turned toward Blake and out of the corner of his eyes saw him. Bob, he thought with helpless and loving recognition. He bit his lips; he had been holding off for a long time and now he couldn't keep it at bay any longer. It was a moment of supreme agony for him as he sat there clinging to impossible hopes. It was not a moment for silent weeping … even for crying out. He could only sit and hope … and think through the hoping. He tried to pull himself together … tried to touch, ever so lightly, Blake's leg … He couldn't. And his hand fell back on his own curdled bones beneath his gabardine trousers.
Blake lit a cigarette, then moving the package at Gaylord mumbled, "Here … want one?" Simple, devastating statement, devoid of kindness. The sharp dictatorial tone fell around him. "You smoke too now … don't you?"
"I'd like a cigarette, thank you."
How formal his answer. How artificial the sound. The look in Blake's eyes was frightening, cold. He thought, why do you look at me like that, as if you've never seen me before. What do you want me to say? He turned again to Blake, a tense outline framed in smoke. "May I have a light, Bob … please …" He wanted to sound natural, understanding. "You've always lighted them for me remember?"
Blake's exophthalmic eyes popped with indignation. "Shit." He stopped short, like a cyclist jamming on a coaster brake. "There's a lighter right in front of you … Can't you push it in or are you too weak to even do that?"
Gaylord saw the rage, forces, dark and nameless, leap up in Blake's face. He recoiled from the picture it presented. His nostrils choked. He froze and held his breath.
In that terrible moment his frustration was maddening, yet he did not dare press the matter lest he lose all. There was something cruel and savage about Blake now. Something detached, a something he had never seen there before. The challenge was frontal, and he could not meet it.
Despair. Was there nothing in life but despair? Was life to be like this always, full of words and looks and harsh actions from every side? Was there no escape?
He thought of Glenn Rogers as he pushed in the lighter. It jumped out and he lit his cigarette. He put it back and looked again
