Conversations like this one usually ended amicably on both sides—for Duncan because he found much about Truffidianism compelling (that may be wish fulfillment on your part, Janice) and for Bonmot because he had been too flawed in his past to judge the disbelief of others too harshly. And still they went back and forth, sometimes comically.

Duncan: “I’ve seen a kind of a god. It lives underground.”

Bonmot: “The Silence was more about sin than mushrooms.”

Duncan: “But rats, Bonmot? Why do you have to worship rats?”

Bonmot: “The ways of God are mysterious, Duncan. And, besides, you are coming perilously close to blasphemy … only some of us worship rats. I do not worship rats.”

Duncan: “Rats, Bonmot? Rats?”

We talked about serious subjects, yes, but we also told dirty jokes and teased each other mercilessly. I shared wicked stories about the outrageous behavior of my artists, while Bonmot shared tales from his days at the religious academy in Morrow. (My personal favorites concerned the exploits of the head instructor, Cadimon Signal.) Rarely were our conversations revelatory. That’s not the point. These were people I loved and came to love. For me, some months, it saved me to be in such company. It took me out of the self-destructive spiral of my own thoughts in a way that even Sybel couldn’t. For Bonmot, I think our lunches allowed him to relax in a way he had not relaxed since he entered the priesthood. (And I had fun, too. But, really, Janice, you make it all sound so perfect. It was fun, but it wasn’t perfect.)

I should have been envious of the way Duncan and Bonmot talked, but the truth is, it made me happy for them both: the hulking giant and my relatively “dainty” brother. When I approached them with my sandwiches, I often felt guilty for taking them from their collective world of words and ideas, twinned heads turning to look up at me, bewildered—who was this intruder?—followed by recognition and a gracious acceptance into their company. (This is a subtle piece of misdirection that allows you to keep your own emotional intimacy with Bonmot secret, I think. As I had Lacond later, so you had Bonmot, in a way I didn’t. I was often the intruder, Janice. You two took so easily to one another it was remarkable. But if you don’t want to share such details here, I won’t make you.)