Holding Wonder

struggled to hold Ruth's hands to focus her attention and bring her back to sanity. "If this is part of the Pain," said Thiela to the doctors, "then it may come
to the rest of us. Is there nothing you can do for Ruth?" "You have this remission of pain," they said. "That is a step forward." "But how soon to slip back?" Thiela's smile bent a little. "And what value is
it to Ruth in her present state?" They made more notes and padded away with low murmurs. Thiela lay back on her pillow and thought. She glanced over at the bed which
was empty of Ruth. Ruth was elsewhere in the Research Unit being labored over as she fought sleep and the madness that lay in it. Being wakened at five minute intervals was helping a little.
"Aunt Sophronia," Thiela spoke aloud to the ceiling. "Surely you have something for what ails-" Memory began to jiggle something in a remote corner of her brain.
For what ails you-for what ails you! "Aunt Sophronia, that's the same bottle you poured out of for Mrs. Drummond." "So-so? So-so?" Pushing the heavy cork in. "And for Tow Lewton." "So-so? So-so?" Putting the green bottle on a high shelf. "Tow hasn't got a `falling dawn feeling right here."' "So-so? So-so?" Beginning to strip the leaves off a redbell plant. "And Mrs. Drummond doesn't have a stone bruise on her heel." "Talk too much. Go home." "I want to know."
"Special bottle," peering over her glasses. "Good for what ails you."
"Hoh! Can't work for everything!"
"Talk too much!" Down came the bottle. Slopping spoon thrust into the astonished mouth. "Good for what ails you!"
All the way back to the house with the awful taste of Aunt Sophronia in her mouth. Supper table.
"What's the matter, punkin? Not a word out of you all evening. Sick?"
"No." Hard to say. "No, papa. I'm not sick."
Good for what ails you! You talk to much!
The Nurse answered Thiela's ring as bright-eyed and brisk as though it wasn't three o'clock in the morning.
"What did they do with our personal effects we decided to keep when we first went into Suspension?" Thiela asked.
"I'm not sure," said the Nurse. "That was before my time. I'll ask tomorrow."
"Tonight," said Thiela. "Now. You find out, and if they're here at the Unit, please bring me my old cigar box with the palo verde seeds glued on it, and a microcopy viewer, too, please."
"Tonight? Now?" The Nurse glanced at her wrist watch.
"Now," said Thiela. "Now. Time out of Suspension is what I probably haven't much of."
The Nurse swooshed away on silent soles and the faint crackle of her uniform. Thiela lay back against the pillow. What was it Aunt Sophronia used for the green bottle? Such unlikely things were possible. So many unclaimed treasures.
As she lay there, she became conscious of a returning tide-just a faint flush of sensitivity up her legs, as though she waded in water a trifle too hot-or too cold. She had never decided whether the Pain was cold or hot. The tide receded and then lifted again, a little farther this time, to surge just below her breathing. But this surge was not quite so sharp. Maybe it would never be so sharp again. But sharp or not, there was a time lapse before it ebbed again and, by then, the Nurse was back with the plastifilm covered cigar box. She pulled the tab that loosened the plastifilm and stripped it from the box for Thiela.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, "A bead came off." "It doesn't matter," smiled Thiela, euphoric because of Pain withdrawn. "It's really a seed, you know, a palo verde seed. Thanks. Thanks so much."
The microcopy was there among the quail eggs, the snake vertebra and the Apache tear-unpolished, but the pine gum was a dry resinous pinch of dust in one corner of the box. The microcopy was brittle with age and crudely primitive-looking, but tenderly, gently handled, it submitted to the viewer with only a few aching crackles, and Aunt Sophronia's carefully de-double-negative narrative presented itself.
For egg-sucking dogs-For removing rust-For warts-For the tobacco habit-For pin worms-For moths in wool –For riley water-For colic-For heartburn-For
scalds-For what ails you
"Why look!" cried Thiela to herself. "It's jack-o'-lantern blossoms, mostly! Jack-o'-lanterns! I remember. They have prickles on them and blue flowers. Not many plants have blue flowers. The leaves are like fingers and prickly on the back and the backs of the flowers are prickly, too. We used to pull the heads off the flowers and press them to our clothes and they'd cling because of the prickles. And, after the flowers, little yellow balls come on the plant. That's why we called them jack-o'-lanterns. Tiny things, no bigger than the tip of a finger and so brittle they shattered when you pinched them. The seeds rattle inside and dust your fingers when you crush them."
Thiela switched the viewer off. "And they always bloom at the same time as the umbrella trees!"
She moved slowly, furniture by furniture, to the window and, leaning on the sill, breathed deeply of the heavy lilac-y fragrance of the umbrella tree outside the window. "If I can get enough blossoms and a bottle-a green one-and a big spoon-"
Pain sloshed about her ankles and seeped up her shins. It retreated slowly. "Get them in time," she whispered, "maybe Ruth can sleep without terror."
There are certain advantages to being a combination National Monument and Relic and Medical Research subject. Slightly aberrant behavior is overlooked or smiled upon gently. Thiela got her blossoms, and a green bottle and a big spoon and a free hand in a tiny kitchen alcove usually reserved to the Staff. With one eye on the microcopy and one on the walloping kettle and a nose crinkled against the heavy herb-y near-stench, Thiela labored against Ruth's nightmares, and the ever sharper inflooding of the Pain. But finally, leaning heavily against the small metal table, her robe decorated with a press-on blue flower and several splashed-on stains, she steadied herself until she was sure she could pick up the big green bottle and the big spoon without immediate danger of dropping them. She eased herself into the wheel chair, slipped the bottle and spoon between her and the side of the chair, and briskly spun down the hall.
Ruth was sleeping. Thiela raised her eyebrows at the Nurse.
"She's due to be wakened in two minutes," she said, checking the clock above the bed. "Or sooner if she appears disturbed."
"I'll waken her," said Thiela. "I have something important to discuss with her. Privately. You go have some coffee."
"But I'm no supposed-" protested the Nurse.
"I won't tell," said Thiela, smiling. "Suspension is one sure way of keeping a secret a long time. Trot along. I insist. I'll count the seconds."
The red second-hand sliced the last minute away.
"Ruth!" Thiela shook her shoulder firmly. "Waking up time!"
Ruth's eyes could hardly open, but her hand groped for Thiela's.
"What will I do?" Her voice was mushy with hopelessness. "The Pain's coming back. But I can't go back into Suspension. I can't sleep!" She twisted against the Pain. "I can't stay awake with the Pain! Oh, Thiela!"
"Ruth, I have something for what ails you," said Thiela briskly, uncorking the green bottle. "Open your mouth. The spoon has to be brimming!"
"What is it?" asked Ruth, wincing away from the spoon.
"It's Aunt Sophronia's stuff for what ails you," said Thiela. "Here, don't let it spill." She thrust the spoon into Ruth's reluctant mouth. Ruth swallowed, gagged, coughed, and gasped. "Is it poison?"
"I don't think so," said Thiela doubtfully, frowning at the bottle. "But just to keep you company-" She poured out a brimming spoonful and swallowed the dose. "Ig!" she gasped, bleary-eyed. "Tastes just like Aunt Sophronia!"
"No-wonder-people-got-well-" Ruth slid down the pillows. "Self-defense." Her eyes closed and her face smoothed.