He knew the symptoms. "Space cafard! A halftripper!" he gasped, and
spun the cab about to get me to a hospital. He must have realized then
that my uniform didn't necessarily mean that I worked on the liners
themselves, but that I could be an office employee who only on rare
occasions went near the ships.
He knew too, that the very sight of a spacecraft blasting off was
enough to put me in bed for a week; and that I was uncommonly lucky to
have the funds for the hospitalization. Mars was strewn with the human
wrecks of halftrippers who hadn't.
As we whirled from the yard, we passed the bent figure of Joseph
walking unhurriedly toward a liner which was loading for the Venus run.
My heart cried out, even through my terror, my sickness:
_Joseph, Joseph.... So you too are still alive; and still seeking
forgiveness. I had thought I was the last._
_But you are by far the better off of we two, Joseph. For at least you
have been free to wander while I have stayed on this one hated spot
since all those centuries ago when we fled from Calypso and the wrath
of the people who had loved the boy so. As though we hadn't loved him
ourselves, Joseph._
_Yes, you are the better off, you can seek throughout the stars for
forgiveness. Then, too, your mind is forever dulled with your madness,
while mine is horribly aware, always, of what we've been through and of
the centuries ahead; it is only blurred when the space cafard comes._
_Joseph, Joseph ... you didn't even recognize your brother Micheal, nor
I you, when we met._