Flushing with nervous sweat, Doug rushed outside and stood coatless. And only after the wind had cooled him off, did he slip his jacket back on and head north into the gale, fighting for every step while dwelling on Ray's plight. When had their last conversation been face to face? Sure, they had talked plenty on the phone and exchanged letters, but when was the last time in person? Before Danny got sick, wasn't it? When Ray had invited himself down to Athens, right after Liz moved out.

As comatose as the Ohio college town was throughout the school year, it had been a cemetery in August. But clever Ray had skimmed the local papers and come up with a slew of things to do. First, he had dragged Doug to a ladies' mud wrestling contest in nearby Nelsonville. Actually, the competitors had all been stocky high school girls, and contrary to his misgivings, Doug had had a ball. Later that afternoon they had taken in the National Jigsaw Puzzle Championship held in the Ohio University basketball stadium. Recalling the queer ripping noise of cellophane wrappers being torn off hundreds of virgin Hallmark boxes at once brought a smile to Doug's face even now.

That night's dinner had been both stranger and funnier — free vegetarian pizza eaten cross-legged on the floor inside the pink Hare Krishna house. Hilarious for Doug anyway, because the suffocating sweet incense and lurid altar eventually freaked Raymond out. "This isn't exactly pre- or post-Vatican Two," he had joked in racing for the door, close to retching. Though Ray's Catholicism had long since lapsed by the time Doug met him, he still remained oddly loyal to what he considered the one true faith.

Their next evening together, Raymond ate Doug's unimaginative chef salad without complaint and then hauled out a fifth of Kentucky sour mash. And sipping it neat, they chatted about old times in Madison till they were guffawing over memories of the grad school grind and their eccentric profs. Schofield the Skywatcher, who lectured gazing up, as if his notes were written on the ceiling. Heinz the Hopper, who did toe-lifts to stress every dubious point. Van Dyke the Vise, who pressed his palms into his temples, as if that helped squeeze out his endless strings of trivial facts.

After midnight, they lowered themselves from the couch onto the living room carpet, just as they had so often in the Seventies. And as they knelt beside flickering candles, their thighs an inch apart, Doug confessed to the selfish preoccupations that had eventually driven Liz out. And no matter how bad his old friend let himself look, Ray's sympathy and affection never flagged. Then Doug made the mistake of bringing up Ray's lover. "You've hardly mentioned Danny at all," he said.

Raymond drew up his knees and buried his face in skinny thighs. "Danny and I are getting along fine."

"Great. I mean, since you hadn't said anything about him that's what I had assumed." When Ray didn't reply, Doug added, "Is something wrong?"

"Not yet." And Ray had jumped up, saying, "Let me freshen our drinks."

Now Doug could only cringe to contemplate all the months he had allowed to pass without having repaid such faithful friendship. But at least he had made it to Chicago, even if hadn't yet gotten himself inside Raymond's place. By slouching and leaning into the wind, he quickened his pace.

His ears had passed from pain to numbness when a pedestrian up ahead shouted to a companion, "There's no line!" Doug's squinting gaze followed an outstretched arm to a huge banner proclaiming "GEORGIA O'KEEFFE." Of course, the Art Institute. How could he come to Chicago and pass up such a great exhibit?

Inside, clumps of admirers had coagulated in front of every masterpiece, bringing the flow of visitors to a halt. Doug sidled and excused his way through the throng, skipping what he had paid dearly to see till a wheelchair blocked his path. In it was sitting what at first looked like a hairless, albino monkey. Could a human really look that bad and still be alive? Though he was probably no older than Ray. One glance at what the poor guy's glistening gaze was fixed on — a horse skull painted in stark tones — and Doug twisted away eager to bolt for the coat check. But he restrained himself. Slowly he turned back around and examined the sickly man's face. Head tilted back, lips slightly parted, eyes wide open — like the epitome of contemplative serenity. And without any hint of self-pity or fear. Doug faced the painting and soon lost himself, too, in admiration of its contour, color, and clarity.

At a throaty "Excuse me, Sir," Doug stepped back and let the wheelchair pass, reciprocating the plucky fellow's nod and smile. It was high time he got himself to Ray's.

He trotted all the way to the Chicago River and then, clutching the railing, pulled himself across the bridge. The outside door to Marina City's lakeside tower was open, just as Ray had promised. The husky elevator attendant checked Doug over while pretending to read a scribbled note.

"I'm a guest of Raymond McNulty," Doug announced.

The poker face of the guard relaxed into a toothy grin, and he grabbed a telephone from the wall and dialed. "And who should I say is calling, sir?" he asked.

"Douglas Borrud."

Doug overheard a tinny, old man's voice croak, "Please send him right up."

As the elevator zoomed up the sixty stories, Doug's heart thumped as if it wanted to escape from his chest. He gently fingered his shaving knick, the dried blood crumbling like loam. The lift eased to an almost imperceptible stop, the doors opened, and he led himself off like a condemned convict. And there he stood, staring at the rough stucco wall, as if trying to decipher a hidden message.

A full five minutes he lingered in the circular hallway, lightly tapping the tiny cut. It was trivial, he kept telling himself, nothing really, a stupid accident he made every other week, so why was he making such a fuss? Because like the slightest breach in a Dutch dike, it threatened to let in all the ruinous seas. But it wouldn't, would it, if he kept enough distance from Ray? Say, by not once sitting on the same couch or drinking from the same cup, or eating with his silverware, and above all by not giving him an embrace.

The elevator doors split again, and a trim woman about his age in scarlet jogging clothes got off, her key already in hand. Pointedly avoiding his gaze, she quickly stepped behind him, and with a deft insertion, opened the adjacent door and darted inside. After slipping on her chain lock, she inched the door back and gaped at Doug with one large, hazel eye. "May I help you?" she said.

"I'm looking for the apartment of Raymond McNulty."

"Oh, we're so sorry about what happened to Danny." Her lone eye was scrutinizing Doug, especially his slender torso and pale face. "It's that door right in front of you. And please give Ray our condolences. We hope he's doing okay."