“It’s good for her to be shocked a little, after all,” muttered Frau Schorr as they crowded into the elevator. She looked distressed. The young man would have liked to comfort her, but did not understand what was the matter, so he said nothing.
Upstairs, the hall was tiny, with only two red-enameled doors. “Well, here we are at last!” said the woman brightly, opening the first of these.
Inside was a sunny and comfortable-looking room, with bright colors in the upholstery and rugs. As they entered, a tawny cat leaped down from the window seat and came toward them, pale blue eyes staring from a masked face.
The young man looked at it in surprise. He had never seen a housecat before, except in pictures-only the big ones in the Zoo, and those from a distance.
“Is it fierce?” he asked.
“Maggie?” said the woman, looking puzzled. “Whatever do you mean?” She stooped to pick up the cat, which was staring at the young man with its back arched, making a low wailing noise. When she lifted it, it hung limply from her hand for a moment like a furpiece, then writhed once and leaped to the floor.
The wailing sound grew louder. The fur along the cat’s back was ruffled.
“Oh, dear!” said the woman. “Maggie, don’t you remember Martin?” She turned to him in bewilderment. She is upset. “Sit down, dear, everything is going to be all right. Take off your surcoat and rest a little. You shall have some coffee and sandwiches in a moment.” The cat was advancing, stiff-legged; she pushed it away with her foot. With an angry screech, it retreated to the windowseat again and tucked itself together into a ball. Its blue eyes grew narrow, but whenever the young man moved they widened and its mouth opened in a sharp-toothed smile.
“I can’t imagine what is the matter with her,” said Frau Schorr from the next room. A cupboard door banged shut; a pot clattered. “She is such an affectionate creature, and she always liked you, Martin.”
Wanting to examine a picture on the opposite wall, the young man took one or two steps toward it, watching the cat out of the corner of his eye.
The animal stared back at him and made a faint hissing noise, but did not move. Emboldened, the young man crossed the room and looked at the picture closely, but still could not decide what it represented.
APALLED, he turned away, just as something squat and dirty-white waddled into view from the hall doorway. It looked up at him out of tiny red eyes and made a wheezing sound. Spittle hung from the loose lips of its enormously wide mouth, and two discolored fangs stuck up from the lower jaw. It stared at the young man in astonishment for a moment, then the gray-white hair on its shoulders rose stiffly and it made a menacing noise. The young man raised a hand. The animal began to bark, dancing about in the doorway, its eyes bulging insanely to show the yellowish, bloodshot whites.
The young man backed away as far as he could go.
“Churchill!” called the woman from the kitchen. The dog turned its head toward her voice, but went on barking. “Churchill!” she called again, and in a moment came hurriedly into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Shame!” she said, glancing at the young man. “Churchill, what is the matter with you?” The barking continued.
“Now then!” said the woman, slapping the infuriated animal on the snout with her palm. The dog hiccoughed, shook its head and stared up at her with a surprised expression. It barked once more. The woman slapped it again, more gently. “No, Churchill - shame! This is Martin, don’t you remember? He has forgotten you, she said apologetically over her shoulder. Go on now, back to your rug, Churchill. Bad dog, go on!” She herded the dog through the doorway. It moved stiffly backward, then turned reluctantly and disappeared, wheezing and snuffing. A final bark sounded from the next room.
“Oh, dear,” said the woman.
“I’m so sorry, Martin. Excuse me a moment-the coffee.” She went back into the kitchen, and the young man, slightly unnerved, began trotting back and forth beside the low bookshelves, looking at the titles of the books.
At the far corner of the room he came upon a tiny cage suspended from a polished brass stand. There was a beige cloth cover on the cage. Curious, he plucked up the edge of the cloth and peered inside. In the dimness, a tiny bird with green and violet feathers was perched on a miniature trapeze. One pin-sized golden eye blinked at him; the creature said, “Weep?”
The young man closed the cover again. It is just like the Zoo, he thought.
The woman returned, looking flustered, with a tray in her hands. On the tray were sandwiches and coffee. She set it down on the table in front of the sofa. “Now come, eat, Martin, you must be hungry.” She made him sit on the sofa, and while he dutifully ate the sandwiches and drank the good coffee, she sat opposite him in the upholstered chair, hands clasped in her lap, smiling faintly as she watched him eat. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion. A few strands of dark hair had escaped from her coiffure and hung over her forehead.
“Yes, eat, that is good,” she said. “Would you like some music, Martin?” The young man nodded, with his mouth full. The woman rose, went to a machine in the corner and punched several buttons. After a moment the machine began to emit music, something slow and soothing, played by an orchestra with many violins. The young man listened with pleasure, waving his sandwich.
The woman sighed, then smiled. “No. You don’t remember, do you?” she asked.
“Remember what?”
“The music. We used often to dial it … never mind.” She crossed to the machine again and touched it; the music stopped. “But it’s really true, then, that you don’t remember anything?”
“I think I do,” said the young man, lying cautiously. “You are my sister-”
“No!” said the woman vehemently. “That’s not true at all. You don’t remember.” Her mouth was compressed and her eyes were closed.
“But then why did you tell the doctor that you were my sister?” the young man demanded, bewildered.
“Because I had to be a member of your family, or they would not have let me sign you out.”
The young man swallowed, thinking this over. He laid his sandwich down. But if you are not my sister-”
“Yes?”
“Then what are you?”
The woman’s face colored, and she glanced away. “Never mind, Martin … just a friend. We are just friends. Hand me those cigarettes, won’t you, Martin?”
He followed her glance; there was nothing on the low table beside him but an ashtray and an enameled box. He lifted the lid: Correct, there were cigarettes inside.
She took one, lit it with a tiny rose-quartz lighter, tilted her head back to puff out a long streamer of smoke. With her left hand she was absently setting the black pieces in their places.
“Don’t you want one?” she asked.
The young man looked dubiously at the white cylinders. He had never tried to smoke a cigarette, but doubtless it was one of the things he should learn.
He put one gingerly between his lips, took it out again and looked at it, then replaced it and touched the other end with the lighter. He sucked cautiously; the cigarette glowed. Cool, bittertasting smoke ran into his mouth. Before he realized what he was doing, he breathed some of it into his lungs, where it felt astonishingly good. He took another pull at the cigarette. He realized with grateful delight that the smoke was somehow soothing one of the urgent discomforts he had been feeling all this time, ever since he had left the Zoo.
“How good that is!” he said, staring at the burning cylinder.
The woman’s eyes filled with tears. She leaned forward and put put her cheek against his. Her arms went around him convulsively.
“Oh, darling, had you forgotten that too?” she said weeping.