The room was as bare as the cell of a monk. The bed was a double decker with the top deck covered with books. It was hand-made, of rough pine posts, and the springs were cords. There was no mattress. And no pillow. A reading lamp was at the head. "Hope you're comfortable here," the tall youth said. "Is there anything I can get for you?" "Nothing. But you might show me the little boy's room." "Are you still on that level?" The tall youth seemed genuinely surprised. "Yes," Zen said. Then, as the implications back of the question caught him, "Aren't you on the same level? I mean, don't you go?" "Well, yes," John answered. Embarrassment reddened his face. "But you're older than I am, and I thought perhaps you--" His voice trailed off into silence as his embarrassment grew. "You thought what?" Zen continued. "Well, that--" The youth became flustered, then seemed to become irritated with himself for being flustered, then for being irritated. Zen watched the emotional reaction build higher and higher. He could see no possible importance in the emotional response of the tall kid except that the kid had intimated that he might be spending the night with Nedra. Would people who didn't use toilets spend nights together? If they did, what would they do? Talk about the beauties of flowers and read poetry to each other? Zen sniffed silently to himself, to show his contempt for such antics. "I'll show you where to go," John said, suddenly. Zen followed the tall youth out of the room and into a short tunnel which led to a large gallery. Here the old-time miners had found a sizeable body of ore. The gallery had been cleared of refuse and a number of small rooms had been dug into the walls, the whole place being illumined by a fluorescent paint that covered the walls. The color of the light was a misty blue and the whole big gallery seemed to float in this light, creating an effect that was breath-takingly beautiful. In the first room they passed a naked young woman who was going through gymnastic exercises in time to slow music. At the sight of her lithe, brown body bending and swaying in time to slow music, Zen whistled appreciatively through his teeth. She was almost enough to make him forget Nedra. In another room a fat youth was reading a book. He was lying flat on the floor. In a third, a skinny young man with skin the color of old ivory was sitting cross-legged before a shrine. His features were as immobile as a statue of Buddha. The same faint smile seemed painted on his face. In another room a beautiful young woman was undressing preparatory to retiring. She hadn't bothered to close the door. "What the hell is this, a glorified whorehouse?" Zen blurted out. "A _whore house_? What's that?" John asked. His manner made Zen feel like apologizing for having used such words in his presence. "Never mind. I withdraw the question. Who keeps tab on where the boys and the girls spend the night?"