forced himself to'look in the mirror again.
The face was calmer now. The mad stare had gone, replaced by a look of bewilderment and dismay. The reflection showed a man in his late thirties, with dark hair and blue eyes. He had no beard or moustache, just a heavy growth of dark stubble.
He turned back to his companion. 'Luke what?' he said. 'What's my last name?'
'Luke... something, how the hell am I supposed to know?'
'How did I get this way? How long has it been going on? Why did it happen?'
Pete got to his feet. 'I need some breakfast,' he said.
Luke realized he was hungry. He wondered if he had any money. He searched the pockets of his clothes: the raincoat, the jacket, the pants. All were empty; He had no money, no wallet, not eveft a handkerchief. No assets, no clues. 'I think I'm broke,' fee said.
'No kidding,' Pete said sarcastically. 'Come on.' He stumbled through a doorway. '
Luke followed.
When he emerged into the light, he suffered another shock. He was in a huge temple, empty and eerily silent. Mahogany benches stood in rows on the marble floor, like church pews waiting for a ghostly congregation. Around the vast room, on a high stone lintel atop rows of pillars, surreal stone warriors with helmets and shields stood guard over the. holy place. Far above their heads was a vaulted ceiling richly decorated with gilded octagons. The insane thought crossed Luke's mind that he had been the sacrificial victim in a weird rite that had left him with no memory. "
Awestruck, he said: 'What is this place?'
'Union Station, Washington, DC,' said Pete.
A relay dosed in Luke's mind, and the whole thing made sense. With relief he saw the grime on the walls, the chewing gum trodden into the marble floor and the candy wrappers and cigarette packs in the corners, and he felt foolish. He was in a grandiose train station, early in the morning before it filled up with passengers. He had scared himself, like a child imagining monsters in a darkened bedroom.
Pete headed for a triumphal arch marked 'Exit', and Luke hurried after him. An aggressive voice called: 'Hey! Hey, you!'
Pete said: 'Oh-oh.' He quickened his step.
A stout man in a tight-fitting railroad uniform bore down on them,, full of righteous indignation, 'Where did you bums spring from?'
Pete whined: 'We're leaving, we're leaving.'
Luke was humiliated to be chased out of a train station by a fat official.
The man was not content just to get rid of them. You been sleeping here, ain't you?' he protested, following hard on their heels. You know that ain't allowed.'
It angered Luke to be lectured like a schoolboy, even though he guessed he deserved it. 'He had slept in the damn toilet. He suppressed a retort and walked fester.
'This ain't a flophouse,' the man went on. 'Damn bums, now scram!' He shoved Luke's shoulder.
Luke turned suddenly and confronted the man. 'Don't touch me,' he said. He was surprised by the quiet menace in his own voice. The official stopped short. 'We're leaving, so you don't need to do or say anything more, is that-clear?'
The man took a big step backward, looking scared.
Pete took Luke's arm. 'Let's go.'
Luke felt ashamed. The guy was an officious twerp, but Luke and Pete were vagrants, and a railroad employee had the right to throw them out. Luke had no business intimidating him.
They passed through the majestic archway. It was dark outside. A few cars were parked around the traffic circle in front of the station, but the streets were quiet The air was bitterly cold, and Luke drew his ragged clothes closer about him. It was winter, a frosty morning in Washington, maybe January or February.
He wondered what year it was. ,,
Pete turned left, apparently sure where he was going. Luke followed. 'Where are we headed?' he asked.
'I know a gospel shop on H Street where we can get free breakfast, so long as you don't mind singing a hymn or two.'
'I'm starving, I'll sing a whole oratorio.'
Pete confidently foUowed a zigzag route through a low-rent neighbourhood. The city was not yet awake. The houses were dark and the stores shuttered, the greasy spoons and the news-stands not yet open. Glancing at a bedroom window hung with cheap curtains, Luke imagined a man inside, fast asleep under a pile of blankets, his wife warm beside him; and he felt a pang of envy. It seemed that he belonged out here, in the predawn community of men and