After that they spoke a little about the day, and what had happened. It had been a bad day. Just bread and orange peels. They would try somewhere else tomorrow.

Try what?’ the new boy-without-a-name, the one trying to be Willie, asked.

They looked at him and were silent as if the question had no meaning.

A half-moon came up and the boy who had held his hand, on the way to the river, turned to him and said: ‘You must get a bed.’

In the sharp, silvery light he led David down the river bed and together they collected a pile of scrap paper blown there by the wind and a few pieces of gritty cardboard.

The other boy did all the talking. ‘My name is Petah. Now listen. What’s the matter with you? You say nothing. Are you sleepy? I’m also too. Not long now. You’ll sleep on these. I’ll show you. It’s all right over here, you’ll see, when there’s food. We’ll be friends. Me and you. I’ll tell you what. We must find you another name. Willie’s no good man. I don’t like it. It’s dead, you see.’

When Petah decided they had enough papers, they went back. The others were crawling around the openings to the pipes, scurrying about on all fours like moles. Petah led him to the last pipe.

‘This is mine. You sleep with me. Are you frightened? Shall I go in first? Listen. Say something man. You say nothing.’

He showed David how to lay out the papers so that they formed a mattress. Then he crawled in, followed by David. Inside it was warm and musty and Petah’s small voice boomed down the pipe, each word throbbing and yawning wide with echoes. David listened without emotion. Nothing touched him, nothing registered. He was in something like a living trance that had even made him immune to pain. And then Petah dropped off to sleep.

Framed by the opening of the pipe was a circle of smoky white sky and as he watched a small spider crawled along the inside rim and then dropped down slowly on a single thread of cobweb along which a little light danced as it swung to and fro. They were right, the other children. It was warm in the pipes. It crept into his numb body and slowly, very slowly, he began to relax. Warmth. Something else, some other time, some other place had also been warm. His eyes were as heavy as leaden balls. He closed them and felt the warmth even more. It crept up his body and into his mind and there, like things frozen for all time, his thoughts began to move. Warmth. Where had it been warm? What had been warm? His pain was thawing out too. Warmth… was a pain…was a memory, was a pain. Something warm and soft and someone singing. All this was somewhere. Where, and who, saying what? He listened. ‘Don’t go.’ His heart beat faster and he held his breath. The words were far away. ‘Don’t go. Don’t move from the room…’ A tremendously urgent desperation seized him. He had to be somewhere. Some special place…and right away. It was coming to him. He would find it. He had to be there or else…