Another voice said, “Time.”
He knew the answer to that. Time is round.
“Yes, we’ve got to break now, but does anyone have a fast final comment?”
“Well, following the line of least resistance, that’s the rule of survival. Following, not leading.”
Another voice, older, said, “Yes, the followers survive the leader. Like with Christ. Not vice versa.”
“We better eat, because Rick stops serving exactly at five-on fifty now.”
“Talk about that in the Game, not now.”
Chairs screaked, creaked. He rose too, carried the old mug to the tray of others, and joined them in line out. He could smell cold clothes around him, good smells but cold.
It sounds like they’re saying passive life is good, he thought. But there is no such thing as passive life. That’s a contradiction.
He wondered what life was, what it meant; maybe he did not understand.
A huge bunch of donated flashy clothes had arrived. Several people stood with armfuls, and some had put shirts on, trying them out and getting approval.
“Hey, Mike. You’re a sharp dude.”
In the middle of the lounge stood a short stocky man, with curly hair and pug face; he shifted his belt, frowning. “How do you work this here? I don’t see how you get it to stay. Why doesn’t it loosen?” He had a three-inch buckleless belt with metal rings and he did not know how to cinch the rings. Glancing around, eyes twinkling, he said, “I think they gave me one nobody else could work.”
Bruce went over behind him, reached around him, and cinched the belt looped back through the rings.
“Thanks,” Mike said. He sorted through several dress shirts, lips pursed. To Bruce he said, “When I get married I’m going to wear one of these.”
“Nice,” he said.
Mike strolled toward two women at the far end of the lounge; they smiled. Holding a burgundy floral shirt up against himself, Mike said, “I’m going out on the town.”
“All right, go in and get dinner!” the house director yelled briskly, in his powerful voice. He winked at Bruce. “How you doing, fella?”
“Fine,” Bruce said.
“Sound like you got a cold.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “it’s from coming off. Could I have any Dristan or—”
“No chemicals,” the house director said. “Nothing. Hurry on in and eat. How’s your appetite?”
“Better,” he said, following. They smiled at him, from tables.
After dinner he sat halfway up the wide stairs to the second floor. No one spoke to him; a conference was taking place. He sat there until it finished. Everyone emerged, filling the hall.
He felt them seeing him, and maybe some spoke to him. He sat on the stairs, hunched over, his arms wrapped around him, seeing and seeing. The dark carpet before his eyes.
Presently no more voices.
“Bruce?”
He did not stir.
“Bruce?” A hand touched him.
He said nothing.
“Bruce, come on into the lounge. You’re supposed to be in your room in bed, but, see, I want to talk to you.” Mike led him by waving him to follow. He accompanied Mike down the stairs and into the lounge, which was empty. When they were in the lounge Mike shut the door.
Seating himself in a deep chair, Mike indicated for him to sit down facing him. Mike appeared tired; his small eyes were ringed, and he rubbed his forehead.
“I been up since five-thirty this morning,” Mike said.
A knock; the door started to open.
Very loudly, Mike yelled, “I want nobody to come in here; we’re talking. Hear?”
Mumbles. The door shut.
“Y’know, you better change your shirt a couple times a day,” Mike said. “You’re sweating something fierce.”
He nodded.
“What part of the state are you from?”
He said nothing.
“You come to me from now or when you feel this bad. I went through the same thing, about a year and a half ago. They used to drive me around in cars. Different staff members. You met Eddie? The tall thin drink-a-water that puts down everybody? He drove me for eight days around and around. Never left me alone.” Mike yelled suddenly, “Will you get out of here? We’re in here talking. Go watch the TV.” His voice sank, and he eyed Bruce. “Sometimes you got to do that. Never leave someone alone.”
“I see,” Bruce said.
“Bruce, be careful you don’t take your own life.”
“Yes, sir,” Bruce said, staring down.
“Don’t call me sir!”
He nodded.
“Were you in the Service, Bruce? Is that what it was? You got on the stuff in the Service?”
“No.”
“You shoot it or drop it?”