“Of course,” Gentle said.
Clem moved from beside the bed and beckoned Gentle across. There was a chair, but Taylor patted the bed, and it was there Gentle sat, hearing the crackle of the plastic un-dersheet as he did so.
“Call if you need anything,” Clem said, the remark directed not at Taylor but at Gentle. Then he left them alone.
“Could you pour me a glass of water?” Taylor asked.
Gentle did so, realizing as he passed it to Taylor that his friend lacked the strength to hold it for himself. He put it to Taylor’s lips. There was a salve on them, which moistened them lightly, but they were still split, and puffy with sores. After a few sips Taylor murmured something.
“Enough?” Gentle said.
“Yes, thanks,” Taylor replied. Gentle set the glass down. “I’ve had just about enough of everything. It’s time it was all over.”
“You’ll get strong again.”
“I didn’t want to see you so we could sit and lie to each other,” Taylor said. “I wanted you here so I could tell you how much I’ve been thinking about you. Night and day. Gentle.”
“I’m sure I don’t deserve that.”
“My subconscious thinks you do,” Taylor replied. “And, while we’re being honest, the rest of me too. You don’t look as if you’re getting enough sleep, Gentle.”
“I’ve been working, that’s all.”
“Painting?”
“Some of the time. Looking for inspiration, you know.”
“I’ve got a confession to make,” Taylor said. “But first, you’ve got to promise you won’t be angry with me.”
“What have you done?”
“I told Judy about the night we got together,” Taylor said. He stared at Gentle as if expecting there to be some eruption. When there was none, he went on, “I know it was no big deal to you,” he said. “But it’s been on my mind a lot. You don’t mind, do you?”
Gentle shrugged. “I’m sure it didn’t come as any big surprise to her.”
Taylor turned his hand palm up on the sheet, and Gentle took it. There was no power in Taylor’s fingers, but he closed them round Gentle’s hand with what little strength he had. His grip was cold.
“You’re shaking,” Taylor said.,
“I haven’t eaten in a while,” Gentle said.
“You should keep your strength up. You’re a busy man.”
“Sometimes I need to float a little bit,” Gentle replied.
Taylor smiled, and there in his wasted features was a phantom glimpse of the beauty he’d had.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I float all the time. I’ve been all over the room. I’ve even been outside the window, looking in at myself. That’s the way it’ll be when I go, Gentle. I’ll float off, only that one time I won’t come back. I know Clem’s going to miss me—we’ve had half a lifetime together—but you and Judy will be kind to him, won’t you? Make him understand how things are, if you can. Tell him how I floated off. He doesn’t want to hear me talk that way, but you understand.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“You’re an artist,” he said.
“I’m a faker.”
“Not in my dreams, you’re not. In my dreams you want to heal me, and you know what I say? I tell you I don’t want to get well. I say I want to be out in the light.”
“That sounds like a good place to be,” Gentle said.
“Maybe Til join you.”
“Are things so bad? Tell me. I want to hear.”
“My whole life’s fucked, Tay.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’re a good man.”
“You said we wouldn’t tell lies.”
“That’s no lie. You are. You just need someone to remind you once in a while. Everybody does. Otherwise we slip back into the mud, you know?”
Gentle took tighter hold of Taylor’s hand. There was so much in him he had neither the form nor the comprehension to express. Here was Taylor pouring out his heart about love and dreams and how it was going to be when he died, and what did he, Gentle, have by way of contribution? At best, confusion and forgetfulness. Which of them was the sicker, then? he found himself thinking. Taylor, who was frail but able to speak his heart? Or himself, whole but silent? Determined he wouldn’t part from this man without attempting to share something of what had happened to him, he fumbled for some words of explanation.