pillow. What was it Aunt Sophronia used for the green bottle? Such unlikely things were possible. So many unclaimed treasures. As she lay there, she became conscious of a returning tide-just a faint flush of sensitivity up her legs, as though she waded in water a trifle too hot-or too cold. She had never decided whether the Pain was cold or hot. The tide receded and then lifted again, a little farther this time, to surge just below her breathing. But this surge was not quite so sharp. Maybe it would never be so sharp again. But sharp or not, there was a time lapse before it ebbed again and, by then, the Nurse was back with the plastifilm covered cigar box. She pulled the tab that loosened the plastifilm and stripped it from the box for Thiela. 'Oh, I'm sorry!' she said, 'A bead came off.' 'It doesn't matter,' smiled Thiela, euphoric because of Pain withdrawn. 'It's really a seed, you know, a palo verde seed. Thanks. Thanks so much.' The microcopy was there among the quail eggs, the snake vertebra and the Apache tear-unpolished, but the pine gum was a dry resinous pinch of dust in one corner of the box. The microcopy was brittle with age and crudely primitive-looking, but tenderly, gently handled, it submitted to the viewer with only a few aching crackles, and Aunt Sophronia's carefully de-double-negative narrative presented itself. For egg-sucking dogs-For removing rust-For warts-For the tobacco habit-For pin worms-For moths in wool –For riley water-For colic-For heartburn-For scalds-For what ails you 'Why look!' cried Thiela to herself. 'It's jack-o'-lantern blossoms, mostly! Jack-o'-lanterns! I remember. They have prickles on them and blue flowers. Not many plants have blue flowers. The leaves are like fingers and prickly on the back and the backs of the flowers are prickly, too. We used to pull the heads off the flowers and press them to our clothes and they'd cling because of the prickles. And, after the flowers, little yellow balls come on the plant. That's why we called them jack-o'-lanterns. Tiny things, no bigger than the tip of a finger and so brittle they shattered when you pinched them. The seeds rattle inside and dust your fingers when you crush them.' Thiela switched the viewer off. 'And they always bloom at the same time as the umbrella trees!' She moved slowly, furniture by furniture, to the window and, leaning on the sill, breathed deeply of the heavy lilac-y fragrance of the umbrella tree outside the window. 'If I can get enough blossoms and a bottle-a green one-and a big spoon-' Pain sloshed about her ankles and seeped up her shins. It retreated slowly. 'Get them in time,' she whispered, 'maybe Ruth can sleep without terror.' There are certain advantages to being a combination National Monument and Relic and Medical Research subject. Slightly aberrant behavior is overlooked or smiled upon gently. Thiela got her blossoms, and a green bottle and a big spoon and a free hand in a tiny kitchen alcove usually reserved to the Staff. With one eye on the microcopy and one on the walloping kettle and a nose crinkled against the heavy herb-y near-stench, Thiela labored against Ruth's nightmares, and the ever sharper inflooding of the Pain. But finally, leaning heavily against the small metal table, her robe decorated with a press-on blue flower and several splashed-on stains, she steadied herself until she was sure she could pick up the big green bottle and the big spoon without immediate danger of dropping them. She eased herself into the wheel chair, slipped the bottle and spoon between her and the side of the chair, and briskly spun down the hall. Ruth was sleeping. Thiela raised her eyebrows at the Nurse. 'She's due to be wakened in two minutes,' she said, checking the clock above the bed. 'Or sooner if she appears disturbed.' 'I'll waken her,' said Thiela. 'I have something important to discuss with her. Privately. You go have some coffee.' 'But I'm no supposed-' protested the Nurse. 'I won't tell,' said Thiela, smiling. 'Suspension is one sure way of keeping a secret a long time. Trot along. I insist. I'll count the seconds.' The red second-hand sliced the last minute away. 'Ruth!' Thiela shook her shoulder firmly. 