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'Ah。。 。 Phillipe。 。 。 please。 Do you want me to go with this one as well？ I will if you want。 Just give me back the pills。'
She gestured towards Lewis。
'I don't usually go with old men。'
The ape growled at her。 The expression on her face changed； as though for the first time she had an inkling of what this john was。 But the thought was too difficult for her drugged mind； and she let it go。
'Please； Phillipe。 。 。' she whimpered。
Lewis was looking at the ape。 It had taken the photograph from the mantelpiece。 Its dark nail was on Lewis' picture。 It was smiling。 It recognized him； even though forty…odd years had drained so much life from him。
'Lewis；' it said； finding the word quite easy to say。
The old man had nothing in his stomach to vomit； and no harm left to feel。 This was the end of the century； he should be ready for anything。 Even to be greeted as a friend of a friend by the shaved beast that loomed in front of him。 It would not harm him； he knew that。 Probably Phillipe had told the ape about their lives together； made the creature love Catherine and himself as much as it had adored Phillipe。
'Lewis；' it said again； and gestured to the woman； （now sitting open…legged on the bed） offering her for his pleasure。
Lewis shook his head。
In and out； in and out； part fiction； part fact。
It had e to this； offered a human woman by this naked ape。 It was the last； God help him； the very last chapter in the fiction his great uncle had begun。 From love to murder back to love again。 The love of an ape for a man。 He had caused it； with his dreams of fictional heroes； steeped in absolute reason。 He had coaxed Phillipe into making real the stories of a lost youth。 He was to blame。 Not this poor strutting ape； lost between the jungle and the Stock Exchange； not Phillipe； wanting to be young forever； certainly not cold Catherine； who after tonight would be pletely alone。 It was him。 His the crime； his the guilt； his the punishment。
His legs had regained a little feeling； and he began to stagger to the door。
'Aren't you staying？' said the red…haired woman。
'This thing。 。 。' he couldn't bring himself to name the animal。
'You mean Phillipe？'
'He isn't called Phillipe；' Lewis said。 'He's not even human。'
'Please yourself；' she said； and shrugged。
To his back； the ape spoke； saying his name。 But this time； instead of it ing out as a sort of grunt…word； its simian palate caught Phillipe's inflexion with unnerving accuracy； better than the most skilful of parrots。 It was Phillipe's voice； perfectly。
'Lewis；' it said。
Not pleading。 Not demanding。 Simply naming； for the pleasure of naming； an equal。
The passers…by who saw the old man clamber on to the parapet of the Pont du Carrousel stared； but made no attempt to stop him jumping。 He teetered a moment as he stood up straight； then pitched over into the threshing； churning ice…water。
One or two people wandered to the other side of the bridge to see if the current had caught him： it had。 He rose to the surface； his face blue…white and blank as a baby's； then some intricate eddy snatched at his feet and pulled him under。 The thick water closed over his head and churned on。
'Who was that？' somebody asked。
'Who knows？'
It was a clear…heaven day； the last of the winter's snow had fallen； and the thaw would begin by noon。 Birds； exulting in the sudden sun； swooped over the Sacré Coeur。 Paris began to undress for spring； its virgin white too spoiled to be worn for long。
In mid…morning； a young woman with red hair； her arm linked in that of a large ugly man； took a leisurely stroll to the steps of the Sacre Coeur。 The sun blessed them。 Bells rang。
It was a new day。
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