Free Stolen Pleasures by Gina Berriault Page B

calm her fears for his safety. Nothing escaped her, only all the years of her life in the protective custody of tons of books and tons of granite. Soon to be released, just as he was to be, all she’d have was her stringy emeritus professor of a husband and her poodles. Unlike himself, who’d have the world.
    The fellow sat staring at the floor, striving to recover from the losing battle with his cough.
    â€œYou suppose I could spend the night in here?”
    With unthinkable on the tip of his tongue, Perera said nothing. Accommodations ought to be available for queries of every sort at any time in your life.

    â€œLooks like it ought to be safer in here.”
    â€œUnsafe in here, too,” said Perera. “This fortress is in a state of abject deterioration. The last earthquake did some damage, along with the damage done by the budget cuts, along with the damage by vandals. Time’s been creeping around in here, too. The whole place could collapse on you while you slept.”
    â€œI can handle it,” said the supplicant. “Nobody’s going to throw lighter fuel on me and set me on fire in here. Nobody’s going to knife me in here, at night anyway. Lost my bedroll. I left my stuff with this woman who’s my friend, she got room in her cart. I had a change of shirt in there, I had important papers, had a letter from a guy I worked for up the coast. I was good at hauling in those sea urchins they ship over to Japan, tons of them. They love those things over there, then there wasn’t any more. Where the sea urchins were, something else is taking over, messing up the water. I’m telling you this because I don’t drink, don’t do dope, don’t smoke, so I sure would not set this place on fire if I was allowed to sleep in here.” He was talking fast, outrunning his cough. “The cops took her stuff, took my stuff, dumped it all into the truck. Ordered by the mayor. She lost family pictures, lost the cat she had tied to the cart that sat on top. She was crying. I was in here talking to you.”
    â€œIt must be damn cold in here at night,” Perera said.
    â€œMaybe, maybe not, and if it’s raining maybe the roof don’t leak.”
    â€œDark, I imagine,” said Perera. “I’ve never thought about it. I suspect they used to leave a few lights on but now it’s dark. Saves money. Let’s say that once the lights go out you can’t see a thing.
Your sense of direction is totally lost, you’re blind as a bat, and I’m nowhere around to guide you to the lavatory and I wouldn’t know where it was myself. You might be pissing on some of the noblest minds that ever put their thoughts on paper.”
    â€œI wouldn’t do that.”
    â€œThey do get pissed on, one time and another, but not by you or me. So let’s say you’re feeling your way around, looking for a comfortable place. Okula has a rug in her office and it’s usually warm in there. She exudes a warmth that might stay the night. But how to get there?”
    â€œI know my way around.”
    â€œYou do seem to,” said Perera.
    â€œWhat you could do when you take off, like your day is done, see? You just leave me in here and close the door. I wouldn’t care if you locked it.”
    â€œI can lock it,” said Perera, “but not with you inside.”
    â€œIs there some of that coffee left?”
    Perera, pouring, was planning to wash that porcelain cup thoroughly. If it was pneumonia gripping this young man, it would get a more merciless grip on him, twice as old. Or if it was tuberculosis, it would bring on his end with rapacious haste and just as he was about to embark on his most rewarding years.
    This time the guest took longer to drink it down, the hot coffee apparently feeling its way past the throat’s lacerations.
    â€œLet’s say it’s like that darkness upon the face of the deep,” Perera said.