She was still facing forward. Her features were impassive, but he knew she was wondering what he’d do next. He thought, you’re gonna take it step by step, it’s gotta be timed and that timing better be damn near perfect.

He stood up again. He moved very slowly across the room and stood near the big bronze Buddha. He looked at the Buddha, took a very deep breath, put a troubled frown on his face, then faked an impulsive move toward the front door. All the while he hadn’t looked at her, and he wasn’t looking at her now as he put his hand on the doorknob. He was thinking in that instant, it’s like in Italy, we had a C.O. who took some awful chances.

He turned the doorknob, and heard her saying, “Where are you going?”

Standing there at the door with his back to her, “Just getting out, that’s all. I gotta get outta here.”

“But why? What’s wrong?”

“Damned if I know,” he muttered. He let go of the doorknob. Then with another synthetic deep breath, expelling it with a hiss through his teeth, “—just can’t take this.”

And again his hand was on the doorknob, and he was opening the door. She said, “Wait, don’t leave.” He hesitated a moment, then opened the door and heard her saying, “No, don’t.”

He stepped back, slowly closed the door. You think she’s buying this? he asked himself.

“Come here,” she said.

“What for?” He spoke wearily. “What’s the percentage?”

“If you mean what I think you mean—”

“Look, it’s no use.”

“Please,” she said. “Tell me.”

He turned and looked at her. “Can’t you see what’s going on?” For a long while she sat still studying him. He put a blaze into his eyes and shot it at her. Without sound he said to her, this hurts. I’m really hurting. In deep.

She got up from the sofa. Moving toward him, as though drifting toward him, she looked him up and down. Then as she came close she murmured, “Tell me. Why can’t you tell me?”

He pushed her away, letting her feel the trembling in his hands as they gripped her shoulders. He tightened the grip, made a hissing sound, then let go of her shoulders and muttered, “I’m trying to control it. Can’t let it get started.”

“Why not?” and she leaned toward him, but he pulled back and said, “No, don’t. For Christ’s sake, don’t.”

“But why not?”

“We let it get started, we’re in for grief.”

“But if we—”

“Look, let’s forget it,” he cut in. “We need each other like gasoline needs a lit match.”

He was facing the bronze bulk of the Buddha. The statue’s slit eyes seemed to say, what I observe these days is considerable scheming and bluffing.