‘I don’t know. No, you don’t.’ I added suddenly. ‘I don’t know what made me say that.’ I lay down abruptly.
The ceiling was grey and the lamps were dim. I heard the pipe-stem click against his teeth. I lay there for a long time.
‘Nothing happens,’ I told him.
‘What did you expect to happen?’
‘Like before.’
‘There’s something there that wants out. Just let it come.’
It was as if there was a revolving drum in my head, and on it were photographed the places and things and people I was after. And it was as if the drum was spinning very fast, so fast I couldn’t tell one picture from another. I made it stop, and it stopped at a blank segment. I spun it again, and stopped it again.
‘Nothing happens,’ I said.
‘Baby is three,’ he repeated.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘That.’ I closed my eyes.