"Yes, of course, that is correct," Dr. Bratos said relievedly, pulling the chair over and sitting down.
The breakfast fire was still burning in the big stove and flamed up when Joze slid in more sticks. On the wall hung the big copper wash-tub and he dropped it onto the stove with a clang. Behind him the widow's bedroom door opened, but slammed shut again when he turned. Petar came in with a bucket of water and poured it into the tub.
"What are the people doing?" Joze asked.
"Just milling about and bothering each other. They won't be any trouble. If you're worried about them, I can drive back to Osor and bring the police, or telephone someone."
"No, I should have thought of that earlier. Right now I need you here. You're the only one who isn't either senile or ignorant."
Peter smiled. "Ill get some more water."
The bathtub was small and the washtub big. When the heated water was dumped in it filled it more than halfway, enough to cover the small alien. There was a drain from the bathtub but no faucets: it was usually filled with a hose from the sink. Joze picked up the alien, cradling it like a child in his arms, and carried it into the bath. The eyes were open again, following his every movement, but making no protest. He lowered the creature gently into the water, then straightened a moment and took a deep breath. "Helmet first, then we'll try to figure out how the suit opens." He bent and slowly twisted the clamps.
With all four clamps open the helmet moved freely. He opened it a wide crack, ready to close it quickly if there were any signs of trouble. The ocean water would be flowing in now, mixing with the alien water, yet the creature made no complaint. After a minute Joze slowly pulled the helmet off, cradling the alien's head with one hand so that it would not bump to the bottom of the tub.
Once the helmet was clear the pulpy crest above the eyes sprang up like a coxcomb, reaching up over the top of the green head. A wire ran from the helmet to a shiny bit of metal on one side of the creature's skull. There was an indentation there and Joze slowly pulled a metal plug out, perhaps an earphone of some kind. The alien was opening and closing its mouth, giving a glimpse of bony yellow ridges inside, and a very low humming could be heard.
Petar pressed his ear against the outside of the metal tube. "The thing is talking or something, I can hear it."
"Let me have your stethoscope, Doctor," Joze said, but when the doctor did not move he dug it from the bag himself. Yes — when he pressed it to the metal he could hear a rising and falling whine, speech of a kind.
"We can't possibly understand him — not yet," he said, handing the stethoscope back to the doctor who took it automatically. "We had better try to get the suit off."
There were no seams or fastenings visible, nor could Joze find anything when he ran his fingers over the smooth surface. The alien must have understood what they were doing because it jerkingly raised one hand and fumbled at the metal sealing ring about the collar. With a liquid motion the suit split open down the front, the opening bifurcated and ran down each leg. There was a sudden welling of blue liquid from the injured leg. Joze had a quick glimpse of green flesh, strange organs, then he spun about. "Quick, Doctor — your bag. The creature is hurt, that fluid might be blood, we have to help it.;/
"What can I do?" Dr. Bratos said, unmoving. "Drugs, antiseptics — I might kill it — we know nothing of its body chemistry."
"Then don't use any of those. This is a traumatic injury, you can bind it up, stop the bleeding, can't you?"
"Of course, of course," the old man said and at last his hands had familiar things to do, extracting bandages and sterile gauze from his bag, tape and scissors.
Joze reached into the warm and now murky water and forced himself to reach under the green leg and grasp the hot, green flesh. It was strange — but not terrible. He lifted the limb free of the water and they saw a crushed gap oozing a thick blue fluid. Petar turned away, but the doctor put on a pad of gauze and tightened the bandages about it. The alien was fumbling at the discarded suit beside it in the tub, twisting its leg in Joze's grip. He looked down and saw it take something from the sporran container. Its mouth was moving again, he could hear the dim buzz of its voice.
"What is it? What do you want?" Joze asked.
It was holding the object across its chest now with both hands: it appeared to be a book of some kind. It might be a book, it might be anything.
Yet it was covered in a shiny substance with dark markings on it, and at the edge seemed to be made of many sheets bound together. It could be a book. The leg was twisting now in Joze's grasp and the alien's mouth was open wider, as if it were shouting.
"The bandage will get wet if we put it back into the water," the doctor said.
"Can't you wrap adhesive tape over it, seal it in?"
"In my bag — I'll need some more."
While they talked the alien began to rock back and forth, splashing water from the tub, pulling its leg from Joze's grasp. It still held the book in one thin, multifingered hand, but with the other one it began to tear at the bandages on its leg.
"It's hurting itself, stop it. This is terrible.” the doctor said, recoiling from the tub.
Joze snatched a piece of wrapping paper from the floor.
"You fool! You incredible fool!" he shouted. "These compresses you used — they're impregnated with sulfanilamide."
"I always use them, they're the best, American, they prevent wound infection."
Joze pushed him aside and plunged his arms into the tub to tear the bandages free, but the alien reared up out of his grasp, sitting up above the water, its mouth gaping wide. Its eyes were open and staring and Joze recoiled as a stream of water shot from its mouth. There was a gargling sound as the water died to a trickle, and then, as the first air touched the vocal cords, a rising howling scream of pain. It echoed from the plaster ceiling in inhuman agony as the creature threw its arms wide, then fell face forward into the water. It did not move again and, without examining it, Joze knew it was dead.
One arm was twisted back, out of the tub, still grasping the book. Slowly the fingers loosened, and while Joze looked on numbly, unable to move, the book thudded to the floor.
"Help me," Petar said, and Joze turned to see that the doctor had fallen and Petar was kneeling over him. "He fainted, or a heart attack. What can we do?"
His anger was forgotten as Joze kneeled. The doctor seemed to be breathing regularly and his face wasn't flushed, so perhaps it was only a fainting spell. The eyelids fluttered. The priest brushed by and looked down over Joze's shoulder.
Dr. Bratos opened his eyes, looking back and forth at the faces bent over him. "I'm sorry," he said thickly, then the eyes closed again as if to escape the sight of them.
Joze stood and found that he was trembling. The priest was gone. Was it all over? Perhaps they might never have saved the alien, but they should have done better than this. Then he saw the wet spot on the floor and realized the book was gone.
"Father Perc!" he shouted, crying it out like an insult. The man had taken the book, the priceless book!
Joze ran out into the hall and saw the priest coming from the kitchen. His hands were empty. With sudden fear Joze knew what the old man had done and brushed past him into the kitchen and ran to the stove, hurling open the door.
There, among the burning wood, lay the book. It was steaming, almost smoking as it dried, lying open. It was obviously a book, there Were marks on the pages of some kind. He turned to grab up the shovel and behind him the fire exploded, sending a white flame across the room. It had almost caught him in the face, but he did not think of that. Pieces of burning wood lay on the floor, and inside the stove there was only the remains of the original fire. Whatever substance the book had been made of was highly inflammable once it had dried out.