“Come on,” Barbara said, continuing down the slope. “Let’s go.”
The two men followed her.
“You’re going back with us?” Carl asked Verne.
“Might as well. Nothing else to do.”
“What were you doing out here?”
“Just wandering around. Did you have a good time with your treatise?”
“All right.”
“Good.”
“We’re going to fix something to eat.”
Verne showed interest. “Really? Sounds interesting. What sort of something? I might come along.”
“Come along if you want,” Carl said indifferently.
“Thank you.”
“I thought you said you had work to do.”
“Oh. I finished that.”
Carl said nothing for a while. At the bottom of the slope Barbara stopped and waited for him and Verne to catch up with her. She noticed that his joy had fled.
“Why the glum look?”
“No reason.”
“I’ll tell you what. Would you feel better if I fixed you some waffles?”
Carl brightened. “Sure. That would be fine.”
“We don’t have a waffle iron,” Verne said sourly. “We already went through that, once.”
The three of them went on, back toward the Company grounds.
Thirteen
By evening the fog had come in over all the world. Verne carried a big floor lamp from the manager’s house over to the dorm. He plugged it in by his bed and clicked it on.
“That’s a lot more cheery,” Carl said. He went to the windows and pulled the shades down, one by one. The room filled with yellow light from the floor lamp.
Verne kicked off his shoes and stretched out on his bed, picking up a book. He found his place, adjusting his glasses and pushing the pillow behind him.
“I guess I’ll go to bed,” Carl said.
“Fine.”
“I can’t think of anything else to do.” Carl sat down and untied his shoe laces. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over a chair.
“Fine,” Verne murmured.
Carl got his pajamas out. He finished undressing and began to put the pajamas on.
After a while Verne looked up from his book. “Have a good time today?”
“Sure.”
Verne lowered his book. He contemplated Carl for a long time without speaking. It made Carl feel uneasy. He finished putting on his pajamas and moved aimlessly around the room, picking up things and laying them down.
“Sure I had a good time. It’s nice to have someone to read my concepts to. I don’t often get the chance.”
“Everything go all right? Did she listen?”
“Of course.” Carl lifted his bedcovers back. “I guess I’ll go to bed. I’m tired. I think I’ll lie in bed and meditate. I’ve noticed that you can think more clearly while you’re laying in bed. Your mind is freer from strain.”
He got into bed.
Verne continued to study him. Carl pulled up his covers around his chin. He lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling above him.
“Are you meditating now?” Verne asked.
“I’m just beginning.”
“How does it feel?”
“Very restful.” Carl closed his eyes. “After I’ve meditated for a long time I drift slowly to sleep. There’s no sudden break between meditation and sleep.”
“I can believe that.”
“You wouldn’t mind moving your light around just a little, would you? It’s easier to do this when there’s not so much light.” Verne moved the lamp back.
“Thanks. That’s a lot better.” Carl took several deep breaths, trying to relax. But he did not seem to be able to relax. After a while he opened his eyes again. Verne had picked up his book and was reading.
How small Verne was. Small and thin. His wrists were nothing but bone. A little dried-up thing, sitting on the bed, reading silently. “What’s the book?” Carl asked presently. “Three Soldiers. Dos Passos.”
“Is it good?”
“It’s all right. I’ve read it before.”
“You’re reading it again?” Carl sat up in bed. “How come?”
“I enjoy it.”
“What’s it about?”
“The First World War.”
“It’s a war novel?”
Verne sighed. He slid off the bed, getting slowly to his feet. “Here.” He tossed the book over onto Carl’s bed. “If you want to read it, go ahead. It isn’t mine. I picked it up while I was in the manager’s house.”
Carl picked up the book and examined it. “I’d like to read it sometime.” “Fine.”
Carl watched Verne, mildly astonished. Verne was getting ready to go to bed. He unfastened his shirt cuffs and removed his glasses. “You’re going to bed?” “That’s right.” “Because of me?”
Verne considered. “No. No, not because of you.” “Why, then?”
Verne grunted. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over the back of a chair. For a time he stood scratching himself, yawning and blinking. He looked very odd without his glasses. There were circles around his eyes, wrinkles and lines. He gazed half-blindly ahead of him, as if he could barely see. His chest was small and thin, with almost no hair on it. He was scrawny.
Carl felt a pang of pity. “You know, you should get out in the sun more. You should exercise.”
“Christ,” Verne said, in the middle of a yawn. He set his jaw. After a moment he reached around and found his glasses. He fitted them back into place. “Maybe I don’t want to go to bed after all.”
“If you’re not sure you can sleep then don’t go to bed. That’s what causes most insomnia. People going to bed just because they feel it’s time to go to bed, when they don’t really feel sleepy.”
Verne nodded absently, looking around the room.
“You could tell me about Jackson Heights, Maryland,” Carl asked.
“Why?”
“Didn’t you tell me you came from there? I’d like to hear about it.”
“Why do you want to know about it?”
“I’m always interested in places I’ve never been.”
“You wouldn’t be interested in Jackson Heights.”
“How do you know?”
“No one is.” Verne picked up his shirt and began to put it back on again.
“You’re not going to bed?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Walk around outside for a while.”
“It’s cold outside. Wait until daytime so you can get a tan. A good healthy tan wouldn’t look bad on you. We could do something. Can you play chess? I have a pocket chess set.”
“Oh?”
Carl sprang out of bed. “They’re fun. The men all lock into place. You can close up the board and leave the men where they are. Then you can finish the game later on. I use it to work out chess problems. You see chess problems in all the newspapers.”
He rummaged in his dresser drawer, looking for the little chess set.
“Never mind,” Verne said wearily. “I’m going outside anyhow.” He moved toward the door, rolling up his shirt sleeves.
Carl straightened up. “Verne— Can I ask you something?”
“What is it?”
“You’re not mad because Barbara and I went up into the hills, are you?”
“Why should I be mad?”
“Well, you knew her in the past. You’re old friends. And I hardly know her at all. And—” He hesitated, smiling. “And after all, I’m so much younger than either of you two.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“That’s about the same as Barbara.”
“But she seems so much older. You and she have done so many things I don’t know anything about.”
“What sort of things?”
“I don’t know. But I can tell by the way you two talk. You’re old friends, and you lived in New York. And you have a lot in common. That’s important. You have a great range of common experience. Things you’ve done and seen.”