Biddy startled me by speaking in a normal conversational tone. “I’m going to keep her asleep until at least six o’clock. Oh, she can’t hear us. Not while the Dormed is on.”
As she took me over to the bed to show me what she meant, I saw the small electric cord that led from the heavy pair of glasses to a piece of equipment on the bedside stand. It looked like a small ham radio receiver. There were three dials. A tiny orange light winked constantly. She explained that it was an electrosleep device invented in Germany and distributed in England and the United States by one of the medical supply houses. There were electrodes in the headset, covered with a foam plastic, two which rested on the eyelids, and one at the end of each earpiece where they made contact with the mastoid bone behind each ear. She said that you moistened the foam rubber pads with a salt solution and put the headset on the patient. The control unit was a pulse generator that sent an extremely weak electrical impulse-in fact a thousand times weaker than the current a flashlight bulb requires-through the sleep centers in the thalamus and hypothalamus.
“It’s perfectly safe,” she said. “It’s been used on thousands and thousands of patients. You just adjust the strength and the frequency with these two dials. The other is the on and off switch. Dr. Sherman got it for us and trained me in how to use it. You see, he was afraid of the side effects of making her sleep with medication, in her condition, whatever it is. We do have to give her shots when she gets too upset, but this is usually enough.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Very… odd. No discomfort at all. All I felt was a kind of flickering in my eyes. Not unpleasant, really. I was trying to fight it. I was telling myself that this certainly wouldn’t put me to sleep. And then there wasn’t the flickering sensation anymore, and kind of… a slow warm delicious feeling all over me, like sinking slowly in a hot sudsy perfumed tub. And I was gone! It is marvelous sleep, really. Deep and sweet and refreshing. Once she’s asleep, you can take them off and the Dormed sleep will just turn into absolutely natural sleep. Or like now, I’m leaving it on at very low strength, and she will sleep on and on until I take them off. You could parade a brass band through here, and she’d sleep like a baby. It’s a marvelous invention. It’s a portable unit, with a neat little gray suitcase thing it fits into, with a place for the salt solution and all.”
“Is there anything I have to do about it while you sleep?”
“Nothing. Well… what I do isn’t necessary. I just come in and look at her and see if that little light is going on and off. It hasn’t ever stopped or anything. And only once did she ever move her head enough to move the headset out of place.”
“But you’d feel better if I did the same thing?”
“I guess so. Yes.”
“Off with you, then.”
We went into the hall and she pointed out her door. “Just knock until I answer. Don’t settle for a mumble. Get a real answer.” She looked at her watch. “And don’t let me sleep past five o’clock. Okay?”
“Five o’clock.”
“If you get hungry or thirsty or anything–”
“I know where things are. Bug off, Bridget. Sleep tight.”
In thirty minutes the house was filled with that special silence of Sunday sleep. Little relays and servo devices made faint tickings and hummings. Refrigerator, deep freeze, air-conditioning, thermostats, electric clocks. Kids water-skied the lake, outboards droning, a faint sound through the closed windows.
Where do you look when you have no idea what you are looking for? An alcove off the living room apparently served as a small home office for Tom Pike. The top of the antique desk was clean. The drawers were locked, and the locks were splendid modern intricate devices, un-pickable, except in television drama. On a hallway phone table I found a black and white photograph in a silver frame. Helena, Maureen, and Bridget on the foredeck of the Likely Lady. Boat clothes, sweaters for cool sailing. Mick Pearson’s girls, all slender, smiling, assured, and with the loving look that could only mean that it had been Mick’s eye at the finder, Mick’s finger on the shutter release.