I was so tired and drunk I started to laugh. 'Come on, Francis,'

I said. 'Give me a break.'

'It's fun,' he said. 'I promise you.'

Matters progressed. My jaded nerves began to stir. His eyes were magnified and wicked behind his pince-nez. Presently he took them off and dropped them on my bureau with an absent clatter.

Then, quite unexpectedly, there was another knock at the door. We sprang apart. His eyes were wide. We stared at each other, and then the knock came again.

Francis swore under his breath, bit his lip. I, panic-stricken, gi) ^=«rc«t _.-.^ziitiiji, uut fig made a quick, shushing gesture at me I with his hand.

'But what if it's -?' I whispered. -*

I had been about to say 'What if it's Henry?' But what I was actually thinking was 'What if it's the cops?' Francis, I knew, was thinking the same thing.

More knocking, more insistent this time.

My heart was pounding. Bewildered with fear, I crossed to my bed and sat down.

Francis ran a hand through his hair. 'Come in,' he called.

I was so upset that it took me a moment to realize it was only Charles. He was leaning with one elbow against the door frame, his red scarf slung into great careless loops around his neck. When he stepped in my room I saw immediately that he was drunk. 'Hi,' he said to Francis. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'You scared us to death.'

'I wish I'd known you were coming. Henry called and got me out of bed.'

The two of us looked at him, waiting for him to explain. He jostled off his coat and turned to me with a watery, intense gaze.

'You were in my dream,' he said.

'What?'

He blinked at me. 'I just remembered,' he said. 'I had a dream tonight. You were in it.'

I stared at him. Before I had a chance to tell him he was in my dream, too, Francis said impatiently: 'Come on, Charles. What's the matter?'

Charles ran a hand through his windblown hair. 'Nothing,' he said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers folded lengthwise. 'Did you do your Greek for today?' he asked me.

I rolled my eyes. Greek had been about the last thing on my mind.

: Hemy thought you might have forgot. He called and asked me to bring mine for you to copy, just in case.'

He was very drunk. He wasn't slurring his words, but he smelled of whiskey and he was extremely unsteady on his feet.

His face was flushed and radiant as an angel's.

'You talked to Henry? Has he heard anything?'

'He's very annoyed about this weather. Nothing's turned up that he knows of. Gosh, it's hot in here,' he said, shouldering off his jacket.

Francis, sitting in his chair by the window with an ankle balanced upon the opposite kneecap and his teacup balanced on his bare ankle, was looking at Charles rather narrowly.

Charles turned, reeling slightly. 'What are you looking at?' he said.

'Do you have a bottle in your pocket?'

'No.'

'Nonsense, Charles, I can hear it sloshing.'

'What difference does it make?'

'I want a drink.'

'Oh, all right,' said Charles, irritated. He reached into the inside pocket of the jacket and brought out a flat pint bottle.

'Here,' he said. 'Don't be a pig.'

Francis drank the rest of his tea and reached for the bottle.

Thanks,' he said, pouring the remaining inch or so into his teacup. I looked at him – dark suit, sitting very straight with his legs now crossed at the knee. He was the picture of respectability except that his feet were bare. All of a sudden I found myself able to see him as the world saw him, as I myself had seen him when I first met him – cool, well-mannered, rich, absolutely beyond reproach. It was such a convincing illusion that even I, who knew the essential falseness of it, felt oddly comforted.

He drank the whiskey down in a swallow. 'We need to sober you up, Charles,' he said. 'We've got class in a couple of hours.'

Charles sighed and sat on the foot of my bed. He looked very 32.7 3I – -astii HOE in dark circles, or pauui, BMl a dreamy and bright-cheeked sadness. 'I know,' he said. 'I hoped the walk might do the trick.' _

'You need some coffee.' ™ He wiped his damp forehead with the heel of his hand. 'I need | more than coffee,' he said.

I smoothed out the papers and went over to my desk and began to copy out my Greek.

Francis sat down on the bed next to Charles. 'Where's Camilla?'

'Asleep.'

'What'd you two do tonight? Get drunk?'

'No,' said Charles tersely. 'Cleaned house.'

'No. Really.'

'I'm not kidding.'

I was still so dopey that I couldn't make any sense of the passage I was copying, only a sentence here and there. Being weary from the march, the soldiers stopped to offer sacrifices at the temple. I came back from that country and said that I had seen the Gorgon, but it did not make me a stone.

'Our house is full of tulips, if you want any,' said Charles inexplicably.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, before the snow got too deep, we went outside and brought them in. Everything's full of them. The water glasses, even.'

Tulips, I thought, staring at the jumble of letters before me.

Had the ancient Greeks known them under a different name, if they'd had tulips at all? The letter psi, in Greek, is shaped like a tulip. All of a sudden, in the dense alphabet forest of the page, little black tulips began to pop up in a quick, random pattern like falling raindrops.

My vision swam. I closed my eyes. I sat there for a long time, half-dozing, until I became aware that Charles was saying my name.

I turned in my chair. They were leaving. Francis was sirring on the side of my bed, lacing his shoes.

'Where are you going?' I said.

'Home to dress. It's getting late.'

I didn't want to be alone – quite the contrary – but I felt, unaccountably, a strong desire to be rid of them both. The sun was up. Francis reached over and turned off the lamp. The morning light was sober and pale and made my room seem horribly quiet.

'We'll see you in a little while,' he said, and then I heard their footsteps dying on the stair. Everything was faded and silent in the dawn – dirty teacups, unmade bed, snowflakes floating past the window with an airy, dangerous calm. My ears rang. When I turned back to my work, with trembling, ink-stained hands, the scratch of my pen on the paper rasped loud in the stillness. I thought of Bunny's dark room and of the ravine, miles away; of all those layers of silence on silence.

'And where is Edmund this morning?' said Julian as we opened our grammars.

'At home, I suppose,' said Henry. He'd come in late and we hadn't had a chance to talk. He seemed calm, well rested, more than he had any right to be.

The others were surprisingly calm as well. Even Francis and Charles were well dressed, freshly shaven, very much their unconcerned old selves. Camilla sat between them, with her elbow propped negligently on the table and her chin in her hand, tranquil as an orchid.

Julian arched an eyebrow at Henry. 'Is he ill?'

'I don't know.'

'This weather may have slowed him a bit. Perhaps we should wait a few minutes.'

'I think that's a good idea,' said Henry, going back to his book.

After class, once we were away from the Lyceum and near the birch grove, Henry glanced around to make sure that no one was within earshot; we all leaned close to hear what he was going to say but at just that moment, as we were standing in a huddle and our breath was coming out in clouds, I heard someone call my name and there, at a great distance, was Dr Roland, tottering through the snow like a lurching corpse.

I disengaged myself and went to meet him. He was breathing hard and, with a good deal of coughing and hawing, he began to tell me about something he wanted me to have a look at in his office.