Sacrament

'So that's her,' Adrianna had sidled up to Will, and was casually attempting to scrutinize the pair while she nibbled a piece of polar bear icing. 'Our Lady of the Crystals.'

'Does anybody like her?' Will said.

'This is the first time any of us have even seen her. I don't think she descends to the mortal plane very often, though Lewis claims to have seen her shoplifting egg-plants.' She guffawed behind her hand at this unlikely vision. 'Of course, Lewis is a poet, so his testimony doesn't really count.'

'Where's Glenn?'

'Throwing up.'

'Too much cake?'

'No, he gets nervous when he's around a lot of people. He thinks they're all looking at him. It used to be that he thought they were looking at his ears but since he got his ears fixed he thinks they're trying to work out what's different about him.' Will tried to suppress a laugh, but failed. It erupted from him so loudly that Patrick looked up and at him. The next moment he was leading Bethlynn across the room. Adrianna pressed a little closer to Will's side, to be sure she was included in the introductions.

'Will,' Patrick said, 'I'd like to introduce you to Bethlynn.' He was beaming like a schoolboy. 'This is so great,' he said. 'The two most important people in my life-'

'I'm Adrianna, by the way.'

'I'm sorry,' Patrick said. 'Bethlynn, this is Adrianna. She works with Will.'

Close up, Bethlynn looked a good deal older than she'd first appeared, her highboned, almost Slavic features etched with fine lines. Her hand, when she took Will's, was cool, and when she spoke her voice was so low and husky Will had to lean closer to hear what she was saying. Even then he only caught:

... in your honour.'

'The party,' Patrick prompted.

'Pat's always been a master at throwing shindigs,' Will said.

'That's because he's a natural celebrant,' Bethlynn replied. 'It's a sacred quality.'

'Oh, is giving parties sacred these days?' Adrianna chipped in. 'I hadn't heard.'

Bethlynn ignored her. 'Patrick's gifts burn more brightly every day.' The woman went on, 'I see it. Manifest.' She glanced around at him. 'How long have we been working together?'

'Five months,' Pat replied, still beaming like a blessed acolyte.

'Five months, and every day burning brighter,' Bethlynn said.

Out of nowhere, Will heard himself say: 'Living and dying we feed the fire.'

Bethlynn frowned; narrowed her eyes as though she was listening to the echo of Will's words to be certain she'd heard them right. Then she said: 'What fire do you mean?'

Will was of half a mind to withdraw the remark, but if the man who'd coined it had taught him anything, it was the importance of speaking up for your beliefs. The trouble was, he didn't really have an answer. This phrase, which had dogged him for three decades, was not readily explicable, which was perhaps why it had proved so tenacious. Bethlynn, however, wanted a reply. She watched Will with her big grey eyes, while he floundered.

'It's just a phrase ...' he said. 'I don't know. I guess it means ... Fire's fire, isn't it?'

'You tell me,' she said.

There was a distinct smugness in her scrutiny, which irritated him. Instead of letting the challenge slide, he said:

'No, you're the expert on burning brightly. You've probably got a better theory than me.'

'I don't have theories. I don't need them,' Bethlynn said. 'I have the truth.'

'Oh, my mistake,' Will replied. 'I thought you were just flailing around like the rest of us.'

'You're very cynical, aren't you?' she said. 'Very disappointed.'

'Thanks for the analysis, but-'

'Very hurt. There's no shame in admitting it.'

'I'm not admitting to anything,' Will replied.

She was getting under his skin, and she knew it. A tide of beatitude had swept over her face. 'Why are you so defensive?' she said.

Will threw up his hands. 'Anything I say now, you're going to use against me-'

'It's not against anyone,' she replied. Patrick had finally snapped out of his saccharine fugue and tried to interject, but Bethlynn ignored him. Moving a little closer to Will, as if to lend him the comfort of her proximity, she said:

'You're going to do yourself some harm if you don't learn to forgive.' She had laid her hand on his arm. 'Who are you so angry at?'

'I'll tell you,' he said. She smiled in expectation of his unburdening. 'There's this fox-'

'Fox?' she said.

'He's driving me crazy. I know I should kiss his fleabitten ass and tell him I forgive his trespasses.' She gave a darting glance to Patrick, which he took as a signal to engineer her departure. 'But it's not easy with foxes.' Will went on. 'Because I hate the fucking things. I hate 'em.' Bethlynn was retreating now. 'Hate 'em, hate 'em, hate 'em-'And she was gone, escorted away into the crowd.

'Nice going,' Adrianna remarked. 'Subtle, understated. Nice.'

'I need a drink,' Will said.

'I'm going to find Glenn. If he's still sick I'll take him home, so i: don't see you later, enjoy the rest of the party.'

'What the hell did you say to her?' Jack wanted to know, when he caught up with Will and the whisky bottle.

'It's all a blur.'

'I just loved that look on her face.'

'You were watching?'

'Everybody was watching.'

'I should apologize.'

'Too late. She just left.'

'Not to her, to Patrick.'

He found Pat in the room at the back of the apartment they had together dubbed the conservatory; a space occupied by out-of-season decorations, old furniture and several burgeoning marijuana plants. He was smoking a fat reefer in their midst, staring at the wall.

'That was stupid,' Will said. 'I fucked up and I'm really sorry.'

'No, you're not,' Patrick said. 'You think she's a big of fake and you wanted to show her how you felt.' His voice was gravelly. There was no anger in it, not even resentment; only fatigue. 'You want some of this?' he said, glancing back at Will briefly as he proffered the joint. His eyes were red.

'Oh Jesus, Pat-' Will said, wanting to weep himself at the sight of Patrick's unhappiness.

'Do you want some or not?' Patrick sniffed. Will took the joint, and inhaled a solid lungful. 'I need Bethlynn right now,' Pat went on. 'I can guess what you think about her, and I'd probably be thinking the same thing if I was standing where you are. But I'm not. I'm here. You're there. It's fucking miles, Will.' He drew a short, almost panicked breath. 'I'm dying. And I don't like it. I'm not at peace, I'm not reconciled-' He turned to claim the joint back from Will. 'I'm not ... finished with being here. Not. Remotely. Finished.' He took another hit off the joint, then handed it back to Will, who burned it to the nub. They looked at each other, both holding lungfuls of smoke, effortlessly meeting one another's gaze. Then expelling the smoke as he talked, Patrick said: 'I've never been that interested in what goes on outside these four walls. I've been quite happy with a little pot and a great view. You'd come back with your pictures and I'd think: well, fuck it, I don't want to see the world if it's like that. I don't want to know about fucking extinction. It's depressing. Everybody agrees: death's depressing. I'll just shut it out. But I couldn't. It was here all the time. Right here. In me. I didn't lock it out, I locked it in.'

Will stepped towards him, until their faces were no more than a foot apart.

'I want to apologize to Bethlynn,' he said. 'Whatever I think about her, I still acted like a prick.'

'Agreed.'

'Will she see me if I grovel sufficiently?'

'Probably not. But you could maybe call at her house,' he smiled. 'It would make me very happy.'

'That's what's important.'

'You mean that?'

'You know I mean it.'

'So, while you're in a generous mood, can I ask you to do something else for me? You don't have to do it right now. It's more something for the future.'