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Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-one

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A species apart. ..<br />

It came as a surprise to realize that she had soothed him after all, and he had slept for some little time.<br />

He sat up, startled by his return to a consciousness he did not know he had left. Where there had been<br />

memories in his mind there was now darkness . . . and a watchful snake.<br />

"What time is it?"<br />

"Eleven thirty."<br />

She ran her fingers through his hair. "I would have gotten you up if there had been any change. She's still<br />

in the coma."<br />

The cold word "coma" sighed in his mind. "Is she—"<br />

"She'll come around this afternoon sometime. She's badly injured, darling, but she's going to be all right."<br />

"Mother, I fell in love with her. I fell in love last night."<br />

"She's a wonderful person."<br />

"She's an angel." The image of that still body in its olive-drab intensive care blankets came into his mind.<br />

He would not cry, but inside himself he knew there were tears.<br />

And deeper, where the serpent had its lair, what emotions did he feel there? He dared not find out, and<br />

turned his mind away. Better to cling to the surface.<br />

"You know how you feel sometimes when you meet somebody who really fits—like you've always<br />

known them? That's how we felt. When I held her in my arms, Mother—" He could not continue. The<br />

thought of that warm, vital body was so moving and his grief so great that he was forced to lapse into<br />

silence.<br />

Martin Titus had taught his son not to weep, but Jonathan knew that his mother understood what was in<br />

him. She had been only eighteen when he was born, and her relative youth increased the element of<br />

companionship. She was a beautiful woman. Her forty-<strong>one</strong> was a reasonable facsimile of thirty. "Did Mike<br />

make it hard for you?"<br />

"You have the wrong idea, Mother. Mike is good to me."<br />

"I suppose I ought to love him for that. But I just can't, poor man."<br />

She was always saying things like that, and justifying her marriage as having some higher purpose.<br />

"You didn't have to marry him."<br />

"Oh, Jonathan, let's not go over that again. I'm trying to make the best of it. Let it go at that."<br />

"Okay, Mother. I just wish you were happier. I don't appreciate being the cause of your<br />

martyrdom—especially because you won't tell me why you did it. I like Mike, he's a good man, but if you<br />

hadn't brought him into my life I wouldn't even know him." He got up and turned on WNEW-FM. Clash<br />

was deep in the purple rhythm of anger. He lowered the volume until it became a sullen, muttering<br />

undert<strong>one</strong>.<br />

"Darling, I wish I could tell you. Maybe some day soon I'll be able to. But for now let's just drop the<br />

subject."<br />

"You keep too much from me, Mother. I'm beginning to get an idea that what you're really hiding from<br />

me is my past."<br />

"What is there to hide?"<br />

"Whatever is the matter with me. What did you do—send me to some kind of a quack hypnotherapist?<br />

Let me ask you a frank question. Are we buried out here in Queens because of something I did in the<br />

past—like maybe raping a girl, or killing her?" His voice had risen. "Who were our friends in Manhattan,<br />

before Dad was killed? I don't even know. I can't remember."<br />

"Jonathan, be patient with me. Just a little while lon­ger—"<br />

Almost before he realized it his hand had lashed out and caught her on the cheek. "Stop feeding me that<br />

line of bullshit! I want to know now!"<br />

His mother turned away, her cheek reddening. There was a long silence. She did not turn back to him.<br />

"Perhaps we can go over to the hospital together," she said, too briskly. "I think it would be nice for us both<br />

to be there when she comes around."<br />

"I'm sorry, Mother. Please forgive me."<br />

"Hush, son. You're upset. Overwrought. There's nothing to forgive, okay? Just to forget." She smiled, her<br />

hand came out and touched his temple. "Get your clothes on and we'll go." Jonathan went into the bathroom<br />

and applied his Norelco to his face until the shadow was g<strong>one</strong>. Then he opened the aftershave, splashed<br />

some on, and combed his hair. He returned to his room and started to pull on some briefs. His mother<br />

stopped him with a gesture, then looked long at his naked body. "There's nothing you're not telling me, is<br />

there? Everything went all right with Mike, didn't it?"<br />

"What're you inspecting me for, signs of a beating? He cleared me, at least superficially. Mother, I don't

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