But as the days dragged out, one after another, with no respite and no
hope, my raw nervous system began to heal. It was probably a case of
numbness; you maul your thumb with a hammer and it will hurt just so
long before it stops.
I was numb for a long time. I remember night after night, lying awake
and staring into the darkness at the wall I knew was beside me, and I
hated my esper because I wanted to project my mind out across some
unknown space to reach for Catherine's mind. If we'd both been telepaths
we could cross the universe to touch each other with that affectionate
tenderness that mated telepaths always claim they have.
Instead I found myself more aware of a clouded-veil perception of Marian
Harrison as she took my arm and looked into my face on that day when I
admitted that I found little worth living for.
I knew what that meant--nothing. It was a case of my subconscious mind
pointing out that the available present was more desirable than the
unavailable not-present. At first I resented my apparent inconstancy in
forming an esper projection of Marian Harrison when I was trying to
project my blank telepathic inadequacy to Catherine. But as the weeks
faded into the past, the shock and the frustration began to pale and I
found Marian's projective image less and less an unwanted intrusion and
more and more pleasant.
I had two deeply depressed spells in those six weeks. At the end of the
fourth week I received a small carton containing some of my personal
junk that had been in Catherine's apartment. A man can't date his girl
for weeks without dropping a few things like a cigarette lighter, a tie
clip, one odd cuff-link, some papers, a few letters, some books, and
stuff both valuable and worthless that had turned up as gifts for one
reason or another. It was a shock to get this box and its arrival
bounced me deep into a doldrum-period of three or four days.
Then at the end of the sixth week I received a card from Dr. Thorndyke.
It contained a lithograph in stereo of some scene in Yellowstone other
than Old Faithful blowing its stack.
On the message side was a cryptic note:
_Steve: I just drove along that road in the right side of the
picture. It reminded me of yours, so I'm writing because I want to
know how you are making out. I'll be at the Med-Center in a couple
of weeks, you can write me there.