Chapter Ten. ROCCO pushed the wheelchair into a small walk on the far end of the grounds

ROCCO pushed the wheelchair into a small walk on the far end of the grounds. They were almost a quarter of a mile away from the hospital. It was quiet here. Tall hedges growing on either side of the walk, small beds of flowers spaced carefully between them. The wheelchair stopped. Johnny looked up.

Rocco's hands were going through his pockets.

"What are you lookin' for, Rock?" he asked.

"My cigarettes," Rocco answered. "I'm fresh out."

"Take mine," Johnny said, reaching into his pocket. There weren't any there. Puzzled, he looked in the other pocket of his blouse. It was empty too. Funny, he thought; he had put some there just before they left. "I'm out too," he said.

Rocco looked at him strangely. "Yuh mind if I run back to the canteen an' get some?" he asked. "I’ll be back in a few minutes."

"Go ahead," Johnny said, " I’ll be all right."

Rocco turned and started back. Johnny turned the wheel­chair into the sun and leaned his head back. He could feel the warm rays of it on his face. It felt good. His hand hung over the sides of the chair and toyed with the long blades of grass. Idly he pulled at a few and stuck them in his mouth. They tasted a bitter green. He smiled to himself. "You can't taste a color," he thought. He sat there basking pleasantly in the sun.

He felt drowsy and lazy. It would be good to get out of the chair and lie down in the cool grass and rest. He turned his head to one side and looked at the ground. It would be good, but it was not for him. He would not walk on the grass and throw himself on the ground as he used to. It was for others to do, not him. He shut his eyes again and faced the sun.

He heard footsteps behind him. "Rocco?" he asked without turning his head or opening his eyes. "Give me a cigarette."

He felt a hand place a cigarette between his lips. He heard a match striking. He drew on the cigarette and felt the smoke going deep into his lungs. "It's nice out here," he said.

"You like it, Johnny?" It was a familiar voice, but not Rocco's.

He opened his eyes suddenly and spun the chair around. A cry burst from his lips. "Peter!"

Peter stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wet with tears. He shook his head. "Yes, Peter," he said slowly. "Didn't you want to see me, Johnny?"

Johnny sat there completely still, his cigarette frozen to his lips. He couldn't speak.

Peter moved closer to him and took his hand.

He could feel the warmth of Peter's hand on his and suddenly his

feelings rose in his throat and began to choke him. He leaned forward over Peter's hand and began to cry.

Peter's other hand rested on Johnny's hair. "Johnny," he said, his voice shaking, "Johnny, did you think you could always hide from those who love you?"