Because,” he added more calmly, in a moment, drawing on his cigarette, “you’re in a bad way if you do.”
There was again silence while they smoked. Then Ben said:
“When are you leaving,’Gene?”
“To-morrow,” Eugene answered.
“Do you know why you are going, or are you just taking a ride on the train?”
“I know! Of course—I know why I’m going!” Eugene said angrily, confused. He stopped abruptly, bewildered, chastened. Ben continued to scowl at him. Then, quietly, with humility, Eugene said:
“No, Ben. I don’t know why I’m going. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I just want a ride on the train.”
“When are you coming back,’Gene?” said Ben.
“Why—at the end of the year, I think,” Eugene answered.
“No,” said Ben, “you’re not.”
“What do you mean, Ben?” Eugene said, troubled.
“You’re not coming back,’Gene,” said Ben softly. “Do you know that?”
There was a pause.
“Yes,” said Eugene, “I know it.”
“Why aren’t you coming back?” said Ben.
Eugene caught fiercely at the neckband of his shirt with a clawed hand.
“I want to go! Do you hear!” he cried.
“Yes,” said Ben. “So did I. Why do you want to go?”
“There’s nothing here for me,” Eugene muttered.
“How long have you felt like this?” said Ben.
“Always,” said Eugene. “As long as I can remember. But I didn’t know about it until you—” He stopped.
“Until I what?” said Ben.
There was a pause.
“You are dead, Ben,” Eugene muttered. “You must be dead. I saw you die, Ben.” His voice rose sharply. “I tell you, I saw you die. Don’t you remember? The front room upstairs that the dentist’s wife has now? Don’t you remember, Ben? Coker, Helen, Bessie Gant who nursed you, Mrs. Pert? The oxygen tank? I tried to hold your hands together when they gave it to you.”
