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ealize she was steeped in pitch…blackness； could no longer see physically。 Only in afterglow of imaginative terror。
There was a nauseating sensation as if the tracks； instead of being rigid steel rods； had softened into rippling ribbons； with the train still trying to follow their buckling curvature。 The car seemed to go up and down； like a scenic railway performing foreshortened dips and rises that followed one another quicker and quicker and quicker。 There was a distant rending； grinding； ing nearer； swelling as it came。 It reminded her of a coffee…mill they had had at home； when she was a little girl。 But that one didn't draw you into its maw； crunching everything in sight； as this one was doing。
〃Hugh！〃 the disembodied floor itself seemed to scream out behind her。 Just once。
Then after that the floor fell silent。
There were minor impressions。 Of seams opening； and of heavy metal partitions being bent together over her head； until the opening that held her was no longer foursquare； but tent…shaped。 The darkness blanched momentarily in sudden ghostly pallor that was hot and puckery to breathe。 Escaping steam。 Then it thinned out again； and the darkness came back full…pitch。 A little orange light flickered up somewhere； far off。 Then that ebbed and dimmed again； and was gone； too。
There wasn't any sound now； there wasn't any motion。 Everything was still； and dreamy； and forgotten。 What was this？ Sleep？ Death？ She didn't think so。 But it wasn't life either。 She remembered life； life had been only a few minutes ago。 Life had had lots of light in it； and people； and motion； and sound。
This must be something else。 Some transitional stage； some other condition she hadn't been told about until now。 Neither life； nor death； but something in…between。
Whatever it was； it held pain in it； it was all pain； only pain。 Pain that started small； and grew； and grew； and grew。 She tried to move； and couldn't。 A slim rounded thing； cold and sweating； down by her feet； was holding her down。 It lay across her straight； like a water pipe sprung out of joint。
Pain that grew and grew。 If she could have screamed； it might have eased it。 But she couldn't seem to。
She put her hand to her mouth。 On her third finger she encountered a little metal circlet； a ring that had been drawn over it She bit on it。 That helped； that eased it a little。 The more the pain grew； the harder she bit。 。 。 。
She heard herself moan a little； and she shut her eyes。 The pain went away。 But it took everything else with it； thought； knowledge； awareness。
She opened her eyes again； reluctantly。 Minutes？ Hours？ She didn't know。 She only wanted to sleep； to sleep some more。 Thought； knowledge； awareness； came back。 But the pain didn't e back； that seemed to be gone for good。 Instead there was just this lassitude。 She heard herself whimpering softly； like a small kitten。 Or was it she？
She only wanted to sleep； to sleep some more。 And they were making so much noise they wouldn't let her。 Clanging； and pounding on sheets of loose tin； and prying things away。 She rolled her head aside a little； in protest。 。 。 。
An attenuated shaft of light peered through； from somewhere up over her head。 It was like a long thin finger； a spoke； prodding for her； pointing at her； trying to find her in the dark。
It didn't actually hit her； but it kept probing for her in all the wrong places； all around her。
She only wanted to sleep。 She mewed a little in protest…or was it she？…and there was a sudden frightened flurry of activity； the pounding became faster； the prying became more hectic。
Then all of it stopped at once； there was a plete cessation； and a man's voice sounded directly over her； strangely hollow and blurred as when you talk through a tube。
〃Steady。 We're ing to you。 Just a minute longer； honey。 Can you hold out？ Are you hurt？ Are you bad？ Are you alone under there？〃
〃No；〃 she said feebly。 〃I've…I've just had a baby down here。〃
6
Recovery was like a progressive equalization of badly unbalanced soistices。 At first time was all nights； unbroken polar nights； with tiny fractional days lasting a minute or two at a time。 Nights were sleep and days were wakefulness。 Then little by little the days expanded and the nights contracted。 Presently； instead of many little days during the space of each twenty…four hours； there was just one long one in the middle of it each time； the way there should be。 Soon this had even begun to overlap at one end； to continue beyond the setting of the sun and impinge into the first hour or two of evening。 Now； instead of many little fragmentary days in the space of one night； there were many little fragmentary nights in the space of one day。 Dozes or naps。 The soistices had reversed themselves。
