"Heaven," mumbled Kelly.
Fox laughed. "Kelly means he wants to stay here."
Captain Torkel wiped perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his hand. "We got to get these thoughts out of our minds. We're talking like murderers. Garcia, think of the people you used to know. Think of their faces. Imagine how it would be for them to die."
Garcia looked up into the sky, his features softening. "I can't remember any faces, Captain. I can remember how the gulls used to fly over the coast at Monterey and how the fishing boats used to bounce over the waves. That's all. The gulls and the boats will be destroyed anyway. We can't save those."
Captain Torkel turned to Fox. "You remember faces, don't you, Fox?"
The little man shrugged. "They're like those crowd scenes we used to see in movies—hundreds and thousands of faces all huddled together. You really can't remember a single one. They're like shadows."
"But you remember your wife's face."
"I don't want to remember that. I might vomit. And I don't want to remember that cheesy New York apartment either."
In desperation the captain turned to Van Gundy. "And you?"
"I—I remember the face of an old woman who sold flowers on O'Farrell Street in Frisco. Stood there all year long, she did. In winter, summer, spring, fall. I used to buy gardenias from her when I had a date."