“Forget it.”
“It’s the heat. And boredom. I keep thinking I want to do things. But as soon as I start to imagine walking downstairs and outside into the sun—”
“Why go outside? Let’s do something here.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, goodness. What, indeed!”
“For God’s sake, Verne.”
He grinned up at her.
She smiled a little. “The bed will fall apart. It’s almost ready to collapse. That’s one reason why I’ve followed the straight and narrow.”
“Have you?”
“For a while.” She sat down next to him. “You know, Verne, it’s so strange how some things are the same, and some things are different.”
“How so?”
“You know what I mean. Four years kills so much, but it doesn’t kill everything. The real problem is trying to find out just exactly what it has killed and what is still alive. It’s so hard to know. It’s impossible to know. In advance, at least. What goes on, deep down in your mind? I wish I knew what was still alive in me. I wish I could find out.”
“There’s one thing that nothing kills. At least, not until the whole body perishes.”
“Four years is a long time. But what the hell.” She turned toward him. “Look at how different I am. It must be fascinating to see. I’ve changed a lot, haven’t I?”
“You’ve grown from a young girl into a fully developed woman,” Verne stated.
“Stop it.” She colored. “That’s what I don’t want to hear. I told you.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“I don’t care. That’s one thing that is not the same. It’s off.” Color rose into her cheeks.
“Really?”
Barbara got up quickly and walked around in a little circle. “Of course. It’s gone. It’s a matter of complete indifference to me. There’s no feeling left. I have no feeling about it. Maybe at one time it mattered. But not any more.”
“I’m not sure exactly what you mean. I get just a sort of general picture.”
“That’ll do.” She crossed to the door and looked up and down the hall. “I’m going to leave the door open. No one will be coming along.”
Verne gazed up, wonderingly. “What—what’s the pitch?”
Barbara came back and stood grimly in front of him. “The bed really will collapse, you realize.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She rubbed her neck. “This god damn heat and boredom. Don’t take any credit for yourself. It’s enough to drive a person crazy, looking for something to do.”
“Is—is that the way you look at it?”
“Partly. I can’t stand just sitting here in the room. I’ll be god damned if I’ll go outside in the sun. So that doesn’t leave much.”
“Well, I never heard of it coming this way. Not in all my life. I don’t know what to think.”
“Better decide soon,” Barbara said. “What you said about the moment of decision is true, right now. Do you want to, or don’t you?” She gazed past him, suddenly thoughtful.
“What is it?”
“Maybe—maybe we’ll find out, once and for all.”
Verne go up from the bed. “My God. But where? I don’t want the bed folding up at the crucial moment, with us inside it.”
“It’s not that bad.” She smiled. “But we really can’t use it. Look at it sagging.”
They looked at it.
“Well, how about the floor?” Verne said. “We can put a sheet down or something. Either that or outside on the lawn. But it’s too sunny there. Of course, if the bathtub is large enough—”
“Oh, stop it! It’s not that funny.”
“I thought you said you didn’t care any more.”
“I don’t. But it’s not like drinking a glass of water.”
“Lenin said it was.”
“Well, it isn’t. Anyhow, what will we do?”
“Don’t change your mind while I’m working it out.” Verne looked around the room. “We could move the mattress onto the floor. That way it’ll be soft, and there won’t be any hazard. What do you say?”
“All right.”
Barbara began carrying the clothes from the bed, over to the dressers. She heaped them in stacks until the bed was clear. Verne took hold of one end of the mattress and she took hold of the other. They laid the mattress and the bedding onto the floor.
Verne straightened up. “How’s that? Almost as good as the bank of a stream.”
“It’s good enough.” She wiped her neck. “This infernal god damn heat. Will it never go away?”
“You’ll forget it in a few minutes. That’s the virtue of this. You can be stabbed and roasted and murdered during, and you don’t notice until after.”
Barbara leaned against the wall and began to take her shoes and socks off. “Well? I hope you’re going to do this, too. You must be at least that much of a gentleman.”
Verne took off his shoes and socks slowly. Barbara unbuttoned her shirt and laid it on the dresser with the other clothes.
“What’s holding you up?” she said.
“A man can’t go to trusting extremes. He may be called on to leap out of the window. I’ll leave the rest of my stuff on.”
“Suit yourself. But if I’m going to do it I want the pleasure of getting out of these sticky clothes.” She reached behind her, unhooking the bra. She put the bra with the shirt, in a heap on the dresser.
Verne contemplated her. “Nice.”
“Come on. Let’s hurry, for heaven’s sake. I’m irritable enough to change my mind.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Only I can’t think of anything else to do. That’s the trouble with this sort of thing. The heat reduces you to animal level. Basic things.”
“Well, it’s the original form of entertainment.”
Barbara finished undressing, gathering up all her things and putting them on the dresser. “It feels a lot better this way. Maybe we ought to run around like this all week long. Until the yuks come.”
“What would Carl think?” Verne said, testing the mattress with his foot. “He’d be struck blind.”
“He’ll learn. Now? Ready?” She examined the clock. “We have five hours before it starts to get cool. Can we string it out until evening?”
“There’s a limit, even for Verne Tildon.”
Barbara sat down on the bedding and gingerly made herself comfortable. “You know, down here it’s cooler. I don’t feel all prickly and gummy anymore.” She rested her head on her arm, watching Verne. “Is there a moral there?”
“There’s a moral in everything.” Verne gazed down at her. “How about the door? You really want to leave it open?”
“Who would come along?”
“No one. But you have to give my conditionings a break. After all, I’m an old man and I’ve learned a way of doing things.” He closed the door and then got down with her on the bedding.
“Doesn’t this seem to be your way?”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. You don’t find this objectionable, do you?” She gasped. “Be careful, damn it!”
“Objectionable? Oh, no.” He added, “You know, you really have filled out in four years. Very nice.”
“Thanks. It should cost you extra, since you’re getting such a good deal.”
“You have changed since last time.”
“Sure,” Barbara said. “But it’s a cruel world.”
“Odd,” Verne said. “You’d think it would make you warmer, and instead it makes you feel sort of icy.”
“I suppose. Anyhow, I don’t feel so fretful and agonized anymore.”
“What, then?”
“Nothing at all. Just leave me alone for a while.” She closed her eyes. “When you close your eyes it’s as dark as night. Verne, I think you and I must be different from the others. We like it dark and cold. We have the shades down. We resent the sunlight. There’s something symbolic in that. And Carl goes rushing around outside.”