Part 2

She opened her eyes. She knew there were joints in the glassy wall; all she had to do was find them, and the illusion of the endless plain would collapse. There--that thin black line, like a wire stretched from floor to ceiling--that was a corner of the room. She was not lost in an infinitude of weeping women on a vast plain; she was right there, in her own apartment--alone. She turned, finding the other corners. They were all there, all visible; she knew what they were....

But why did they continue to look like wires, setting apart the squares of floor, each with its silent, grieving occupant...?

She closed her eyes again, fighting down the panic. She would tell Harry. As soon as he came home--it was only a few hours--she would explain it to him.

"_I'm sick, Harry. You have to send me away to some place where I'll lie in a real bed, with sheets and blankets, beside an open window, looking out across the fields and forests. Someone--someone kind--will bring me a tray, with a bowl of soup--real soup, made from real chickens and with real bread and even a glass of milk, and a napkin, made of real cloth...._"

She should find her bed, and deploy it, and rest there until Harry came, but she was so tired. It was better to wait here, just relaxing and not thinking about the immense floor and the other women who waited with her....

She slept.

When she awoke, she sat up, confused. There had been a dream....

But how strange. The walls of the cell-block were transparent now; she could see all the other apartments, stretching away to every side. She nodded; it was as she thought. They were all as barren and featureless as her own--and Harry was wrong. They all had four Full-walls. And the other women--the other wives, shut up like her in these small, mean cells; they were all aging, and sick, and faded, starved for fresh air and sunshine. She nodded again, and the woman in the next apartment nodded in sympathy. All the women were nodding; they all agreed--poor things.

* * * * *

When Harry came, she would show him how it was. He would see that the Full-walls weren't enough. They all had them, and they were all unhappy. When Harry came--

It was time now. She knew it. After so many years, you didn't need a watch to tell when Harry was due. She had better get up, make herself presentable. She rose unsteadily to her feet. The other husbands were coming, too, Flora noted; all the wives were getting ready. They moved about, opening their floor lockers, patting at their hair, slipping into another dress. Flora went to the dial-a-ration and all around, in all the apartments, the wives deployed the tables and dialled the dinners. She tried to see what the woman next door was dialling, but it was too far. She laughed at the way her neighbor craned to see what SHE was preparing. The other woman laughed, too. She was a good sport.

"Kelpies," Flora called cheerily. "And mockspam, and coflet...."

Dinner was ready now. Flora turned to the door-wall and waited. Harry would be SO pleased at not having to wait. Then, after dinner she'd explain about her illness--

Was it the right wall she was waiting before? The line around the door was so fine you couldn't really see it. She laughed at how funny it would be if Harry came in and found her standing, staring at the wrong wall.

She turned, and saw a movement on her left--in the next apartment. Flora watched as the door opened. A man stepped in. The next-door woman went forward to meet him--

To meet Harry! It was Harry! Flora whirled. Her four walls stood blank and glassy, while all around her, the other wives greeted Harry, seated him at their tables, and offered him coflet....

"Harry!" she screamed, throwing herself at the wall. It threw her back. She ran to the next wall, hammering, screaming. Harry! Harry!

In all the other apartments, Harry chewed, nodded, smiled. The other wives poured, fussed over Harry, nibbled daintily. And none of them--not one of them--paid the slightest attention to her....

She stood in the center of the room, not screaming now, only sobbing silently. In the four glass walls that enclosed her, she stood alone. There was no point in calling any longer.

No matter how she screamed, how she beat against the walls, or how she called for Harry--she knew that no one would ever hear.

THE END