“I think that’s Italian.”

“No, it’s Spanish. Anyhow, they’re johns–what do they know? I make money hand over fist. Just last week–”

“Dolly, please, listen to me!” Connie interrupted, near despair. “They’re going to do an operation on me. You go look at that woman in the corner, the black woman, Alice. That’s what they want to do to me. At least let me come home for a weekend. To eat real food. To see you and Nita. Please, Dolly, talk to them.”

“Sure, honey. Once you’re in New York, why shouldn’t you come visit me? A weekend wouldn’t be so good, but maybe a Sunday together? It’s nice of Vic to bring me up here, but how many times can I get him to do it? He knows the value of money. He used to be a real pro ballplayer with the Cleveland Indians. A white pimp is better than a brother, Connie. It’s strictly business, but he brings good customers. Businessmen, buyers, salesmen. When you get out, I’ll get you some money and help you set up in a nice apartment. Daddy took your stuff into storage, he threw a lot of it out. But I kept some for you, pictures and stuff I know you want.”

She stood at the window watching Dolly emerge from the building and Nita break free of Vic and race toward her, hugging her around the thighs. Dolly pointed up at the window and Nita, looking puzzled, waved obediently at the building. They went off, Vic and Dolly talking at once. She stood at the window, staring long after they had disappeared.

She remembered something she had heard Dr. Redding say to Superintendent Hodges: that they had used up five thousand monkeys before they began doing these operations on patients. Used up. She had heard him say he had wanted to work with prisoners–he thought the results would be more impressive–but there had been such an uproar about three little psycho‑surgical procedures at Vacaville in California that his team decided to work with mental patients. “After all,” he had said, smiling his best ironic smile, “they made a court case and a bleeding heart publicity brouhaha about three procedures, while San Francisco Children’s Hospital does hundreds with sound and thermal probes–mostly on neurotic women and intractable children–and no one says boo.”

Thus, after the five thousand monkeys, they were being used up one at a time. She marched over to Sybil. “Sybil, they’re going to finish us. It’s death, no matter what they call it.”

Sybil sat cross‑legged, facing her. Her eyes questioned.

“It’s true this is a locked ward. But the hospital here has lousy security compared to our old wards. I know I could get out of here, if I could get off this ward.”

“How? We eat here, we lie here. There’s not even a porch.”

“If I made them think something’s wrong with me.”

Sybil’s hands rose and floated in the air, graceful and helpless as doves. “You could die of smallpox before they’d do anything.”

“Would you try if I did?”

Sybil looked down. She flexed her fingers, sighing. “Without money?”

“I have ten dollars. With that we could take a bus for a ways. Then we could hitchhike. Skip says women can always get a ride. Just so we get away from the hospital. People are too suspicious here.”

“We’d get picked up before we could reach a bus station.”

“It’s summer. Suppose we sleep in the woods and we walk as far as we can. They can’t watch all the bus stations in every town. Please, Sybil, if I think up a good plan?”

“Since the last series of shocks, I don’t have energy.”

Indeed, as she looked into Sybil’s face she realized how thin and how drawn Sybil was, with that inmate pallor they all shared.

“But we could help each other. We could keep each other’s courage up … . My niece won’t help; she’s too spaced out. But if we got to New York, she’d give us money, I know she would. She’d be real impressed by you, Sybil. She’s into astrology and she’d be excited about witchcraft.”

“If we’d done it sooner … when we were on L‑6. I’m tired, Connie, I’m weak. They’ve drained my power. It consumes all my power just to keep out the evil vibrations on this ward.”

“If we got away we’d be safe!”

“Ten dollars! That wouldn’t get us far. We have to eat. When they caught us, we’d be ruthlessly punished!”

“Sybil, what are they going to do to us anyhow?” She gestured toward Alice’s bed.

“At least they only do it to you once.” Sybil looked down. “Is it really worse than electroshock? I still can’t remember all kinds of things I know I knew before!”

“Sybil, you’re getting to be an … old patient.” Before her she could see the chronic wards, row on row of metal beds full of drugged hopeless women. A terrible silence. “Don’t let them wear you down!”

Sybil smiled, cold as a moonbeam. “I can’t do it. I haven’t healed. My pride is hollow … . But I’ll help you.”

“They’ll punish you if you help me and I get loose.”

Sybil shrugged. “Not like they’ll punish you when they bring you back.”

“I’ll ask someone else.”

“Don’t you dare! Haven’t we been friends? Don’t you think my loyalty has some value?” Sybil drew herself up. “Perhaps if you do escape, I’ll consider it in a new light. It’s by far the most intelligent plan for you to escape first with my assistance. Then when you’re safe, you can assist me.”

That evening after lights out, she lay quietly weeping.

Maybe Luciente could help. When she reached her, Luciente was swimming in the river with Jackrabbit, both of them diving and rising and splashing. Luciente hauled herself onto the bank, her hair plastered to her head and her body naked and dripping. Connie turned quickly away as Jackrabbit too clambered up on the grass. “We’ll get dressed, Connie. Don’t hide away!” Luciente obviously thought it was funny. Jackrabbit and she dried themselves on big towels and trotted off to Luciente’s space, with herself following very slowly behind. They were laughing ahead, and she felt left out and awkward. How could theyhelp?

She loitered up the path. When she opened Luciente’s door, they were both roughly dressed and between them they were making the bed. “Our family met last night,” Jackrabbit told her. “I put in as ready for mothering and military service. But everybody decided I ought to take care of going on defense before starting to mother. I know it’s logical, but I feel a little parted. I want to mother a lot more than I feel like marching off for six months to wherever the enemy’s pestering us now.”

Luciente was eyeing her with a gather of skin between her eyes. “What’s wrong, Connie?”

When she described the ward and the project, Luciente grew still. She sat on the not quite made bed with her hands crouching on her spread knees. “So soon. It promises ill.”

“It’s bad, real bad? That’s what I thought. I’m scared.”

Jackrabbit, puzzled but interested, curled up with a pillow behind his back. Luciente frowned. “It’s that race between technology, in the service of those who control, and insurgency–those who want to change the society in our direction. In your time the physical sciences had delivered the weapons technology. But the crux, we think, is in the biological sciences. Control of genetics. Technology of brain control. Birth‑to‑death surveillance. Chemical control through psychoactive drugs and neurotransmitters.”

“Luciente, help me escape!” Her hand trembling, she touched Luciente’s sinewy arm. “Before they do that to me.”

Luciente shuddered. “Sticking a log in somebody’s eye to dig out an eyelash! They had not even a theory of memory! Their arrogance … amazes me.” She snorted.

“Can you help me? Please.”

“Of course we can!” Jackrabbit said, stroking her shoulder, but Luciente paced with her face screwed up.

“I can’t interfere in the past, Connie,” she said slowly. “But I can give you advice. That’s free as the wind. As we say, nobody asks for it and everybody gets it.”

“I thought I might fake a sickness scary enough to make them take me off the ward and then I could escape.”