We were riding in a car on an icy road, surrounded on both sides by banks of snow and tall straight dark trees. For miles there had been only clouds in the rear view mirror. I kept looking back to see a headlight, perhaps, or the shape of anything.  Suddenly I thought I could see the head of a young man emerging from a house, shutting the screen door behind him, then disappearing for a moment into the clouds. Then there he was again, blowing smoke back into the clouds, his face filling the rear view mirror. It was a lovely face, his hair carefully combed over one eye. He was smiling as if his old man whom he loved was coming home with a pack of cigarettes under his arm, as if his father were climbing six flights of stairs to reach him to share the cigarettes and was joyful to do the climb because of the payoff -- him ! -- at the end of the climb. There was a frightening anticipation in that smile. Then the young man seemed to be suddenly hit by the clouds as if by a large white truck.