‘Yes,’ Jonathan said. ‘Yes, that’s it. Precisely. Thank you. Now tell me what’s the matter with you.’

‘The matter?’

‘This sickness of yours. What is it?’

George spread his massive thighs; his testicles nestled inside his left pant leg like a dead ferret, bloated and elongated, reaching down as far as his knee. ‘A mess, ain’t it?’ George said, looking down. ‘Christ, what I’d give to hear my pee hit the side of a barn from three paces again. I ain’t got no pleasures left. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Can’t screw. Hurt all the time. “Discomfort”, these bastards call it. Discomfort, shit: agony – Get this over fast, will you, Johnny?’

‘I think I’ll go now,’ Jonathan said, rising from his chair. ‘Let you get some rest.’

George started so abruptly that he knocked over his drink and cried out from the pain of it. ‘You got to kill me first. You said – Settle old wrongs. Two birds with one stone – efficient – you were always efficient. Come on. Do it. I never hated you, Johnny, you got to believe that. You’re the one did the hating. I never – You must have known it, too. Sometimes.’

‘No,’ Jonathan said.

‘I walked around the parlor in that godforsaken little wooden house,’ George rushed on, ‘wearing that frock coat from Sears & Roebuck, and all I could think of was, “Hey, my Johnny’s watching.” Always called you “Johnny” to myself. Know that? Shit, I used to feel your eyes on me, weighing me up. You had beautiful eyes, Johnny. Still do – blue eyes with black hair. Look at me: piece of meat waiting for an abattoir – “Tonight Johnny comes,” I says to myself, “and maybe the whiskey will taste like whiskey again.” You must of known I really loved you, Johnny, back then. For Christ’s sake – it was so goddamned obvious. I couldn’t keep away from you. Loved your backside and your belly and – How the fuck could you not know?’ George’s eyes stayed fixed on Jonathan. ‘I remember times,’ George said, then stopped and began again. ‘Good times—’

‘You’d better get some rest, George,’ Jonathan said again.

‘No! Don’t go! No!’ George tried to get up but failed. ‘You can’t leave me to die like this. Have another drink. We never drank liquor together before, you and me, did we?’

‘Yes,’ Jonathan said. ‘We did. Once. It was my first taste of whiskey. You came calling at the soddy.’

‘Oh, Christ, yes – I didn’t mean—’

‘Didn’t you? You let me put on your frock coat. Remember?’

‘It wasn’t hate, Johnny. It was love. Can’t you see that? It was love!’

Jonathan said nothing.

‘It was a shitty thing to do,’ George said, half sobbing now, plainly in such pain that he could hardly control his voice – or anything else. ‘I never should have – I’ve always regretted—’

‘A bit late for apologies, isn’t it?’

‘The point is, that ain’t got nothing to do with now. Now’s different. You got to help me. You got to. Ain’t you a preacher?’