And then light fell through the window like a pillar. Ben was irreversibly awake. It was 6:40 a.m. The side of his face stung from where it had marinated in his vomit. He heaved again and nothing came out, but his body didn’t unheave for moment after moment, and when it finally relaxed he heaved again, and then was able to lie still for a while. He clung on to whatever rung of experience he was on now, because whatever was below it seemed capable of extinguishing him.

*  *  *

After a while, it seemed to Ben that he was involved in some devotional act, as though he were remaining motionless to placate the animal who controlled his pain. He wanted to make that animal read “Decision-Making.” Had the Chute done this to him intentionally, to pay him back for something Teddy had put them through? Had he already forfeited what little edge he had gained by going up there? Ben went into and out of an exhausted trance, lying again to Phelps and again having no financial claim to be here, and finally he woke up and noticed that the brown towels were gone and that there were newer black ones under him. The door opened and he saw Ahmed backing into the room carrying something. Ben wanted to turn toward the wall but couldn’t bring himself to move. Ahmed turned around and Ben saw that it was one of the orange dining hall trays with two tall, hard-plastic glasses along with what looked like a couple plates and a teacup. It was against the rules to take cups, glasses, plates, trays, or cutlery out of the Dish.

Ahmed set the tray down on Ben’s desk, pulled out the chair, then picked the tray up, stepped up onto the chair, and put the tray on the mattress next to Ben. The smell of cooled tomato minestrone put the texture of overcooked pasta in Ben’s imagination and another heave came up in him but subsided. “I can’t eat, Ahmed.” Speaking hurt his throat and he was surprised by how low his voice was.

“You cannot be the whole day without food.”

“I can’t.”

“Drink. The tall ones are water.”

Ben was afraid that if he moved, the mattress would shift and the tray would spill, but slowly he pressed himself up to one elbow and reached for a glass of water. He looked at Ahmed, whose face was grim. That Ahmed had brought him this food made Ben want to weep. Ben wildly wished he hadn’t said those things up in the Chute. Ben tipped a water glass to his mouth and just wet his lips.