never to spy on him again. For his part, he didn't
appear to notice or care about my observations. He
talked about Destiny's illness as though it had just
recently been diagnosed, and he always retreated to
his lecture about people who loved each other
standing by each other through thick and thin. If he
realized he was living in an illusion, he drowned the
realization in his drinking. For him, it seemed to be
the answer.
One day, however, he drank a little too close to
a performance. For the first time since I had joined
him, he fumbled and messed up an illusion so badly
the audience actually gasped. He got hold of himself and completed the performance. but I could see the
theater owner looking at him suspiciously afterward. I thought about warning him, talking to him
about the drinking, but every time I started the
discussion, he grew tight-lipped and slightly angry. I
was sure that if I nagged him about it, he would surely
choose the whiskey over me and ask me to go home. I
even considered hiding his whiskey in the hopes he'd
forget and think he had run out of it, but despite his
stupor, he always was quite aware of what was going
on around him. It was troubling. but I didn't know
what to do.
And then, one night, after he had brought the
doll back to the motor home and placed it in the
bedroom, an idea occurred to me. It was a little
frightening even to consider doing it. I was worried
about his reaction. He could easily think I was teasing
or mocking him, and it would surely make him very
angry at me. It could be the cause of his asking me to