“That’s where its owner was last night,” David said.
“A prom,” Gillian said. “They came here after a prom.”
“No proms in August, Gillian.”
“That’s right. A special occasion of some sort then. A birthday. An anniversary. And they were walking through the park, and they had an argument, and she threw his orchid under the bush.”
“Ja, go on,” David said in a thick German accent. “Dot’s very goot. Tell me more aboud your assoziations.”
“Your accent is terrible,” Gillian said. “Let’s hang it on a tree.”
“My accent?”
“The flower, David. Come!”
They unwound the wire holding the stem of the flower to its fern and then rewired the orchid to the leafy branch of an elm. The tree stood to the side of the path, the single purple bloom seeming to sprout magically from the end of one of its branches.
“Und now ve obzerve, doktor,” Gillian said.
“And that’s a good accent, huh?”
“No, but I do it with style,” Gillian answered.
They sat on a rock several feet away from the elm tree, trying not to seem interested in the orchid or the people who passed by. Three young men in tight jeans and Italian sweaters were the first to spot the flower. One giggled, sniffed it, shoved at his companions, sniffed it again, and then joined them as they went up the path laughing.
“You know what they thought it was, don’t you?” Gillian asked.
“No. What?”
“The late-blooming faggotry.”
“Here are some more customers,” David said.
Two little girls had stopped to study the flower. They approached it cautiously, standing several feet back from it.
“Be careful,” the first girl said. “It’s one of those stingers. Don’t touch it. It’ll sting you.”
The second girl moved closer to the riotous purple bloom. She peered at its petals and then tentatively stuck out her hand.
“Don’t touch it!” the other girl shouted.
The second girl touched it gingerly, pulled back her hand at once, and said, “Wow!”
“Did it sting you?” the first girl asked as they walked on. “Huh? Did it sting you, Marie?”
They watched the flower for at least twenty minutes. At the end of that time, an old man wearing striped trousers and a derby hat stopped at the tree, discovered the bloom, raised his eyebrows appreciatively, plucked it from the branch, stuck it in his buttonhole, and went jauntily down the path humming.
“Most of them didn’t even notice it,” Gillian said sadly.
“Ah, but that’s life,” David answered.
“Are you observant?” she asked seriously.
“I noticed you, didn’t I?”
“Do you notice anything different about the way I’m wearing my hair?”
“No,” he said, surprised, and turned to look more closely.
“I’m just checking. I’ve worn it this way always.”
“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, Gillian.”
“Oh, yes,” she said.
“Why do you always think I’m joking when I say you’re beautiful?”
“Because I know I’m not,” she said, suddenly shy. “But it’s nice that you think so. It’s terribly nice, David.”
When they got back to the apartment, Gillian immediately busied herself with pencil and paper.
“What are you doing?” David asked.
“I’m making up my own Egyptian hieroglyph.”
“Why?”
“If Cleopatra could have one, why can’t I?”
“All right, go ahead. I want to hear the end of the Yankee game.”
“I hate baseball,” Gillian said. “Only boors are interested in baseball.” She shushed him as he began to protest, and continued working on her drawing, her tongue caught between her teeth, her brow knotted in concentration. She tried to show him the completed sketch in the middle of an eleventh-inning rally. David put her off until the excitement had died down, and then studied her work.
“Where did you find this?” he asked with an air of shocked discovery.
“Why, it just came through, sir,” Gillian said, immediately falling into the role of the apprentice. “I was simply sitting there, sir, when this papyrus scroll was put on my desk. I looked for the page after the title page, but there was none, and page ninety-seven was obliterated by ibis feathers. I thought I should call it to your attention at once, sir.”
“I’m glad you did,” David said sternly. “This girl, what was her name? We’ll have to fire her at once.”
“Which girl is that, sir?”
“The one who obliterated page ninety-seven.” David paused, thinking. “Iris, was that it? Iris something-or-other?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Ibis. Ibis Feathers. She used to be a stripper in Union City before she joined the library, sir.” Gillian paused. “We put her in the stacks, sir. She stacks very well.”
“Very well,” David said. “Do you realize the importance of this find?”
“Is it important, sir?”
“Miss Rourke, I can’t—”
“Burke, sir.”
“Yes, of course, Burke. Miss Burns, I can’t begin to tell you about its importance.”
“Try, sir.”
“Sit down on my lap here, Miss Barnes, and I’ll—”
“Burke, sir.”
“Yes, of course, Burke. Sit down, Miss Byrd, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Gillian curled up in his lap and threw her arms around his neck. “Mmmm, yes, where was I?” David said.
“The papyrus roll.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Miss Bikes.”
“Burke.”
“Burke, Burke, I can’t seem to remember that name. Well, Italian names always throw me. Forgive me, Miss Buggs. The papyrus roll. Is it seeded papyrus or onion papyrus?”
“I didn’t notice, sir. A little of each, I think.”
“In any case, it should go well with ham.”
“Is that a dig, David Regan?”
“No, my dear. The last dig I was on was in Australia in 1912. Found a Zulu skull. Remarkably preserved.”
“She’s very good, too,” Gillian said.
“Who’s that, my dear?”
“Zulu. Zulu Skull. A marrr-velous stripper. Not as inventive as Ibis Feathers, but remarkably preserved.”
“Yes, well of course she—”
“Are you happy?” Gillian asked suddenly. “David, are you tremendously happy?”
“I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life,” he answered.
They tried to reach Penny with drugs first.
They started with the barbituric acid group, shooting her with ten grains of sodium amytal intravenously, varying the administration with oral, intramuscular, and rectal doses, gradually increasing the dosage to fifteen grains. She would scream whenever they hit her with the needle. She would claw and scratch, and they would grab at her arms and her legs and hold her down while the hypodermic was plunged into her arm. The physicians and attendants began to dread that time of the day when Penny Randolph would be taken out of her restraining jacket in preparation for her injection. The narcosis seemed to have nothing but the most minor temporary effect on her. She still refused to eat. She still would spit at anyone who came anywhere near her, hurl obscenities at patients and staff. The moment the jacket was removed, the moment they took it off to get at the veins on her arm, she became assaultive. Once, she seized the hypodermic from the doctor, smashed it on the table top, and attempted to slit her own throat with the broken shard.
By the beginning of September, when Matthew and Amanda moved into the Talmadge house, the hospital staff had already tried veronal, paraldehyde, and hyoscine, and had switched to sodium nucleinate in their treatment of Penny. When they realized this wasn’t helping her at all, when they recognized they were no closer to establishing the communication they so desperately desired, they abandoned drug therapy completely, and called Priscilla Soames the next day to ask for permission to use electric convulsive treatment on her daughter.