_That's okay, sweetheart. I'm all right. Forget it. But tell me about
these things next time, huh? I worry about you when you're gone._
"You shouldn't. I'm a big girl now."
_Hey! Is this being recorded?_
"Of course."
_Who listens to it?_
"Oh, a bunch of doctors and medical students."
_Any prudes in the audience?_
"Not me," she laughed. "But there's bound to be at least _one_, anyway."
_Okay_, he said. He spent the next two hours telling bawdy stories.
* * * * *
A month later George knew he had grown to rely on Karen more and more.
In fact, he knew he was falling in love with her.
"Hi," she announced. Her voice sounded excited. "George, I just had a
look at your body. It's coming along fine--in fact, it's bee-ootiful!
I'll be with you in about ten minutes. Enjoy some music while I'm gone.
Bye!"
Then the music lanced into his brain at a tremendous volume. George
quivered in real pain as each note blared forth. It was the loudest
version of the Warsaw Concerto he ever hoped to hear. As the music
progressed, blatting its way through painful crescendos and screaming
treble notes, he tried to shut out the sound of it. It was impossible.
It was a tearing, screeching nightmare of sound, that put him back on
a hurtling elevated train with the sound of a young girl's scream in
his ears, and the pain of a body crushed beyond recognition. With a
convulsive shudder, George was unconscious.
* * * * *
"Headache gone yet?" She was concerned.
_Yeah, sweetheart. I'd like to wring your lovely neck, though._
"I'm sorry about the music, George. I didn't have the volume adjusted.
I won't leave you alone again." There was a note in her voice that
George hoped was more than just professional concern.
_Karen! You don't have to do that! You'll be tying yourself down. And I
don't want that._
"I don't mind, George. I just don't want anything to happen to you.
You're something--someone special."
_Maybe I don't want it that way. Although I will admit I enjoy your
company--but this around the clock business isn't necessary._
"I want to do it. Okay?"
_Okay. I guess I can't stop you. Only don't you ever get tired?_
"Sometimes."
_Maybe you should let me worry about your welfare for a change. I think
you need some sleep. Lie down a little while._
"Sure, boss. Is that an order?"
_It's an order._
"I guess I am a little sleepy. Want some music?"
George shuddered. _No! No more records for a long, long time! But leave
your microphone on--I like to know that you're there._
While she slept, he carefully kept his thoughts to himself. She's
sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. The little nut, she probably
didn't go to bed at all while I was--out. She deserves all the rest she
can get.
He listened a long time to her quiet breathing. I wonder what she
looks like? Is the rest of her as beautiful as her voice? I can't help
it--I'm in love with her. I wish I was more than a brain in a bottle. I
wish I could touch her--hold her hand. Silly thought. Like a kid on his
first date.
He pictured her in his mind--lovely, vibrant, beautiful. How, he
thought savagely, could she ever fall in love with me? Simple--she
couldn't. No woman could love a freak. And I wouldn't want it that way.
She'd be throwing her happiness away.
But damn it!--I can't help it if I want her.
* * * * *
_I'm neck deep--if I may be permitted to use such an expression--in
world affairs. The good doctor read six newspapers to me while you were
gone._