Chapter 8

           WhenJohngotbackfromhisshowerandthefloatershadleft,Iunlockedhiscell,wentin,andsatdownonthebunkbesidehim.Brutalwasonthedesk.Helookedup,sawmeinthereonmyown,butsaidnothing.Hejustwentbacktowhateverpaperworkhewascurrentlymangling,lickingawayatthetipofhispencilthewholetime.

           Johnlookedatmewithhisstrangeeyes—bloodshot,distant,onthevergeoftears...andyetcalm,too,asifcryingwasnotsuchabadwayoflife,notonceyougotusedtoit.Heevensmiledalittle.HesmelledofIvorysoap,Iremember,ascleanandfreshasababyafterhiseveningbath.

           "Hello,boss,"hesaid,andthenreachedoutandtookbothofmyhandsinbothofhis.Itwasdonewithaperfectunstudiednaturalness.

           "Hello,John."Therewasalittleblockinmythroat,andItriedtoswallowitaway."Iguessyouknowthatwe’recomingdowntoitnow.Anothercoupleofdays."

           Hesaidnothing,onlysatthereholdingmyhandsinhis.Ithink,lookingbackonit,thatsomethinghadalreadybeguntohappentome,butIwastoofixed—mentallyandemotionally—ondoingmydutytonotice.

           "Isthereanythingspecialyou’dlikethatnightfordinner,John?Wecanrustleyouupmostanything.Evenbringyouabeer,ifyouwant.Justhavetoputherinacoffeecup,that’sall."

           "Nevergotthetaste,"hesaid.