Boundaries Read Online Free PDF Page A

in her big house.
    A window in a first floor room had been left open and two martins had come in through it. They had flown happily about in the cavernous first floor, then had flown up to the second floor. Now, they couldn’t find their way back to the open window. But they weren’t hungry. Small insects had flown in through the same window.
    Spiders lived in the house; too, especially in the third floor ballroom, whose door was open. Eventually, the martins would find their way to the ballroom.
    At the kitchen sink, water dripped. It was a small and slow drip. It hit the side of the drain, slid over the edge and went down almost soundlessly.
    In a second floor bedroom, a nerve plant drooped from thirst.
    In the parlor, a weight-driven wall clock stopped.
    Flies had begun to dehydrate on windowsills.
    ~ * ~
    The doctor at Syracuse General said to Christian Grieg and Karen Duffy, "He’s recovering. It looks good. The prognosis is good." The doctor was a chunky man with a round, red face and small gray eyes. He paused, then went on, "The drug he took was unknown to us, so we were uncertain how to deal with it, as you can imagine, but the prognosis is good for a quick recovery. Thank goodness he admitted himself, otherwise . . .” They were standing outside David’s room. They had yet to go in. The door was partway open and Karen could see that David was awake, with his gaze on the ceiling. She said, "Then he really did try to kill himself?"
    The doctor nodded at once. "It bears all the earmarks of a suicide attempt, yes. He told us he had made a mistake. That was the word he used. ‘Mistake.’ He denies that he was attempting suicide. He denies it quite vehemently, in fact."
    "Of course he does," Christian whispered; then, louder, "May we see him now?"
    "For a few minutes," the doctor answered. "He’s weak, as you can imagine, so please don’t tax him unduly."
    "We won’t," Christian said. He took hold of Karen’s arm and they went into David’s room.
    ~ * ~
    David was remembering that there had been no light at the end of the tunnel, that there had been darkness, as if night had fallen, and a sky filled with . . . what? Not stars. Not the Big Dipper here, Orion there, Cassiopea , the Pleides . Not stars, but patterns of energy, as if he were looking through a dark blanket at the rising sun.
    And the sounds all around him had been at once familiar and unfamiliar, like a recording of night sounds played backward at slow speed.
    "What?" he’d whispered. And he’d heard himself, though his voice had sounded distant, as if he were being whispered to.
    He’d been lying on his left side with his right arm down so his hand was on his upper thigh and his left arm was up, as if he were reaching.
    He had felt no pressure beneath him, no tug of gravity. He had, oddly, felt pressure from above.
    Then, in an instant, he was in the tunnel again, and its mouth was receding, and he had felt as if he were falling.
    And he had felt very, very afraid. Consciousness had seemed like a reprieve.
    ~ * ~
    "Look at us," he heard. It was Christian’s voice; he knew that Christian was in the room, and that Karen was with him, but he did not turn to look.
    "Please," said Karen.
    "No," David said.
    A few moments of silence followed, then Christian said, "Why did you do it?"
    David said nothing.
    Karen said, "Tell us why you did it, David. We need to know."
    David said, his gaze still on the ceiling, "I didn’t do what you believe I did. I couldn’t do that."
    Christian said at once, "You took some damned drug, right? Tell us what we’re supposed to believe."
    David said nothing. He wanted to tell them to leave; he didn’t need their criticism, their pity, or even their understanding, now.
    Christian repeated, "You took some damned drug," paused, then added, with emphasis, " right? "
    David nodded a little.
    "Then it’s self-explanatory."
    Karen admonished, "This is not the time to be judgmental—"
    "The hell it isn’t," Christian cut