Sacrament

And then, more quietly than even the quietest of the crowd, came one who did not belong amongst these blithe memories; and with him, his lady-friend, watching Hugo from the bottom of the bed.

'Go away,' Hugo said. The woman - her companion had called her Rosa, hadn't he, out on the dark road? - studied him sympathetically. 'You look tired,' she said.

'I want the other dreams back,' he said. 'Damn it, you've frightened them off.' It was true. The room had been vacated of all but these two:the smiling beauty and her gaunt and sickly groom. 'I told you to go away,' Hugo said.

'You're not imagining us,' Rosa said. Oh Lord, he thought. 'Unless of course, we're all illusions. You imagining us imagining you-'

'Don't ... bother ...' Hugo said, 'I wouldn't let a first year student get away with that sort of sophistry.' Even as he spoke, he regretted his tone. He was supine and light-headed, lying in a bed: this was no time to be condescending. 'On the other hand...' he began.

'I'm sure you're right,' the woman said. She pinched herself. 'I feel very real.' She smiled, touching her breast now. 'You want to feel?'

'No,' he said hastily.

'I think you do,' she replied, moving along the side of the bed towards him. 'Just a touch.' 'Your boyfriend's very quiet,' Hugo said, hoping to distract her. She glanced back at Steep, who had not moved a muscle since arriving. His gloved hands were clinging to the rail at the bottom of the bed, and he looked so frail in the sickly light Hugo felt less intimidated the more he studied the man. The mesmeric strength he'd displayed on the road seemed to have run out of his heels; though he stared at Hugo hard, it was the fixedness of a man who lacked the will to avert his eyes. Perhaps, Hugo thought, I don't have to be afraid. Perhaps I can talk the truth out of them.

'Does he want to sit down?' Hugo asked.

'Maybe you should, Jacob,' Rosa said, to which Steep grunted, and retreating to the comfortless chair beside the door, sat.

'Is he sick?' Hugo asked her.

'No, just anxious.'

'Any particular reason?'

'Coming back here,' the woman replied. 'It makes us both a little sensitive. We remember things, and once we start remembering, we can't stop. Back we go, whether we like it or not.'

'Back ... where?' Hugo wondered, putting the question lightly, so as not to seem too interested in the reply. 'We don't exactly know,' Rosa said. 'Which bothers Jacob a lot more than it bothers me. I think you men need to know these things more than we women do. Isn't that right?'

'I hadn't thought about it,' Hugo said.

'Well he frets noon and night about what we were before we were what we are, if you follow me.'

'Every inch of the way,' Hugo beamed.

'What a man you are,' she said.

'Are you mocking me?' Hugo bristled.

'Not at all. I always mean what I say. You ask him.'

'Is it true?' Hugo said to Steep.

'It's true,' he replied, his voice colourless. 'She's everything a man could ever want in a woman.' 'And he's everything I ever wanted in a man,' Rosa said.

'She's compassionate, she's motherly

'He's cruel, he's paternal-'

'She likes to smother-'

'So do you,' Rosa pointed out.

Steep smiled. 'She's better with blood than I am. And babies. And medicine.'

'He's better with poems. And knives. And geography.'

'She likes the moon. I prefer sunlight.'

'He likes to drum. I like to sing.'

She looked at him fondly. 'He thinks too much,' she said.

'She feels more than she should,' he replied, looking back at her.

They fell silent now, their gazes locked. And watching them Hugo felt something very like envy. He'd never known anyone the way these two knew one another; nor opened his heart to be known in his turn. In fact he'd prided himself on how undiscovered he was; how secret, how remote. What a fool he'd been.

'You see how it is?' Rosa said finally. 'He's impossible.' She feigned exasperation, but she smiled indulgently at her beloved while she did so. 'All he ever wants is answers, answers. And I say to him - just go with the flow a little, enjoy the ride a little - but no, he has to get to the truth of things. What are we here for, Rosa? Why were we born?' She glanced at Hugo. 'More sophistry, eh?'

'No ...' Steep said, clucking at her. 'I won't have you say that.' He pulled himself to his feet, turning his gaze on Hugo. 'You may not admit it, but the question runs in your head too, don't tell me it doesn't. It vexes every living thing.'

'Now that I doubt,' Hugo replied.

'You haven't seen the world through our eyes. You haven't heard it with our ears. You don't know how it moans and sobs.'

'You should try a night in here,' Hugo said. 'I've heard enough sobbing to last-'

'Where's Will?' Steep said suddenly.

'What?'

'He wants to know where Will is,' Rosa said.

'Gone,' Hugo replied.

'He came to see you?'

'Yes, he came. But I couldn't abide his being here, so I told him to go away.'

'Why do you hate him so much?' Rosa said.

'I don't hate him,' Hugo replied, 'I just don't have any interest in him. That's all. I had another son, you know-

'So you said,' Rosa reminded him.

'He was the heart of me. You never saw such a boy. His name was Nathaniel. Did I tell you that?'

'No.'

'Well he was.'

'So how did Will take it?' Steep said.

Hugo looked faintly annoyed to have been distracted from his reverie. 'How did he take what?'

'Your sending him away?'

'Oh Christ knows. He's always been secretive. I never knew a thing he was thinking.'

'He got that from you,' Rosa observed.

'Maybe,' Hugo conceded. 'Anyway, he won't be coming back.'

'He'll come and see you one more time,' Steep said.

'I beg to differ.'

'Believe me, he will,' Steep replied. 'It's his duty.' He glanced at Rosa, who now sat gently on the bed beside Hugo. She lay her hand on the patient's chest, lightly.

'What are you doing?' he said.

'Be calm,' she told him.

'I am calm. What are you doing?'

'It can be bliss,' she said.

Hugo appealed to Steep. 'What's she wittering on about?'

'He'll come to pay his respects, Hugo-' Steep replied.

'What is this?'

-and he'll be weak. I need him weak.'

Hugo could hear his pulse in his head now, its lazy rhythm soothing. 'He's already weak,' Hugo said, his voice a little slurred.

'How little you know him,' Steep replied. 'The things he's witnessed. The things he learned. He's dangerous.'

'To you?'

'To my purpose,' Steep replied.

Even in his present, dreamy state, Hugo knew they came to the heart of things: Steep's purpose. 'And ... what . . . is that exactly?' he said.

'To know God,' Steep replied. 'When I know God, I will know why we were born, she and I. We'll be gathered into eternity, and gone.'

'And Will's in your way?'

'He distracts me,' Steep said. 'He puts it about that I'm the Devil

'Now, now,' Rosa said, as if to soothe him. 'You're getting paranoid again.'