don’t want to take a cure at all. I am perfectly happy. All my life I have been perfectly happy.”
“How long have you been this way?”
“What a question!” William Campbell breathed in and out through the sheet.
“How long have you been stewed, Billy?”
“Haven’t I done my work?”
“Sure. I just asked you how long you’ve been stewed, Billy.”
“I don’t know. But I’ve got my wolf back,” he touched the sheet with his tongue. “I’ve had him for a week.”
“The hell you have.”
“Oh, yes. My dear wolf. Every time I take a drink he goes outside the room. He can’t stand alcohol. The poor little fellow.” He moved his tongue round and round on the sheet. “He’s a lovely wolf. He’s just like he always was.” William Campbell shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
“You got to take a cure, Billy,” Mr. Turner said. “You won’t mind the Keeley. It isn’t bad.”
“The Keeley,” William Campbell said. “It isn’t far from London.” He shut his eyes and opened them, moving the eyelashes against the sheet. “I just love sheets,” he said. He looked at Mr. Turner.
“Listen, you think I’m drunk.”
“You are drunk.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re drunk and you’ve had D.T.’s.”
“No.” William Campbell held the sheet around his head. “Dear sheet,” he said. He breathed against it gently. “Pretty sheet. You love me, don’t you, sheet? It’s all in the price of the room. Just like in Japan. No,” he said. “Listen Billy, dear Sliding Billy, I have a surprise for you. I’m not drunk. I’m hopped to the eyes.”
“No,” said Mr. Turner.
“Take a look.” William Campbell pulled up the right sleeve of his pyjama jacket under the sheet, then shoved the right forearm out. “Look at that.” On the forearm, from just above