Recovery was on a second； concurrent plane as well。 Dimension entered into it as well as duration。 The physical size of her surroundings expanded along with the extension of her days。 First there was just a small area around her that entered into awareness each time； the pillows behind her head； the upper third of the bed； a dim face just offside to her； bending down toward her； going away； ing back again。 And over and above everything else； a small form allowed to nestle in her arms for a few moments at a time。 Something that was alive and warm and hers。 She came more alive then than at any other time。 It was food and drink and sunlight； it was her lifeline back to life。 The rest remained unfocussed； lost in misty gray distances stretching out and around her。
But this core of visibility； this too expanded。 Presently it had reached the foot of the bed。 Then it had jumped over that； to the wide moat of the room beyond； its bottom hidden from sight。 Then it had reached the walls of the room； on all three sides； and could go no further for the present； they stopped it。 But that wasn't a limitation of inadequate awareness any more； that was a limitation of physical equipment。 Even well eyes were not made to go through walls。
It was a pleasant room。 An infinitely pleasant room。 This could not have been a haphazard effect achieved at random。 It was too immediate； too all…pervading； every chord it struck was the right one： whether of color； proportion； acoustics； bodily tranquility and wellbeing； and above all； of personal security and sanctuary； of belonging somewhere at last； of having found a haven； a harbor； of being let be。 The height of scientific skill and knowledge； therefore； must have entered into it； to achieve that cumulative effect that her mind could only label pleasant。
The over…all effect was a warm glowing ivory shade； not a chill； clinical white。 There was a window over to her right； with a Venetian blind。 And when this was furled； the sun came through in a solid slab…like shaft； like a chunk of copper…gold ore。 And when it was unfurled； the dismembered beams blurred and formed a hazy mist flecked with copper…gold motes that clung to the whole window like a halo。 And still at other times they brought the slats sharply together； and formed a cool blue dusk in the room； and even that was grateful； made you close your eyes without effort and take a nap。
There were always flowers standing there； too； over to her right near the head of the bed。 Never the same color twice。 They must have been changed each day。 They repeated themselves； but never in immediate succession。 Yellow； and then the next day pink； and then the next day violet and white； and then the next day back to yellow again。 She got so she looked for them。 It made her want to open her eyes and see what color they would be this time。 Maybe that was why they were there。 The Face would bring them over and hold them closer for her to see； and then put them back again。
The first words she spoke each day were： 〃Let me see my little boy。〃 But the second； or not far behind； were always： 〃Let me see my flowers。〃
And after awhile there was fruit。 Not right at first； but a little later on when she first began to enjoy appetite again。 That was in a different place； not quite so close； over by the window。 In a basket； with a big…eared satin bow standing up straight above its handle。 Never the same fruit twice； that is to say； never the same arrangement or ratio of the various species； and never any slightest mark of spoilage； so she knew it must be new fruit each day。 The satin bow was never the same twice； either； so presumably the basket was a different one too。 A new basketful of fresh fruit each day。
And if it could never mean quite as much to her as the flowers that is because flowers are flowers and fruit is fruit。 It was still good to look at in its way。 Blue grapes and green； and purple ones； with the sunlight shining through them and giving them a cathedral…window lustre； bartlett pears； with a rosy flush that almost belonged to apples on their yellow cheeks； plushy yellow peaches； pert little tangerines； apples that were almost purple in their apoplectic fullbloodedness。
Every day； nestled in cool； crisp； dark…green tissue。
She hadn't known that hospitals were so attentive。 She hadn't known they provided such things for their patients； even patients who only had seventeen cents in their purses…or would have； had they had p