“You understand now? What it must have been like for him?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his arm still tight around her as though he didn’t ever mean to let go. “Yeah. The poor son of a bitch.”

  “I got to tell you,” said Mr. Eubanks, “dis discourtesy is completely improper. A mahn have died here tragically tonight, and you be de only witnesses, and I ask you to tell me what befell, and you—”

  Denise closed her eyes a moment. Then she looked at Eubanks.

  “What’s there to say, Mr. Eubanks? He took his boat into a dangerous place and it was struck by a sudden wave and overturned. An accident. A terrible accident. What else is there to say?” She began to shiver. Thompkins held her. In a low voice she said to him, “I want to go back to my cottage.”

  “Right,” he said. “Sure. You wanted a statement, Mr. Eubanks? There’s your statement. Okay? Okay?”

  He held her close against him and slowly they started up the ramp toward the hotel together.

 

 

  Robert Silverberg, We Are for the Dark (1987-90)

 

 

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