— I meant it, he continued.
He looked at James.
— Stark will see you first thing tomorrow. He wants you to come by at seven A.M. There's much to be said, and little time.
— Certainly, there's little time, said McHale.
Grieve kicked James under the table. He looked up at her. Her face was concerned.
Don't worry, he thought. Worry is a thing for those with agency. We who have none of the one can have none of the other. But he did not believe it.
As soon as he returned to his room, he lay
down flat on the floor; flat on his back.
Grieve came in. She saw him lying there.
— I don't like this new James, she said. I didn't want to meet him ever, and now here he is in my bedroom.
— This isn't your bedroom, said James. It's mine.
— The whole place is mine, said Grieve.
— I broke the cipher, James said. I read your father's book.
Grieve looked at him carefully.
James got to his feet. He pulled off his suit coat and threw it over a chair. He took off his vest and his shirt. The window that had been open earlier, that he had closed, he reopened. The air was cold on his chest and arms. Grieve came up behind him, just as he had come up behind her earlier in the day. She put her arms around him.
— No one else has managed to read that particular book, she said. But we have all heard him talk of it. The ideas are in his speech, in his manner.
She breathed slowly in and out. He could feel the curve of her breasts against his back.
— What do you think? she said at last. Please don't judge. Not until he's spoken to you. It's different, I'm sure, when he talks to you.
— I know, said James, that the world is complicated. I know there are problems. I just. . I've never tried to think, How can they be solved? I feel instinctively that they can't be. I don't believe we are moving towards any eventual philosophical end. I don't think anything will be perfected. The world has always been chaotic. Suffering is a fact. I don't see a perfect future anywhere. I can't. People like your father, they act out of some enormous stock of hope. I was never given this. I feel only. .
He tried to think of how to say it.
— You live your life, you try to live compassionately, and that's the end of it. You do a little more than you should have to in order to be a good person, but you don't go making big changes in the world, trying to fix things. It presumes too much to do so. There's only this: if everyone acts quietly, compassionately, things will go a little better than they would have otherwise. But people will still suffer.
— Come to bed, said Grieve.
She took his hands.
James opened his eyes. It was completely dark in the room. That didn't make any sense. The blinds were drawn. Who had drawn the blinds? James turned on the light. A woman was sitting in a chair pulled close up to the bed, looking at him. In the darkness he couldn't see her at all, just a vague outline.
— What are you doing? he asked.
At the sound of his voice, there was a stirring beside him. He looked over. Grieve was still next to him in bed. He looked at the vague figure in the chair, then at the one in bed.
— Grieve, he said, and shook her awake, keeping his eyes on the woman in the chair.
Grieve sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes.
— What is it, James? she said.
And then she noticed the woman. Her voice changed, became harsh.
— You've come back. They told me, but I didn't believe it.
— Oh, believe it, said Grieve's sister.
— So, said Grieve. Has he told you?
— Yes, she said. He told me. I don't like it, but he told me, and he told me too not to try to leave, or that bull of his, Torquin, will sit on me for a week.
— You'd better not, began Grieve.
— Oh, don't worry, said her sister.
She took a cigarette out, lit it, and took a long drag.
— I never like to miss anything big.
She smiled at James.
— Where'd you find him? she asked. He's not so much to look at, is he?
— Leave him alone, said Grieve.
To James she said:
— She always starts that way, insulting boys to get them to like her. Don't pay any attention.
Grieve's sister stood up and moved away towards the door. James still couldn't see her face. She seemed thin, and about Grieve's height.
— I'll see you tomorrow, she said.
— Don't count on it, said Grieve.
The door closed. Grieve leaned across James and turned on the light.
— You can't imagine, she said, what my sister can be like.
— You never told me you had a sister, said James.
— I pretend that she doesn't exist.
day the sixth
— I don't understand, said James. Your father orders these men to kill themselves, and they do?
Grieve was sitting in the window seat. James was dressed. She was not.
She smiled weakly and took his hand with both of hers. Her hands were very thin but warm. He could feel her through her hands. She wanted him to be with her, and that meant being with the others.
— He's a hypnotist, she said. The men believe mostly in what they're doing. But men are weak. At the last moment they turn against themselves, no matter how brave. His work helps them to do what they themselves want to do.
— But no one can be hypnotized to kill himself. It's not possible.
— Do you really believe that? asked Grieve. Why? Did you read it in a book somewhere?
The pattern in the carpet was very complicated. Whorls and lines, leaves and vines.
— I'm sorry, she said. I'm just. . I woke badly. Do you know when that happens, when you wake up and your sleep has gained you nothing? You've lost the time in which you slept, but you aren't rested, you didn't dream. You return to yourself with none of the customary gifts.
James nodded. He kissed her on the neck.
— Well, sleep some more, he said. I've got to go meet your father. It's ten minutes to seven.
— You'd better go, she said. Come back to me when you're done.
Her face was completely expressionless, but he felt a thorough affection surrounding him. He was moved by it. He touched her face with his hand.
As he went away, he thought, If they are in a conspiracy, how is it that they spend so much time just sitting around this house, doing nothing? But if they are conspirators, and everything has been set in motion, then there would be nothing to do but wait. Where better to wait than a wealthy man's country house? It did make sense after all. And furthermore, if they were not conspirators, then how were they employed, all the members of the little group? Did they all just live off Stark's wealth working in sinecure positions in the hospital? It would be the perfect cover.