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But now he looked beyond the young men； toward the bridge itself。 Now that he would soon be dead； he felt himself more a panion of the bridge than of the men。 It too had been part of civilization。
A little distance off； he was surprised to see a car standing； or what was left of a car。 Then he remembered the little coupé which had been parked there during all those years。 Now the paint had weathered off almost entirely； not only were the tires flat but also the springs had grown weak； so that the whole car had settled downwards。 All its upper parts were white with bird…droppings。 Curiously； although it was a matter of no importance； he could still remember that the owner of the car had been John Robertson （with a middle initial which was E。 or T。 or P。； or something like that） and that he had lived on one of the numbered streets in Oakland。
But Ish let his gaze rest upon the little coupé only for a moment。 Then his eyes moved higher； and he saw the tall towers and the great cables； still dipping in perfect curves。 This part of the bridge seemed to be in a good state of preservation。 It would apparently stand for a long time still； perhaps during the lives of many generations of men。 The railings； the towers； and the cables…all were rusted red。 But he knew that that rust must be superficial。 The tops of the towers； however； were not red； but were shining white with the droppings of generations of seagulls。
Yet though the bridge might last still for many years； the rust would eat deeper and deeper。 The earthquake would shake the foundations； and then on some stormy day a span would go down。 Like the man； so the creation of man would not last forever。
He shut his eyes for a moment； and imagined the whole sweep of the hills around the bay； though he could not turn his head to see them。 They had not changed their profile since the destruction of civilization； as measured by man's time； they would not change。 As far as the bay and the hills went； he was still dying in the same world to which he had been born。
Opening his eyes； he now looked and was able to see the two pointed peaks at the crest of the ridge。 〃Twin Breasts〃 they had once been called； and the sight of them made him think of Em； and even further back； of his own mother。 The earth and Em and the mother all mingled in his dying mind； and he felt glad to return。
〃But； no；〃 he thought； after a moment； 〃I must die as I have lived…by the light of my own mind； by what light it gives me。 Those hills； though they may take the shape of breasts； they are not like Em or like my mother。 They will receive me…they will receive my body…but they will not love me。 They do not care。 And also I am one who has studied the ways of the earth； and I know that the hills themselves； though men call them eternal…they too are changing always。 〃
Yet as a weary and dying old man； he needed something toward which he could look and from which he could expect no change。 He was cold now around the waist； and his fingers were numb。 His sight was fading。
He fixed his eyes on the distant hills。 He had tried very hard。 He had struggled。 He had looked to the past and to the future。 What did it matter？ What had he acplished？
Now certainly it made no difference。 He would rest； and he would return to the hills。 And they…in parison at least with the passing of man's generations…remained without changing。 And if the shape of the hills was like the shape of a woman's breasts； perhaps that too was not without its meaning and fort。
Then； though his sight was now very dim； he looked again at the young men。 〃They will mit me to the earth；〃 he thought。 〃Yet I also mit them to the earth。 There is nothing else by which men live。 Men go and e； but earth abides。〃
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