The businessman reached out and stopped the plate from toppling to the floor. Easy now, he said to the man. What’s gone wrong? A moment ago you were gay as a lark.
Stop this gay talk. I’m not gay.
I know. But you were. Gay as a lark.
Quickly, before the businessman could stop him, the man pushed the plate of eggs off the bar and onto the floor. The plate crashed. Lárus, who was standing sentinel in his spot, flinched. He quickly looked down at the mess on the floor but then looked away.
It was quiet for a moment and then the man said, Look what I’ve done. I’m sorry. He stood up and leaned over the bar so that he could see the mess he had made and then sat back on the barstool. I’ve made a mess.
It’s not so bad, said the businessman. But perhaps we should put you to bed, before things get worse.
I’m not a child, said the man.
Lárus disappeared behind the door and reemerged a moment later with a dustpan and brush. He knelt down and swept up the shards of plate and slivers of egg and dumped them into the garbage. Would you like more egg? he asked the man.
No, the man answered. No more eggs. And I’m sorry, Lárus. I’m sorry I acted badly and made a mess. Thank you for cleaning it up.
It’s my job, said Lárus. I only do my job.
You do it very well, said the man. Thank you.
Anyone can do this job.
The businessman stood up. He withdrew his billfold from his jacket, extracted several bills, and placed them upon the bar. I think we should allow Lárus to have an early night, he said. Do you agree? he asked the man.
Yes, said the man.
The businessman steadied the man as he climbed off his barstool. The man started walking toward the door but the businessman said, Wait. We need provisions. He studied the plates of food arranged on the bar top and then put two of the meat sandwiches atop the bowl of ham and potato salad. Follow me, he said to the man. He held the man’s arm with the hand that wasn’t holding the food, and half pushed, half pulled him toward the door. They both paused before the beaded curtain. A little help? the businessman said. I’ve got my hands full.
The man reached out and parted the strands of beads, and the businessman pushed him through the jangling screen into the lobby. The businessman did not release his hold on the man as they crossed the lobby, as if he was afraid the man might suddenly bolt. They climbed the steps to the landing and entered the elevator and stood close together as it ascended. When it stopped the businessman motioned to the man to open the door, and when it was open he pushed the man gently out of the elevator onto the fourth-floor landing.
I’m on five, the man said.
Come with me, the businessman said, and led the man down the hallway. He stopped outside a door, knelt down, and carefully placed the bowl of sandwiches and potato salad on the floor. Then he stood up and unlocked the door. He flung it open and gently pushed the man before him into the room and closed the door behind them. It was completely dark in the room. The two men stood in the darkness. Even though it was completely dark the man closed his eyes. Although there was no sound he wished he could stop up his ears as well, and remove himself as completely as he could from the world. Once, while he was on business in Frankfurt, a colleague had taken him, after a somewhat drunken dinner, to a place where they floated in sensory-deprivation tanks. The tanks were like coffins filled with salt water, each in its own closet-like room; the man was told to strip and lie down in the tank and pull the cover closed above him; in an hour lights would come on inside the tank and he would know it was time to get out. It was the best feeling the man had ever had, floating alone in the darkness. He forgot his body and his mind, which had been racing but gradually quieted itself into a sort of conscious unconsciousness, a waking sleep, where the man somehow had access to the true and free self that emerged only in his dreams. Remembering this experience, the man wanted to lie down