It was a mistake.

There was no resistance in him at all. He came right on up against me like a couple of old inner tubes hanging off my arm, and when he got there he exploded. I had Purvis all over me. Fragments of flying Purvis hit me in the solar plexus and Adam’s apple at the same time, and then something chopped me just under the left ear and I was through. I didn’t even fall; he eased me to the floor like somebody putting down an old mattress he’d been carrying around. I was sick and I couldn’t get my breath. My whole body felt paralyzed. I tried to turn over. It was no use.

A convention of Purvises stood in a circle, looking down at me. “I wouldn’t try that again,” they said, all speaking at once. They sounded a long way off.

I retched and gagged, trying to get air through my throat again. The kitchen tilted and went on spinning slowly like a carousel. I opened my mouth and tried to bite a mouthful of air before I died of suffocation. Just before the room went completely black I started breathing again, but I still couldn’t move.

There was a sound somewhere like that of a buzzer, and I thought it was just another of the ringing noises in my head until he stepped over me and started around the serving bar. “Don’t go away,” he said, and flicked off the light. I lay in darkness and in agony.

If I could hit him just once I’d break him in two. The next time I’d have better sense than to pull him toward me. I’d take him apart. But I had to get up first. I tried again, and this time I managed to roll over. Sweat ran off my face and I had to fight against vomiting on the floor. I heard a door chime and then the door opening, and voices. The door closed. Purvis had company. It was a man. I could hear snatches of what he was saying.

“Federal radio inspector . . . complaints of television interference . .