The Last Gentleman

of a shock. Every line of her face was known to him. Yet now, with her eyes opening into his, she became someone else. It was like watching a picture toy turned one degree: the black lines come and the picture changes. Where before her face was dark and shut off as a gypsy, now her eyes opened into a girlishness.
    â€œBill—”
    â€œYes ma’am.”
    â€œOh come on. Rita.”
    â€œO.K., Rita.”
    Again the fist came down softly on his knee.
    â€œI want you to do something for me.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe Vaughts are very fond of you.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear it.”
    â€œThe extraordinary part of it is that though you are a new friend—perhaps because you are a new friend—you have more influence with them than anyone else.”
    â€œI doubt it. I haven’t heard from them in several days.”
    â€œOh, they carry on about you something awful. They plan to take you home with them, don’t they?”
    â€œWhen did you hear that?”
    â€œYesterday.”
    â€œDid Mr. Vaught tell you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear it.”
    â€œBut never mind about Poppy. Right now it’s Jamie who needs us.” As gravely as she spoke, he noticed that she cast her eyes about, making routine surveys of Eighth Avenue. There was about her the air of a woman who keeps busy in a world of men. Her busyness gave her leave to be absent-minded. She was tired, but she knew how to use her tiredness.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œJamie can’t go home, Bill.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œLet me tell you something.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œFirst—how much do you care for Jamie?”
    â€œCare for him?”
    â€œWould you do something for him?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWould you do anything for him?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œIf he were in serious trouble, would you help him?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI knew you would.”
    â€œWhat is it?” he asked after a moment.
    Rita was smoothing out her skirt until it made a perfect membrane across her thighs. “Our Jamie is not going to make it, Bill,” she said in a low thrilling voice and with a sweetness that struck a pang to the marrow.
    There passed between them the almost voluptuous intercourse of bad news. Why is it, thought he, hunkering over and taking his pulse, I cannot hear what people say but only the channel they use?
    â€œSo it’s not such a big thing,” she said softly. “One small adolescent as against the thirty thousand Japanese children we polished off.”
    â€œHow’s that?” said the engineer, cupping his good ear.
    â€œAt Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”
    â€œI don’t, ah—”
    â€œBut this little guy happens to be a friend of mine. And yours. He has myelogenous leukemia, Bill.”
    Oh, and I’m sick too, he thought anxiously, looking at his hands. Why is it that bad news is not so bad and good news not so good and what with the bad news being good, aye that is what makes her well and me sick? Oh, I’m not well. He was silent, gazing at his open hands on his knees.
    â€œYou don’t seem surprised,” said Rita after a moment.
    â€œI knew he was sick,” he murmured.
    â€œWhat’s that?” she asked quickly. He saw she was disappointed by his listlessness. She had wanted him to join her, stand beside her and celebrate the awfulness.
    â€œWhy shouldn’t he go home?” he asked, straightening up.
    â€œWhy shouldn’t he indeed? A very good question: because just now he is in a total remission. He feels fine. His blood’s as normal as yours or mine. He’s out of bed and will be discharged tomorrow.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo. He’ll be dead in four months.”
    â€œThen I don’t see why he shouldn’t go home or anywhere else.”
    â€œThere is only one reason. A tough little bastard by the name of Larry Deutsch up at the Medical Center. He’s got a drug, a horrifyingly dangerous drug, which incidentally comes from an herb used by the Tarahumaras.”
    To his relief, Rita started on a long spiel about Jamie’s illness. He knew the frequency of her channel, so he didn’t have to listen.
    â€œâ€”so Larry said to me in the gentlest voice I ever heard: ‘I think we’re in trouble. Take a look.’ I take a look, and even knowing nothing whatever about it, I could