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The Thing, whole no. 2, Summer 1946

Page 16

arms behind her head. I think she must have sensed what we were discussing,for her amused eyes went from Marsden to me, calculating, estimating, appraising.
Finally Marden shrugged his shoulders. "All right," he said, "let's do it that way." His eyes on me were hot. "But be careful, Billy," he said.
"I'll be very careful. Don't worry." I put my overcoat around Makara and my galoshes on her bare feet. Joan let us out the side door of the museum and I carried the Egyptian queen across the street to my apartment.
The desk clerk hardly looked up when we went in. "Not too much noise this time, please, Mr. French," he said. "We've had complaints."
"We'll be very, very quiet," I promised.
I had to show Makara how to work the shower.

For two weeks she stayed with me. Rather than attract attention at the museum, we all worked in my rooms, questioning Makara and taking copious notes. She knew her history, and although her knowledge of the common people of her time was confined to how they might be killed most amusingly, she was an encyclopedia on the court and the priesthood. I can let you have a copy of my monograph on her revelations before you go. The illustrated chapters on the rites and arts of love were made possible..... But I must get on with my story!
After two weeks of intense research into the life and knowledge of ancient Egypt, Makara left me. I had gone out to buy her some lengths of scarlet silk and a broad golden girdle--for she still fancied the ancient style of dressing, with bare bosom, when in my apartment. When I returned, I found Joan, weeping. She clung to me.
"She's gone off with Marsden," she said. "I tried to stop them but neither one would listen to reason. What can we do, Billy? I can't let him go like this. I love him so! What can we do?"
I didn't like it, either.
Neither Marsden nor Makara turned up at the museum or at my place for the next several days and Central said that his phone had been disconnected. Joan tried to get in several times but he didn't answer the doorbell. We went back to work at the museum and gradually, because we were so often alone together, something of our old-time intimacy was restored. Joan was not Makara, of course, but Makara had taught me much and Joan was an eager pupil.
And then Joan had her idea. For days I had suspected that something was up, because she went about singing about her work and was much more than usually companionable in her hours with me. Finally she showed me. It was a small bottle of a yellowish-green liquid.
"It's the formula, Billy," she said. "I had it made up. Now look! We'll go up there about dawn tomorrow and put them both to sleep. Not kill them, of course, but merely suspend animation for a time."
"About ten years?" I asked.
"No. Of course not! I don't want them around enjoying life and youth when I'm too old for it. Eighty years! I have a key to Marsden's apartment. I can get in without making any noise. Are you with me?"
"You bet! I'll get a couple of flashlights."
It worked just as Joan had planned it. The key turned in the lock, soundlessly. We slipped inside, each holding in one hand a small flashlight and in the other a syringe with just enough of the liquid to suspend animation for about eighty years. Silently, in rubber-soled shoes, we tip-toed into the bedroom.
Makara and Marsden were there, all right. A street-light outside showed them clearly, in attitudes of complete exhaustion, sprawled across the bed.
Joan went first. She knelt at Marsden's side, inserted the needle of the syringe in his arm and pressed the plunger. He jerked spasmodically but never woke up.
Then I went forward.

Saving...

arms behind her head. I think she must have sensed what we were discussing,for her amused eyes went from Marsden to me, calculating, estimating, appraising. Finally Marden shrugged his shoulders. "All right," he said, "let's do it that way." His eyes on me were hot. "But be careful, Billy," he said. "I'll be very careful. Don't worry." I put my overcoat around Makara and my galoshes on her bare feet. Joan let us out the side door of the museum and I carried the Egyptian queen across the street to my apartment. The desk clerk hardly looked up when we went in. "Not too much noise this time, please, Mr. French," he said. "We've had complaints." "We'll be very, very quiet," I promised. I had to show Makara how to work the shower. For two weeks she stayed with me. Rather than attract attention at the museum, we all worked in my rooms, questioning Makara and taking copious notes. She knew her history, and although her knowledge of the common people of her time was confined to how they might be killed most amusingly, she was an encyclopedia on the court and the priesthood. I can let you have a copy of my monograph on her revelations before you go. The illustrated chapters on the rites and arts of love were made possible..... But I must get on with my story! After two weeks of intense research into the life and knowledge of ancient Egypt, Makara left me. I had gone out to buy her some lengths of scarlet silk and a broad golden girdle--for she still fancied the ancient style of dressing, with bare bosom, when in my apartment. When I returned, I found Joan, weeping. She clung to me. "She's gone off with Marsden," she said. "I tried to stop them but neither one would listen to reason. What can we do, Billy? I can't let him go like this. I love him so! What can we do?" I didn't like it, either. Neither Marsden nor Makara turned up at the museum or at my place for the next several days and Central said that his phone had been disconnected. Joan tried to get in several times but he didn't answer the doorbell. We went back to work at the museum and gradually, because we were so often alone together, something of our old-time intimacy was restored. Joan was not Makara, of course, but Makara had taught me much and Joan was an eager pupil. And then Joan had her idea. For days I had suspected that something was up, because she went about singing about her work and was much more than usually companionable in her hours with me. Finally she showed me. It was a small bottle of a yellowish-green liquid. "It's the formula, Billy," she said. "I had it made up. Now look! We'll go up there about dawn tomorrow and put them both to sleep. Not kill them, of course, but merely suspend animation for a time." "About ten years?" I asked. "No. Of course not! I don't want them around enjoying life and youth when I'm too old for it. Eighty years! I have a key to Marsden's apartment. I can get in without making any noise. Are you with me?" "You bet! I'll get a couple of flashlights." It worked just as Joan had planned it. The key turned in the lock, soundlessly. We slipped inside, each holding in one hand a small flashlight and in the other a syringe with just enough of the liquid to suspend animation for about eighty years. Silently, in rubber-soled shoes, we tip-toed into the bedroom. Makara and Marsden were there, all right. A street-light outside showed them clearly, in attitudes of complete exhaustion, sprawled across the bed. Joan went first. She knelt at Marsden's side, inserted the needle of the syringe in his arm and pressed the plunger. He jerked spasmodically but never woke up. Then I went forward.