When it became obvious that there could be no legal redress for my friend – something I had already surmised, seeing as there was no individual we could identify to sue – I went down to the precinct, on his advice, in search of an alternative solution.  He preferred to stay indoors that afternoon, and I have come to see the prudence of his choice.

There is such a thing as brand loyalty, so I headed first for the United Ethical Churches in the old delta, though I held no particular hopes there for our present dilemma.  And indeed the cultor was no more sympathetic than I anticipated.  He argued out of Cicero (with what fidelity I cannot vouch) that I owed no further loyalty to a friend once his relationship with the civitas was called in question; indeed, he could not be labelled ‘friend’ as soon as our relationship raised public ambiguities.  My concern should be to maintain my own cover at its present level, or as near as might be – I could not do the same for my friend.  My own safety assured, as Seneca says in the Eighth Epistle to Lucilius, I would be able to help a greater number; self-protection is also a duty, even the prime duty.  Nor was it impossible, he added (perhaps detecting my hesitation), that my friend’s mitigation claim might be aided by the evident respectability of one with whom he had been associated.

I saw his point – even now I can raise few objections to it on the intellectual level – but at the time my loyalties were divided. It was not simply the implications for my own policy, or so I told myself; I was newly conscious of a tension – not between desire and duty, but among desires.  That tension was inappropriate, it does not arise in the true citizen; and to discover it in myself was disconcerting.  At that time I was as committed as my friend to the advancement of the civitas, and I genuinely hoped to find some mode of reconciliation, acceptable to our respective insurers, between the public fact of his shame and my own continuing conviction of his worth.  This was neither pure altruism nor pure civilitas: I was shamed myself, whether I continued the friendship or could be perceived to have broken it off; nor was there really any way of bringing about the latter without being perceived.  I admit that I briefly considered arranging an accident, and even argued to myself that his benefit as well as mine would be served by forestalling the humiliation which awaited both of us; but, given the terms in which Assurance’s letter had been couched, I suspected that I could do him no good, and myself only harm.

In any event, the cultor’s discouraging response persuaded me that I had better be circumspect. I spent the best part of the afternoon in the precinct, chatting with my acquaintances among half a dozen Orders.  They seemed pleased enough to see me, though the prospect of conversion must have receded long before, and I found the mental stimulation agreeable as far as it went. But I could not broach the subject directly, and with their own habitual indirection – the older, more enthusiastic Orders having suffered damaging suits over the years, and learned caution – we skirted the issue as though by instinct.  It is no longer necessary to know what the issue is to skirt it.  Today I discussed divine names with the Neo-Jesuit Encyclopedists, gnosis and unknowing with the Zoro-Pythagoreans, panhaeresis with the Olympiani.  In this way I dealt with an awkward period of time, till it became dark.

Retracing my steps through the old delta (whose unplanned, poorly-lit labyrinth of alleyways I cannot help but prefer to the newer quarters) I came across a caffeine seller who had put up his stall beside the Apostolic House.  His conspicuousness made me suspect a set-up, and I did not stop, even though a nostalgic craving for proper coffee tugged at me just then.  He probably had protection; I would not.  As Sister Paulina always said, the desires of the flesh are there to be resisted – and with such desires and such flesh as may come to the attention of Healthy Life’s policiers, I agree with her.  Sister Paulina, of course, argued from theology, not policy; but across these discursive gaps, sometimes and dimly, we can make ourselves understood.  Quite recently, Clara referred to it as common knowledge that Paulina and I were lovers.  I had known nothing of the rumour, and assured her this had never been the case.

I popped back to my apartment to tidy some things away and draw the blinds.  Was it too late to visit my friend now?  I could not persuade myself that it was, and strolled over to his flat.  I found him in the bath; the water was crimson.

My visit had of course been logged – three security doors – and I could not leave someone else to report the loss.  I used his phone.  I suspected from her manner that the policier already had the information from some other source, but there was no way to be sure.  She asked me as a formality where I could be contacted; I gave her my number and told her of my dinner engagement of that evening; then I went over to Clara’s.  I was scarcely late.

At Clara’s we did not mention him. But I think he was in everyone’s mind.