A sudden spasm of emotion1 took it to be grief, but I could have been wrongshook his whole frame for a moment. Again, he did not seem to notice it. I said: ‘That’s right. Not even your family. Of course the whole qrorld will know the station’s a bluff, but if those are the orders”
“I don’t know,” Gascoigne said harshly. “I don’t know whether I even got any orders. I don’t remember where I put them. Maybe they’re not real.” He looked at me confus-ediy, and his expression was frighteningly like that of a small boy making a confession.
“You know something?” he said. “I don’t know what’s real any more. I haven’t been able to tell, ever since yester-day. I don’t even know if you are real, or your ID card either. What do you think of that?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Nothing! Nothing! That’s my trouble. Nothing! I can’t tell what’s nothing and what’s something. You say the bombs are duds. All right. But what if you’re the dud, and the bombs are real? Answer me that!”
His expression was almost triumphant now.
‘The bombs are duds,” I said. “And you’ve gone and steamed up your glasses again. Why don’t you turn down the humidity, so you can see for three minutes hand running?”
Gascoigne leaned far forward, so far that he was per-ilously close to toppling, and peered directly into my face.
“Don’t give me that,” he said hoarsely. “Don’tgive me thatstuff.”
I froze right where I was. Gascoigne watched my eyes for a while. Then, slowly, he put his hand on his forehead and began to wipe it downward. He smeared it over his face, in slow motion, all the way down to his chin.