Occasionally the pipes of the central heating cracked.
Pat turned in her sleep, and slowly, rustling, the bedclothes slipped to the floor.
Ach, thought I, bronze, shimmering skin.
Slender miracle of the knee.
Soft mystery of the breast. I felt her hair on my shoulder, and the pulse of her blood under my lips. You are to die? thought I.
You cannot die.
You are happiness.
Cautiously I pulled up the clothes again.
Pat murmured something and was silent again and put her hand slowly, in sleep, around my shoulder.
Chapter XXVII
The next few days it snowed uninterruptedly.
Pat was feverish and had to stay in bed.
Most of the patients had temperatures.
"It's the weather," said Antonio. "The fohn. Too warm.
Regular fever weather."
"Go out for a while, darling," said Pat. "Can you ski?"
"No. How should I be able to?
I was never in the mountains before."
"Antonio will show you.
It will be fun for him. And he likes you."
"I'd much rather stay here."
She sat up in bed.
The nightgown slipped from her shoulders.
Damned thin they were.
Damned thin, too, the back of the neck.
"Do, for my sake, Robby.
I don't like you sitting here by the sickbed.
Yesterday and the day before— that's already more than enough."
"But I like sitting here," I replied. "Haven't the least desire to go out into the snow."
She was breathing loudly and I could hear the irregular rasping.
"I've had more experience of this than you," said she, propping herself on her elbows. "It's better for both of us.
You'll see after." She tried hard to smile. "This afternoon and to-night you can sit here all you want.
In the morning it makes me restless, darling.
One looks so dreadful in the morning when one's feverish.
At night it's different.
I know it's superficial and silly—but I don't want to look a fright when you see me."
"But Pat!" I stood up. "All right then, I'll go out a bit with Antonio.
Then I'll be back here again at midday.
Let's hope I don't break every bone with these ski things."
"You'll soon learn it, darling." Her face lost its anxious look. "You'll soon ski wonderfully."
"And you'll soon have me out of here wonderfully, eh?" said I, kissing her.
Her hands were moist and hot and her lips dry and cracked.
Antonio lived on the second floor.
He lent me a pair of boots and they fitted well, for we were much of a size.
We went to the nursery slope which lay some way beyond the village.
Antonio eyed me as we walked along.
"Fever makes you restless," said he. "Queer things happen here sometimes on days like this." He laid the skis down in front of him and fastened them on. "The worst part is the waiting and not being able to do anything.
It drives you crazy and does you in."
"The healthy ones, too," said I. "To have to stand by and be unable to do anything . . ."
He nodded.