I struck a match and held it to my cigarette, hoping the nurse wouldn't notice my suddenly trembling fingers.
The elevator stopped and the door rolled open.
We stepped out into a clean hospital corridor.
I dragged deeply on the cigarette as I followed the nurse.
She stopped in front of a door.
"I'm afraid you'll have to put out that cigarette, Mr. Cord."
I looked up at a small orange sign:
NO SMOKING ALLOWED OXYGEN IN USE INSIDE!
I took another drag and put it out in a receptacle next to the door. I stood there, suddenly afraid to go inside. The nurse reached around me and opened the door.
"You may go in now, Mr. Cord."
The door swung open, revealing a small anteroom. Another nurse was seated in an armchair, reading a magazine.
She looked up at me. "Come in, Mr. Cord," she said in a falsely cheerful tone. "We've been expecting you."
I crossed the threshold slowly. I heard the door close behind me and the footsteps of my escort disappearing.
There was another door opposite the entrance.
The nurse crossed to it.
"Miss Marlowe's in here," she said.
I stood in the doorway. At first, I couldn't see her. Ilene Gaillard, a doctor and another nurse were standing next to the bed, their backs toward me.
Then, as if activated by some signal, they all turned at once.
I walked toward the bed. The nurse moved away and Ilene and the doctor separated slightly to make room for me. Then I saw her.
A clear plastic tent was suspended over her head and shoulders and she seemed to be sleeping.
All but her face was completely covered with a heavy white bandage, which hid all her shining white-blond hair.
Her eyes were closed and I could see a faint blue tinge under the flesh of the lids. The skin was drawn tightly across her high cheekbones, leaving a hollow around her sunken cheeks, so that you had the feeling that the flesh beneath had disappeared. Her wide mouth, usually so warm and vivid, was pale and drawn back slightly from her even white teeth.
I stood there silently for a moment.
I couldn't see her breathe.
I looked at the doctor.
He shook his head.
"She's alive, Mr. Cord," he whispered, "but just barely."
"May I speak to her?"
"You can try, Mr. Cord. But don't be disappointed if she doesn't answer.
She's been like this for the last ten hours.
And if she should answer, Mr. Cord, she may not recognize you."
I turned back to her. "Rina," I said quietly. "It's me, Jonas."
She lay there quietly, not moving.
I put my hand under the plastic tent and found hers. I pressed it.
It felt cool and soft.
Suddenly everything came to a wild stop inside me.
Her hand was cool. She was already dead. She was dead.
I sank to my knees beside the bed. I pushed the plastic aside and leaned over her.
"Please, Rina!" I begged wildly. "It's me, Jonas.
Please, don't die!"
I felt a slight pressure from her hand.
I looked down at her, the tears streaming down my cheeks.
The movement of her hand grew a little stronger. Then her eyes opened slowly and she was looking up into my face.
At first, her eyes were vague and far away. Then they cleared and her lips curved into a semblance of a smile.
"Jonas," she whispered. "I knew you'd come."
"All you ever had to do was whistle."
Her lips pursed but no sound came out. "I never could learn to whistle," she whispered.
The doctor's voice came from behind me.
"You'd better get some rest now, Miss Marlowe."
Rina's eyes went past my shoulder to him.