The Cloud Atlas

He's gone, Louis.

Oh, Lily, no-

I stood to leave. I had to find her, ask her. Even if Gurley was still with her. I looked at the clock: 1900 hours.

I was about to put my hand on the door when it banged open in front of me.

THE EYE PATCH WAS GONE, a red-stained, black-rimmed eye in its place. His color was better, though, and from his first words, I knew he had recovered, as much as he ever would, anyway.

“Sergeant… Belk,” he said, with enough space between the words to make me wish I'd left long before. “And where are you going? Please join me, in my office. We have much to discuss. So much.”

“Sir?”

“In-my-office.”

I followed him in, sat down. He went to the map and studied it for a while, running his finger along Alaska 's western coast and then on to Russia. He examined some spot in the Bering Sea. Then he removed a pushpin to play with, and sat down.

“Sergeant Belk,” he said. “First of all, I must thank you.”

Better to just sit there than respond.

“No, really. I shouldn't have gone to Fairbanks -delightful as it was, as it always is to see two dead enemy soldiers, stretched out before you. And you? A stalwart. Standing there, the soul of discretion, restraint. Didn't even turn green. You've earned my admiration. For getting through Fairbanks, and getting me home. And getting me downtown last night.” He'd been playing with the pin, but now looked up. “And for so much more, I understand.”

This time, he waited for an answer. “Sir?” I asked.

“My companion-our, what? mutual friend-tells me that you both have been, well- looking out for me. This is touching.”

“Sir, Lily and I haven't-not for-”

“Not fond of sentences that start that way, Sergeant, if we can get right to the point. I'm not fond of learning that I'm being looked out for, either, as though I were some doddering uncle, as though I were some amputee invalid unable to wipe his own ass-but no, what troubles me more is this ‘Lily and I’ business.”

“Captain, I'm not sure what-”

“Neither am I. I thought we had a rather clear, specific discussion about this topic on the plane to Wyoming so long ago. Christ, Belk, I showed you an ad for a ring. What did you think I was up to? I thought we had an understanding. I trusted you. And Lily. I told you that she was amp;unavailable. And now I learn you availed yourself of her quite consistently.”

“That was way back, sir,” I said, before realizing that made it sound like something had happened. “It's been weeks, sir. Months, since-” Worse. “Nothing ever happened. Or will. I swear. I promise.” What had Lily told him? I watched his hands, surveyed the desk, wondering which way he'd come for me, what he would hit me with.

“Sadly-for you-I almost believe that, Belk. But you're what? Fourteen? What could happen? No, the lovely Lily offered no insight into matters carnal between you. Rather, it was left to me to review all that she said-the number of times she used your name, or included you in a ‘we,’ or spoke tenderly of how you both would conspire to take care of me-and determine for myself exactly what you had or had not done.”

And that was his error, or hers, or mine: that he'd said she'd repeatedly mentioned my name; or that she had, even after all these months; or that learning this so thrilled and alarmed me that I turned the guiltiest shade of red a man can manage.

“Nothing happened, sir,” I stammered.

“Nothing, indeed. Without trust, there is nothing.”

“Surely Lily told you-”

“Oh, that woman,” Gurley said. “As painful as it was for me to hear her say your name, I find it even more grating to hear hers come from you. Silence.”

And so we sat there. Gurley stared at me for a while, as though I might break under the pressure and confess to-I don't know what. Had she told him we'd never shared more than a meal? Had she told him about that last evening we'd had together, about the map of her body that she'd undressed to show me?

I was too scared to speak, or move, or even look away. I sat there, swallowing his look, unable to muster anything for him in return. He finally swung around in his chair and looked at the map again.

“You know how I hate a spy, Sergeant,” he said, looking at me over his shoulder. “And by spy, I mean traitor. Do you know what I mean, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know that I would still be serving in the main of the OSS, serving in Paris, most likely. Or Rome. Or Casablanca. Some part of the war where there was as much sun as wine as women…”

“Yes, sir.”

He came around the desk, finally, and towered over me. “I'd still have two fucking legs to stand on, Belk, had it not been for a spy, for lack of a better word, for whoever betrayed me, got me kicked out of headquarters and into this maliciously absurd duty. Chasing balloons. With a boy sergeant. And an Eskimo-oh, what? Whore.”

He didn't hit me. He lost something with the mention of Lily, and after a moment, retreated back behind the desk.