THE LIGHT CHANGED

THEN THE LIGHT CHANGED

Both men walked on in thoughtful silence for awhile, each lost in his own thoughts.

Finally Maugham glanced over at Steinthal and said, “That was truly rough.”

“It was,” Steinthal said in flat response.

They walked a bit further, the quiet a soundless hum between them.

“And,” Maugham continued eventually, “pointlessly tragic.”

Steinthal nodded his agreement.

“Obviously.”

They continued on until the intersection and then paused to cross the street.

“You know,” Maugham said wearily. “For a second there I almost thought you were gonna have an actual emotion. I mean, aside from fury.”

Steinthal seemed to ponder that for a moment, as if from a great distance. Then he finally said,

“Well, Maugham, you know me and deep emotions…”

And Maugham nodded at Steinthal, and Steinthal nodded back. Each without ever bothering to look at the other, or even being sure that either understood why. It was just like that between them.

But, before the traffic cleared or the light waved them on Steinthal added,

“You know Maugham, on occasion, I do have a few.”

Maugham looked at Steinthal.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“An emotion other than fury,” Steinthal said glancing at Maugham, again without turning. “I just tend to keep em all stored with my soul in my Lich-box.”

And suddenly Maugham realized that, in his own way, Steinthal was probably weeping. Not out loud, but where it actually mattered.

Maugham thought back to the little girl’s body. He shuddered, and then was suddenly very tired again.

“Hell,” Maugham said out loud to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Steinthal breathed out heavily. “Just more fucking hell…”

Then the light changed, and they both walked on, and neither spoke again for a long, long time.

(First draft of a scene inspired by something my oldest daughter said to me with part of a remembered case I worked.)