David did not know. He knew that at that moment he yearned to be fully convinced, to be convinced that he was fully wrong. He needed to force himself. His mind told him Tom was right. His heart willed Tom be right. Let Tom be sincere and the perfect friend: let him be the lacker! His mind argued, his heart sang for this sweeter way. They forced him through the forms of acquiescence.... Something neither mind nor heart could not, would not submit: waved frantic and helpless against all the world. This, the bleak hurt in David.
The battle was manifestly over.
They stood in the hall of their flat.
Tom was smiling. Tom suffered also. In his smile, as he put forth his hand, was a plea for forgiveness.
In that gesture, Tom spoke his deepest truth. He had been indeed on the defensive. Attacking David, he had fought for himself: fought for his place in the heart of his friend: fought to cover from David and from himself the flinching part of him which shrilled and manoeuvered for attention, plotted for power. With his soul sick in revolt. David’s rebuke was the rebuke and call of his own nature. Since David embodied this, Tom needed him, needed him to love him: also, since David embodied this, Tom needed to destroy him.
In the silence of the hall, the true Tom spoke. As if he had said: “I have said nothing. You are my better self, my deeper self. Stay near to me. Forgive me.”
David saw his gesture. He understood that it was sincere. He could not read its context. He needed no more than that it was sincere.
A sweet flood suddenly was over him: the certainty for which he had thirsted.
With both hands he took the hand of Tom. He held it close. His eyes were full of tears. It was David who spoke: “Forgive me!”
In the morning, David awoke full of weariness.