“He is still alive then?”
“Last I heard. But that was all I could learn about him. It seems we all made it.”
“Too bad-twice anyway. Wait a minute. Doctor Drade said there were seven shootings.”
“Yes. It was sort of embarrassing to them: One of the police shot himself in the foot.”
“Oh. That’s all the checks, then. What else?”
“What else what?”
“Did you learn anything from all this? Like, about the stone?”
“Nope. Nothing. You know everything I do.”
“Unfortunate.”
I began to yawn uncontrollably. About then the nurse looked in.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she said. “We can’t tire him.”
“Yes, all right,” he told her. “I’m going home now, Fred. I’ll come back as soon as they say I can see you again. Can I bring you anything?”
“Is there any oxygen equipment in here?”
“No. It’s out in the hall.”
“Cigarettes, then. And tell them to take that damned sign down. Never mind. I will. Excuse me. I can’t stop. Give Mary my sympathy and such. Hope she doesn’t have a headache. Did I ever tell you about the flowers that lay wasps?”
“No.”
“I’m afraid you will have to go now,” the nurse said.
“All right.”
“Tell that lady she’s no orchid,” I said, “even if she does make me feel waspish,” and I slipped back down to the still soft center of things where life was simpler by far, and the bed got lowered there.
Drowse. Drowse, drowse.
Glimmer?
Glimmer. Also glitter and shine.
I heard the noises of arrival in my room and opened my eyelids just enough to show me it was still daytime.
Still?
I totted up my times. A day and a night and a piece of another day had passed. I had eaten several meals, talked with Doctor Drade and been auscultated by the interns. Hal had come back, happier, left me cigarettes which Drade had told me I could smoke against his wishes, which I did. Then I had slept some more. Oh yes, there I was …
Two figures passed into my slitted field of vision, moving slowly. The throat-clearing sounds which then occurred were Drade’s.
Finally: “Mister Cassidy, are you awake?” he seemed to wonder aloud.
I yawned and stretched and pretended to come around while I assessed the situation. Beside Drade stood a tall, somber-looking individual. The dark suit and smoked glasses did that for him. I suppressed a wisecrack about morticians when I saw that the man’s right hand was wrapped about a guide harness attached to a scruffy looking dog that tried to sit at attention beside him. In his left hand the man held the handle of a heavy-looking case.
“Yes,” I said, reaching for the controls and raising myself to sit facing them. “What’s up?”
“How do you feel?”
“All right, I guess. Yes. Rested.”
“Good. The police have sent this gentleman along to talk with you about whatever it is they are interested in. He has requested privacy, so we will hang a sign on the door. His name is Nadler, Theodore Nadler. I’ll leave you alone now.”
He guided Nadler to a visitor’s chair, saw him seated and left, closing the door behind him.
I took a drink of water. I looked at Nadler.
“What do you want?” I said.
“You know what we want.”
“Try running an ad,” I suggested.
He removed his glasses and smiled at me.
“Try reading a few. Like ‘Help Wanted.’ “
“You ought to be in the diplomatic corps,” I said, and his smile went tight and his face reddened.
I smiled then as he sighed.
“We know that you do not have it, Cassidy,” he finally said, “and I am not asking you for it.”
“Then why push me around the way you have? Just because I’m pushable? You’ve really shot me down, you know, forcing that degree on me. If I did have anything that you wanted there would be a big price tag on it now.”
“How big?” he said, just a little too quickly.
“For what?”
“Your services.”
“In what capacity?”
“We were thinking of offering you a job you might find interesting. How would you like to become an alien culture specialist for the U.S. legation to the United Nations? The job description calls for a Ph. D. in anthropology.”