agony by agony. Who can blame me if I fight back? Why shouldn't I kill?"
"Because you're a man," she said.
"I'm an Agent. They aren't men."
"Even they. But you're no Agent."
I looked up quickly. The movement made my head swim, and it was a moment before her face came back into focus. Her eyes, wide and compassionate and deep, drew mine like a promise of peace and understanding.
"You don't know that," I said weakly. But it was no use. She knew. Nothing I told her would be a surprise or a shock; to her nothing was alien; nothing would change her belief in mankind. I felt a formless sort of relief, like a storm-beaten wanderer who sees a light far off and knows that somewhere in the world there is comfort and shelter and warmth. Even if he can never reach it himself.
"Look at your hands," she said. She took my hand again and turned it palm up on the table. "No calluses. They're white and well-formed, except where the burn is. But it's more than that. You don't walk like a killer or carry yourself like one. You don't have the arrogance and the wariness. And your face—ugly as it is"—she smiled as if ugliness had a charm all its own—"you can't change the lines of a lifetime with a few days of terror and violence."
Laurie…Laurie. I looked away. "Laurie. You're Laurie. What do you do?"
"Me? I—entertain."
"Here?"
"Here and elsewhere."
"It can't pay much."
"Oh, this is just for fun." She smiled. "I like to sing. I like to see people happy."
"These?" I swept a hand at the bawdy, drunken crowd.
"Even these." It was the second time she had used a phrase like that. It was like an affirmation of faith. I saw—in a flash of insight—that there was something between the Church and the carnivorous world. Or perhaps not between, either, but above.
It hit me like a blow. I began to shiver. "My God!" I said. It came out like a sob. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" I could feel tears springing into my eyes. I blinked rapidly but they kept coming. My shoulders began to shake, and I couldn't stop them. "What's the matter with me?" I gasped.
"Don't hold it back," Laurie said softly. "Let go, if you feel like it."
I put my head down on the table and cried. I had one of her hands in mine, under my head, and I bathed it with tears. I wept for all the evil in the world, for all those who labored and saw no end to their labors, for all those who suffered and saw no end to their suffering, for all those who went on living because their only other choice was death. I wept because I had met kindness for the first time.
I felt a small hand on my head, smoothing my bristly hair gently. "Poor boy," she whispered. "What are you running from? Why are you running? Is it as terrible as all that?" Her voice was a soft thread of melody, weaving around and around me, insulating me in a soft cocoon of words and sympathy and gentle kindness.
Laurie! I will never tell you the answer to those questions. You must never know, for the truth is a deadly thing. …
Her hand stiffened on my head, pressing down firmly so that I couldn't lift. Instinctively, I tried to raise up; her hand pressed down harder. The room was suddenly as silent as space.
"Don't move!" she whispered. "They're in the doorway, standing there, just like you did, searching the room. Maybe they'll go away if they don't find what they're looking for."
"Who?" I whispered. "Who are they? Tell me!"
"Agents," she breathed. "Three of them. Not imitations like you. They're the real thing, as deadly as coiled snakes. They haven't moved yet. Now they're looking this way." I felt her hand tremble. "What cold, black eyes!"
"Who?" My voice was harsh and low. "Who is it? What does he look like?"
"Dark—amused—cold. He has a big nose. Not a funny nose. A terrible nose."
Sabatini ! I shivered.
"Don't move!" There was terror in her voice. Then she sighed. "They looked away. They're going to leave. No! The dark one has called them back. They're coming into the room!"
I struggled to raise
"Because you're a man," she said.
"I'm an Agent. They aren't men."
"Even they. But you're no Agent."
I looked up quickly. The movement made my head swim, and it was a moment before her face came back into focus. Her eyes, wide and compassionate and deep, drew mine like a promise of peace and understanding.
"You don't know that," I said weakly. But it was no use. She knew. Nothing I told her would be a surprise or a shock; to her nothing was alien; nothing would change her belief in mankind. I felt a formless sort of relief, like a storm-beaten wanderer who sees a light far off and knows that somewhere in the world there is comfort and shelter and warmth. Even if he can never reach it himself.
"Look at your hands," she said. She took my hand again and turned it palm up on the table. "No calluses. They're white and well-formed, except where the burn is. But it's more than that. You don't walk like a killer or carry yourself like one. You don't have the arrogance and the wariness. And your face—ugly as it is"—she smiled as if ugliness had a charm all its own—"you can't change the lines of a lifetime with a few days of terror and violence."
Laurie…Laurie. I looked away. "Laurie. You're Laurie. What do you do?"
"Me? I—entertain."
"Here?"
"Here and elsewhere."
"It can't pay much."
"Oh, this is just for fun." She smiled. "I like to sing. I like to see people happy."
"These?" I swept a hand at the bawdy, drunken crowd.
"Even these." It was the second time she had used a phrase like that. It was like an affirmation of faith. I saw—in a flash of insight—that there was something between the Church and the carnivorous world. Or perhaps not between, either, but above.
It hit me like a blow. I began to shiver. "My God!" I said. It came out like a sob. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" I could feel tears springing into my eyes. I blinked rapidly but they kept coming. My shoulders began to shake, and I couldn't stop them. "What's the matter with me?" I gasped.
"Don't hold it back," Laurie said softly. "Let go, if you feel like it."
I put my head down on the table and cried. I had one of her hands in mine, under my head, and I bathed it with tears. I wept for all the evil in the world, for all those who labored and saw no end to their labors, for all those who suffered and saw no end to their suffering, for all those who went on living because their only other choice was death. I wept because I had met kindness for the first time.
I felt a small hand on my head, smoothing my bristly hair gently. "Poor boy," she whispered. "What are you running from? Why are you running? Is it as terrible as all that?" Her voice was a soft thread of melody, weaving around and around me, insulating me in a soft cocoon of words and sympathy and gentle kindness.
Laurie! I will never tell you the answer to those questions. You must never know, for the truth is a deadly thing. …
Her hand stiffened on my head, pressing down firmly so that I couldn't lift. Instinctively, I tried to raise up; her hand pressed down harder. The room was suddenly as silent as space.
"Don't move!" she whispered. "They're in the doorway, standing there, just like you did, searching the room. Maybe they'll go away if they don't find what they're looking for."
"Who?" I whispered. "Who are they? Tell me!"
"Agents," she breathed. "Three of them. Not imitations like you. They're the real thing, as deadly as coiled snakes. They haven't moved yet. Now they're looking this way." I felt her hand tremble. "What cold, black eyes!"
"Who?" My voice was harsh and low. "Who is it? What does he look like?"
"Dark—amused—cold. He has a big nose. Not a funny nose. A terrible nose."
Sabatini ! I shivered.
"Don't move!" There was terror in her voice. Then she sighed. "They looked away. They're going to leave. No! The dark one has called them back. They're coming into the room!"
I struggled to raise
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