"Can I have a cigarette first, Doc?"
Silently she put the mirror back on the cart and took a package of cigarettes from her coat pocket. She sat down on the edge of my bed, put one in her mouth, lit it, then passed it to me.
I could taste the faint sweetness of her lipstick as I drew the smoke into me.
"You were cut pretty badly when Winthrop pushed you through that port. But fortunately- "
"You knew about that?" I asked, interrupting. "About Amos, I mean. How did you find out?"
"From you.
While you were under the anesthetic.
We kept getting the story in fragments, along with the fragments of glass we were picking out of your face.
Fortunately, none of your important facial muscles were severely damaged.
It was largely a matter of surface lesions. We were able to make the necessary skin grafts quickly.
And successfully, I might add."
I held out my hand.
"I’ll take the mirror now, Doc."
She took my cigarette and handed me the mirror.
I raised it and when I looked into it, I felt a chill go through me. "Doc," I said hoarsely. "I look exactly like my father!"
She took the mirror from my hand and I looked up at her.
She was smiling. "Do you, Jonas?
But that's the way you've always looked."
Later that morning, Robair brought me the papers.
They were filled with the story of Japan's capitulation.
I glanced at them carelessly and tossed them aside.
"Can I get you something else to read, Mr. Jonas?"
"No," I said. "No, thanks. I just don't feel much like reading."
"All right, Mr. Jonas. Maybe you'd like to sleep some." He moved toward the door.
"Robair."
"Yes, Mr. Jonas?"
"Did I- " I hesitated, my fingers automatically touching my cheek. "Did I always look like this?"
His white teeth flashed in a smile.
"Yes, Mr. Jonas."
"Like my father?"
"Like his spittin' image."
I was silent.
Strange how all your life you tried not to be like someone, only to learn that you'd been stamped indelibly by the blood that ran in your veins.
"Is there anything else, Mr. Jonas?"
I looked up at Robair and shook my head.
"I'll try to sleep now."
I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes.
I heard the door close and gradually the noise from the street faded to the periphery of my consciousness.
I slept. It seemed to me I'd been sleeping a great deal lately. As if I was trying to catch up on all the sleep I'd denied myself for the past few hundred years.
But I could not have slept long before I became aware that someone was in the room.
I opened my eyes.
Jennie was standing next to my bed, looking down at me.
When she saw my eyes open, she smiled.
"Hello, Jonas."
"I was sleeping," I said, like a child just waking from a nap. "I was dreaming something foolish. I was dreaming I was hundreds of years old."
"It was a happy dream, then.
I’m glad. Happy dreams will help you get well faster."
I raised myself up on one elbow and the pulleys squeaked as I reached for the cigarettes on the table next to the bed.
Quickly she fluffed the pillows and moved them in behind me to support my back.
I dragged on the cigarette. The smoke drove the sleep from my brain.