Somewhere in the distance a prowl car whined in protest.

“Someone’s getting pulled over, Cheever,” McNaughton said.

“Yeah. Some poor slob who doesn’t know where he ought to be this time of night.”

“Just where should he be, Cheever?”

“Home in bed with his wife beside him and his children in the next room asleep.”

“But you’re here with me, Cheever.”

“And I’m liking it too, sir. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t mean that people like me shouldn’t be out working somewhere. But they shouldn’t be doing anything that would get them pulled over, regardless of who they are.”

“And you, Cheever? Would you want to be home with your wife and kids?”

“Yes, sir. I sure would, sir. That’ll come with time. Just one more year, sir. Not even a year really. This is my last year of school. Then we can live like real people.”

“I’ve never lived like real people, Cheever. And now it’s too late. I’m stuck up here in this gadget with no way to do anything at all. I’m as worthless as they come, Cheever.”

“Don’t say that, sir. Why, you’re one of the richest men around. You can do whatever you want. You’ve got enough money to live like a king.”

“That’s what got me here, Cheever. Thinking like that. I guess I thought I was a king of sorts. You’re right. I’m a rich man. I’ve got so much money it’s running out my ears. At the same time there are people working their tails off making sure I stay that way. You know that’s the way it is, don’t you, Cheever? The people down the line, to keep their jobs, spend all their time making sure I make more and more money. If I don’t make money, they lose their jobs. Not because I would fire them or anything like that. It’s just the way with economics. If I don’t make money, there aren’t any jobs for those who work making me rich.”

“If you say so, sir. You’re in a position to know.”

“I’m in no position to know anything. I’m just a talking head and talking heads don’t always make sense, Cheever. Remember that. Talking heads don’t always make sense.”

“Well, sir, I don’t think you’re a talking head, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir. I know it has to be hard, sitting there like that, not doing nothing at all but listening to music or television, or to people like me. It has to be hard not to be able to read, what with not being able to turn pages when you want. Could use talking books, you know. But, you would know that. Must be harder not to get out with people the way you’re used to doing. But I like being here, sir. You show me something nobody else shows me. You show me how a man can go on regardless of what happens to him. You give me hope.”

“I’m glad I give someone something, Cheever. You make me feel a bit better, inside I mean. I’ll never get used to this nothing that I have to contend with,” McNaughton said.

“It’s a nice night out, sir,” Cheever said.

“Is it, Cheever? I wouldn’t know.”

“Would you like me to open the door to the terrace, sir?”

“Is that permitted, Cheever?”

“I don’t know why not. You can’t get out there unless someone takes you out and no one here is about to do that.”

“Then please do, Cheever. I’d like to.... Well I’d like to do something other than what I am now doing, whatever it might be. Maybe the open window would let in some life.”

Cheever opened the sliding door to the terrace a bit.

“All the way, Cheever. All the way,” McNaughton said.

“There it is, sir. All the way. Anything else?”

“Not right now, Cheever. Go back to your books. I suppose after a while you and that bozo in the hall will have to get me into bed, though I don’t know what for.”

“So you can sleep, sir. They said that even if you couldn’t feel nothing, your brain would register when you needed to lie down. I don’t know nothing about it, sir.”

“And quit that damned sir business will you? I get sick and tired of hearing people slipping around and saying ‘Sir,’ and all that. I know I’m rich as all get out and that people want to kow-tow to that. But don’t you do it too.”

“Yes, sir. If you say so, sir.”

“Not sir! Damn it all to hell anyway.”

“I guess I don’t know how to talk to you without the sir, if you get what I mean, sir”

McNaughton laughed, a deep resonant laugh. He heard himself laugh even if it did take more breath than he had used in weeks. To laugh was good.

“Say it again, Sam!” McNaughton said. He would have shouted it if he had been able but there was not enough breath in him to shout. Maybe someday, if he practiced, he would be able to shout. Regardless, he had laughed. For the first time since he had come to this state, he had laughed. Maybe there were miracles of a kind in the world after all.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get all that, sir,” Cheever said.

“Never mind, Cheever. Get back to your books. You know. We’ve got to take time to talk some more some day. But I don’t want to take you away from your books too long. That’s important, you know. The time with your books. Maybe I’ll give you one of mine to read one of these days. Get on back to your books.”

McNaughton did not hear Cheever returning to his books. His mind had turned to the door and the streets outside. Even at this hour, the city was astir. He could hear it all about him. Though most people had set aside all things for a bit of sleep, there remained those who lived the night life and their sounds filled the air. Somewhere a siren screamed once more in the night. Wonder who that clerk was who got shot? Did it matter? Did anything at all matter?