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scape； its sky green； with streaks of brilliant yellow； the plain beneath orange and red。 Set on the sands； a walled city； with fantastical spires。
The torch beam caught a glint off the paint； and Clem approached the wall to discover that the muralists had only recently left off their labors。 Patches of the paint were still tacky。 Seen at close quarters； the rendering was extremely casual； almost slapdash。 Barely more than half a dozen marks had been used to indicate the city and its towers； and only a single snaking stroke to show the highway running from the gates。 Moving his beam off the picture to illuminate the way ahead； Clem realized why the muralists had been so haphazard。 They had been at work on every available wall； creating a parade of brightly colored images； many of which were far stranger than the landscape with the green sky。 To Clem's left was a man with two cupped hands for a head； lightning jumping between the palms； to his right a family of freaks； with fur on their faces。 Farther on was an alpine scene； fantasticated by the addition of several naked women； hovering above the snows； beyond it a skull…strewn veldt； with a distant train belching smoke against a dazzling sky； and beyond that again； an island set in the middle of a sea disturbed by a single wave； in the foam of which a face could be discovered。 AH were painted with the same passionate haste as the first； which fact lent them the urgency of sketches and added to their power。 Perhaps it was his exhaustion； or simply the bizarre setting for this exhibition； but Clem found himself oddly moved by the images。 There was nothing ingratiating or sentimental about them。 They were glimpses into the minds of strangers； and he was exhilarated to find such wonders there。
With his gaze following the journey of pictures； he'd lost all sense of his own direction； but when he turned out his torch to look for the lamplight he saw a small fire burning up ahead； and in lieu of any other beacon he made his way towards it。 The fire makers had occupied a small garden laid amid the concrete。 It had perhaps once boasted a rose bed or flowering shrubs； benches； perhaps； dedicated to some dead city father。 But now there was only a pitiful lawn； which barely greened the dirt it peered from。 Gathered upon it were the tenants of the cardboard city； or some part of their number。 Most were asleep； bundled up in their coats and blankets。 But five or six were awake； standing around the fire and passing a cigarette between them as they talked。
A dreadlocked black squatted on the low wall beside the garden's gate and； spotting Clem； rose to guard the entrance。 Clem didn't retreat。 There was no threat visible in the man's posture； nor anything but calm in the garden beyond。 The sleepers did so quietly； their dreams seemingly kind。 And the debaters around the fire spoke in whispers。 When they laughed； which they did now and then； it wasn't the hard； desperate noise he'd heard among these clans； but light。
〃Who are you； man？〃 the black asked him。
〃My name's Clem。 I got lost。〃
〃You don't look like you been sleepin' rough； man。〃
〃I haven't。〃
〃So why you here？〃
〃Like I said： I got lost。〃
The man shrugged。 〃Waterloo Station's over in that direction；〃 he said； pointing roughly back the way Clem had e。 〃But you got a long wait for the first train。〃 He caught Clem's glance into the garden。 〃Sorry； man； you can't e in。 If you got a bed； go to it。〃
Clem didn't move； however。 Something about one of the men at the fire； standing with his back to the gate； rooted him to the spot。
〃Who is that； who's talking now？〃 he asked the guard。
The man glanced around。 〃That's the Gentile；〃 he said。
〃The Gentile？〃 he said。 〃Surely you mean Gentle。〃
He hadn't raised his voice in order to name the man； but the syllables must have carried on the tranquil air； because as they went from Clem's lips the speaker stopped talking and slowly turned towards the gate。 With the fire burning at his back his features were hard to make out； but Clem knew he'd made no error。 The man turned back to his fellow debaters and said something to them Clem didn't catch。 Then he left their fire and walked down to the gate。
〃Gentle？〃 his visitor said。 〃It's Clem。〃
The black stood aside； opening the gate to let the man he'd called the Gentile step out of the garden。 There he stood and studied the stranger。
〃Do I know you？〃 he said。 There was no enmity in his voice； but there was no warmth either。 〃I do； don't I？〃
〃Yes； you do； my friend；〃 Clem replied。 〃Yes； you do。〃
They walked together along the river； leaving the sleepers and the fire behind them。 The many changes in Gentle soon became apparent。 He was of course far from certain of who he was； but there were other changes which were； Clem sensed； profounder still。 There was a plainness about his speech； and about the expression on his face； which was by turns disturbing and calming。 Something of the Gentle he and Taylor had known had gone； perhaps forever。 But something was on its way to being gained in its place； and Clem wanted to be there when it was： to be the angel guarding that tender self。
〃Did you paint the pictures？〃 he asked。
〃With my friend Monday；〃 Gentle said。 〃We made them together。〃
〃I never saw you paint anything like that before。〃
〃They're places I've been；〃 Gentle told him； 〃and people I've known。 They start ing back to me when I've got the colors。 But it's slow。 There's so much filling my head〃… he put his fingers to his brow； which bore a series of ill…healed lacerations…〃confusing me。 You call me Gentle； but I've got other names。〃
〃John Zacharias？〃
〃That's one。 Then there's a man in me called Joseph Bellamy； and another called Michael Morrison； and one called Almoth； and one called Fitzgerald； and one called Sartori。 They all seem to be me； Clem。 But that's not possible； is it？ I asked Monday； and Carol； and Irish； and they said people have two names； sometimes three； but never ten。〃
〃Maybe you've lived other lives； Gentle； and you're remembering them。〃
〃If that's true； I don't want to remember。 It hurts too much。 I can't think straight。 I want to be one man with one life。 I want to know where I begin and where I end； instead of going on and on。〃
〃Why's that so terrible？〃 Clem said； genuinely unable to see the horror in such expansion。
〃Because I'm afraid there'll be no end to it；〃 Gentle replied。 He spoke steadily； like a metaphysician who'd reached a precipice and was calmly describing the abyss below for the benefit of those who couldn't…or wouldn't… be with him there。 〃I'm afraid I'm joined 〃to everything else；〃 he said。 〃And then I'm going to be lost。 I want to be this man； or that man； but not every man。 If I'm everyone I'm no one； and nothing。〃
He stopped his even stride and turned to Clem； putting his hands on Clem's shoulders。
〃Who am I？〃 he said。 〃Just tell me。 If you love me； tell me。 Who am I？〃 〃You're my friend。〃
It wasn't an eloquent reply； but it was the only one Clem had。 Gentle studied his panion's face for a minute or more； as if calculating the potency of this axiom against his dread。 And slowly； as he scanned Clem's features； a smile plucked at the corners of his mouth； and tears began to glisten hi his eyes。
〃You see me； don't you？〃 he said softly。 〃Of course I see you。〃
〃I don't mean with your sight； I mean with your mind。 I exist in your head。〃
〃Gear as crystal；〃 Clem said。
That was truer now than it had ever been。 Gentle nodded； and his smile spread。
〃Somebody else tried to teach me this；〃 he said。 〃But I didn't understand。〃 He paused； musing。 Then he said； 〃It doesn't matter what I'm called。 Names are nothing。 I am what I am in you。〃 His arms slipped around Clem； into an embrace。 〃I'm your friend。〃
He hugged Clem hard； then stood away； the tears clearing。
〃Who was it who taught me that？〃 he wondered。 〃Judith； maybe？〃
He shook his head。 〃I see her face over and over；〃 he said。 〃But it wasn't her。 It was somebody who went away。〃 〃Was it Taylor？〃 Clem said。 〃Do you remember Taylor？〃
〃He knew me too？〃 〃He loved you。〃
〃Where is he now？〃
〃That's a whole other story。〃
〃Is it？〃 Gentle replied。 〃Or is it all one？〃