answer I wound up with, though probably closer than his own, was far from correct.
I put down my pencil and looked up. The business had taken me about half an hour. Henry had got a copy of Dante's Purgatorio from my bookshelf and was reading it, absorbed.
'Henry.'
He glanced up absently.
'Henry, I don't think this is going to work.'
He closed the book on his finger. 'I made a mistake in the second part,' he said. 'Where the factoring begins.'
'It's a good try, but just by looking at it I can tell that it's insolvable without chemical tables and a good working knowledge of calculus and chemistry proper. There's no way to figure it otherwise. I mean, chemical concentrations aren't even measured in terms of grams and milligrams but in something called moles.'
'Can you work it for me?'
Tm afraid not, though I've done as much as I can. Practically speaking, I can't give you an answer. Even a math professor would have a tough time with this one.'
'Hmn,' said Henry, looking over my shoulder at the paper on the desk. 'I'm heavier than Bun, you know. By twenty-five pounds. That should count for something, shouldn't it?'
'Yes, but the difference of size isn't large enough to bank on, not with a margin of error potentially this wide. Now, if you were fifty pounds heavier, maybe 'The poison doesn't take effect for at least twelve hours,' he said. 'So even if I overdose I'll have a certain advantage, a grace period. With an antidote on hand for myself, just in case…'
'An antidote?' I said, jarred, leaning back in my chair. 'Is there such a thing?'
'Atropine. It's in deadly nightshade.'
'Well, Jesus, Henry. If you don't finish yourself off with one you will with the other.'
'Atropine's quite safe in small amounts.'
'They say the same about arsenic but I wouldn't like to try it.'
'They are exactly opposite in effect. Atropine speeds the nervous system, rapid heartbeat and so forth. Amatoxins slow it down.'
'That still sounds fishy, a poison counteracting a poison.'
'Not at all. The Persians were master poisoners, and they say-'
I remembered the books in Henry's car. 'The Persians?' I said.
'Yes. According to the great '
'I didn't know you read Arabic.'
'I don't, at least not well, but they're the great authorities on the subject and most of the books I need haven't been translated.
I've been going through them as best I can with a dictionary.'
I thought about the books I had seen, dusty, bindings crumbled with age. 'When were these things written?'
'Around the middle of the fifteenth century, I should say.'
I put down my pencil. 'Henry.'
'What?'
'You should know better than that. You can't rely on something that old.'
'The Persians were master poisoners. These are practical handbooks, how-tos if you will. I don't know of anything quite like them.'
'Poisoning people is quite a different matter from curing them.'
'People have used these books for centuries. Their accuracy is beyond dispute.'
'Well, I have as much respect for ancient learning as you do, – but I don't know that I'd want to stake my life on some home remedy from the Middle Ages.'
'Well, I suppose I can check it somewhere else,' he said, without much conviction.
'Really. This is too serious a matter to '
'Thank you,' he said smoothly. 'You've been a great help.' He picked up my copy of Purgatorio again. 'This isn't a very good translation, you know,' he said, leafing through it idly. 'Singleton is the best if you don't read Italian, quite literal, but you lose all the terza rima, of course. For that you should read the original.
In very great poetry the music often comes through even when one doesn't know the language. I loved Dante passionately before I knew a word of Italian.'
'Henry,' I said, in a low, urgent voice.
He glanced over at me, annoyed. 'Anything I do will be dangerous, you know,' he said.
'But nothing is any good if you die.'
'The more I hear about luxury barges, the less terrible death begins to seem,' he said. 'You've been quite a help. Good night.'
Early the next afternoon, Charles dropped by for a visit. 'Gosh, it's hot in here,' he said, shouldering off his wet coat and throwing it over the back of a chair. His hair was damp, his face flushed and radiant. A drop of water trembled at the end of his long, fine nose. He sniffed and wiped it away. 'Don't go outside, whatever you do,' he said. 'It's terrible out. By the way, you haven't seen Francis, have you?'
I ran a hand through my hair. It was a Friday afternoon, no class, and I hadn't been out of my room all day, nor had I slept much the night before. 'Henry stopped by last night,' I said.
'Really? What did he have to say? Oh, I almost forgot.' He reached in the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a bundle wrapped in napkins. 'I brought you a sandwich since you weren't at lunch. Camilla said the lady in the dining hall saw me stealing it and she made a black mark by my name on a list.'
It was cream cheese and marmalade, I knew without looking.
The twins were fanatical about them but I didn't like them much.
I unwrapped a corner of it and took a bite, then set it down on my desk. 'Have you talked to Henry recently?' I said.
'Just this morning. He drove me to the bank.'
I picked up the sandwich and took another bite. I hadn't swept, and my hair still lay in clumps on the floor. 'Did he,' I said, 'say anything about '
'About what?'
'About asking Bunny to dinner in a couple of weeks?'
'Oh, that,' said Charles, lying back on my bed and propping his head up with pillows. 'I thought you knew about that already.
He's been thinking about that for a while.'
'What do you think?'
'I think he's going to have a hell of a hard time finding enough mushrooms to even make him sick. It's just too early. Last week he made Francis and me go out and help him, but we hardly found a thing. Francis came back really excited, saying, 'Oh, my God, look, I found all these mushrooms,' but then we looked in his bag and it was just a bunch of puffballs.'
'So you think he'll be able to find enough?'
'Sure, if he waits awhile. I know you don't have a cigarette, do you?'
'No.'
'I wish you smoked. I don't know why you don't. You weren't an athlete in high school or anything, were you?'
'No.'
'That's why Bun doesn't smoke. Some clean-living type of football coach got to him at an impressionable age.'
'Have you seen Bun lately?'
'Not too much. He was at the apartment last night, though, and stayed forever.'
'This isn't just hot air?' I said, looking at him closely. 'You're really going to go through with it?'
'I'd rather go to jail than know that Bunny was going to be hanging around my neck for the rest of my life. And I'm not too keen on going to jail, either, now that I think about it. You know,' he said, sitting up on my bed and bending over double, as if from a pain in his stomach, 'I really wish you had some cigarettes.
