sign reads：
HI！
MY NAME IS ZENITH
I AM A GIFT TO JOHN
FROM ROBERTA
Riddley puts it on a high shelf of his janitor's room and forgets it。
For the time being。
February 25
Dear Ruth；
I've got a case of the mean reds； so I thought I'd pass some of them on…see the enclosed Xeroxes； concluding with a typically impudent munication from Riddley； he of the coal…black skin and three hundred huge white teeth。
You'll notice that Roger kicked my ass good and hardnot much like Roger； and doubly sobering for that very reason。 I don't think one has to be very paranoid to see that he's talking about the possibility of firing me。 If I'd talked this out with him over martinis at Flaherty's after work； I doubt very much if he would have e down so hard； and of course I had no idea he was waiting on a call from Enders。 I undoubtedly deserved the ass…kicking I got…I haven't really been doing my job…but he has no idea of the scare that letter threw into me when I realized it was Detweiller again。 I'm too goddam thin…skinned for my own good； that's what Roger thinks。 。 。 but Detweiller is scary for other； less easily grasped reasons。 Being the idee that's gotten fixe in some crazy's head has got to be one of the most unfortable feelings in the world…if I knew Jody Foster； I think I'd give her a jingle and tell her I know exactly how she feels。 There's an almost palpable texture of slime about Detweiller's munications； and oh boy； oh yeah； I wish I could get him out of my head； but I still have nightmares about those pictures。
Anyway； I have taken care of matters as well as I can； and no； I have no intention of calling Central Falls。 We have an editorial meeting tomorrow。 I'll try to the best of my limited abilities to get back on the beam。 。 。 except at Zenith House the beam is so narrow it almost doesn't exist。
I love you； I miss you； I long for your return。 Maybe you being gone is part of the problem。 Not to make you feel guilty。
All my love；
John
From the journals of Riddley Walker
2/23/81
Like a stone thrown into a large and stagnant pond； the Detweiller affair has caused any number of ripples at my place of employment。 I thought that all of them had gone by； yet this afternoon one more rolled past； and who is to say even that one will be the last？
I have included a Xerox of an exceedingly curious memo I received from Kenton at 2：35 P。 M。 plus my own reply （the memo came just after Gelb left； in something of a huff； why he should have been in a huff eludes me since today he brought his own dice and I did him the courtesy of not even checking them； but Ah g'iss Ah woan nevuh understand dese white folks）。 I think I have covered the Detweiller affair to a nicety in these pages； but I should add that it never surprised me in the least that Kenton was the one to bring Detweiller； the rogue et； into the erratic （and； I fear； degenerating） orbit of Zenith House。
He is brighter than Sandra Jackson； brighter than that crapshooting； Ivy League tie…wearing devil William Gelb； far brighter than Herbert Porter （Porter； as previously noted； is not above wandering into Ms。 Jackson's office after she has left for the day and sniffing the seat of her office chair…a strange man； but be it not for me to judge）； and the only one of the staff who might be capable of recognizing a mercial book if it came within his purview。 Right now he is eaten up with guilt and embarrassment over l'affaire Detweiller； and can see only that he made a rather ic faux pas。 He would be incapable of seeing that his decision to even look at the Detweiller book demonstrated that his editorial ears are still open； and still attuned to that sweetest of all tones…the celestial notes of Sweda cash registers in drugstores and book emporia ringing up sales； even if it was pointed out to him。
Incapable of seeing that it proves he's still trying。
The others have given up。
Anyway； here is this enchanting memo…between its lines I hear a man whose nerve is temporarily shot； a man who might be capable of facing a lion but who now cannot even look at a mouse； a man who is； in consequence； shrieking 〃Eeeek！ Get rid of it！ Get rid of it！〃 and swatting at it with the handiest broom； which in dis case jus happen t'be Riddley； who dus' de awfishes an wipe de windows an delivah de mail。 Yassuh； Mist Kenton； I git rid of it fo you！ I sholy goan get rid of dat hoodoo Solrac woman's package if she sen one！
Maybe。
On the other hand； maybe John Kenton should have to face up to the consequences of his own actions…swat his own mouse。 After all； if you don't swat your own； maybe you never really know what a harmless little thing a mouse is。 。 。 and is it not possible that Kenton's useful days as an editor may be over if he cannot stare down such occasional crazies as Carlos 〃Roberta〃 Detweiller？
I shall ponder the matter。 I think there is a very good chance no package will e； but I'll ponder it all the same。
2/27/81
Something from the mysterious 〃Roberta Solrac〃 actually came today！ I didn't know whether to be amused or disgusted by my own reaction； which was staring； elemental gut…terror followed by an almost insane urge to put the thing down the incinerator； exactly as Kenton's note had instructed。 The physicality of my reaction as soon as my eye fell on the return address and connected the name there with Kenton's memo was striking。 I had a sudden spasm of shudders。 Goosebumps raced up my back。 I heard a clear； ringing tone in my ears； and I could feel the hair stiffening on my head。 This symphony of physiological atavism lasted no more than five seconds and then it subsided…but it left me as shaken as a sudden deep lance of pain in the area of the heart。 Floyd would sneer and call it 〃a nigger reaction；〃 but it was no such thing。 It was a human reaction。 Not to the thing itself…the contents of the package were something of an anticlimax after all the sound and fury…but； I am convinced； to the hands which placed the lid on the small white cardboard box in which the plant came； the hands which tied twine around that box and then cut a brown paper shopping bag in which to wrap the box for mailing； the hands which taped and labelled and carried。 Detweiller's hands。
Am I speaking of telepathy？ Yes。 。 。 and no。 It might be fairer to say that I am speaking of a kind of passive psychokinesis。 Dogs shy away from people with cancer； they smell it on them。 So； at least； claims my dear old Aunt Olympia。 In the same way I smelled Detweiller all over that box； and now I understand Kenton's upset better and have a good deal more sympathy for him。 I think Carlos Detweiller must be dangerously insane。 。 。 but the plant itself