DAVID JACKSON
leather chair brushed his thigh. And more books. Tears came into
his eyes. He stepped into the fireplace, struck
his
head against its
motto. He tried to remember. He stumbled against the bed and
fell onto its silk comforter and lay there panting and listening.
He wanted to get out but the night had so darkened he could
not see the windows. Yet, he was about to try again when he
heard a door close, somewhere not far away, and steps come
softly down the hall. He remained on the bed, his knees drawn
up. There was a sound of air as the thick door opened, a click as
it closed. A voice said, "Damn!" There was a snap and then a
flood of light. And then he was focusing on Meredith who had
already taken off his tie.
"What the hell!" This sounded like a shout, but was ac-
tually only in Meredith's normal deep voice.
They stared a second or so at each other.
Nicolas: "I ... uh. Look, I figured ..."
"You figured
what?"
"Look, you got this room. Let Nicolas .. . It's dark out
there. I ..."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm in no mood for jokes. You better get out,
Manas."
"Who's jokin?" Nicolas had at last got hold of himself. In
fast, near belligerent tones, he began stating his case: "You
gonna let me stay here, tonight. This big place, all these books
... Nicolas stay, read by the fire. We
poets,
man, and ..."
As
Meredith showed no signs of indecision, he hesitated.
Realizing he had better try tougher tactics, he pivoted around
and took a stand between the bed and the rear wall of books.
There, with amazing speed, he got out of his clothes, throwing
them,
shirt,
khakis, socks, shorts, toward Meredith as if he were
making offerings. Then, naked, he got back on the bed and
squatted facing Meredith.
Who, this while, had merely gaped at him. But now his jaw
snapped shut and he took a step forward. Only Nicolas saw the
