He was beginning to pull himself together, and to crawl painfully to his feet, when he noticed the one unfamiliar thing in the room-the new big mirror. It brought the rest of his dream back with a rush; he leaped toward the bed. “Cynthia!”
But she was there where she belonged, safe and unharmed. She had not awakened at his outcry, of which he was glad; he did not want to frighten her. He tiptoed away from the bed and let himself quietly into the bathroom, closing the door behind him before he turned on the light.
A pretty sight! he mused. His nose had been bloodied; it had long since stopped bleeding and the blood had congealed. It made a gory mess of the front of his pajama jacket. Beside that, he had apparently lain with the right side of his face in the stuff-it had dried on, messily, making him appear much more damaged than he was, as he discovered when he bathed his face.
Actually, he did not seem to be much damaged, except that-Wow!-the whole right side of his body was stiff and sore-probably banged it and wrenched it when he fell, then caught cold in it. He wondered how long he had been out.
He took off the jacket, decided that it would be too much effort to try to wash it out then, rolled it into a ball and chucked it behind the toilet seat. He didn’t want Cyn to see it until he had had a chance to explain to her what had happened. “Why, Teddy, what in the world have you done to yourself?” “Nothing, kid, nothing at all-just ran into a radiator!”
That sounded worse than the old one about running into a door.
He was still groggy, groggier than he had thought-he had almost pitched on his head when he threw the jacket down, had been forced to steady himself by grabbing the top of the tank. And his head was pounding like a Salvation Army drum. He fiddled around in the medicine cabinet, located some aspirin and took three tablets, then looked thoughtfully at the prescription box of Amytal Cynthia had obtained some months before. He had never needed anything of the sort before; he slept soundly-but this was a special case. Nightmares two nights running and now sleepwalking and damn near breaking his silly neck.
He took one of the capsules, thinking as he did so that the kid had something when she thought they needed a vacation-he felt all shot.
Clean pajamas were too hard to find without turning on the bedroom light-he slipped into bed, waited a moment to see if Cyn would stir, then closed his eyes and tried to relax. Inside of a few minutes the drugs began to take hold, the throbbing in his head eased up, and soon he was sound asleep.
VII
Sunlight in his face woke him up; he focused one eye on the clock on the dressing table and saw that it was past nine o’clock, whereupon he got out of bed hastily. It was, he found, not quite a bright thing to do-his right side gave him fits. Then he saw the brown stain under the radiator and recalled his accident.
Cautiously he turned his head and took a look at his wife. She was still sleeping quietly, showing no disposition to stir. That suited him; it would be better, he thought, to tell her what had happened after he had dosed her with orange juice. No point in scaring the kid.
He groped on his slippers, then hung his bathrobe around him, as his bare shoulders felt cold and the muscles were sore. His mouth tasted better after he had brushed his teeth; breakfast began to seem like a good idea.
His mind dwelt absent-mindedly on the past night, fingering his recollections rather than grasping them. These nightmares, he thought as he squeezed the oranges-not so good. Maybe not crazy, but definitely not so good, neurotic. Got to put a stop to ’em. Man couldn’t work if he spent the night chasing butterflies, even if he didn’t fall over his feet and break his neck. Man had to have sleep-definitely.