‘He got up there no trouble and then lost it. That gym floor’s like bloody concrete.’ At the hospital Helen pulled up close to the ambulance, and they went into the emergency department. He expected the place to be busy, but there were just two people: a young barefoot woman holding her shoes and staring at the floor, and a thin, older man in jeans and with a smear of what looked like blood around his nose. They were seated apart and only the guy gave any attention to Pearly and Helen, pointing and mouthing as they went past. Gumbo was already in theatre, and Pearly was told there would be no information until he came out. ‘You’re best to go home and ring in the morning,’ said the male nurse.

‘How was he when he came in?’ asked Helen.

‘I’m sorry. I really don’t know. The good thing is that he was able to be taken almost right away because the surgeon happened to be here. He was conscious and breathing, I know that.’ The nurse watched them leave, as if he feared they might attempt to infiltrate the operating room. Pearly thought of saying he was the mayor and wanted to speak to someone higher up, but he saw the sense in what the nurse advised. Until the surgeon finished his work there could be no report.

Pearly and Helen sat in the car for a while. It was after half past eleven. ‘His ute will still be there,’ said Pearly. He leant back and took up Gumbo’s coat from the back seat, found the keys in the first pocket he tried. ‘We could drive back for it,’ he said.

‘What’s the point tonight? Pick it up in the morning. And you can’t drive after the wine you’ve had. Let’s just get home. I feel sick about it all. Poor Gumbo.’

Once home they went straight to bed, but it was a long time before Pearly was released from the real world and attained the drifting country of the unconscious. Gumbo’s fall had eclipsed the pleasures of all the celebratory events, and Pearly felt the guilt of his exploitation of friendship.