Fellow Travelers

by Thomas Mallon

Fuller neither nodded nor shook his head, though Mr. Traband looked as if he expected a flood of personal confession. When none occurred, he made a request: “Mr. Fuller, please get up and walk across the room.” Fuller obliged and then returned to his seat. “Again,” said Traband. When Fuller had finished his second walk, Traband gave him a newspaper and asked him to read a small story that he’d seemed to pick at random. Fuller recited: “‘President Eisenhower revealed in his State of the Union message last January that he favors some form of home rule for the District. The pres—’” “Thank you, Mr. Fuller, that’s enough.” Traband passed an open book across the desk. “This paragraph, please. The second-to-last one on the page.” Fuller picked up the book and looked at the spine—Of Human Bondage—before he commenced reading aloud: “‘Philip opened a large cupboard filled with dresses and, stepping in, took as many of them as he could in his arms and buried his face in them. They smelt of the scent his mother used. Then he pulled open the drawers, filled with his mother’s things, and looked at them: there were lavender bags among the linen, and their scent was fresh and pleasant. The strangeness of—’” “Enough,” said Traband, almost as if he could no longer bear the voluptuous nonsense being inflicted on him.