I had just uttered Julian's name aloud. I got up. "Chris, do you mind, I must go. I've got something very important to do." Think about Julian.

"Brad, please—Oh, all right, I won't keep you. But I want you to say something to me."

"What?"

"Oh that you forgive me or something. That there's peace between us or something. You know I just loved you, Brad. You saw my love as a sort of crushing force or a will to power or something but I just wanted to hold you. And I did really truly come back here to you and for you. I thought about you out there and what a fool I'd been. Of course I'm not a romantic crazy. I know our thing couldn't work then, we were so young and God we were stupid with each other. But there was something I saw in you which didn't leave me alone. I used to dream we were reconciled, you know in dreams at night, real dreams."

"Me too," I said.

Christian entered.

"She's stopped," I said. "What did you do?"

"I slapped her."

I said, "I think I'm going to faint." I sat down on the sofa and covered my face with my hand.

"Brad! Quick, here, some brandy—"Could I have some biscuits or something? I haven't eaten all day. Or yesterday."

I really did feel, for that moment, faint: that odd absolutely unique sensation of a black baldacchino being lowered like an extinguisher over one's head. And now, as brandy, bread, biscuits, cheese, plumcake became available, I also knew that I was going to cry. It was many many years since I had wept. What a very strange phenomenon it is, little perhaps they realize who use it much. I recalled the dismay of the wolves when Mowgli sheds tears, in the Jungle Book. Or rather, it is Mowgli who is dismayed, and thinks he is dying. The wolves are better informed, dignified, faintly disgusted. I held the glass of brandy in both hands and stared at Christian and felt the warm water quietly rising into my eyes. The quiet inevitability of the sensation gave satisfaction. It was an achievement. Perhaps all tears are an achievement. Oh precious gift.

"Brad, dear, don't—"I hate violence," I said.

"It's no good letting her go on and on, she tires herself so, she did it for half an hour yesterday—"All right, yes, all right—"Why, you poor pet! I'm doing my best, honest. It's no fun having a near-crazy in the house. I'm doing it for you, Brad."

"Brad, what is it, you look extraordinary, something's happened to you, you're beautiful, you look like a saint or something, you look like some goddamn picture, you look all young again—"You won't abandon Priscilla, will you, Chris?" I said, and I mopped the tears away with my hand.

"Did you just notice something, Brad?"

"What?"

"You called me 'Chris.' "

"Did I? Like old days. Well, but you won't? I'll pay you—"Oh never mind the dough. I'll look after her. I got onto a new doc. There's a treatment with injections she can have."

"Good. Julian."

"What was that?"

I had just uttered Julian's name aloud. I got up. "Chris, do you mind, I must go. I've got something very important to do." Think about Julian.

"Brad, please—Oh, all right, I won't keep you. But I want you to say something to me."

"What?"

"Oh that you forgive me or something. That there's peace between us or something. You know I just loved you, Brad. You saw my love as a sort of crushing force or a will to power or something but I just wanted to hold you. And I did really truly come back here to you and for you. I thought about you out there and what a fool I'd been. Of course I'm not a romantic crazy. I know our thing couldn't work then, we were so young and God we were stupid with each other. But there was something I saw in you which didn't leave me alone. I used to dream we were reconciled, you know in dreams at night, real dreams."

"Me too," I said.

"What tosh, my dearest dearest Chris."

"Oh sure, but all the same—you know something, suddenly I feel you're open to me, right open to me—I can walk straight in and there's welcome written on the mat—Brad, say those good words, will you, say you forgive me, say we're really reconciled and friends again at last."

"Of course I forgive you, Chris, of course we're reconciled. You must forgive me too, I wasn't a patient man—"Sure I do. Now thank God we can talk at last, talk all about how things were and about the bloody fools we used to be, make it all good again, buy it back, that's what 'redeem' means, doesn't it, what happens in the pawn shop. When I saw you crying for Pris— cilla I knew it was possible. You're a good man, Bradley Pearson, we can make it together if only we open our hearts—"Chris, dear. Please!"

"Brad, you know in a way you are my husband, I've never really stopped thinking of you that way, after all we were married in church, with my body I thee worship and the whole sacred caboodle, we were pure in heart once, we meant well by each other, we really cared, didn't we, didn't we care?"

"Possibly, but—"

"When it went wrong I thought I'd become a cynic forever—I married Evans for his money. Well, that was a real action anyway, I never left him, he died holding my hand, the poor old bugger. But now I feel as if the past has all fallen away. I came back to you to say this, Brad, to find this, and now we're older and wiser and sorry for what we did, why don't we try again?"

"Chris darling, you're dotty," I said. "But I'm very touched."

"Gee, Brad, you look so young. You look all dewy and spiritual like a cat with kittens."

"I'm going. Goodbye."

"Switzerland."

"Not Switzerland. I hate mountains."

"Well, then—"Look, I must—"Kiss me, Bradley."

A woman's face changes in tenderness. It may become scarcely recognizable. Christian en tendresse looked older, more animal-like and absurd, her features all squashed up and rubbery. She was wearing an open-necked cotton dress of rich Chinese red and a gold chain round her neck. The flesh of her neck was stained and dry behind the fresh gold of the chain. Her dyed hair was glossy and animal-sleek. She was looking at me in the cool north indigo duskiness of the room with such a humble pleading diffident rueful tender look upon her face, and her drooping hands were opened to me in a sort of Oriental gesture of abandonment and homage. I stepped forward and took her in my arms.

At the same time I laughed, and holding her, not kissing her, continued to laugh. I saw over her shoulder a quite other face of happiness. But I held her very consciously and laughed, and then she began to laugh too, her forehead moving to and fro against my shoulder.

Arnold came in.