We tried a bit of everything else first.
Eventually we phoned the EMS.
The people who emerged from out of the ambulance
were women. Women! Three of them, too, and
giants at that. Nephilim, I suppose. The men of our party looked ashamed for
having resorted to women in the exercise of strength at hand.
It wasn’t only that our guest was large, you
see, though certainly he was that and more. Having once managed his body, with great
difficulty and with the huffing and the puffing, down into a chair, he found himself
then unable to get back up and onto his feet.
The party screeched to a halt. Everyone to a
person stared, like he was a car accident or an entertainment spectacle for us or like
something just on a screen and unaware that every eye in the room was observing
his predicament and judging him.
The EMTs grabbed hold and a-one and a-two and
a-up onto his feet and then everyone clapped their hands but me. The poor man. What
a nightmare for him! He’ll probably never venture out in public again!
I felt so sad for our guest that for a
moment – only a moment, I grant you, but a full moment, still – I nearly forgot
that this was the same man who’d tried to buy me off my father when I was just
fifteen.
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