I turned and looked out the rear window.
We were atop a small rise and I could see Ilene inside the cemetery. She sat beside the grave, a pitiful, shrunken figure in black, with her face hidden by her two hands.
Then we went around a bend and she was gone from my sight.
"Back to the hotel, Mr. Cord?" the chauffeur repeated.
I straightened up and reached for a cigarette.
"No," I said, lighting it. "To the airport."
I drew the smoke deep inside my lungs and let it burn there.
Suddenly, all I wanted to do was get away.
Boston and death, Rina and dreams.
I had too many memories as it was.
The roaring filled my ears and I began to climb up the long black ladder out of the darkness over my head.
The higher I climbed, the louder the noise got.
I opened my eyes.
Outside the window, the Third Avenue El rattled by.
I could see the people pressed together inside and on the narrow open platforms.
Then the train had passed and a strange silence came into the room.
I let my eyes wander.
It was a small, dark room, its white paper already beginning to turn brown on its walls.
Near the window was a small table, on the wall over it a crucifix.
I was in an old brass bed.
Slowly I swung my feet to the floor and sat up.
My head felt as if it were going to fall off.
"So, you're awake now, are you?"
I started to turn my head but the woman came around in front of me.
There was something vaguely familiar about her face but I couldn't remember where I’d seen her before.
I put my hand up and rubbed my cheek. My beard was as rough as sandpaper.
"How long have I been here?" I asked.
She laughed shortly.
"Almost a week," she answered.
"I was beginnin' to think there was no end to your thirst."
"I was drinking?"
"That you were," she said.
I followed her eyes to the floor.
There were three cartons filled with empty whisky bottles.
I rubbed the back of my neck. No wonder my head hurt.
"How did I happen to get here?" I asked.
"You don't remember?"
I shook my head.
"You came up to me in front of the store on Sixth Avenue and took me by the arm, sayin' you was ready for the lesson now.
You were already loaded then. Then we went into the White Rose Bar for a couple of drinks and it was there you got into a fight with the barkeep. So I brought you home for safekeepin'."
I rubbed my eyes.
I was beginning to remember now.
I had come from the airport and was walking up Sixth Avenue toward the Norman offices when I felt I needed a drink.
After that, it was fuzzy. I remembered vaguely searching in front of a radio store for some whore who had promised to teach me some things I had never learned in school.
"Were you the one?" I asked.
She laughed. "No, I wasn't. But in the condition you were in, I didn't think it would make any difference. It wasn't a woman you were looking for, it was a sorrow you were drownin'."
I got to my feet. I was in my shorts. I looked up at her questioningly.
"I took your clothes downstairs to the cleaner when you quit drinkin' yesterday.
I’ll go down now and get them while you're cleanin' up."
"The bathroom?"