"Flood? Christ a-mighty, the whole goddam Atlantic Ocean's down there. I was trying to pass a lousy milk tank truck for five miles--they ought to widen this road, you get stuck behind a truck on these hills and--anyway, I finally got past him, and all of a sudden I hear him blowing his horn like a son of a bitch and I turn around and--" The man choked. "Jesus!" he said again. "That lousy little creek. This time of year, half the time it's practically dry. And here's the whole creek jumping up out of the ground at me. I stepped on the gas and got the hell out of there." He peered back nervously, as though the creek might still be following, though they were easily two hundred feet up. "You haven't seen that milk truck, have you?" It would be a long time, Groff was absolutely sure, before anybody saw that milk truck again. Zehedi leaned across him. "Hey, mister. You think there was much damage down there? I own the store back there--you know, Sam's Grocery, down at the foot of the hill." The man laughed. It sounded very nervous. "Not any more you don't," he said. CHAPTER TWO If you had smoothed out the crumpled paper to look at the ad, you would have read: GOUDEKET'S GREEN ACRES Your happy vacation hideaway, tucked away in the heart of the majestic Shawanganunks. Golf! Tennis! Riding! Swimming (Two Pools)! Moonlight dancing! That grand Goudeket Cuisine (Dietary Laws Observed)! Under personal direction of Mrs. S. Goudeket. However, you would have had trouble smoothing it out, because it was soaked; it had been thrown in the middle of both of Goudeket's Green Acres by a dissatisfied customer, raging at the malicious trick Mrs. Goudeket had played on her by causing it to rain for three consecutive days. Mrs. Goudeket, wearing a set smile that was ghastly even in the candlelight, moved among her guests. She was arch and gay with some of them, apologetic and sympathetic with others, as circumstances indicated; but in her heart she was torn between rage and fear. Now it rains! For two months not a drop, so the grass is dying and the dug well for the swimming pools goes dry, and the guests complain, complain, complain, it's hotter than Avenue A, Mrs. Goudeket, and couldn't you air-condition a little, Mrs. Goudeket, and frankly, Mrs. Goudeket, what I wouldn't give to be back in our apartment on Eastern Parkway right now, we always get a breeze from the ocean. And now it comes down pouring, almost all of last week, and now it starts again so hard the lights go out and the phone goes out, and there's a hundred and sixty-five guests looking for something to do. She told herself pridefully: Thank God Mr. Goudeket didn't have to put up with this. Not that he could have handled it; he would have retreated to his room with a stack of Zionist journals, written letters to friends in Palestine, wistful letters saying that maybe next year they'd have enough for a winter cruise--