Is that what Francis is asking? Or is he asking Do you want to go home? Francis usually says exactly what he means. But anyone might try to ask a question like that without really saying it, wouldn’t they, so they don’t have to hear the words. Raju knows what he’d be answering, anyway, and he shakes his head quickly, jaw tight. The fire is mostly growing on its own now, and all Raju has to do is leave it alone. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

He reaches for the stump of Francis’ arm, looking at it instead of Francis’ face, pulling it closer to him as he leans to touch their shoulders together. I want to be here, he thinks, directing the idea at Francis on instinct, insistent but hardly knowing that he’s doing it, or that he’s sending it atop a wave of oily guilt and nausea.

“I have nightmares about home,” he says down at Francis’ arm. “I don’t remember the rest.” Then, in a grasping try at making this conversation something other than it is, he asks, “Do you dream about home? Ireland?”