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Her voice was deep and melodious. She spoke very pure High German. "I am Dr. Natasha Petrovna."
    "A doctor?"
    "Yes, Mr. Jordan." She was dressed in a green, tight-fitting suit, green shoes with high heels. Her hair was blue-black, parted in the middle and pulled back into a bun. The little ears were visible.
    She bent forward to feel piy pulse. Her fingers were white and narrow and cool. Transparent nail polish covered her nails. I pulled back my hand. The sudden movement made me dizzy.
    "Don't move." Her forehead was high and her features were typically Slavic, slanting eyes and prominent cheekbones. The wide mouth was dark red. The brows thick. Her pupils were black and luminous behind large glasses. "I gave the busboy who brought the whisky five marks."
    "The... busboy..."
    "A tip. I sent back the breakfast. I hope that was all right with you."
    "Breakfast..." It took efifort to pull myself together.
    "I'm sure you only ordered it to have an opportunity to get the whisky."
    The tone of her voice exasperated me. She was so sure of herself and strong, healthy and superior.
    "How did you get in here?"
    "I was asked to come. Luckily I happened to be in the hotel. A lady from Ceylon became ill and—"
    "Who called you?"
    "One of the managers. When you fell you pulled down the telephone too. When the operator did not get any reply a busboy was sent up."

    "Who put me to bed?"
    "The manager, the busboy and I."
    "Go away." /
    "Excuse me?"
    "I want you to go away. I don't want to be examined."
    I was never to see Natasha Petrovna lose her composure. Not all the horror we lived through together made her lose her self-restraint. Only one gesture betrayed her effort at control. Her narrow white hands touched the broad sides of her modern black glasses and pushed them up sHghtly. That was all.
    "Mr. Jordan, be sensible."
    "Leave me alone."
    She did not answer but opened her bag to take out a stethoscope. All her movements were deliberate and sedate. The wide cheekbones and the slightly slanted glasses gave her a feline look. There was intelligence in Natasha's face. It was a desiring, passionate face, passionately desiring knowledge and truth. The attractive long-lashed eyes looked at me without anger or impatience.
    Today, here in Rome, after the catastrophe, I am able to describe Natasha, to confide in the silently moving tapes: I have never seen a more beautiful or compassionate face than Natasha's. On that morning in October I was blind to beauty, deaf to goodness.
    "You cannot examine me against my will, can you?"
    "No, but—"
    "Then, go away!"
    She looked at me silently. She was at most thirty-five years old.
    "I am a guest in this hotel. Are you leaving now or do I have to have you thrown out?"
    "Your behavior shows clearly how much you are in need of a doctor's help. I will call the manager." She reached for the telephone. I caught her hand. "Why?"

    "I need a witness. You will kindly repeat to him that you refuse to be examined."
    "Why?"
    "I am responsible in case something should happen to you. I don't know what you might do when I leave." I saw her look at the whisky bottle, the empty bottles, the black bag and the empty thermos bottle. The manager and the floor waiter had seen that too: my dirty, well-kept secret. Now she wanted to call a witness. If I did not submit to an examination more people would come. Soon the entire hotel staff would know. Who would be the one to call the newspaper? The chatty columnists had their informants everjrwhere and they paid well for such news.
    PETER JORDAN COLLAPSES: WHISKEY! PETER JORDAN
    THROWN OUT OF HOTEL. I could scc the headlines. Sweat trickled from my forehead and hands. I noticed I still had the little cross in my hands. Wrong. Wrong. Oh, Shirley, everything I did was wrong!
    "Let me make the call, Mr. Jordan."
    "No."
    "Your behavior is childish. Then I'll just have to go downstairs."
    She was so cool, so matter-of-fact, so very prudent. And yet, I remember distinctly, even at