the boat soothed. This was peace. There was no thought of resistance left in Craig. Hofmanstahal’s “symbiosis” became a way of life; then life itself.
There was time in plenty to gaze up at the stars, a pleasure which everyday exigencies had so often denied him. And there was strange, dark companionship; lips that sought his throat and drained away all thoughts of urgency or violent action, leaving him exhausted and somehow thrilled. It was peace. It was satisfaction. It was fulfilment.
Fear was lost in stupor; revulsion, in a certain sensuality. Hofmanstahal’s nightly visit was no longer a thing of horror, but the soft arrival of a friend whom he wanted to help with all his being, and who was in turn helping him. Night and day they exchanged life; and the life they nurtured became a single flow and purpose between them. Craig was the quiescent vessel of life, which Hofmanstahal filled every day, so that life might build itself against the coming of night and the return of its essence to Hofmanstahal.
Day and night marched above them toward the pale horizon that circumscribed their world. In their world values had changed, and the fact of change been forgotten.
Still, deep in his mind, Craig’s conscience wailed. Legend, history, the church, all at one time or another had said that vampires were evil. He was submitting to a vampire; therefore, he was submitting to evil. Food or no food, the Reverend Craig would never have submitted. He would have sharpened a stake or cast a silver bullet—
But there were no such things here. His father’s face rose before him to tell him that this did not matter. He sought to drive it away, but it remained. During the moments of nightly meeting, of warmth and strange intimacy, it glared down upon them brighter than the moon. But Hofmanstahal’s back was always turned to it; and Craig, in all his weakness and agony and ecstasy and indecision, did not mention it.
THEY had forgotten to carve the notches on the gunwale. Neither was certain now how long they had been adrift.
There came a day, however, when Hofmanstahal was forced to cut down Craig’s ration of food.
“I am sorry,” he said, “but you can see for yourself that it is necessary.”
“We’re so near the end of our supplies, then?”
“I am sorry,” Hofmanstahal repeated. “Yes, we are nearing the end of your supplies . . . and if yours end, so will mine eventually.”
“I don’t really mind,” Craig whispered. “I’m seldom really
