to ask George what he was saying, because, about five minutes after Rainer’s arrival, in the middle of his stream of languages, George’s back arches, quivering, and he vomits a torrent of brackish water, a geyser that goes on and on and on, fountaining over his face, his clothes, the floor, the men standing closest to him, who leap back, cursing. More water pours from that man than you would think one body could hold, and Rainer’s sure he sees it running out George’s nose, ear, even from the corners of his eyes.
