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She grinned。 〃Of course。 That was quite a shindig。〃
〃Tay got stinking drunk after everybody had gone。 He knew he wasn't going to be seeing most of them again。 Then of course he got sick in the middle of the night； so we stayed up together talking about…oh； I don't know； everything under the sun。 And he told me how much he'd always loved Gentle。 How Gentle was the mystery man in his life。 He'd been dreaming about him； he said： speaking in tongues。〃
〃He told me the same thing；〃 Jude said。
〃Then； out of the blue； he said that next year I should have the Nativity back； and go to Midnight Mass the way we used to； and I told him I thought we'd decided none of that made much sense。 And you know what he said to me？ He said light was light； whatever name you call it； and it was better to think of it ing in a face you knew。〃 Clem smiled。 〃I thought he was talking about Christ。 But now 。。。 now I'm not so sure。〃
She hugged him hard； pressing her lips against his flushed cheek。 Though she suspected that there was truth in what he said； she couldn't bring herself to voice the possibility。 Not knowing that the same face Tay had imagined as that of the returning sun was also the face of the darkness that might soon eclipse them all。
8
Though the bed Gentle had collapsed into the night before had been stale； and the pillow beneath his head damp； he couldn't have slept more soundly had he been rocked in the arms of Mother Earth Herself。 When he woke； fifteen hours later； it was to a fine June morning； and the dreamless time behind him had put new strength into his sinews。 There was no gas； electricity； or hot water； so he was obliged to shower and shave in cold water； which was respectively a bracing and a bloody experience。 That done； he took some time to assess the state of the studio。 It had not remained entirely untouched in his absence。 At some juncture either an old girlfriend or a very particular thief had e in…he'd left two of the windows open； so gaining access had presented no difficulty…and the interloper had stolen both clothes and more private bric…a…brac。 It was such a long time since he'd been here； however； that he couldn't remember precisely what was missing： some letters and postcards from the mantelpiece； a few photographs （though he'd not liked to be recorded this way； for what were now obvious reasons）； and a few items of jewelry （a gold chain； two rings； a crucifix）。 The theft didn't much bother him。 He'd never been a sentimentalist or a hoarder。 Objects were like glossy magazines： fetching for a day； then readily discarded。
There were other； more disgusting； signs of his absence in the bathroom； where clothes he'd left to dry before his departure had grown green fur； and in the refrigerator； the shelves of which were scattered with what looked like pupating zarzi； stinking of putrefaction。 Before he could really begin to clean up he had to have some power in the house； and to get it would require some politicking。 He'd had the gas； telephone； and electricity cut off in the past； when； in the lean times between forgeries and sugar mamas； he'd run out of funds。 But he had the patter to get them turned back on again well honed； and that had to be the priority of the hour。
He dressed in the freshest of his clothes and went downstairs to present himself to the venerable but dotty Mrs。 Erskine； who occupied the ground…floor flat。 It was she who'd let him in the day before； remarking with her characteristic candor that he looked as though he'd been kicked half to death； to which he'd replied that he felt the same way。 She didn't question his absence； which was not surprising given that his occupation of the studio had always been sporadic； but she did ask him if he was going to be staying awhile this time。 He said he thought so； and she replied that she was pleased at this； because during these summer days people always got crazy； and since Mr。 Erskine's death she was sometimes frightened。
She made tea while he availed himself of her telephone； calling around the services he'd lost。 It turned out to be a frustrating business。 He'd lost the knack of charming the women he spoke to into some action on his behalf。 Instead of an exchange of flatteries he was served a chilly salad of officiousness and condescension。 He had unpaid bills； he was told； and his supplies would not be reconnected until payment was forthing。 He ate some toast Mrs。 Erskine had made； drank several cups of tea； then went down into the basement and left a note for the caretaker that he was now back in residence and could he please have his hot water turned on。
That done； he ascended to the studio again and bolted the door behind him。 One conversation for the day was enough； he'd decided。 He drew the blinds at the windows and lit two candles。 They smoked as their dusty wicks first burned； but their light was kinder than the glare of the day； and by it he started to go through the snowdrift of mail that had gathered behind the door。 There were bills in abundance； of course； printed in increasingly irate colors； plus the inevitable junk mail。 There were very few personal letters； but among them were two that gave him pause。 Both were from Vanessa； whose advice that he should slit his lying throat had found such a distressing echo in Athanasius' exhortation at the Erasure。 Now she wrote that she missed him； and a day didn't go by without her thinking of him。 The second missive was even more direct。 She wanted him back in her life。 If he wanted to play around with other women she would learn to acmodate that。 Would he not at least make contact with her？ Life was too short to bear grudges； on either side。
He was buoyed up somewhat by her appeals； and even more so by a letter from Klein； scrawled in red ink on pink； paper。 Chester's faintly camp tones rose from the page as Gentle scanned it。
Dear Bastard … Boy； Klein had written。 Whose heart are you breaking； and where？ Scores of forlorn women are presently weeping on my lap； begging me to forgive you your trespasses and invite you back into the bosom of the family。 Among them； the delectable Vanessa。 For God's sake e home and save me from seducing her。 My groin is wet for you；
So Vanessa had gone to Klein； desperation indeed。 Though she'd met Chester only once that Gentle could recall； she'd subsequently professed to loathing him。 Gentle kept all three letters； though he had no intention of acting upon their appeals。 There was only one reunion he was eager for； and that was with the house in Clerkenwell。 He couldn't face the idea of venturing out in daylight； however。 The streets would be too bright and too busy。 He'd wait until dark； when he could move across the city as the invisible he aspired to be。 He set a match to the rest of the letters and watched them burn。 Then he went back to bed and slept through the afternoon in preparation for the business of the night。
He waited until the first stars appeared in a sky of elegiac blue before he raised the blinds。 The street outside was quiet； but given that he lacked the cash for a cab he knew he'd have to brush shoulders with a lot of people before he reached Clerkenwell。 On a fine evening like this； the Edgware R