he way his eyes found me。 ‘Am I wele？〃 he said。 Just stood there and said； ‘Am I wele？〃〃 〃I don't know why； but I let him in。 He didn't look in bad shape。 Maybe I thought he'd e to apologize； I can't remember。 Even then I would have been friends with him； if he'd offered。 Not on the old basis。 As business acquaintances； perhaps。 I let my defenses down。 We started talking about the past together〃…Whitehead chewed the memory over； trying to get a better taste of it…〃and then he started to tell me how lonely he was； how he needed my panionship。 I told him Warsaw was a long time gone。 I was a married man； a pillar of the munity； and I had no intention of changing my ways。 He started to get abusive： accused me of ingratitude。 Said I'd cheated him。 Broken the covenant between us。 I told him there'd never been a covenant； I'd just won a game of cards once； in a distant city； and as a result； he'd chosen to help me； for his own reasons。 I said I felt I'd acceded to his demands sufficiently to feel that any debt to him had been paid。 He'd shared my house； my friends； my life for a decade： everything that I had； had been his to share。 ‘It's not enough；〃 he said； and he began again： the same pleas as before； the same demands that I give up this pretense to respectability and go off somewhere with him； be a wanderer； be his pupil； learn new； terrible lessons about the way of the world。 And I have to say he made it sound almost attractive。 There were times when I tired of the masquerade； when I smelled war； dirt； when I saw the clouds over Warsaw； and I was homesick for the thief I used to be。 But I wasn't going to throw everything away for nostalgia's sake。 I told him so。 I think he must have known I was immovable； because he became desperate。 He started to ramble； started to tell me he was frightened without me； lost。 I was the one he'd given years of his life and his energies to； and how could I be so callous and unloving？ He laid hands on me； wept； tried to paw my face。 I was horrified by the whole thing。 He disgusted me with his melodrama； I wanted no part of it； or him。 But he wouldn't leave。 His demands turned into threats； and I suppose I lost my temper。 No suppose about it。 I've never been so angry。 I wanted an end to him and all he stood for： my grubby past。 I hit him。 Not hard at first； but when he wouldn't stop staring at me I lost control。 He didn't make any attempt to defend himself； and his passivity only inflamed me more。 I hit him and hit him； and he just took it。 Kept offering up his face to be beaten…〃 He took a trembling breath。 〃…God knows I've done worse things。 But nothing I feel so ashamed of。 I didn't stop till my knuckles began to split。 Then I gave him to Toy； who really worked him over。 And all the time not a peep out of him。 I go cold to think about it。 I can still see him against the wall； with Bill at his throat and his eyes not looking at where the next blow was ing from but at me。 Just at me。
〃I remember he said： ‘Do you know what you've done？〃 Just like that。 Very quietly； blood ing out with the words。
〃Then something happened。 The air got thick。 The blood on his face started to crawl around like it was alive。 Toy let him go。 He slid down the wall； left a smear down it。 I thought we'd killed him。 It was the worst moment of my life； standing here with Toy； both of us staring down at this bag of bones we'd beaten up。 That was our mistake； of course。 We should never have backed down。 We should have finished it then and there； and killed him。〃 〃Jesus。〃 〃Yes！ Stupid； not to have finished it。 Bill was loyal： there would have been no eback。 But we didn't have the courage。 I didn't have the courage。 I just made Toy clean Mamoulian up； then drive him to the middle of the city and dump him。〃 〃You wouldn't have killed him；〃 Marty said。
〃Still you insist on reading my mind；〃 Whitehead replied； wearily。 〃Don't you see that's what he wanted？ What he'd e for？ He would have let me be his executioner then； if I'd only had the nerve to follow through。 He was sick of life。 I could have put him out of his misery； and that would have been the end of it。〃 〃You think he's mortal？〃 〃Everything has its season。 His is past。 He knows it。〃 〃So all you need do is wait； right？ He'll die； given time。〃 Marty was suddenly sick of the story now； of thieves； of chance。 The whole sorry tale； true or untrue； repulsed him。 〃You don't need me anymore；〃 he said。 He stood and crossed to the door。 The sound of his feet in the glass was too loud in the small room。
〃Where are you going？〃 the old man wanted to know。
〃Away。 As far as I can get。〃 〃You promised to stay。〃 〃I promised to listen。 I have listened。 And I don't want any of this bloody place。〃 Marty began to open the door。 Whitehead addressed his back。
〃You think the European'll let you be？ You've seen him in the flesh； you've seen what he can do。 He'll have to silence you sooner or later。 Have you thought of that？〃 〃I'll take the risk。〃 〃You're safe here。〃 〃Safe？〃 Marty repeated incredulously。 〃You can't be serious。 Safe？ You really are pathetic； you know that？〃 〃If you go…〃 Whitehead warned。
〃What？〃 Marty turned on him； spitting contempt。 〃What will you do； old man？〃 〃I'll have them after you in two minutes flat； you're skipping parole。〃 〃And if they find me； I'll tell them everything。 About the heroin； about her out there in the hall。 Every dirty thing I can dig up to tell them。 I don't give a monkey's toss for your fucking threats； you hear？〃 Whitehead nodded。 〃So。 Stalemate。〃 〃Looks like it；〃 Marty replied； and stepped out into the corridor without looking back。
There was a morbid surprise awaiting him： the pups had found Bella。 They had not been spared Mamoulian's resurrecting hand； though they could not have served any practical purpose。 Too small； too blind。 They lay in the shadow of her empty belly； their mouths seeking teats that had long since gone。 One of them was missing； he noted。 Had it been the sixth child he'd seen move in the grave； either buried too deeply； or too profoundly degenerated； to follow where the rest went？
Bella raised her neck as he sidled past。 What was left of her head swung in his general direction。 Marty looked away； disgusted； but a rhythmical thumping made him glance back。
She had forgiven him his previous violence； apparently。 Content now； with her adoring litter in her lap； she stared； eyeless； at him； while her wretched tail beat gently on the carpet。
In the room where Marty had left him Whitehead sat slumped with exhaustion。
Though it had been difficult to tell the story at first； it had bee easier with the telling； and he was glad to have unburdened it。 So many times he'd wanted to tell Evangeline。 But she had signaled； in her elegant； subtle way； that if there were indeed secrets he had from her； she didn't want to know them。 All those years； living with Mamoulian in the home； she had never directly asked Whitehead why； as though she'd known the answer would be no answer at all； merely another question。
Thinking about her brought many sorrows to his throat； they brimmed in him。 The European had killed her； he had no doubt of that。 He or his agents had been on the road with her； her death had not been chance。 Had it been chance he would have known。 His unfailing instinct would have sensed its rightness； however terrible his grief。 But there had been no such sense； only the recognition of his oblique plicity in her death。 She had been killed as revenge upon him。 One of many such acts； but easily the worst。
And had the European taken her； after death？ Had he slipped into the mausoleum and touched her into life； the way he had the dogs？ The thought was repugnant； but Whitehead entertained it nevertheless； determined to think the worst for fear that if he didn't Mamoulian might still find terrors to shake him with。
〃You won't；〃 he said aloud to the room of glass。 Won't： frighten me； intimidate me； destroy me。 There were ways and means。 He could escape still； and hide at the ends of the earth。 Find a place where he could forget the story of his life。
There was something he hadn't told； a fraction of the Tale； scarcely pivotal but of more than passing interest； that he'd withheld