Sirens of Titan - Kurt Vonnegut [50]
"We all need help from time to time," Dr. Morris N. Castle had said. "It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Some day I may need your help, Bee, and I won’t hesitate to ask for it."
She had been sent to the hospital after showing her supervisor this sonnet, which she had written about Schliemann breathing:
Break every link with air and mist,
Seal every open vent;
Make throat as tight as miser’s fist,
Keep life within you pent.
Breathe out, breathe in, no more, no more,
For breathing’s for the meek;
And when in deathly space we soar,
Be careful not to speak.
If you with grief or joy are rapt,
Just signal with a tear;
To soul and heart within you trapped
Add speech and atmosphere.
Every man’s an island as in lifeless space we roam.
Yes, every man’s an island: island fortress, island home.
Bee, who had been sent to the hospital for writing this poem, had a strong face—high cheek-boned and haughty. She looked strikingly like an Indian brave. But whoever said so was under an obligation to add quickly that she was, all the same, quite beautiful.
Now there was a sharp knock on Bee’s door. Bee went to the door and opened it. "Yes?" she said.
In the deserted corridor stood a red and sweating man in uniform. The uniform had no insignia. Slung on the man’s back was a rifle. His eyes were deep-set and furtive. "Messenger," he said gruffly. "Message for Bee."
"I’m Bee," said Bee uneasily.
The messenger looked her up and down, made her feel naked. His body threw off heat, and the heat enveloped her suffocatingly.
"Do you recognize me?" he whispered.
"No," she said. His question relieved her a little. Apparently she had done business with him before. He and his visit, then, were routine—and, in the hospital, she had simply forgotten the man and his routine.
"I don’t remember you, either," he whispered.
"I’ve been in the hospital," she said. "I had to have my memory cleaned."
"Whisper!" he said sharply.
"What?" said Bee.
"Whisper!" he said.
"Sorry," she whispered. Apparently whispering was part of the routine for dealing with this particular functionary. "I’ve forgotten so much."
"We all have!" he whispered angrily. He again looked up and down the corridor. "You are the mother of Chrono, aren’t you?" he whispered.
"Yes," she whispered.
Now the strange messenger concentrated his gaze on her face. He breathed deeply, sighed, frowned— blinked frequently.
"What—what’s the message?" whispered Bee.
"The message is this," whispered the messenger. "I am the father of Chrono. I have just deserted from the Army. My name is Unk. I am going to find some way for you, me, the boy, and my best friend to escape from here. I don’t know how yet, but you’ve got to be ready to go at a moment’s notice!" He gave her a hand grenade. "Hide this somewhere," he whispered. "When the time comes, you may need it."
Excited shouts came from the reception room at the far end of the corridor.
"He said he was a confidential messenger!" shouted a man.
"In a pig’s eye he’s a messenger!" shouted another. "He’s a deserter in time of war! Who’d he come to see?"
"He didn’t say. He said it was top secret!"
A whistle shrilled.
"Six of you come with me!" shouted a man. "We’ll search this place room by room. The rest of you surround the outside!"
Unk shoved Bee and her hand grenade into the room, shut the door. He unslung his rifle, leveled it at the plugged and taped recruits. "One peep, one funny move out of any of you guys," he said, "and you’ll all be dead."
The recruits, standing rigidly on their assigned squares on the floor, did not respond in any way.
They were pale blue.
Their rib cages were quaking.
The whole awareness of each man was concentrated in the region of a small, white, life-giving pill dissolving in the duodenum.
"Where can I hide?" said Unk. "How can I get out?"
It was unnecessary for Bee to reply. There was no place to hide. There was no way out save through the door to the