Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/18

16 thing. He had always been gay, bold, certain—in Selma, in far away Selma. The possibility of going to California with Mr. Lowell had never entered his head until that day when he was graduated.

And that was a week ago, only a week ago. Now he felt certain that he was changing so rapidly under the influence of this extraordinary old man that he could not imagine what life would have been without him.

"Like Socrates' slave," Mr. Lowell was saying, "you have lived in utter darkness all your life. Now in the light you are blind.

"Tomorrow—in a few days—in California, your eyes will accustom themselves to the new light and you will learn what our marvelous world—ours—yours and mine—really is. We'll wait until then."

Naked beneath the shower, Ken rejoiced as the sharp shafts of water played upon his firm muscles. His rippling brown hair glistened. His cheeks were flushed.

He stepped out of the shower compartment and proceeded to lave himself with thick suds, soapy foam which soon covered him like a lustrous lacy sheath.

Back into the bath—then quick darting painless stabbing cold water.

He stepped out of the shower compartment again. The thick folds of a Turkish towel embraced him. He was warm, alive, vital.

He laughed as he glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty. He could stay awake all night. The drowsy indifference he had felt in the other room was gone. He wanted to see himself as he really was, to talk to himself so that he would understand the stranger who was being born within him.