“For a little while today you thought maybe you wanted to run in the sun.”
“I would have gone ten feet and fallen over dead. Just let me lie here with my eyes shut. Don’t jar me. I’m all relaxed and at ease. They ought to recommend this to neurotic patients. It does wonders.”
“That’s my theory. I’ve been following that advice for years.”
“I know,” Barbara said.
Verne looked down into her face, so close to his, but he could not read her expression. Her eyes were shut. He bent over a little and touched his lips to her forehead.
She frowned. “Cut that out! None of that.”
“Really? This is strange. You don’t want me to kiss you, but you don’t mind the rest.”
“I enjoy the rest. After all, it’s been almost six months for me.”
“Almost that long for me, too. Most of these girls who work for the Company are after your pelt to hang up on the wall.”
“A battle. Between you losing your pelt and the girl losing her greatest pride.”
“Once they get you under lock and key they can quit their job. That’s the psychology of a working woman. To them, it’s a way of getting out of the grind. But take college girls, on the other hand. It’s a completely different proposition. Marriage would only interfere with their fun.”
“Which is your attitude. And therefore you can strike up quite a business.”
Verne agreed.
“Where do I fit into the picture? I don’t seem to fall into any of your categories.”
“That happens,” Verne admitted. He was silent. After a moment he went on: “Well, are you ready to call it quits for today? We can carry on some other time.”
“Don’t be too sure. Next time I might not feel the same. Better take advantage while you have it. What time is it? I can’t see the clock.”
“Still four hours to go. We’re doing as well as could be expected. Shall we—shall we go on?”
“For Christ’s sake!” Barbara said angrily, stirring a little. “Come on.”
“I guess a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“Your other phrase is: The woods are full of them.”
Verne nodded.
Presently he said, “Well, I’m sorry. But even if there’s a month to go I’m finished.” He waited for her to say something. She did not answer. She lay with her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling. “Are you all right?”
There was no response.
“What is it?” Verne said. Her face was strange, twisting oddly. The muscles around her mouth locked, hard and rigid. They began to work. “For God’s sake, what’s the matter? What is it?”
“Verne.”
“Yes? What’s wrong?”
“Verne, there’s something wrong.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” She opened her eyes, wide and terrified, staring up at him. “Let me up.”
He helped her to her feet. She stood shakily, pressing her fist against her cheek.
“What is it? Are you sick?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s—something psychological.” She tried to smile. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing physical?”
“No.” Her voice was a whisper.
“What did it feel like?”
“Vefne, give me my clothes.”
He handed her clothing to her, from the top of the dresser. She dressed quickly, her hands shaking. When she had finished she sat down on the bed springs and tied her shoes. She did not speak.
“Are you all right now?” Verne asked.
“Yes.” Her face was pale and set, like frozen marble. All the color had drained out of her. Her arms were grey. He could see her teeth chattering. All across her forehead and lip were tiny beads of icy perspiration.
“For God’s sake,” Verne said, alarmed. “Will you tell me what it is?”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“What I said? When? What do you mean?”
“About—about the moment. The choice.”
“Yes.”
“Verne, something happened. Didn’t you feel it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She was looking at him. “You didn’t feel it?”
“I felt cold. But it seemed good to me. Because of the heat. Do you mean that?”
“I don’t mean that.” She rubbed her forehead. “Something terrible happened. Something got in. Like in a dream. Drifting in, cold and made out of fog...”
They were both silent.
“It felt good at first,” Verne said finally. “It had been so hot. I guess I didn’t get it as strongly.”
“It was waiting. Like the thing in the dream. It was waiting there, all around us. Waiting to get in.”
Verne considered. “We didn’t do anything wrong. People do it all the time. Even the best people get to earth that way.”
“But something got in. Something that was waiting. Cold and dead. It—it got inside me.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.” Barbara brushed at her eyes, wiping them. “I didn’t know there was anything. It came near after—after we began. It was there all the time.” She looked up at him tearfully. “It’s always been there, waiting to—”
“For God’s sake. That’s foolish. This is only a guilt complex setting up. A personification of some mental guilt.”
“But you felt it, too.”
“No.” But he had felt it! He licked his lips.
Barbara watched him. “You did. I can tell. Not as strong, but you did. In spite of what you say.”
“All right,” Verne said impatiently.
“Verne?”
“What.”
“It was like a sentence. A curse. As if we’re—doomed.”
Verne grunted.
After a long time Barbara went on in a tight voice, “Maybe we better put the bedding back.”
They lifted the bedding and put it down on the springs. Verne pushed it into place with his hands. The bed looked as it had before. “That’s that,” Verne said.
They sat down on the bed. Barbara was still pale and shaken. She shivered. “I’m cold. I’m cold all over. Cold and clammy. Like a—a leper. Like worms and wet tomb stones. The grave. Cold, damp stone.”
She took his hand and put it against her face. He started, pulling back. Her skin was moist and frigid. He swallowed, rubbing his hands together. “A reaction. A psychological reaction.”
“I feel so awful.”
“I know.”
They looked down at the floor. Neither of them spoke. At last Barbara turned and raised the shade. A flash of yellow sunlight poured into the room, blinding them. They blinked.
“That’s better,” Verne said.
“Verne, we never should have done it. That’s what it was. We brought it on ourselves. We let it in by what we did. It was our own fault. We— we called it down.”
“Why? People do it—”
“This was different.”
“How?”
“We took up where we left off four years ago. It was wrong. You can’t go back. And we did go back. Only it was worse than going back. Even worse than that.”
“Why?”
“It was all the bad part and none of the good. It was as bad as it could be. It was the slopping part, the blood and the seeping over. Mechanical. And none of the feeling. There was nothing to make it into something. When I asked you to do it I thought I was being—I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought. I wanted to find out something. It was my fault” She looked up defensively. “But it was your fault, too.”
“Nuts. There was nothing wrong with it.”
“Wasn’t there?”
“It’s a perfectly natural act.”