It's rather a slow process, I'm afraid, but that's the best we can do."

"Look, don't want to be a nuisance. Why don't I go now?"

"Don't be an idiot. You'd get pneumonia."

"My clothes'll dry on me. I'll be all right."

"Nonsense! Come on up and I'll show you where everything is."

George's refusal to let him leave appears to have pleased Kenny. At

any rate, he makes a terrific noise in the shower, not so much singing as a

series of shouts. He is probably waking up the neighbors, George thinks, but

who cares? George's spirits are up again; he feels excited, amused, alive. In

his bedroom, he undresses quickly, gets into his thick white terry-cloth

bathrobe, hurries downstairs again, puts on the kettle and fixes some tuna

87

fish and tomato sandwiches on rye. They are all ready, set out on a tray in

the living room, when Kenny comes down, wearing the blanket awkwardly,

saved-from-shipwreck style.

Kenny doesn't want coffee or tea; he would rather have beer, he says.

So George gets him a can from the icebox and unwisely pours himself a

biggish Scotch. He returns to find Kenny looking around the room as though

it fascinates him.

"You live here all by yourself, sir?"

"Yes," says George, and adds with a shade of irony, "Does that

surprise you?"

"No. One of the kids said he thought you did."

"As a matter of fact, I used to share this place with a friend."

But Kenny shows no curiosity about the friend. "You don't even have

a cat or a dog or anything?"

"You think I should?" George asks, a bit aggressive. The poor old guy

doesn't have anything to love, he thinks Kenny is thinking.

"Hell, no! Didn't Baudelaire say they're liable to turn into demons and

take over your life?"

"Something like that. This friend of mine had lots of animals, though,

and they didn't seem to take us over. Of course, it's different when there's

two of you. We often used to agree that neither one of us would want to keep

on the animals if the other wasn't there...."

No. Kenny is absolutely not curious about any of this. Indeed, he is

concentrating on taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. So George asks

him, "Is it all right?"

"I'll say!" He grins at George with his mouth full, then swallows and

adds, "You know something, sir? I believe you've discovered the secret of

the perfect life!"

"I have?" George has just gulped nearly a quarter of his Scotch to

drown out a spasm which started when he talked about Jim and the animals.

Now be feels the alcohol coming back on him with a rush. It is exhilarating,

but it is coming much too fast.

"You don't realize how many kids my age just dream about the kind of

setup you've got here. I mean, what more can you want? I mean, you don't

have to take orders from anybody. You can do any crazy thing that comes

into your head."

"And that's your idea of the perfect life?"

"Sure it is!"

"Honestly?"

"What's the matter, sir? Don't you believe me?"

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"What I don't quite understand is, if you're so keen on living alone —

how does Lois fit in?"

"Lois? What's she got to do with it?"

"Now, look, Kenny — I don't mean to be nosy — but, rightly or wrongly,

I got the idea that you and she might be, well, considering — "

"Getting married? No. That's out."

"Oh?"

"She says she won't marry a Caucasian. She says she can't take people

in this country seriously. She doesn't feel anything we do here means

anything. She wants to go back to Japan and teach."

"She's an American citizen, isn't she?"

"Oh, sure. She's a Nisei. But, just the same, she and her whole family

got shipped up to one of those internment camps in the Sierras, right after

the war began. Her father had to sell his business for peanuts, give it away,

practically, to some sharks who were grabbing all the Japanese property and

talking big about avenging Pearl Harbor! Lois was only a small kid, then,

but you can't expect anyone to forget a thing like that. She says they were all

treated as enemy aliens; no one even gave a damn which side they were on.

She says the Negroes were the only ones who acted decently to them. And a

few pacifists. Christ, she certainly has the right to hate our guts! Not that she

does, actually. She always seems to be able to see the funny side of things."

"And how do you feel about her?"

"Oh, I like her a lot."

"And she likes you, doesn't she?"

"I guess so. Yes, she does. A lot."

"But don't you want to marry her?"

"Oh sure. I guess so. If she were to change her attitude. But I doubt if

she will. And, anyhow, I'm in no rush about marrying anyone. There's a lot

of things I want to do, first — " Kenny pauses, regarding George with his most

teasing, penetrating grin. "You know what I think, sir?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't believe you're that much interested whether I marry Lois or

not. I think you want to ask me something different. Only you're not sure

how I'll take it."

"What do I want to ask you?"

This is getting positively flirty, on both sides. Kenny's blanket, under

the relaxing influence of the talk and beer, has slipped, baring an arm and a

shoulder and turning itself into a classical Greek garment, the chlamys worn

by a young disciple — the favorite, surely — of some philosopher. At this

moment, he is utterly, dangerously charming.

89

"You want to know if Lois and I — if we make out together."

"Well, do you?"

Kenny laughs triumphantly. "So I was right!"

"Maybe. Maybe not.... Do you?"

"We did, once."

"Why only once?"

"It wasn't so long ago. We went to a motel. It's down the beach, as a

matter of fact, quite near here."

"Is that why you drove out here tonight?"

"Yes — partly. I was trying to talk her into going there again."

"And that's what the argument was about?"

"Who says we had an argument?"

"You left her to drive home alone, didn't you?"

"Oh well, that was because.... No, you're right — she didn't want to. She

hated that motel the first time, and I don't blame her. The office and the desk

clerk, and the register — all that stuff they put you through. And of course

they know damn well what the score is. It all makes the thing much too