I, too, have to rest, because I am just about dehydrated from the crying. It doesn't help that my father's name was William and his mother's name was Martha and my father's dad died when he was a child and helped his mother a lot and loved her so much and that one day I hope to have a son to pass his name along...I mean...shit. I'm sorry, people. Clearly this show is trying to kill me.
And just when it does kill me, it brings me back to life, to kill me again. At the Grand Central, all is quiet. The guests are in for the night, and E.B., doing his rounds, finds Richardson on the staircase...apparently having some kind of ceremony with the buck antlers he's been carrying around. He is holding them aloft, pointing them to the very large set of antlers decorating the wall. "Account for yourself, Richardson," E.B. says.
Richardson explains that he's praying for the sheriff's boy. "To the god of antlers and hooves?" E.B. asks. Indicating his own personal antlers, Richardson says they "protected Mrs. Garret when she walked alone at night...I'm asking it to bless his journey." Oh, Richardson. I love your crazy, demented, addled mind. For once, E.B. only slightly bashes him. "Pray on, then, moron," he says, walking away to leave him alone, "for all the harm you'll do." Stepping back, he is sure to tell him to "leave off when the guests descend."
Elsewhere in the camp...well. Things are tense and watchful. Sol is sitting with Merrick and Blasanov. They share some coffee, look out the door toward Doc's, and wait. Sol eventually goes out and heads down the street. Al, on his balcony, also looks deep in thought. He comes in, goes downstairs, and sees Trixie, sitting alone in the empty, candle-lit Gem. "Why aren't you among the circumcised?" he asks her. When she looks at him with the most forlorn face imaginable, he tells her, resolutely, that "the day saw advances, Trixie. None miraculous." Trixie isn't surprised to hear this news, just sad. Al asks where Jewel is, and Trixie tells him Jewel is on watch, outside Doc's. "Why not stand with her?" Al says. She takes a shot, nods, and leaves. This is what passes for sympathy out of Al, which is more than anyone could expect.
My beloved Wu walks through the muted thoroughfare, carrying a covered cup. I think for a second that it's going to be some Chinese medicinal thing -- Ancient Chinese Secret! -- and that he's going to give it to Doc and it's going to miraculously cure William...but that ain't it. It's just tea, for Jewel, who is standing there, trying to keep herself warm. Wu: Sometimes he's sour, sometimes he's sweet. He kind of shoves it at Jewel without saying anything, or looking at her, but despite the social and language barriers, she understands he's trying to be kind. She thanks him, smiling, and tries to explain that she can't take it. "No...gimp...can't hold a cup..." If you've ever waited in a hospital as someone passes away, this scene will no doubt feel familiar to you. The B players like Wu, Trixie, Merrick...they all care, too. And all these little gestures are their ways of trying to help and to get through it, themselves. Sol and Trixie walk up separately and join Jewel, the three of them forming a little line.