And then there was the getting to sleep. It would start with his moving across the double bed, slowly, for a position; and it would continue that way until he had moved to the edge of the bed, with the sheets still holding to his body, slippery and clinging at the same time. The sleep would come on him in the same slow way, like a very hot bath beginning to feel good and then getting cold too soon. Eric could not maintain the necessary consistency and would find himself still trying to reach sleep with his mind because his body had long before gone away. Then there was the telephone. Eric wanted it to ring, and he lay waiting for it. And then he did not want it to ring, and he waited for it not to. Besides these two things was his mind, which did not want anything but not being able to think. But he thought, in his double bed, in the night, in the dark. His thoughts were red behind his eyes, if he closed them, and if he held his eyes open in the room, his thoughts were black. Trying to keep his eyes closed was very hard, because then his mind was free to consider the old thoughts and the telephone. He willed that sleep should come, had to come, if only he were patient and disciplined with his mind; and if he willed that the thoughts should not come down on him. He shifted on the sheet into a new position and prepared himself to fight his mind. But the preparation was very hard. And he began thinking again.

Eric got up and went into the bathroom for the bottle of Librium. He found it in the dark and then cut on the light and looked at the bottle. It was almost empty. He held it in his hand and thought about the cigarettes and the other bottles and the expense, and he knew it would be no good. The bathroom light was very bright and it hurt Eric’s eyes when he looked into the mirror over the washbowl and saw his own naked body reflected much whiter than it actually was. Then he thought about the alternative to taking the Librium and, still looking into the mirror, he felt ashamed of his body. He was not pleased with darkness but he did not want to see himself or feel himself or be aware of what he was, and the darkness helped some with these things.

“It’s no damn good,” he said aloud in the dark and put the unopened bottle on the washbowl. Then he wanted to cry.