I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. His fatigue was tacitly understood within the family; it was a phenomenon which everyone acknowledged as related to the trades.
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