The Watchman Was Drowning

A palm settles on bare skin, and a wave goes through the body “that had nothing to do with fear.” Simon turns his head himself, opening his neck — and hears Jacob breathe out “like a man who has just been given permission.” “Somewhere at the very bottom the watchman was still sitting there — the one who had spent a lifetime counting other people’s hands as a threat.” He still flinches when fingers settle too close to the throat. “But the watchman was drowning. The warmth was closing over his head, and for the first time Simon wasn’t trying to save him.”

This is the first scene in the book where Simon’s body answers neither with freezing nor with capitulation but with desire — and the first “yes” said with a gesture rather than with the absence of a “no.” Note what he had to do for it: stop saving the watchman. The watchman is the same part of the psyche that kept him alive for twenty years; to drown him is to be left without protection in the hands of the man who only yesterday made it necessary. So “it got worse. Or better — Simon couldn’t tell the difference anymore” is not a pretty phrase but a precise description of the risk. The watchman will be back a chapter from now; for now, this is the first night he is not on duty.