She smiled.
James rolled over to look up at her, and put his arms behind his head.
— What have you been doing all day? he asked.
— I shouldn't say, said Grieve. You wouldn't like me anymore.
— No? asked James.
— No, said Grieve. I go on Thursdays to a hospital and sew people's arms and legs back on. I'm not a doctor or anything. I just discovered one day how good I was at sewing on arms and legs. I'd done it often enough with puppets and stuffed animals, and so, I thought, well, a person can't be much different. To be honest I tried it first with a dog, but the human arm was much too big and the dog just kind of dragged it around.
— What are you talking about? asked James.
— Nothing, said Grieve. I was just thinking out loud.
She was wearing a short pleated skirt with a cream-colored blouse. From where James was lying, he could see most of her legs.
He told her about this fact.
— Well, she said, what do you think about that?
and lay down beside him.
They looked up then at the ceiling. Words had been painted across the entire ceiling of the library.
— What does it say? asked James.
— It's in a cipher, said Grieve. My father painted it himself. It's an entire book, in a cipher, a book he wrote. No one has ever read it.
— Oh, said James.
He looked back and forth across the ceiling. Back and forth he looked. When he had looked back and forth five times he knew he had memorized this strange book. He would write it out, he thought, he would write it out and decipher the code at his leisure.
This looking and thinking, though sudden, had taken perhaps ten, perhaps fifteen minutes. Grieve had fallen asleep. Her head was on his shoulder. He shifted his arm beneath her neck. She moved in her sleep and put her arm on his chest. Her leg slid up and across him, and she settled comfortably. Her breathing became regular again.
James ran his hand lightly over her back and listened to her breathe.
What next? he asked himself.
James stood near the front door. Grieve had woken up and gone off. He had gone off too. When someone wakes up and goes off, it never feels right to stay in the place where you were with them. One should always go off and find something new if one is to keep oneself perennially young and happy.
What's next? he asked himself.
If, he thought to himself, the whole thing is a dream, then it would all work out properly. How could he know if it was a dream? He could ask someone, certainly.
He approached a woman who was folding towels on a long wooden table. Her hair smelled like trees in the out-of-doors.
— Is this a dream? he asked.
— Please don't talk to me, she said, and smiled in a really fabulous way.
He began to try all the ordinary ways of getting out of dreams, pinching, etc. These did not work.
There was a phone in the hall next to the long table.
I will call someone on the telephone, said James to himself, someone who knows me, and I will ask them whether or not I am asleep right now.
James went to the telephone. He called the house of his wife, and asked her if he was in bed at that moment asleep.
— I'll go and check, she said.
After a minute, she came back. Her voice sounded so warm and happy. He could tell that she was glad he had called.
— Yes, you're asleep. I wouldn't worry about it. The covers had come off your feet. I put them right, and laid an extra blanket across the bottom. I think you'll sleep really well now. And besides, I'll be coming to bed in a minute, and then I'll wake you anyway and I will not have any clothes on and neither will you. That will be nice.
— Yes, said James. That will be nice. I will look forward to that, then.
— Good-bye, said James's wife. I love you.
— Good-bye, said James.
He hung up the phone. The girl who was folding towels had stopped. She was looking at him curiously.
— Who were you talking to? she asked.
— I wasn't really talking to anyone, he said. The phone doesn't work. It's just a toy phone, made out of wood.
And it was true. The phone was made entirely out of wood.
James lifted it off the wall hook and set it on the table. The girl and he looked together then at the wooden phone.
— I wonder who made it, she said.
— And why, said James.
— It must have been a very long time ago, said the girl, before there were ever phones. This probably only resembles a phone by chance, and in fact, in tribal culture had an entirely different significance. Perhaps it was used to feather arrows or bring to term unwilling births.
— I should think so, said James.
Suddenly the ringing of a bell. The two froze where they stood.
David Graham came into the hall. He rang the bell again. Everyone stood quietly as they counted together to fifteen. Then Graham came up to James. He was smiling and his pants were soaking wet.
A Visit from Sermon
— We've been looking all over for you, James, he said. Sermon's coming. He'd like a word with you.
— Certainly, said James. When?
— It's unclear right now, said Graham. But be ready. Also, don't worry — you can tell him anything. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. He won't have to testify.
— I was going to ask you, said James. The police. .
— Yes, said Graham. It's a bad business. A bad business. They keep coming around. I know it must worry you, but it really shouldn't. After all, he was just some drug dealer. Estrainger knew him, hated him. The whole building knew he was beating his wife. No one's sorry he's dead. But the police have to do their job, I suppose. Yes, it's good you're here. They won't find you here, you know. We'll keep them away.
He patted James on the shoulder.
— It's best today, I think, said Graham, that you zip around and explore the place. See what you can see. Get comfortable. Navigating can be a bit of a problem. You see, the hospital wing has some mechanized hallways that switch occasionally. But there's an hour-schedule for it all in the book. Have you read the book?
James confessed that he had not yet read the whole book.
— Well, do that as soon as you can. It'll really be worthwhile. And, of course, there are some people around here it wouldn't do to offend. No, not at all. Very sensitive. Yes, read up. Read up.
He walked away.
An Hour Passed
and James sat in an interior room with the shades drawn. An older man, apparently a permanent resident, was seated and playing rovnin.
Rovnin! It was so rare to find anyone who even knew the game, though of course in the sixteenth, the seventeenth, the eighteenth centuries, Swedes and Danes and Russians lived and died in its mad dictates.