“Only a taste,” I agreed. My face where Hiram’s shoe had kicked me felt sore. I had numbness and tingling around one eye. The hypodermic needles in my pocket were biting into my chest. I heard a voice in the crowd explaining the situation to someone. “He’s locked onto Hiram’s foot. He won’t let go.” And another voice said, “He got hold of me like that once. I was wearing hiking shoes. Doug got tangled up in the laces and I couldn’t shake him. It was terrible.” This second voice went on to report other details. I did not pay strict attention. The pewter flask had made its appearance from Spooner’s coat and Spooner was unscrewing its glass top and pulling the cork all in one artful motion. Would it be going too far to say that this was what I had been waiting for since nightfall? To nurse from my brother’s flask!—here was a happiness in life. I took the metal spout in my mouth and sucked hard at it, the way a young calf sucks, to feel safe in his world and warm inside himself, and to become strong.

I got a fair swallow considering the size of the spout and was therefore pleased with myself.

“Pick him up, gentlemen,” Spooner said to those standing closest, and I felt arms around me and men’s hands clasping my arms and then the spout went away as I was hoisted from the rug. A bell was ringing in the distance. This was the dinner bell. After standing, I surprised my brother Ralph with a hug for helping me. There was a general movement toward the oak table, and merely by standing erect I seemed to become swept up in this movement, brothers making their way to seats. Of course it was late and everyone had had a lot to drink and nothing to eat but peanuts. For this reason there was a fair amount of swaying from side to side as men smelled food rolling in through the library’s northern doors, on trolleys pushed by Jason and Joshua. Up ahead, over the horizon of swaying heads, fortunate brothers arrived at the oak table and stationed water glasses in preferred places, or draped jackets casually on chair backs to claim spots not named as theirs on Jeremiah’s seating plan. Brothers in the rear had to step over Virgil to get in line. Feet shuffled and the floorboards groaned and groaned. No one was talking in that solemn progression that advanced over Virgil. Several men were smoking, and at intervals along our line small clouds of cigarette smoke drifted or were blown upward out of mouths toward the ceiling.