The Secret History

Then put it on your card.'

'I don't have a card.'

'Oh, come on.'

'I don't,' I said, growing more irritated by the second.

Bu

And then he was off, his fists in his pockets, the white of his socks flashing in the dim.

He was gone a long time. I was wondering if he was going to come back at all, if he hadn't just crawled out a window and left me to foot the bill, when finally a door shut somewhere and he sauntered back across the room.

'Worry not, worry not,' he said as he slid into his chair. 'All's well.'

'What'd you do?'

'Called Henry.'

'He's coming?'

'In two shakes.'

'Is he mad?'

'Naw,' said Bu

After maybe ten extremely uncomfortable minutes, during which we pretended to sip at the dregs of our ice-cold coffee, Henry walked in, a book beneath his arm.

'See?' whispered Bu

'Where's the check,' said Henry, in a toneless and deadly voice.

'Here you are, old pal,' said Bu

'Hello,' said Henry coldly, turning to me.

'Hello.'

'How are you?' He was like a robot.

'Fine.'

That's good.'

'Here you go, old top,' said Bu

Henry looked hard at the total, his face motionless.

'Well,' said Bu

Without a word, Henry handed it to him. The lettering on the front was in some Oriental language. Bu

'Are you ready to go?' Henry said abruptly.

'Sure, sure,' said Bu

Henry paid the check while Bu

He stopped at Bu

Thank you so much – beautiful lunch – well, toodle-oo, yes, yes, goodbye -' The door slammed and he shot up the walk at a rapid clip.

Once he was inside, Henry turned to me. 'I'm very sorry,' he said.

'Oh, no, please,' I said, embarrassed. 'Just a mix-up. I'll pay you back.'

He ran a hand through his hair and I was surprised to see it was trembling. 'I wouldn't dream of such a thing,' he said curtly.

'It's his fault.'

'But '

'He told you he was taking you out. Didn't he?'

His voice had a slightly accusatory note. 'Well, yes,' I said.

'And just happened to leave his wallet at home.'

'It's all right.'

'It's not all right,' Henry snapped. 'It's a terrible trick. How were you to know? He takes it on faith that whoever he's with can produce tremendous sums at a moment's notice. He never thinks about these things, you know, how awkward it is for everyone. Besides, what if I hadn't been at home?'

'I'm sure he really just forgot.'

'You took a taxi there,' said Henry shortly. 'Who paid for that?'

Automatically I started to protest, and then stopped cold. Bu

'You see,' said Henry. 'He's not even very clever about it, is he? It's bad enough he does it to anyone but I must say I never thought he'd have the nerve to try it on a perfect stranger.'

I didn't know what to say. We drove to the front of Monmouth in silence.

'Here you are,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's fine, really. Thank you, Henry.'

'Good night, then.'

I stood under the porch light and watched him drive away.

Then I went inside and up to my room, where I collapsed on my bed in a drunken stupor.

'We heard all about your lunch with Bu

I laughed. It was late the next afternoon, a Sunday, and I'd been at my desk nearly all day reading the Parmenides. The Greek was rough going but I had a hangover, too, and I'd been at it so long that the letters didn't even look like letters but something else, indecipherable, bird footprints on sand. I was staring out the window in a sort of trance, at the meadow cropped close like bright green velvet and billowing into carpeted hills at the horizon, when I saw the twins, far below, gliding like a pair of ghosts on the lawn.

I leaned out the window and called to them. They stopped and turned, hands shading brows, eyes screwed up against the evening glare. 'Hello,' they called, and their voices, faint and ragged, were almost one voice floating up to me. 'Come down.'

So now we were walking in the grove behind the college, down by the scrubby little pine forest at the base of the mountains, with one of them on either side of me.

They looked particularly angelic, their blond hair windblown, both in white te

'How'd you hear about it?' I said. 'The lunch?'

'Bun called this morning. And Henry told us about it last night.'

'I think he was pretty mad.'

Charles shrugged. 'Mad at Bu

'They don't care for each other, do they?'

They seemed astonished to hear this.

'They're old friends,' said Camilla.

'Best friends, I would say,' said Charles. 'At one time you never saw them apart.'

'They seem to argue quite a bit.'

'Well, of course,' said Camilla, 'but that doesn't mean they're not fond of each other all the same. Henry's so serious and Bun's so sort of – well, not serious – that they really get along quite well.'

'Yes,' said Charles. 'L'Allegro and II Penseroso. A well-matched pair. I think Bu

'It's old,' said Camilla. 'From the i,'oos. There was a town there too, a church and a mill. Nothing left but foundations, but you can still see the gardens they planted. Pippin apples and wintersweet, moss roses growing where the houses were. God knows what happened up there. An epidemic, maybe. Or a fire.'

'Or the Mohawks,' said Charles. 'You'll have to go see it sometime. The cemetery especially.'

'It's pretty. Especially in the snow.'

The sun was low, burning gold through the trees, casting our shadows before us on the ground, long and distorted. We walked for a long time without saying anything. The air was musty with far-off bonfires, sharp with the edge of a twilight chill. There was no noise but the crunch of our shoes on the gravel path, the whistle of wind in the pines; I was sleepy and my head hurt and there was something not quite real about any of it, something like a dream. I felt that at any moment I might start, my head on a pile of books at my desk, and find myself in a darkening room, alone.