'Waking up time!' Ruth's eyes could hardly open, but her hand groped for Thiela's. 'What will I do?' Her voice was mushy with hopelessness. 'The Pain's coming back. But I can't go back into Suspension. I can't sleep!' She twisted against the Pain. 'I can't stay awake with the Pain! Oh, Thiela!' 'Ruth, I have something for what ails you,' said Thiela briskly, uncorking the green bottle. 'Open your mouth. The spoon has to be brimming!' 'What is it?' asked Ruth, wincing away from the spoon. 'It's Aunt Sophronia's stuff for what ails you,' said Thiela. 'Here, don't let it spill.' She thrust the spoon into Ruth's reluctant mouth. Ruth swallowed, gagged, coughed, and gasped. 'Is it poison?' 'I don't think so,' said Thiela doubtfully, frowning at the bottle. 'But just to keep you company-' She poured out a brimming spoonful and swallowed the dose. 'Ig!' she gasped, bleary-eyed. 'Tastes just like Aunt Sophronia!' 'No-wonder-people-got-well-' Ruth slid down the pillows. 'Self-defense.' Her eyes closed and her face smoothed. 'Ruth!' whispered Thiela, the stuff in the green bottle sloshing as she tucked it hastily away from the swoosh of the opening door. 'Oh, Ruth!' 'Hmmm?' Ruth snuggled her cheek to the pillow. 'Hmm?' And her breath came softly and regularly. 'Is she-is she-?' The Nurse was clutching, wild-eyed, at the foot of the bed. 'She's sleeping,' said Thiela, 'Don't wake her. Let her sleep until the Pain comes.' Ruth slept most of the week, waking with sleepy smiles and drifting off again, happy, relaxed, blissful, excepting when the Pain wakened her. Which wakenings became more and more frequent at the week wore on. All of the Gwen-shots were used up- pebbles thrown against a storm. So, patiently, Thiela and Ruth submitted to preparations for return to Suspension. They said their last, private farewells to each other the night before, toasting, 'Hope,' and 'Sweet dreams!' with two more gaggingly large spoonsful of Aunt Sophronia. 'just in case,' said Thiela, 'just in case my dreams start going sour too.' 'Bless Aunt Sophronia's weedy old heart,' said Ruth, her cheeks inpuckered. 'But couldn't she have put something in to hide the taste?' 'Medicine's not medicine,' said Thiela, 'unless it's nasty. How else can you know you've been medicated?' She waited out a wave of the Pain, her knuckles white on the big bottle, then she knelt at the dresser and tucked the bottle away under odds and ends of long outmoded underthings. Suspension always seemed to Thiela like a chilly nap– one where you are awake enough to feel the need of another cover, but where you can't wake up quite enough to pull one up. Of course this was only the edge of entering and emerging from Suspension. The first consciousness was a shiver, blossoming into goosebumps across her shoulders, and then the awakening. 'Already?' She smiled at her own unthinking question. Time goes into Suspension, too. 'How long?' she amended. 'Less than halfway through the period.' Thiela screened the doctor's face in her half-opened lashes and finally put a name to him-Dr. McGady. 'At first,' he went on, 'we thought the instruments were not functioning correctly because they-' 'And Ruth?' Thiela cut into his hardly heard words. 'Beat you out this time!' Thiela turned her head cautiously toward Ruth's bed. Ruth smiled at her as she busily braided a heavy hank of hair into a second braid to match the one over her other shoulder. 'And happy dreams to you, too. Don't be so cautious. We have more Gwen-shots. According to the muchly maligned machinery we've been in Suspension long enough to make them effective again.' Thiela smiled and stretched. 'And Eileen and Glenda?' 'Dead,' said Dr. McGady solemnly. 'They died just a while after we attempted return to Suspension. Their dreams-' The three shared a brief memorial service for their two dead, Ruth's brimming eyes catching Thiela's questioningly. It wasn't until Dr. McGady had left that Ruth slipped over the side of her bed and inched along its support until she managed to stagger to the dresser and unearth the green bottle and big spoon. 'Bless Aunt Sophronia,' she said, tacking cautiously back to the bed. 'For what ails you!' she whispered as she trembled the brimming spoon
