And was quiet again.

Hands twitched a little. Chest rose and fell. One foot kicked its mate.

For a moment no one seemed ready to make a move. Men near Max watched him. A few raised eyebrows, nodded my way; whispers were passed. Barry clutched his head—the doctor seemed disoriented. Kevin in a low voice said, “Here you go, Barry,” and handed Barry his glasses, which had landed unharmed over by General Non-fiction C–E.

And I could hear other sounds in the room. Max’s hard breaths, and the creaking made by old floorboards underfoot as, one after another, brothers shuffled to left or right, little by little opening a path between the love seat and the place where Max lay bathed in light and sweat.

Fielding did not miss a beat. He whirled his camera to shoot up this impromptu corridor of many brothers fanning backward to make way for—for what? Virgil raised hands to shield eyes from the high-wattage brightness suddenly pouring in on us. For my part, I hate appearing in Fielding’s motion pictures, no matter the occasion. There always comes a time when we have to sit around on folding chairs and watch the things, and someone always has to pop corn, and Fielding always has to solicit comments on the effectiveness of his work, and this is not enjoyable; it’s rude.

Now Fielding was motioning to us—to me, actually—with his free hand, making a directorial “steady now, walk toward the camera” gesture.

“Shall we?” I said to Virgil.

“You go. Max wants you.”

“I’d appreciate it if you came with me.”

“Do I have to?”

“No. It’s up to you. I’m inviting you to join me, if you’d care to.”

“What do you think he meant when he said, ‘The God is within us’?”

“He said, ‘The God is among us.’”

“‘Among us’?”

“I believe that’s what Max said. We’ll have to ask him, won’t we? Let’s find out how Max is feeling, then we’ll sit somewhere quiet.”

“Can we get something to drink?” Virgil asked.

“You bet.”

“Because I’m very thirsty, Doug.”

Getting up from the love seat was difficult. Virgil had trouble. It was a matter of leverage. The love seat was low and our knees were high. We made a false start in which Virgil dug his fist into my ribs as I tried pushing until something hurt in my back and Virgil foundered. Light from Fielding’s handheld camera flashed around us; the light threw colossal human shadows, the shadows of brothers, onto far walls. Larry stepped directly into the camera’s sights; his enlarged likeness spanned shelves and windows almost to molding level. Daniel’s likeness flickered hugely across the room, a monster en route to the door where, at that moment, Albert entered, as the blind will, tapping, with his retractable cane, a route among the furniture legs. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Albert said without moving his head. Fielding rotated the camera to follow Daniel steering Albert carefully past Max, and toward his, Albert’s, usual chair beneath the caribou heads with ears missing.