“Madame Schorr,” the orderly interrupted, putting his head in at the door, “they are blinking for you to come down to the office at once.”
“Oh, my God!” said the woman and, turning around, she walked out again.
The young man waited. At last Frau Schorr entered, walking rapidly. This time she looked flushed and energetic. “Come, quickly, she said, taking his arm, before they change their minds.”
“I can go?” he asked.
“Yes, it is all arranged. Hurry!”
She led him down the white hall, past the blinking colored letters on the wall. There were potted plants at every intersection of corridors - always the same plant, with shiny saw-toothed leaves.
They got into a rapid elevator of the kind the young man had seen in the store. It opened for them, clicked shut and with a dizzy swoop they were hurtling downward; then another swoop in the reverse direction, a click, and they were standing on the gray tile floor of a large lobby, with enormous windows of clear glass through which the young man could see the central tower of the Flugbahn, glittering in the sunlight against a sky of pure blue.
“Hurry!” said the woman, lead him to another elevator. This one was the spiral kind. They dropped through a glass tube, past dark walls at first, then, startlingly, into the daylight.
What had happened to the building? The young man craned his neck, saw the titanic slab of masonry receding above his head. They had emerged from the bottom of the hospital, which was supported high in the air on concrete legs. Around them bright green lawns and flowering shrubs were visible. Only one other building could be seen in the middle distance, and that was a single, carelessly carved block of pink stone, without windows or visible entrances. Beyond, the rooftops of a few buildings showed over the treetops.
The elevator went underground without pausing, and a moment later they were in the white, flat light of a subterranean tunnel. As they left the elevator, an oval car drifted up on two fat wheels. It stopped, and the transparent top swung open. There was no driver The young man hung back, but Frau Schorr urged him in. They sat down on the deep cushions; the top hesitated, then slowly dropped and latched with a click. The woman leaned forward. “Take us to the Fiedler platz exit, please.”
After a pause, a mechanical voice spoke from the grille facing them. “That will be two marks ten, please.” The woman fumbled in her purse, found a piece of paper money and put it into a slot beside the grille. “Thank you,” said the voice; coins clattered into a metal cup. The woman picked them out carefully and put them away as the car glided into motion.
They did not seem to be moving fast, but the young man felt himself pressed back into the cushions, and the white lights of the tunnel whisked by at a dizzying rate.
Other cars were visible far ahead and behind. Now the tunnel forked, the left-hand branch turning downward, the righthand one up. Their car whirled to the left without losing speed. At a second fork, they turned right, rising again.
The car glided to a stop beside an elevator, identical to the one they had taken from the hospital. The top swung back.
A little dizzy from so much rapid motion, the young man followed the woman into the elevator. As the car rose in the tube, another car with two men and a child in it whirled down past them in the counter-spiral. It made the young man feel ill to watch them, and he shut his eyes.
NOW they were aboveground once more. The street was full of cool blue shadow, but over their heads the sun was still warm on the facades. Taking his arm again, the woman led him across the empty pavement to one of the entrances, over which the young man read the number “109” in silver letters.
In the lobby, she paused, one gloved hand going to her mouth. “You have your key?” she asked.
“Key?” The young man explored his pockets, brought up the key on the gold ring. “Is this it?”
She took it with relief. “Yes, I’m quite sure. Come.”
They entered another elevator, an ordinary straight-up one this time, and the woman spoke to the grille, “Three.”
They emerged into a narrow hallway carpeted in beige and green. Frau Schorr led the way directly to a door numbered 3C, opened it with the key.
Inside, they found themselves in greenish dimness.
The room was small, with a narrow bed, a table with some coffee things, a typewriter on a desk. There was no dust, but the air had a stale, bottled-up smell.
The woman crossed to the windows and threw back the green draperies, letting in the sunlight. She touched a button on the control panel over the bed, and at once fresh air began to whisper into the room.
“Well, here you are then!” said the woman happily. “Your own little room again …” She paused. “But you don’t remember this, either?”
The young man was looking around. He had never seen the room before, and did not much care for it. “Isn’t there any television?” he asked.
The woman studied him for a moment, then went to the control panel again, touched another button. A picture on the wall opened and folded back, revealing a TV screen, which instantly bloomed into life. A man’s smiling face loomed toward them, gigantic, all-swallowing, while laughter roared from the wall. Then the sound died, the open-mouthed face shrank and disappeared as the woman touched the controls again.
The halves of the picture jerked, flapped, slid together.
“What’s the matter?” asked the woman.
“I didn’t know it was going to do that,” said the young man, quivering.
She looked at him thoughtfully. I see. She put the tips of her gloved fingers to her lips. “Martin, you know this is your own room. It doesn’t remind you at all? I thought perhaps when you saw it—no. I think it’s better that you don’t stay here, Martin, Come, help me.”
She crossed briskly to the opposite wall, slid back a panel, took out two pieces of luggage. She laid them open on the bed, then crossed the room again, pulled a drawer out of the wall, scooped up a pile of clothing. “Here, take these.” She dumped the clothing into his arms. “You put everything on the bed, I’ll pack.”
“But where are we going?” he asked, carrying his burden obediently across the room.
“To my apartment,” she said. She picked up the clothes, straightened them neatly, began to pack them into the larger of the two suitcases. “Go, get more.”
THE YOUNG man went back, found another drawer under the first. There were nothing but socks in this one. He brought dutifully over to the bed.
“And if Frau Biefleder doesn’t like it, let her choke!” said the woman, punching shirts down into the open suitcase with brisk, angry motions.
Understanding nothing, the young man did as he was told. All the clothing, including two sets of overgarments, went into the larger suitcase. The other case, which was very flat and narrow, was filled with papers from the desk. Frau Schorr took both suitcases, and the young man carried the typewriter in its case. They went down again in the elevator, across the street, down the other elevator, and got into a cab exactly like the one that had brought them.
This time they emerged into a more populous street. Carrying their suitcases, they crossed the open area past a group of strolling girls, a tall boy on a unicycle, a flower vendor.
There were shops on either side, with interesting things displayed in their windows, but Frau Schorr would not let him linger. They turned the first corner to the left, entered a building faced with blue stone. In the lobby sat a little white-haired old lady with a face full of wrinkles. “Good afternoon, Frau Beifelder,” said Frau Schorr stiffly. The old woman did not reply, but stared after them with tiny, redrimmed eyes.