‘I guess we are. What’s left of it. There may not be much, with all these rockets —’
‘Death.’
‘Death?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Come again, Sir. I don’t get you.’
‘I said Death. I said, do you think about Death a lot?’
‘Why, no. Hardly at all. Why?’
‘The Future – that’s where Death is.’
‘Oh – yeah. Yeah – maybe you’ve got a point there.’ Kenny grins. ‘You know something? Maybe the other generations before us used to think about Death a lot more than we do. What I mean is, kids must have gotten mad, thinking how they’d be sent out to some corny war and killed, while their folks stayed home and acted patriotic. But it won’t be like that, any more. We’d all be in this thing together.’
‘You could still get mad at the older people. Because of all those extra years they’ll have had, before they get blown up.’
‘Yes, that’s right, I could, couldn’t I? Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll get mad at you, Sir.’
‘Kenneth —’
‘Sir?’
‘Just as a matter of the purest sociological interest, why do you persist in calling me Sir?’
Kenny grins teasingly. ‘I’ll stop if you want me to.’
‘I didn’t ask you to stop. I asked you why.’
‘Why don’t you like it? None of you do, though, I guess.’
‘You mean, none of us old folks?’ George smiles a no-hard-feelings smile. Nevertheless, he feels that the symbolic relationship is starting to get out of hand. ‘Well, the usual explanation is that we don’t like being reminded —’
Kenny shakes his head decisively. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean, No?’
‘You’re not like that.’
‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’
‘Maybe. . . . The point is, I like calling you Sir.’
‘You do?’
‘What’s so phoney nowadays is all this familiarity. Pretending there isn’t any difference between people – well, like you were saying about minorities, this morning. If you and I are no different, what do we have to give each other? How can we ever be friends?’
He does understand, George thinks, delighted. ‘But two young people can be friends, surely?’
‘That’s something else again. They can, yes, after a fashion. But there’s always this thing of competition, getting in the way. All young people are kind of competing with each other, do you know that?’
‘Yes, I suppose – unless they’re in love.’
‘Maybe they are, even then. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with —’ Kenny breaks off abruptly. George watches him, expecting to hear some confidence about Lois. But it doesn’t come. For Kenny is obviously following some quite different train of thought. He sits smiling in silence for a few moments and – yes, actually – he is blushing! ‘This sounds as corny as hell, but —’
‘Never mind. Go ahead.’
‘I sometimes wish – I mean, when you read those Victorian novels – I’d have hated living in those days, all except for one thing – Oh, hell – I can’t say it!’ He breaks off, blushing and laughing.
‘Don’t be silly!’
‘When I say it, it’s so corny, it’s the end! But – I’d have liked living when you could call your father Sir.’
‘Is your father alive?’
‘Oh, sure.’
‘Why don’t you call him Sir, then? Some sons do, even nowadays.’
‘Not my father. He isn’t the type. Besides, he isn’t around. He ran out on us, a couple of years ago. . . . Hell!’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘What made me tell you all that? Am I drunk or something?’
‘No more drunk than I am.’
‘I must be stoned.’
‘Look – if it bothers you – let’s forget you told me.’
‘I won’t forget.’
‘Oh yes, you will. You’ll forget if I tell you to forget.’
‘Will I?’
‘You bet you will!’
‘Well, if you say so – okay.’
‘Okay, Sir.’
‘Okay, Sir!’ Kenny suddenly beams. He is really pleased; so pleased that his own pleasure embarrasses him. ‘Say, you know – when I came over here – I mean, when I thought I might just happen to run into you this evening – there was something I wanted to ask you. I just remembered what it was —’ He downs the rest of his drink in one long swallow. ‘It’s about experience. They keep telling you, when you’re older, you’ll have experience – and that’s supposed to be so great. What would you say about that, Sir? Is it really any use, would you say?’