As he touched them in his pocket now, he thought of the ghosts that should now all be put to rest. Lisa Marrity, or Lieserl Marity or Maric, who had come a long way to be buried in this California cemetery. Marrity's father, killed thirty-two years ago in New Jersey and unjustly hated since then. Oren Lepidopt, who had saved Marrity and Daphne by losing his own life. Einstein himself, who had watched helplessly as his discoveries, one after another, caused nothing but ruin.
Marrity was touching the still damp envelope in his pocket, and in his head the priest's words over Grammar's casket blended into Einstein's voice: You will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Thou art inclined to sleep. 'Tis a good dullness, and give it way. I know thou canst not choose.
Marrity recognized the last three sentences; they were lines of Prospero's, addressing his daughter Miranda. For the last time, Marrity thought.
Good-bye, Grammar. Thank you for raising the two orphans my drunk, suicidal mother thrust into your hands. Thank you for trying to do the right thing, even when it was not the right thing — like not telling us the dangerous facts about our father, and not destroying the Kaleidoscope Shed when your father told you to.
The northern horizon was still gray with smoke over the mountains, but Marrity sensed an absence there. The Einstein voice was fading, and its last words were, This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine. Then it was gone, and Marrity was sure Matt was gone too.
Daphne had taken his right hand now, and Charlotte his left. The priest had closed his Bible, and workmen were lifting the casket and pulling the aluminum bars out from under it and lowering it into the suspended concrete vault, and a muddy yellow backhoe was trundling across the lawn, puffing diesel fumes.
"It's over, Dad," whispered Daphne, tugging him away.