clear away the breakfast dishes, now that Alexandria had left for her meeting, but Shirley’s cold, deliberate anger pinned him to the dining nook.
“She’s holding on, just
barely
holding on. Can’t you
see
that?” Her eyes flashed at him, their glitter punctuated by the high, arching black eyebrows.
“She wants to have a hand in this Brazilian thing.” “God damn it! She’s frightened. I was gone—how long? five minutes?—and when I came back she was still sitting there in that gallery, white as a sheet and you patting her arm. That’s not healthy, that’s not the Alexandria we know.”
Nigel nodded. “But I talked to her. She—”
“—is afraid to bring it up, to show how worried she is. She feels
guilty
about it, Nigel. That’s a common reaction. The people I work with, they’re guilty over being poor, or old, or sick. It’s up to you and me to force them out of that. Make them see themselves as…”
Her voice trickled away. “I’m not reaching you, am I?”
“No, no, you are.”
“I think you ought to at least persuade her to stay home and rest.”
“I will.”
“When she’s feeling better we’ll take a trip,” Shirley said quickly, consolidating her gains.
“Right. A trip.” He stood up and began stacking plates, their ceramic edges scraping, the silverware clattering. “I’m afraid I haven’t noticed. My work—”
“Yes, yes,” Shirley said fiercely, “I know about your damned work.”
He awoke in a swamp of wrinkled, sticky sheets. July’s heat was trapped in the upper rooms of this old house, lying in wait for the night, clinging in the airless corners. He rolled slowly out of bed, so that Alexandria rocked peacefully in the slow swells of the water’s motion. She made a foggy murmur deep in her throat and fell silent again.
The cold snap of night air startled him. The room was not close and stifling after all. The sweat that tingled, drying, had come from some inner fire, a vaguely remembered dream. He sucked in the cool, dry air and shivered.
Then he remembered.
He padded into the high-arched living room and switched on a lamp where the light would not cast into the bedroom. He fumbled among the volumes of the
Encylopaedia Britannica
and found the entry he wanted. Reading, he groped for the couch and sat down.
Lupus erythematosus.
May affect any organ or the overall structure of the body. Preference for membranes which exude moisture, such as those of the joints or those lining the abdomen. Produces modified antibodies, altered proteins. For long intervals symptoms may subside. Spreading through the body is usually undetectable until major symptoms arise. Communication to the central nervous system has become a consistent feature of the disease in recent years. Studies relating disease incidence and pollution levels show a clear connection, though the precise mechanism is not understood. Treatment—
Until this moment it had not seemed truly real.
He read through the article once, then again, and finally stopped when he found that he was crying. His eyes were stinging and watery.
He put the volume back and noticed a new book on the shelf. A Bible bound in ridged acrylic. Curious, he opened it. Some pages were well thumbed. Shirley? No, Alexandria. Had she been reading it, even before their conference with Hufman? Had she suspected in advance? He sat down and began reading.
SIX
“The President does not
know
how long, Nigel,” Lubkin said sternly. “He wants us all to hold on and try to find it.”
“Does he think anybody can suppress news about something this big
forever
? It’s been
five
months now. I don’t think the Washington or UN people will keep quiet much longer.”
Once more they were framed in the pool of light around Lubkin’s desk. The one window in the far wall let in some sunlight, giving Lubkin’s sallow skin a deeper cast of yellow. Nigel sat stiffly alert, lips pressed thin.
Lubkin casually leaned back in his chair and
“She’s holding on, just
barely
holding on. Can’t you
see
that?” Her eyes flashed at him, their glitter punctuated by the high, arching black eyebrows.
“She wants to have a hand in this Brazilian thing.” “God damn it! She’s frightened. I was gone—how long? five minutes?—and when I came back she was still sitting there in that gallery, white as a sheet and you patting her arm. That’s not healthy, that’s not the Alexandria we know.”
Nigel nodded. “But I talked to her. She—”
“—is afraid to bring it up, to show how worried she is. She feels
guilty
about it, Nigel. That’s a common reaction. The people I work with, they’re guilty over being poor, or old, or sick. It’s up to you and me to force them out of that. Make them see themselves as…”
Her voice trickled away. “I’m not reaching you, am I?”
“No, no, you are.”
“I think you ought to at least persuade her to stay home and rest.”
“I will.”
“When she’s feeling better we’ll take a trip,” Shirley said quickly, consolidating her gains.
“Right. A trip.” He stood up and began stacking plates, their ceramic edges scraping, the silverware clattering. “I’m afraid I haven’t noticed. My work—”
“Yes, yes,” Shirley said fiercely, “I know about your damned work.”
He awoke in a swamp of wrinkled, sticky sheets. July’s heat was trapped in the upper rooms of this old house, lying in wait for the night, clinging in the airless corners. He rolled slowly out of bed, so that Alexandria rocked peacefully in the slow swells of the water’s motion. She made a foggy murmur deep in her throat and fell silent again.
The cold snap of night air startled him. The room was not close and stifling after all. The sweat that tingled, drying, had come from some inner fire, a vaguely remembered dream. He sucked in the cool, dry air and shivered.
Then he remembered.
He padded into the high-arched living room and switched on a lamp where the light would not cast into the bedroom. He fumbled among the volumes of the
Encylopaedia Britannica
and found the entry he wanted. Reading, he groped for the couch and sat down.
Lupus erythematosus.
May affect any organ or the overall structure of the body. Preference for membranes which exude moisture, such as those of the joints or those lining the abdomen. Produces modified antibodies, altered proteins. For long intervals symptoms may subside. Spreading through the body is usually undetectable until major symptoms arise. Communication to the central nervous system has become a consistent feature of the disease in recent years. Studies relating disease incidence and pollution levels show a clear connection, though the precise mechanism is not understood. Treatment—
Until this moment it had not seemed truly real.
He read through the article once, then again, and finally stopped when he found that he was crying. His eyes were stinging and watery.
He put the volume back and noticed a new book on the shelf. A Bible bound in ridged acrylic. Curious, he opened it. Some pages were well thumbed. Shirley? No, Alexandria. Had she been reading it, even before their conference with Hufman? Had she suspected in advance? He sat down and began reading.
SIX
“The President does not
know
how long, Nigel,” Lubkin said sternly. “He wants us all to hold on and try to find it.”
“Does he think anybody can suppress news about something this big
forever
? It’s been
five
months now. I don’t think the Washington or UN people will keep quiet much longer.”
Once more they were framed in the pool of light around Lubkin’s desk. The one window in the far wall let in some sunlight, giving Lubkin’s sallow skin a deeper cast of yellow. Nigel sat stiffly alert, lips pressed thin.
Lubkin casually leaned back in his chair and
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