“I didn’t call you up here,” Mamoulian said.
“I wanted . . . to talk to you.”
“Close the door, then.”
Though this was against his better judgment, Breer obeyed. The lock clicked at his back; the room was now centered on that single flame and the fitful luminosity it offered. Sluggishly Breer looked around the room for someplace to sit, or at least lean. But there was no comfort here: its austerity would have shamed an ascetic. Just a few blankets on the bare boards in the corner, where the great man slept; some books stacked against the wall; a pack of cards; a jug of water and a cup; little else., The walls, except for the rosary that hung from a hook, were naked.
“What do you want, Anthony?”
All Breer could think was: I hate this room.
“Say what you have to say.”
“I want to go . . .”
“Go?”
“Away. The flies bother me. There are so many flies.”
“No more than there are in any other May. It is perhaps a little warmer than usual. All the signs are that the summer will be blistering.”
The thought of heat and light made Breer sick. And that was another thing: the way his belly revolted if he put food into it. The European had promised him a new world-health, wealth and happiness-but he was suffering the torments of the damned. It was a cheat: all a cheat.
“Why didn’t you let me die?” he said, without thinking what he was saying.
“I need you.”
“But I feel ill.”
“The work will soon be over.”
Breer looked straight at Mamoulian, something he very rarely mustered the courage to do. But desperation was a rod at his back.
“You mean finding Toy?” he said. “We won’t find him. It’s impossible.”
“Oh, but we will, Anthony. That I insist upon.”
Breer sighed. “I wish I was dead,” he said.
“Don’t say that. You’ve got all the freedom you want, haven’t you? You feel no guilt now, do you?”
“Most people would happily suffer your minor discomforts to be guiltless, Anthony: to commit their heart’s desire to flesh and never be called to regret it. Rest today. Tomorrow we’re going to be busy, you and I.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to visit Mr. Whitehead.”
Mamoulian had told him about Whitehead and the house and the dogs. The damage they’d done to the European was conspicuous. Though his torn hand had healed quickly, the tissue damage was irreparable. A finger and a half missing, ugly scars raking palm and face, a thumb that would no longer move properly: his facility with the cards was permanently spoiled. It was a long and sorry tale he’d told Breer the day he’d returned, bloodied, from his encounter with the dogs. A history of promises broken and trust despised; of atrocities committed against friendship. The European had wept freely in the telling of it, and Breer had glimpsed the profundity of pain in him. They were both despised men, conspired against and spat upon. Remembering the European’s confessional, the sense of injustice Breer had felt at the time was reawoken. And here was he, who owed the European so much-his life, his sanity-planning to turn his back on his Savior. The Razor-Eater felt ashamed.
“Please,” he said, eager to make amends for his petty complaints, “let me go and kill this man for you.”
“No, Anthony.”
“I can,” Breer insisted. “I’m not afraid of dogs. I feel no pain; not now, not since you came back. I can kill him in his bed.”
“I’m sure you could. And I will certainly need you, to keep the dogs off me.”
“I’ll tear them apart.”
Mamoulian looked deeply pleased.
“You do that, Anthony. I loathe the species. Always have. You deal with them while I have words with Joseph.”
“Why bother with him? He’s so old.”
“So am I,” Mamoulian replied. “Older than I look, believe me. But a bargain is a bargain.”
“It’s difficult,” said Breer, his eyes wet with phlegmy tears.
“What is?”
“Being the Last.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Needing to do everything properly; so that the tribe’s remembered . . .” Breer’s voice broke. All the glories he’d missed, not being born into a Great Age. What must that dream time have been like, when the Razor-Eaters and the Europeans, and all the other tribes, held the world in their hands? There would never come such an Age again; Mamoulian had said so.